Game of the Gods - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Taking

Dreams and nightmares met Theminor as he drifted asleep. Dreams of his homeland, Konan-Schlar, of the vast winter land stretching for hundreds, even thousands of miles. He dreamt of the tall peaks of the Aloontha Magdierno Mountains that towered over the Exschoonta Tamero tundra where the yearly caribou hunts occurred. Dreams of his family, of Radik where he had called home for his entire life. Dreams of his taking, the journey before him filled with adventure and glory. He dreamt of his triumphant return to the village. He even dreamed of himself sitting on the Magda Dunkai, the council of elders.

These peaceful dreams were shared equally with haunting nightmares, the foremost one of his brother-in-taking being swallowed by the sea. He blamed Theminor for being too slow and too weak to save him. Jorg's face was puckered and melted away as he moaned out his hatred for Theminor, vowing for vengeance. This was replaced by nightmares of dark creatures that only the mind could conjure, demons and devils born of Now'chi. Foul beasts that made him watch as they slowly tore his family to pieces, then they rendered him limb from limb. Then he was exiled from Konan-Schlar on pain of death for his cowardice in failing to defend Radik from invading ice goblins. Most of these unconscious thoughts had pricked at the back of his mind since he had begun this journey, and had finally caught up to him while he slept.

Theminor sat up violently, waking to an eerie stillness lying around him. He tightly clutched the dagger that normally lay next to him as he slept. His palms and forehead were drenched with sweat and his heart raced within his chest as the nightmares slowly faded. As the pounding blood in his ears slowly diminished, he realized that the ruthless winter wind had finally ceased outside, as if it had given up on its attempts at reaching the men huddled within the shelter. In its place was left a quiet hush.

Through the entranceway he could see moonlight shining off of the blanketing snow. The pale blue light was a thousand times brighter than even the great bonfires before the Elk Hunts. At least it seemed that way to Theminor since all could remember seeing for the past week was pitch black of night or the blinding white of snow. For a moment Theminor was relieved. Anything but white, he thought. But his heightened senses erased the thought from his mind, just as it erased the images that had been haunting him moments before. No, he could sense something nagging at him, something that made him feel uneasy, like an itch he could not reach. Something was definitely wrong.

A deep, guttural growl arose from outside the shelter. Before the barbarian had time to react, the growling beast attacked. A section of thin snowy roof gave way to the beast; packed snow falling on Theminor's sleeping companions, bringing them awake in a flash. Theminor froze; yellow eyes met his blue ones for a moment, glaring at him. His first thought was one of surprise. How an ek-tak made it this far out onto the ice was beyond him.

Slightly bigger than a snow cat, but shaped like an arctic bear, the feral beast snarled at him, its lips curled over dagger-like teeth. The legs of the large creature tensed, sinewy muscles tightened, and it lunged forward, those long fangs extended in a toothy grin. Next to him Talius struggled to shake off the snow, but fell victim to the deadly teeth before he could reach for his large sword, screaming as the beast ripped into his throat. Warm blood splashed on Theminor's face, bringing him to action.

Talius' gurgling death scream echoed through his head as Theminor leaped to his feet. Towering over the ruined shelter, he bared his blade to the gently falling snow. The pale moon did not cast enough light to reveal the beast's location, but Theminor was not totally unprepared. His training had included night battles, where one fought by "feeling" his opponent, predicting what an enemy would do before they did it. Theminor silently prayed to his god Stratura for strength as he faced his attacker. His other senses had heightened to make up for the absence of sight.

A whistling sound caused him to duck a large paw that barely missed his head. This creature was fast, but the barbarian was much faster. As the talons passed over his head, Theminor jabbed out with his sword, hearing a yelp of pain. Keep it coming, he thought, calming his own excitement. A single well-placed thrust would end the contest. In matters of reflex this beast had no chance, but its demonstration of strength kept Theminor wary.

Shouts from Margor, Grendar and Igloth reached his ears as they dug themselves out of the snow, quickly searching for their buried weapons. Theminor heard only those three voices; he already knew that Talius was beyond this world. Red-hot anger welled up at the thought, the emotion threatening to overwhelm his mind.

The harlor, the rage of battle, was useful for acts of strength, but Theminor wanted his wits about him when facing this beast. He momentarily forced his anger aside, relying on his training rather than the harlor. Theminor sensed the movement of the beast, a second large claw swiped at his head. The barbarian's sword sliced downward, whistling through the air, barely slowing as it impacted with the already wounded beast. The sheer force of his swing carried his blade through the creature and deep into the ice.

All but his battle senses gone, the urge to kill swept over Theminor, his harlor pumping fire through his veins. He could still feel the heat emanating from the animal; he knew the beast was dead but the harlor, and the urge for battle, now surged through him. Yanking the sword from beneath the eviscerated animal, he attempted to calm himself, the battle being over. It was a losing battle as the prickle in his mind still itched, warning him of a nearby threat as if a bell had been rung inside his skull.

Theminor glanced around quickly, uncertain as to where this danger could be, but only inky darkness met his gaze from every direction. He tried to push out with his other senses, hearing nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears. More likely than not, there would be more ek-taks around since the beasts hunted in packs.

A battle plan formed irrationally, but he gave into it, for he knew that it would bring death and ruin to his foes. He roared a war cry and raised his sword high above his head, turning away from the lifeless ek-tak that had killed Talius. As he turned, a taloned paw slapped hard into his chest, raking through the thick furs he wore and tearing into his skin. His chest burned as he fell to the frozen ground, dropping his sword at the impact. A sudden burst of stars filled his vision as a large block of ice met the back of his head.

His battle senses returned almost instantly, even before he could catch the breath that had been forced from his lungs. The stars quickly faded, revealing two pairs of yellow eyes, slowly moving towards him as if stalking prey. He had no breath to shout warning to his companions and searing pain still coursed through his head and chest. The ek-taks advanced, their deadly claws clicking his doom across the hard sheet of ice. He desperately felt about the ice for his sword, but his hands came away empty. His mind raced with warrior thoughts. His only other remaining weapon was a thick horn dagger at his belt. Silently freeing the short blade, he waited for the creatures to close on him. He had no fear of death as the nearest beast reached for his throat.

"Theminor," Igloth shouted through the darkness from just behind the closing animals, stealing their attention for an instant. But all he needed was that moment. "Now!" Theminor's own voice screamed inside his head.

The barbarian thrust upwards with the dagger, piercing the soft belly of the beast straddling him. Warm liquid washed down his arm, fully awakening his harlor. He shoved again, sliding the blade towards the beast's chin; the blade of the dagger snapping off as it jarred against bone. The creature screeched in pain and dropped limply on top of Theminor, pinning him to the ice. He squirmed beneath the dying beast, trying to free himself, but it was much larger than he had thought, and much heavier. Thinking that the struggling man was helpless, the other ek-tak bared its fangs and hissed. It began to claw wildly at its fallen kin, vainly trying to get at him.

The flailing beast stopped, abruptly turning away from him. The creature growled, and then bounded off into the darkness. Theminor paused for a moment to listen for any signs of the ek-tak returning, and then struggled harder to free himself from the mass of dead fur and flesh pinning him to the ice. Against the darkness, he could barely make out the forms of his companions approaching him. Igloth led the charge as Margor and Grendar followed. They relaxed their pace as they continued toward him, scanning the darkness for a glimpse of the departed creature. Thinking the beast had retreated in the face of three new defenders, Theminor turned his efforts back to his plight; heaving at the corpse he finally managed to free one arm. But that itch in his mind had not subsided.

A flash of white caught his eye as the beast returned, driven either by courage or hunger. It pounced on Igloth, driving him to the hardened snow. This creature was faster than the others had been, for as it tackled the large man, it sliced into him with those razor-sharp talons, and sunk its deadly fangs into the fallen man's exposed neck. The sound of blood gurgling from his throat told Theminor that Igloth too had passed from this life. Margor and Grendar hurled themselves at the beast, causing it to retreat from Igloth's corpse. Roaring with the power granted only by a harlor, Margor raised his sword high over head and slammed the sharpened steel into the white fur, receiving a yelp of pain in return. The beast squared on its haunches, swiping a large paw at the barbarian's legs. Margor leaped backwards, landing smoothly upon the snowy ground. A grim smile graced his lips.

Margor started to advance again, readying his blade. The ek-tak watched him with those yellow eyes, and Margor kept his focus solely on the beast. Theminor yelled out to him to turn around, but it was too late. A second ek-tak tackled him from behind, the force of the collision propelling the combatants away from Theminor's line of sight. But he still heard the shriek of pain as the ek-tak bit deep into the nape of Margor's neck. The shriek did not last long.

Grendar had silently advanced on the wounded ek-tak. He swung a hard blow at the unprotected flank, and felt the bite of steel deep into the creature's side. It fell to the ground with what appeared to be a mortal wound. Satisfied that this ek-tak was finished, he spun about on his heel to help Theminor free himself from the carcass. But his luck failed him. Grendar slipped on the ice, a sickening popping sound emanating from his right knee. He screamed in agony, holding his knee. As if his cries were a signal to attack, the remaining ek-tak slunk toward Grendar, its muscles tensed and ready to pounce.

With the last of his companions about to fall victim to these ek-taks, Theminor's harlor overwhelmed him, taking hold of his mind and instincts. His vision was fire, and his blood boiled. With a sudden surge of inhuman strength, Theminor roared defiantly and hurled the heavy carcass from him, sending it crashing to the ice several paces away. He saw his father's sword dully glimmering in the still night and raced over to pick it up. He turned to join Grendar's battle, but found the beast ripping deep into the man's bowels.

Theminor tried to focus, to think of his training, but he was prisoner to the harlor; he had no choice but to let instinct take over. The great sword found its way over his head, his large arm gripping the hilt tightly. He hurled the shining steel overhand, sending the massive sword tumbling end over end towards the ek-tak. The fact that it struck its tar¬get in itself was amazing, but it was even more amazing that the sheer force of the sword ripped the attacking creature from atop Grendar to land several paces away. But Theminor did not have time to be amazed. From out of the deep night the beast that Grendar had wounded leaped upon him, tackling him as he had seen the other tackle his companion moments before. Now that Theminor had first hand experience how these creatures attacked, he knew what was coming but still barely had time to cover his neck with a forearm. The beast wrapped its jaws about his arm, its fangs clamping down.

Burning pain once again screamed in Theminor's head, but the harlor was set in now. He slammed his fist into the side of the animal's head, but the beast did not lessen its hold on his arm. Seeing that the futile punches did no good, the barbarian grabbed at the creature's snout with his free hand, slipping his fingers into its mouth around the teeth that pierced his flesh. The beast slipped its hold a little and Theminor yanked his arm out, sliding in his other hand in its place. With the strength from the harlor still filling his pain-wracked body, he pried open the jaw, one hand pulling upward, the other pushing towards the icy ground. This impulsive move surprised the creature, and it tried to back off but Theminor only pulled apart with more force. Bones cracked and sinews stretched as he tore the beast's lower jaw from its body. The ek-tak collapsed to the ground, too much in pain to attack him again. Theminor rose to one knee and slammed his fist into the ek-tak's neck, bursting its windpipe. The white-coated beast gasped for air, life slowly passing away. It would never feel hunger again.

Theminor lay upon the snow, too drained to feel the freezing wind whip at his face. He was exhausted now that the fire of the harlor had departed, leaving his senses reeling in the aftermath of the battle. Only the burning sensation of pain remained. Blood continued to flow from the wounds upon his chest and arms, and his hands throbbed from the deep gouges left by the ek-tak's sharp fangs. He held his tender hands up to his face, small drops of blood trickling down his cheeks.

Consciousness was leaving him fast, but he could still feel the biting cold of the snow as he packed it around his wounds. As he lay on the frozen ice, he realized that he had come all this way to die here, not even fulfilling his taking. The mighty Battle God must have some reason for letting him die. He laughed at the thought, and then laughed at the god. Damn Stratura. I'm not going to die here.

Sleep. He was sapped of energy, his mind urged him to rest and the comforting darkness beckoned to him. A little sleep can't hurt. Theminor shook his head in denial. He knew full well that if he slept now he would never wake again. He felt the pull of the taking telling him to rise, not to give in. Groaning with the effort, he struggled to his feet, ignoring the burning numbness where he had packed the snow around his body. He staggered over to the collapsed oosavi where the travel packs would be, where he could find some relief from the pain. Slowly digging through the snow, he uncovered Margor's leather pack and emptied the contents out onto the ice. Scattering the provisions, he saw what he was hoping for.

Theminor picked up a small cloth bundle. Hands shaking with the fatigue of battle, he carefully unwrapped the package and removed a brownish-green leaf. He looked at it for a moment then abruptly placed it under his tongue. The dried tarmoc leaf steeped in his mouth, creating a juice that worked fast to numb the pain. Despite the medicinal properties it had, it would not staunch the bleeding from the deep wounds he suffered. He tore off several long strips of clean cloth from the package and carefully wound them around his torn flesh, binding them as securely as he could manage. He could already feel the moisture seeping through the cloth bandages, but he was quite confident that they would eventually stop the bleeding.
Having patched himself up as best he could, Theminor resigned himself to ready his late companions for burial. It would be unforgivable to leave their bodies to the ek-taks, even if their souls were now hunting with the gods. No, Theminor could never let that happen, for he had more respect for the dead.

Theminor lugged Igloth's now cold body into the collapsed shelter, laying him next to the still form of Talius. He paused for a moment regaining his breath and thought about his situation. He reached back into the oosavi and retrieved the bloody cloak from under Talius' head and the remaining travel packs. "I will need them to survive," he said apologetically to the corpse. Theminor stood over the hole like a statue, unmoving, looking over the grave like a huge gargoyle. He thought that he would have enough room to bury all of his companions here, so he made his way to bring Margor's body back to the relative safety of the burial site. Margor's face was unrecognizable from the ek-tak's clawing. Theminor cursed the foul beasts and carried the torn body to the site, fighting to keep his feet on the slippery ice. He returned to where the last man was killed to finish his gruesome task of burying his taking brothers.

Theminor bent down to get Grendar positioned over his shoulder, leaning close to the body in the process he could hear gasps of air enter and escape his mouth. He swiftly set him back down on the ice and laid a meaty hand upon the barbarian's chest. He could barely make out the faint beating of a heart pushing at his fingertips. Grendar opened his eyes, bloodshot and dilated pupils told Theminor that the man was passing away quickly. He hurriedly placed a tarmoc leaf in the man's mouth to ease the pain, and set to work tearing at his already shredded garments, which fell away easily at his fingertips.

The sight that met his eyes caused his spirits to fall. Grendar's abdomen was ripped apart, seeming much like the shredded furs that Theminor had just removed from himself. Blood flowed freely from Grendar's lacerations, mingling with the sweat from the dying man's body. He was beyond even Ptuli's knowledge of healing now. He slid another tarmoc leaf into Grendar's mouth, not thinking about the possibility that he would need it himself. He set to work bandaging the wounds as best he could, knowing that all he could do was make Grendar's passage as painless as possible. Theminor was dismayed at the turn of events, unable to think clearly as he was numbed by both the lack of sleep and loss of blood. His body ached too; he could still feel the pain, although it had subsided to a dull ache thanks to the tarmoc.

Thinking on the man's pain brought his own to full attention again. His right arm burned terribly despite the pain-killer; he could still feel those fangs sinking into his skin. Maybe he should take another leaf from the tarmoc shrub. That would surely numb his body and make the pain at least manageable. But Theminor knew that this would not be the best idea. Even though his pain would most likely be completely gone, ingestion of too much of the medical herb was often accompanied by euphoria and giddiness, and he could not afford to lose his senses completely. No, Theminor knew it would be foolish; he had to sharpen his wits if he and Grendar were to survive. At least he had plenty of food and ale, enough to keep them alive for several weeks.

To forget the pain, he set about finishing the burial of his three deceased companions. He had removed them of their earthly possessions, as was custom in the Northlands, but he could not give them a proper Warrior's funeral. The deca'lar were buried at sea, on rafts made from lashed aldorice pine trunks to travel to the Ectoos Tamero, the Plains of the Gods, where they would join the Battle God Stratura in the Everlasting Feast. At least he could be certain that these men would eventually receive the honor. Once the ice melted they would fall into the salty waters, from there they would find their way Stratura. Someday he would have that honor too.

"Just worry about tomorrow," he muttered to himself, not realizing that he was speaking out loud. Theminor could have voiced the deepest feelings of his heart at this moment without knowing, but no one would have been there to listen; Grendar was wrapped in the deep darkness of a coma. His words floated away upon the gusting winter wind.

As Theminor finished the burial, light fell upon the frozen wasteland. He thrust each man's sword into the packed snow beside them, to take with them to the Ectoos Tamero. He could feel his strength beginning to ebb, the wind seeming to push the cold through him, sapping what little remaining energy he had left. With the light, he knew that he must move. From his wounds, Grendar would not have survived long in Radik, let alone out here in the barren expanse of ice and snow. He had to get Grendar to a healer. Theminor had once heard that some clerics lived in Tosche, and since he was heading that way to begin with, it made sense to continue south. Besides, they had to be much closer to that city than anywhere else where he could find a healer. Slinging Grendar over his shoulder, Theminor trudged through the snow, slowly gaining precious distance toward Tosche.

For what seemed like hours he walked south, but when the sun reached its zenith, it did not seem like he had made any progress. Disheartened, Theminor sat heavily upon the snow, ready to pass out from the combination of pain and pure exhaustion. He checked on Grendar, who remained comatose despite having been jostled about while Theminor passed through the ice strewn landscape. His stomach roared angrily at him, with all of the pain and worries he had had, Theminor forgot that he had not eaten since yesterday. He pulled some dried bread and a skin of ale from his pack and settled himself to the meal.

"Theminor." A feeble whisper fell upon his ears, bringing his head snapping up to search for the speaker.

"Great," he said out loud, "Now I'm hearing voices." He laughed silently at himself, almost afraid that he was losing his mind, but the whisper came again. "Theminor."

The barbarian glanced around; maybe he was not crazy after all, although he still did not see anyone. "Who is there?" He demanded.

His gaze finally rested upon the man he had been carrying through the snow, his eyes open, but distant, dark coals slowly fading inside. His heart almost leapt from his chest as he jumped to the man's side.

"Theminor, where are you?"

"I am here, Grendar." Theminor leaned closer to his friend, the light in the wounded man's eyes becoming fainter, even as his words did. Grendar placed his limp hand within Theminor's. He felt a small piece of cold metal slip into his hand as Grendar's arm fell to the earth.

"It is time. I am passing on to the Everlasting Feast. Take this ring to my mother, tell her I died well. Tell her.... Tell her I am deca'lar. Thank you, brother," the last of his words poured from his mouth, and his empty eyes stared towards the noonday sky.

Theminor's head hung limply from his massive shoulders. Never before had he felt so alone. Alone. This word had taken on a new meaning for him, his friends gone, and his own life fading. This was not supposed to happen. Every barbarian knew the danger of the taking, but never had Theminor heard of an entire party finding death upon their journey so soon after leaving home.

He sat for some time in the snow near the last of his departed friends, his mind never upon one thought for more than a moment, feeling lost and hopeless. Silently and without hesitation, he arose and set about the task of burying Grendar just as he had buried his former companions.

It seemed ironic that he was the one to be burying them, when it had been their idea to head south on the taking. He had wished to travel west through the mountains, into the Bowels of Winter, where the frost giants were said to dwell. But his former companions had thought that too dangerous and urged him to accompany them south. It was Grendar who had finally swayed him, talking of the untamed wilderness west of Tosche and the ease of passage across the ice bridge. Very ironic, indeed.

Theminor gave his last companion the burial ritual of the deca'lar. Grendar had died with honor and deserved the rite. Just as before, this barbarian's body would submerge after the ice had melted. Deep beneath the icy snow, those cold waters licked at the frozen covering, eagerly awaiting another arrival to its murky depths.

Theminor fingered the small band of metal Grendar had given to him before dropping it into a pouch at his side where it would be safe. Glancing skyward, he took heed of the sun's position and once again headed south. His empty soul bleak with despair almost to the edge of apathy, he painfully stumbled through the snow just as he had done every day for what seemed like forever. Only now was he truly alone.

Please read on: "Game of the Gods - Chapter 3"