Ascendancy: The Book of Heylel

Chapter VI

Chapter VI



         The small town of Jorvek was devoid of life, as it had been since the end of that terrible battle here in the northern plains of Xalimfal. A stout-hearted community lived here, just east of a sprawling forest. It was here that she had met Edda, the young huntress with her great companion, Fenrir.

         The two were bound by some sort of strange power. Fenrir was of course, strange himself. He was something Elaine had never seen; a wolf-man. Well, mostly a very large wolf, that talked like a man. He was an intimidating creature to be sure, but when the Draugr came in the mists, this place was quickly overwhelmed, and he fell here, taking hundreds of the dead ones with him. Edda had fallen here too, nearby, at Fenrir’s side. Her bow had claimed many, but once Fenrir was gone, she lost all taste for battle, and soon she too lost her life.

         Elaine would never forget that day. She had tried to force her way through hundreds of defenders, and hack through sword after sword, but she couldn’t reach her. Edda knelt there, in the red, melting snow beside her fallen friend. Her head was down, and tears fell to the earth as she cradled herself, rocking back and forth. Her eyes locked with Elaine’s for a moment, as that terrible spear pierced her heart. She could never be sure, but Elaine saw her mouth some sort of comforting words.

         I go with him to Valhalla

         At least that’s what she thought Edda had whispered, smiling as she fell to the ground. That moment was burned in her memory forever.

         Her eyes shot up as Rialev and Papal rustled through the tall grass, with their swords still gripped tight in their hands.

         “It’s clear, we should rest here for a bit,” Rialev said, his voice low and throaty.

         “It’s not wise to linger here, my lady. I think we should press on to the northern bluffs,” Papal rebutted, as he scanned the horizon behind her.

         Rialev turned his gaze to him. “The northern bluffs are leagues away, and these people have run since we left Glaalarbron. They need a moment to rest.”

         Papal sighed and nodded, “Only a moment. If we stay here, we die.”

         They pushed through the tall grass and into the dark hovel of old, ramshackle houses. The small houses stood in a circle, twenty of them lining the center of the small village where a water well marked the epicenter of life in Jorvek. Life had long since gone here, leaving behind creaky old skeletons of homes, and dark interiors of the abandoned houses.

         Dark still enshrouded them. Above, the black sky shone a cold white corona in the distance as though there were a moon, but she could not see it. Familiar constellations and stars were lost in the expanse of the dark heavens dotted occasionally by the puffs of black clouds.

         The air was still, almost thick, like it were a humid, windless summer day. It pressed against her like a wet shirt as she strode toward the well. Those who’d come with them gathered close to one another and plopped on the hard ground. Snorri was with them, comforting a whimpering servant girl. The other was a tall, bearded norsemen. He was quiet with his hands on his knees, as he stared ahead at nothing. His eyes were wide as he rocked himself. They were afraid, not that she could blame him. She wasn’t at all at ease in this place, but Rialev was right, they needed a rest.

         Elaine tugged at the stiff, frayed rope of the well. She hauled up the bucket, echoes of water droplets chirping at the bottom of the well. The three others rushed up as she swallowed gulp after gulp. It was tainted with a gritty taste, but it cooled her throat. Wiping her mouth, she offered it to the others and they drank their fill.

         Rialev sat quiet on old dry rotted stairs leading to a blackened doorway. Inside, thumping and the knocking of cupboard doors rattled through the thick silence. The Expurgator’s head was down, focused on nothing at all. His hands dangled over his legs as his fingers twisted his sword one way, then another. He didn’t bother to look up at her as she walked to him.

         “There’s water,” she said.

         “I’m not thirsty, my lady.”

         She sighed, “Rialev… please.”

         He stopped rolling the hilt of his sword between his thumb and forefinger and glanced up at her. He took her in for what seemed like minutes before he stood as he sheathed his sword.

         “Your priest is inside,” he said, before stomping off toward the well.

         He was acting quite odd, even for him, darker than ever. It was as if he were afraid, but comfortable.

         Papal stumbled through the doorway as he grasped a sack that draped over his back. He smiled at her as he strode down the dry rotted steps, dropping it on the ground with a thump.

         “I’m afraid the only thing that kept was the cheese, but it’s better than going hungry,” he said, gnawing on a chewy piece of goat’s cheese.

         She hated goat’s cheese but she was quite hungry. At this point, it could have been salted pork, and she would have accepted it without question. She bent to retrieve a wheel, as a gentle breeze caressed her bare cheeks, stopping her, something about it felt strange, alive even. Her stomach growled, and she ripped away at the broken wheel of cheese, tearing off a fist sized chunk.

         It was sour and salty, but she ignored the flavor. Its oily texture coated the inside of her mouth like a varnish as she swallowed hard. It was disgusting, but it would do.

         Papal offered her a nod as he hauled the sack onto is shoulder and strode toward the others. She stared out into the dark fields that stretched to the horizon. Somewhere, miles away, Razelle was likely still in Gjaalarbron. She’d offered herself as a diversion so the others could escape. She could only hope that she was alright. So much had happened this day. None of it, could she explain. First that crazed man, and now, this evil nightfall. What was happening to Xalimfal? She couldn’t begin to piece it together. Nothing in any of the writings had mentioned this.

         The gentle breeze rolled across the fields, blowing over the grass and making it ripple like waves. It was a sea of darkness. Out there, all around, the world was quiet, almost deserted. There were no crickets chirping their midnight songs, no wildlife calling their melodies to nightfall. Nothing. It was all lifeless and still. Something however, echoed its feint whisper upon the soft breeze. Crying. It was weak and thin, but she could hear it, coming from the houses behind her. It was the voice of a child.

         She followed the sound as it grew louder, marching straight past the group at the well, into the ramshackle of a dark home. They called to her, but whatever they were saying vanished within her ears in a pillowed muffle.

         Cold dim rays from a moon that was not there lit the room, but just barely. She squinted through the dark making out shapes of abandoned furniture and stairs. Elaine darted upstairs, her footfalls drumming hollow, creaky wood rhythms. At the crest of the steps, a room spanning the entirety of the second floor greeted her.

         In the far corner, a small shadow huddled in the corner with its back turned to her. Its shoulders rose and fell with abrupt sharpness as it whimpered and sniffled.

         “Hello?”

         The whimpering stopped. The child sat there in the corner, still and quiet save for its breathing. Elaine inched her way to the corner, focusing hard on the young person. It was a girl.

         Tattered, moth-eaten clothes clung to her sickly body like a leech upon flesh. A headful of shiny, black hair dangled down to her back, reflecting rays of that strange moonlight.

         What was such a small child doing here in this place, without the safety of her parents? It was quite possible that her parents had died during the battle in the northern plains, but then, how could this little girl have survived that harsh winter?

         Elaine wanted to comfort her; help her. Her outstretched hand crept to the girl’s shoulder, as she took one step, then another. Something gnawed at the back of her mind. She couldn’t place it, but it summoned an apprehension in her that she couldn’t disregard.

         Her hand couldn’t have been much more than an inch away when Papal slapped at her wrist, hooking his fingers around like a vice. He shook his head at her with wide, almost panicked eyes.
The girl giggled; playful and giddy as it turned round. She wasn’t tall, barely meeting the height of Elaine’s waist, still, she was quite terrifying. Sunken white eyes glowed a chalky aura from within the darkened voids of her eye sockets. A dark gray flesh was splotched with black clouds that spanned head to toe. A doll, a girl’s doll, was clasped between her fingers which were pointed with a long claw. The girl’s nose was wrinkled as she scowled at them, breathing in and out hard and heavy, as her brow lowered and creased. A low, rumbling growl resonated in her chest.

         Steel sang a high pitched tune as Papal drew his sword. The girl answered his challenge with a hiss that sliced the air like a crow’s caw met with a grinding stone, baring her teeth that were as sharp as his blade.

         The doll dropped to the floor, and the child was gone.

         Skittering of bare feet padded up the dark wall as Elaine’s eyes focused on a shadow, arms raking on dry rotted wood. The girl crawled upside down across the ceiling as swift as a spider. Its cloudy, white eyes focused on him.

         Elaine’s hands and legs tremored, as though fear had wrapped around her like a cloak. She couldn’t move. The child dropped from the ceiling, striking her as she fell, and knocking her back against the wall as her arms wrapped around the priest pulling him to the floor.

         The world snapped back into her head, and fear exploded into a desperate need. Elaine drew her rapier as she sprung back to her feet, bring it down in a violent arc. The child shifted to the side as swift as the blink of an eye, and her rapier slashed at the wood floor beside Papal’s face.

         The evil girl’s head cocked back, focusing on her, all the while baring sharp fangs and hissing. It crawled about on all fours, backing away a step and lunged. Fear had escaped her, and she found her focus in sword dance once more. Elaine sidestepped its attack swinging with a sideways arc, a trail of moonlit silver following behind the blade as she focused on the back of its neck. Nothing. It skittered away, into another corner, white eyes watching her all the while.

         Heavy footsteps beat a cadence, as Rialev and the others darted up the stairs. His sword at the ready as he held his free arm to the side in effort to stop the others from rushing in.

         Glowing white orbs shifted between the expurgator and Papal, as it croaked its scratchy hiss before lunging once more at Papal, who’d finally regained his feet. A sharp, concussive blast rang in her ears, as sulfur burned her lungs, and the thing rolled away on the floor. Its arms thrashing around in a violent circle as it tumbled to a stop in the corner. Black liquid dotted the floor, and swelled in a pool beneath the creature. The child lay face up, a dark hole set in the center of its forehead.

         Elaine exhaled hard, her arms tingling and shaking as she looked on.

         Its head lifted, and the child rose as if from a fitful sleep, quick and abrupt. It snarled at them as a deep, throaty growl escaped between its teeth.

         She had not seen it lunge. As it streaked past her toward Rialev, she turned, trying to bring her sword up to meet it, but she caught nothing but air. It was too fast. It slammed its hands and feet into the Expurgator, knocking him backward and somersaulting forward in a single, fluid motion as he crashed to the floor. The others had yet to even realize what had happened as its claws scraped at the wood floor. Its eyes scanned each of them before shooting downstairs and outside.

         Elaine had never seen anything like it… it was dark and menacing. It may have looked like a child, but whatever it truly was, was not innocent and playful. Still, something called to her in the darkness of her mind, and without allowing herself a moment to think, she was after it.

         Elaine burst through the old, dry rotted doorway back out into the dark world. She scanned the shadowy circle of houses but could see nothing. Footsteps rumbled down the stairs as Rialev’s voice called back into the house.

         “Stay with them, Papal!”

         She hadn’t allowed him to catch up to her as she ran past the well, beyond the ring of houses, and to the outside of the small, abandoned village. She stood, not bothering to catch her breath. Her eyes darted back and forth as they focused on shadows in the tall grass. Nothing there. Wind licked at the fields, and rolled by, as the tips of her hair blew against her face. Rialev was beside her now, sword still drawn. His breath was still calm and steady, as though whatever had just happened in that house was little more than a memory. She wished she shared his calm.

         Her hands tremored as her fingertips tingled. Her breath was slow at finding her, as she gasped in cold, coarse breaths.
The tall grass rustled a few yards ahead of them in one spot, then another, soon it erupted as the laughter of children echoed and hung in the air.

         “Play with us.”

         The voices all spoke as one. Some of girls and others of boys, with an inviting but menacing harmony. The grass exploded as the shadow of one lunged out at her. She’d brought the tip of her sword up to meet it, but a hand against her shoulder shoved her aside, and the thing swooped past, skidding as it dug its claws into the dirt.

         The face of a boy, eyes as white as the others snarled at her from beneath black lips. Another blast from the pistol, and the thing collapsed into the ground.

         Her ears rang but she could still make out the terrible laughter from the fields. Only a moment had passed, and the boy rose to his feet as though someone had pulled it back up by its arms.
“Come with us to see the king.”

         Their voices were sharp and pointy like thousands of razors, as the other one stalked about and hissed at her. The focus she had only moments before was gone now, and fear gnawed at the back of her neck. Gooseflesh covered her arms as she fought hard to stop the shaking of her hands. She took one step back, her feet grinding against dirt and loose gravel.

         The others lunged, grasping Rialev by the arms and legs, and bringing him to the ground. It had stopped gnawing now. Fear was now clawing at her body, as she turned with every ounce of need focused on saving her companion. The boy, however, that wretched thing rammed into her back. Her face struck the ground as sharp daggers of icy pain surged through her. Her head throbbed as she struggled to turn herself round to face it.

         Blood burned in her eyes, and tickled her cheek as small streams rolled down her face.

         She pushed up with all her strength, lifting the child that straddled her back, and rolled him off as she threw herself around, landing hard on her bottom, and knocking the wind out of her lungs. She didn’t bother allowing her lungs to find it again as she raised herself back onto her feet, drawing her pistol.

         She focused on the bullet hole in its forehead, oozing putrid black and knew, it would do no good to waste another shot.
The world went still as her eyes met with the chalky white orbs sunken into the gray flesh of its face. Everything was quiet now as she found her calm. It was the calm that she longed for now; the one that only came when she held a sword in her hand. Her ears rang a high pitched hiss, as Rialev’s struggled echoed in her mind. That was back there, and may as well have been leagues away. First, she needed to handle what was in front of her.

         If you don’t kill them, they will kill you.

         The words rang in her mind as she flipped the pistol round, gripping it by the barrel and gritting her teeth. The burning in her eyes was little more than an inconvenience, and the throbbing in her head was no more a distraction than the sound a mouse makes as it runs across the floor. She was in her calm, quiet place now. She was dancing the sword dance.

         It lunged again. Its claws outward, as it snarled at her. Her arm tingled at the joint, but she ignored it as she spun aside, ramming the butt stock of the pistol into its head like a hammer. As she drove it to the ground, she finished her flurry, bringing her sword round, and driving it into the center of its back as it landed. She would not let it get away from her again.

         It screeched a coarse and rasping howl of agony as it thrashed about for a moment. As black blood sprayed out of the wound where she’d pierced its heart. The stillness had since escaped her as it clawed the dirt, raking its sharp nails through coarse stone and fine sand in an effort to crawl away. It wheezed and hissed, drawing in shallow, abrasive breaths as it slowed for a moment, and then stopped, collapsing on to the ground.

         It was quiet now, almost peaceful. Sounds of Rialev’s struggles were gone as the children rose from his arms and legs. He was unharmed, but motionless. Grass rippled like the rolling of ocean waves, slow and steady in a breeze that lightly caressed her skin, almost not even there. It was as though the entire world had slowed to a crawl as she turned to face these terrible things.

         Each of them stood there, heads down, with black hair dangling down over their face, enshrouding it in a dark veil.

         “You can’t hide from death,” they said in unison, their menacing harmony hanging in her mind as they spoke.

         “You have been marked by it, and wherever you go, it will find you… he will find you.”

         Their faces rose, and four pairs of white eyes glowed for a moment, and as everything came snapping back to her, they scattered into the darkness. She stood, trembling, ripping air into her lungs. Grass rustled gently as it rose and fell to a breeze that before was barely noticeable. Now, it was as it had been, gentle but there. Rialev stood, dusting his black waistcoat and looking about confused and angry. His eyes shot this way and that, as though something had flashed in the corners of his vision and he struggled hard to find it. He looked as though he’d awoke from a nightmare. He had no idea what had happened.

         As he calmed himself, slowing his breaths and sheathing his sword, he strode over to her with his eyes out in the dark fields.

         “What happened?” His voice was calm, but dull and confused.
She turned her gaze to the dark, starless sky. Clouds rolled overhead, black, smoky, and against the wind. A pale light still shining in the east from a moon that wasn’t there.

         “They’re gone,” she said.

         His gloved hand brushed her hair back as he inspected the cut on her forehead before cradling her sword arm.

         “You’re hurt,” he said as he lifted her arm.

         She looked down to the tingling nagging that pricked the joint of her elbow. Blood trickled from a gash that stretched from one side of her arm to the other. It ached and burned as though someone held a candle beneath her flesh. She pulled her arm away from him, covering the wound with her hand.

         “I’ll be fine.”

         “I’m sorry, my lady. There were too many of them. I was certain they were going to kill me.” His voice was low and masked with shame.

         “They weren’t going to kill you, Rialev.” She offered no emotion in her tone.

         “How did you know?”

         She pulled her hand away from the bleeding cut.

         “Because they were after me,” she said, looking down at a throbbing black splotch of skin.