After the Tyran had secluded himself to the confines of whatever chamber he had been appointed to, tension in the room dropped quickly. Even the priest and fiddler seemed to have calmed themselves some. It was only the keep that kept nervously rubbing at his cups. Eyes jumping from his hands to the staircase every now and then.
“And held within the yawning abys o’ the cave there be a demon, so grand and powerful, that even the mightiest o’ heroes perished once they wandered inside its depths!” Cos barely had the time to lecture his sister on her behavior before she was absorbed by another tale. Truly, what was she thinking, questioning a Tyran like that? Cos sighed tiredly. He had tried long to get her mind acquainted with the real world. But it seemed like all effort was in vain. She just couldn’t think realistically.
“The Demon’s horns, foul and black as the unknown hollows of hell, be scraping the cave’s very ceiling,” the Teller continued, unfazed by the Slayer’s passing, “and its skin be equally dark, as well. But this be no foolish demon either! It be cunning like a snake, and knowing o’ the troubles of man. Chained to its tomb, it may be, but it lures man and beast alike to its seclusion with sweet promises and the fulfillment o’ wishes!”
Cos knew this legend as well. In fact, he was sure Syn had read it before, too. But she was none the less listening attentively to every word the Teller spoke. Cos leaned back onto a table, his mind wandering to other places. The road, the North, the men they had met along the way, those suspicious soldiers… Whatever came of them?
The staircase groaned, and all eyes were fixed in its direction for a tense moment before two people descended – his parents. They had dressed themselves in warm clothing, with a fur-covered hood and thick gloves to top it off.
“Are you going outside? In this weather?” Cos asked, confused. He’d rather stay indoors, where it was somewhat warm and protected from the wind.
“Just going to check on the horses, Cos, and maybe drop by the guys for a sec,” His father’s neatly trimmed beard moved as he spoke, “no need for worry. We’ll return in a moment.”
Cos spotted his mother staring at the Teller for a spell, listening in on the story. It wasn’t hard to guess where Syn had her curiosity from. His father grabbed her by the hand, redirecting her attention.
“Come, dear. I’m worried with the storm and all.” His father had a gentle expression on his face. He always had when he talked to Bella.
“Yes. Oh, Cos, be sure to mind your sister. She can be awfully distracted at times.” She gave a motherly smile, her green eyes shining, and raven-black hair twirling as she turned to follow Cos’s father.
“Don’t want to hear that from you…” Cos muttered. Watching them leave through the door.
Time passed by, not any faster than before. The farmers had left as well, now. The fiddler was idly snoring away, and the priest kept to himself. But the Teller was content with droning on about this and that. Only now Syn had gotten drowsy, her lashes batting and staying down from time to time. Her head gently nodding as sleep overtook her. Cos felt her silky hair stroke his arms as she laid in them, her chest slightly heaving in a peaceful rhythm. Cos moved his hand to push a stray lock of velvet black from her serene face –
A scream split the night, a roar and a groan, a crashing bellow, another scream. Everyone jumped at the noise, wide-eyed, peering at the door. Silence.
“What was that?” Croaked the Keep, holding his cloth tight.
“What do you think it was, moron?” The fiddler spat, his hand already gripping inside his cloak.
“Be quiet!” The priest hissed, sword drawn. Glistening in the heart’s dull light.
“Raiders are attacking!” A yell came from afar, “raiders are –” a yelp, a wet crushing, wetter gurgles. Cos tried to swallow, but his throat was so very dry.
“Cos?” Syn whimpered quietly, tugging at his tunic. That got him focused again.
“We need to find our guards, have them set a perimeter…” his mind scourged all the texts he had read, all the lectures he had heard about small group escort combat tactics, “then secure a means of escape by horseback… horses… Mom, Dad!” Shit, that had slipped his mind.
“Big brother Cos…” His sister’s small voice broke his thoughts again. He firmly grabbed her slender shoulders, and looked into those dangerously green eyes of her.
“Syn, you’ll need to listen exactly to what I say, alright?” Some tears were forming at the corners of her eyes, and Cos regretted being so stern. But there was no time now. She nodded, visibly shaking.
“We’ll need to find mom and dad, at the stables, and hope we find some of our guards on the way. Our main priority is escaping as fast as we can. Syn, you need to stick real close to me. Never leave my side. You got that?”
“Hmm,” She said meekly, grabbing at Cos’s woolen clothing.
“Alright…” Cos said to himself, getting his thoughts in order, and sliding the dagger from its hidden sheath. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, though. Cos looked at the others, each of them staring blankly in outright frenzied fright.
“Any of you wish to join?” Cos posed hurriedly. He didn’t really care whether they lived. But another meat-shield to protect his sister was more than welcome.
“Are you mad!?” The fiddler shrieked. Eyes wild. Bloodshot, almost. “We’ll get killed outside! It’s allot safer indoors where we can at least barricade ourselves!”
“Precisely!” The priest agreed quickly, and the Keep was all too eager to join them.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
But Cos knew better. If his guess was correct, then these raiders were Northmen. And when one drop of blood is spilled, those who pray to the spirits of the Deep Green have no choice but to purge until there is no one left. Such is their way.
Cos briefly watched the Teller of Things, passively stitching at his rags. Not a care in the world. Cos even thought the man was smiling, but wasn’t sure. The thick beard made it hard to tell.
“Let’s go.” He took his sister’s hand and lead her away. Cos’s fingers enveloped the door’s handle, he hesitated, not knowing what loomed beyond the faded wood. Darkness, a storm, death – he knew that much. But hope? Only one way to find out.
The heavy door lurched open, and the snow and wind tackled them with a blow. Cos squinted through the blinding white, heard the door close with a smack behind them.
He looked around, but saw only a white expanse obscuring the void. Couldn’t see two feet in front of him. Couldn’t hear anything but the bellowing storm. Panic latched at his heart. Fear of the unknown.
He looked back, but saw no door, no hovel, no light – only snow, coiling, twirling. He held Syn’s hand tighter and started walking to where he remembered the stables to be, fighting against the blizzard with every step, pushing him left and right.
Cos kept going, nothing but the occasional scream or roar to break through the unceasing snowstorm. His foot slipped on something, he looked down. An arm.
He wanted to vomit. Cos pulled at Syn, hoping she didn’t see. But guessing from the look on her face, she had gotten an eyeful.
Cos suddenly heard a regular thump, thump, thump. To his right. He turned and started struggling in that direction.
There was a building, it’s door swaying in the wind. Clattering against its frame. They staggered inside, felt like being swallowed by the abys. So dark. Dark as the unknown hollows of hell. The sound of cracking hay.
“Shhh!” Cos stopped his sister. They were still standing on soil. The noise hadn’t come from them.
A pause.
Cos’s hand ached from gripping his dagger painfully tight. His eyes saw only dancing ghosts in the shadows. Mocking, sneering, knowing him to be weak. He set his jaw tight – teeth creaking.
An angry hiss, a dark shape flitting past. The farmer’s cat.
Cos almost sank through his knees. All wobbly.
“By the stars…” he heaved.
“Syn, are you –” The door flew open and light flooded the barn. Cos pivoted, eyes narrowing in the torchlight.
A roar, the flash of metal. Cos barely had time to dodge before the blade whistled past him and bit into a pole, raining splinters onto them.
“Syn, run!” Cos raised himself, felt his shoulder stinging, warm blood leaking. But his sister wasn’t leaving. She still stood nailed in place, holding his sleeve. Eyes wide and filled with tears. Scared witless.
“Syn!” But he wasn’t getting through to her. Another clatter, the sword leaving the wood in a wide ark. Cos pushed his sister hard as he could. Saw her tumbling back into the hay.
He tried to dodge, but the sword licked his side. He wheezed at the pain. Burned so badly. How deep was it? How much blood was he loosing?
…How long did he have?
He gave a bellow of his own, fighting against the agony. The Northman tried swinging again, but the blade was thick and heavy. Too slow. Cos’s knife reached for the man’s carotid and tasted blood.
The man hissed, angry, but not dead. His arm had blocked the strike, and the dagger had struck there.
Cos twisted the blade from the man’s flesh and prepared to stab again – aiming for his groin, this time. There was a punch in his stomach. Cos heaved and coughed up bile.
Just a punch, he could live through that.
His arm reached back, building up momentum, and jabbed forward. Only, he wasn’t holding the knife anymore.
“Huh?” He felt terribly dizzy. Cos looked down, saw a heavy blade buried inside his stomach, dark blood seeping from the wound.
He looked up, at the raider’s rugged face. Red with anger and eyes gleaming with rage. Before Cos could say anything, the knife was pulled out, water splashed onto the floor – or was it blood? Cos didn’t know.
He felt the metal punch into him again, but the pain was gone. He felt cold. It was as if ice was spreading from his guts, crawling along his spine.
He heard his sister scream something, but couldn’t really make out what. Cos wanted to ask her, but couldn’t really form the words.
The Northman released the scuff of Cos’s tunic, and he flopped onto the soil like a rag.
---
What? What was happening?
Syn saw, but didn’t believe. It was impossible. There was no way her brother could have died. After all, that never happens in stories. The hero never dies.
“I’m coming for you now, little bitch!” The Northman spat vehemently. But Syn just watched as he trod towards her. Heavy footsteps splashing through her brother’s pool of blood, staining his furs.
The torch held in his left hand casted looming shadows along the barn’s walls. Stretched them out and made them dance. The raiders face now all the more frightening. Cos’s corpse all the more horrid. Blood dripping in fat drops from the gleaming blade.
The man’s hand reached for her, big and riddled with old scars.
“No!” Syn squeaked, ducking away.
“Yes!” she heard the Northman laugh. Felt his grip on her ankle. Her fingers dug into the dirt as she was dragged away, saw something reflecting in the torchlight.
Her brothers dagger.
Syn’s fingers clutched the weapon, felt the edge cut her fingers. Warm blood trailing along her hands.
She was raised up into the air, held by her leg. Saw the large knife lingering in front of her face.
She screamed again, and the man could only laugh, and shake her about – enjoyed her pointless squirming, wailing around.
She closed her eyes, tight, and let the knife plunge into the unknown. She heard a painful wail, and was dropped on the floor. Her head hit the dirt, sending her eyes spinning ‘round and ‘round.
Blurry shapes, outlined in the radiance of light. The raider cried out, pressing his hands onto the gushing wound in his inner thigh. Started to wobble and sway left and right, blood shooting from the wound at the rhythm of his heart. Slick lines of red forming on the barn’s soil.
“You fuckin’ bitch!” he stammered, tumbling over. Fell right next to Syn, and he looked into her eyes, and she into his. They teemed with seething rage, so awfully dark.
Syn cried out, raising the dagger high, both hands enveloping the handle, and pushed the blade down with all her strength. The Northman gurgled as the metal dove inside his chest. Syn rose her arms again, stabbing down. Again, and again, her wails turning into sobs. Tears obstructing everything – a blurry mess. Shlick, shlick, the handle turning slippery.
And then she couldn’t lift her arms anymore. Could only stare into the man’s eyes. Oddly vacant, madly accusatory, dreadfully hollow. Dead.
Syn laid there, her throat raw and breathing hard, before slowly raising herself from the mutilated corpse, and with wavering steps, she stumbled towards her brother. The light shifted in the draft, showing an expression almost lifelike. Almost alive.
She knelt down, her knees drenched in blood. The raider's, her brother's, there was no telling now. Not anymore.
“Cos?” she whispered weakly, “Cos?” Only the lashing wind answered.
“Cos!” She cried out, embracing her dead brother, so dear to her. Salty tears mingling with iron blood, and dust, and dirt.
“Dark fang, you in here!?” Come a yell from outside, “you sure you heard something, Red?”
“Course I’m certain!” A voice replied, rough and dry.
The door swung open. The blizzard rushed inside.
“Right in here –” Three men stood in the opening, tall and threatening.
“What the fuck!?” The long haired one looked at Syn, then her brother, then the raider’s dead, sprawling body. The red one’s eyes narrowed at her.
“You did this, cunt?” But Syn had nothing left in her. No more reason to resist, no more reason to fight. She had lost already. Lost everything that mattered to her. All she held dear. Lost it like ash in the wind.