The Helm: Chapter 1

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The Hook and The Ruby

The crack of the tree echoed through the wood, following the final thud of the well-used, mighty axe. The once sturdy oak toppled slowly at first then faster as the angle between ground and tree decreased. The last few birds remaining in the condemned boughs and branches shot from their perches to find new ones in its neighbour’s, only to be uprooted once again as a stray twig brushed them aside, or the rush of air caused the tree to sway too much for the dwellers to deem it a worthy risk.

         Tiny splinters showered the surrounding woodland, springing forth in a break for freedom among the rich grasses and fragrant flowers that dotted the earth with their patches. And then, with a final thunderous crash, the tree had fallen.

         Beside the wreckage of wood and greenery, covered in a layer of the tree’s final artillery of splinter shrapnel, stood the culprit of this murder of nature. He was a man, average of height, but heavy of build. The bulges of his shoulders presented a powerful figure. His muscles were formed from years of swinging the tool now cradled within both of his arms, as he might a cradle small child. The scars across his well-tanned, broad chest told of many such battles against the mighty lord of the forest.

         “Felled!” he bellowed. Then, after a moments pause, he followed, “Hey! Kerlew, you mule! Quit dallying and come collect!”

         Coming galloping into the new founded clearing, the young Chelosh stayed himself and gathered enough air to reply to his companion. The woodcutter observed his friend casually with kind yet stern green eyes, as befitted men of his creed.

         “Mighty haul, my liege,” purred Kerlew through the vertical slit of his top lip. “This tree by far exceeds your quota for the week.”

         “My friend,” replied the woodcutter, “I do wish you could please firstly, quit your flabber-jabbering, and secondly take a hold on this fellow here. I may need some assistance in taking him back to the cart. Also, if you do insist on talking, you could, of course, use my name. With all this ‘my liege’ talk, you could give any passer-by an idea of mischief.”

         “Yes certainly, Lord Mala…” a shot of fire flashed within the green of the woodcutter’s eyes. “Ah! Yes certainly, sorry, Warin.”

         With an unusual dexterity for his race the Chelosh bounded across the thick trunk of the oak, using unimaginable inertia to swing his heavy flanks through a perfect ninety degrees, landing parallel to the lain beast, next to his compatriot. Whilst he did this the woodcutter wrapped a short length of tightly twined cord around the upper most branches, so as to form a sharply acute triangle. He stood, hand extended, offering the ends of the cord to Kerlew.

         Having tied one end to his horns and wrapped the other around his mid-section, Kerlew test the hold by taking a step from the head towards the cart, which was sat about a hundred metres to his fore. The leaves ruffled, but neither did the twine break nor the skilful artistry of knots and loops give or slip upon the dead bark.

         “Ready… Warin,” he grunted.

         “Good.”

         Warin positioned himself at the end of the tree facing the multitudinous rings that told the tree’s age. He struck his axe into the tree, and after several stretches of his long arms, he bent at the knees and prepared to take the weight that was soon to be laid there. Subconsciously he began to count the rings … fifty-two…a hundred and twelve…

         “Prepare,” thundered Kerlew, more to bring adrenaline to his heavy muscles than to notify Warin of any upcoming event.

         …three hundred and twenty-nine… Suddenly, at a number known only to him, Warin straightened his legs and held his back upright, bringing the weight onto himself. So fast, it was as though he wished to take his mind by surprise, so as to disallow any doubt, and block and concept of weakness from the action.

         “Heave!” he squeezed through his teeth.

         “Heave!” came the answering call.

         No word was uttered between the pair as they gradually covered the distance set, towards the longed-for cart. Step after step, foot in front of foot. All concentration was, for one, moving at a speed, comfortable for the follower, without allowing the speed to drop too much, as to stop and restart would simply draw all the more energy from his tired legs and his partner’s tired arms. For the man, however, the concentration was split evenly between arms and legs. As he progress further and further, the wood seemed to warp and mould around his fingers like living flesh. The necessity to change grips, as well as keep up momentum weighed heavily on his body. Meanwhile, his two legs demanded the half of the attention they received. Finding secure footsteps among the dips and rises of the woodland area, plagued with minor rocks and logs, was a taxing requirement since he had no other pair to rely upon, if the first should fail him.

         Slowly, so very slowly, they drew nearer to the cart. Finally, bursting through the bracken that marked the edges of the earthen road, Kerlew reached the cart.

         “Good day, sir,” said and unknown voice.

         Kerlew raised his head to search for the source. Sat upon the back of the cart, feet swinging, was a man of middle age, caressing a curved falchion with hands gloved in a leather of the deepest black. The blade gleamed menacingly in the sun. His cloak and trousers were of the same leather, whilst the shirt was made of pure white lace, laid open at the centre from the solar plexus down to the mid-thigh, where the shirt ended. Though tightly laced at the top, enough skin was visible to reveal part of a tattoo of a deep crimson hue. The hood was thrown back to show a face heavily scarred by pocks. One eye was hollow, permanently closed by a long hook shaped line that ran from the line of his hair down to the chin then back up to join at the corner of his mouth. The black hair grew long from one side and fell to hide the good eye in a void, but a mocking glint could be seen as the bright sun was reflected cruelly.

         “Good day to you,” replied the Chelosh.

         “Yes such an admirably fine day,” cooed the stranger. “You… woodsmen… must dream of such days coming, whilst you toil deep in those deep woods.”

         “We certainly do. But come, a fellow such as yourself must have more pressing matters than to chat about the weather with a woods man such as myself, although it is pleasant to find new acquaintances waiting upon our return from the search for our quarry. What news do you bring with you that two woodsmen may hear, I pray. For as sure as the day is long, the wood is a lonely place, where not spirit of the outside world is known to us, save by such travellers as yourself.”

         A thud caused the eye of the stranger to swivel towards the wood, along the length of the tree that still lay within its bounds.

         Still looking at the woods the stranger addressed Kerlew, “A beauty of a fellow you have caught there. Two of you is it?”

         Something in the tone of the question caused the short hairs along the curved spine of the Cheloshes’ back to quiver. There was a hidden meaning or planned cunning that lay beneath it as an alligator on the shores of a tropical river.

         “That is most certainly correct, sir,” broke in Warin, as he strode up alongside his friend and patted the bristly hide with one calloused hand. He swept his hair up and aside to allow his eyes to probe the stranger for any signs of recognition. Deep green eyes carefully took in the posture and details, whilst the strong, thin-lipped mouth continued the conversation. “I am Warin and my friend here is Kerlew. Now may I be so bold as to ascertain with whom I am speaking, friend?”

         “Fine manners you have… for a woodsman. I am no one important to you, merely a lonely traveller on my way to the nearest town for a nights rest. I am weary and decided to rest my feet for a while on your cart when I chanced upon it, with the hopeful possibility of your return since I have neither heard nor see a human for the better part of a week.”

         “From where do you travel?”

         “Why, from civilisation.”

         “Indeed. Well if you could please clear yourself from our path so that we can put our load up there alongside the others. It would be most impolite if we were to crush a citizen of civilisation, having only just met him.”

         The stranger jumped from the cart, and with a smooth motion, whilst in the air, threw the falchion so it landed tip first into the ground. Its ebony hilt, carved with strange runes and sanded for grim pointed straight up into the endless blue of the sky, showing a large ruby about the size of walnut embedded in the end. The stranger deftly landed astride the blade and pulled up his hood. His posture displayed a cocky assurance and his eye glared aggressively beneath the thin lines of his eyebrow.

         Kerlew took a pace forward threateningly, but with a slight pat, Warin kept him restrained.

         “So sorry to have kept you from your business,” said the hooded stranger casually. “However, it is good that you should continue your work, for needs must be fulfilled. I too should carry on with mine. I am well rested now.” He stretched his legs and grunted slightly, then continued. “I shall certainly hope to meet with you again masters Kerlew and Warin, for it has been a most interesting meeting. Good day to you, sirs.”

         With that the stranger gave a sinister chuckle, glanced from man to Chelosh, then snatched his sword from the ground and thrust it into his baldric with the pommel peering from above his thin shoulders. He turned his back to the woodsmen and strolled from sight, chuckling constantly to himself.

         Kerlew continued to watch the stranger disappear into the distance, his uncovered feet twitching from left to right as he struggled with something within himself. Meanwhile, Warin waded back into the wood. So intent was Kerlew’s attention that he was almost crushed himself as the order of ‘heave’ was once more bellowed through the woods.

*          *          *

The road back to the log hut, where the two woodsmen abided, ran along a beaten tack created by a forgotten generation of Warin’s ancestors. The rack, though partly composed of earthen ruts, where the wheels of carts had left their tracks, consisted mostly of a layer of once lush, now grey grasses. The grasses had been woven together whilst still living in order to create a mosaic of greens, yellows and reds, but years of heavy usage had crushed the life from the path and the pulped grass had fossilised into a solid walkway that not even showed the marks of the trailing branches that dragged constantly along it from the back of the cart.

         After leaving the main earthen track, most commonly used by travellers, the path followed a broad curve through the wood, bending slightly to avoid the more ancient, broader trees that could be seen from time to time through the shrubbery that guarded the road from the wood, or possibly the wood from those who travelled along the road. These trees were surrounded by a clearing of some area and thus were illuminated by a light so uncommon in the density of the leaves and branches. They shone such as deities, revealing themselves as divine beings, the majestic fathers and mothers of the smaller trees that stood so far from them, as to suggest the awe that even they felt.

         For about a mile the road traversed such land until it took a strong turn to the right to run alongside a beautifully calm stream, against the flow. Clear as crystal flowed the river, sweeping with it loose pebbles that trembled gently occasionally colliding, but yielding to the current that dictated their fates. Small minnows darted joyously from one another to hide amongst the spars reeds that grew from the banks.

         Warin casually looked around him, breathing in the familiar air that set his heart at peace with the knowledge that home was near. Such beauty as this had never ceased to war him.

         “Hold up here,” he called to Kerlew.

         The Chelosh who was pulling the cart along the road halted abruptly and glanced around with confused, searching eyes.

         “Why here?” he asked.

         “I though you could do with a rest, son.”

         “Nonsense!” snapped Kerlew. “I’m just as strong as when we started up that earthen track and now we’re almost back to the cabin. Look there to the north.” He indicated by pointing one of his horns with a slight twist of the neck and a jerk of the head. “See the smoke above the trees?”

         “Don’t you think I know this route, as well as I know my own face?”

         He leaned forward to look at the shimmering reflection allowed by the sunlight reflected in the water. Staring up at him was the tanned face of a man reaching his late forties. Blonde shaggy hair fell forward about his high cheek bones. Thick eyebrows sat on the rim of a slightly protruding forehead making the green eyes become a hazel colour due to the shadow. His stubble hid the strong nobility of his chin and wide jaw, but the hooked nose stood like a beacon proclaiming a right to rank. He smiled and the lines around his eyes and mouth stretched to meet each other on the dimpled cheeks. These that had, up until now, seemed like weather worn crevice in the skin, now revealed the real man with whom they were connected. A man who, though able to deal with the hardships that life dealt him, lived with a smile on his lips and a laugh in his heart.

         Sighing he said, “Fine, the truth is I just wanted to sit here and relax for a while before we got back.”

         Kerlew shuffled nervously, showing his agitation.

         “Come, sit next to me,” said Warin kindly. The younger of the two started to untie his harnesses from the cart. “You know I really love my wife.”

         “That’s obvious my friend.”

         The Chelosh waded his first pair of legs into the cool stream whilst the hind and middle pair folded themselves neatly next to the man. The playful minnows turned and dashed from the great feet, but slowly returned as their curiosity became the more overpowering feeling of their tiny minds. The small waves, cause by Kerlew’s entry, washed over Warin’s reflection, breaking his attention. He raised his head and stared at the beast next to him.

         “I mean to say…” he started, and then retuned his eyes to the calming waters. “I mean to say that I can remember when Purr and I would both come running to this spot in out free time. Laughing, giggling, just happy to be able to steel one moment from our hectic lives and just… be. Together. Blissful.”

         He broke of half a reed and began to toy with it musingly in his hands. “But now we have no such chances, and if we had them, we assuredly would have no such moods. Unfortunately, I know from whence all this began.” He cast away the fleshy green stem and followed it with his eyes as it bobbed back to the surface and continued with the flow, swaying from side to side. “It kills to say it, but if I don’t it will drive me to the very edges of sanity and through, with the contempt it’s gathering.”

         “The child, my liege,” gave Kerlew, accidentally slipping in his speech as the synapses of his mind made the connection.

         “How could you possibly…” began the woodsman. His eyes burned with an ethereal fire that came from some deep emotion. At first Kerlew feared that his words may have sliced open the heart of his friends secret and those deadly fires would consume him in their wrath.

         They did not consume him, but instead their container stood up, head fixed in position, looking up over the distant forest, towards the rocky hillocks. Kerlew followed their poisonous glare and soon realised the reason for their unleashing. In the near distance, where he had recently pointed out the position of home, tumulus black clouds of smoke billowed, replacing those serene stems from the household fire. The rolling underside glowed as though Gehemna’s inferno itself was wreaking vengeance upon the world beneath.

         Kerlew did not even notice the movement of the woodcutter as he ran along the path. Like a breath, he was gone.

         Wasting no time the Chelosh straightened his back pairs and turned so that all six legs were set squarely on the solid ground next to the path. Setting off at a slow canter he built up speed until he reached a full gallop. The path flew underneath him and his surroundings blended into a nothing but a blur of green, flecked with intermittent browns. Long had he prided himself on the power and speed of his legs, but as yet he had been given no cause other, than pure exercise, to which he could put them to good use. Now, with fear in his heart, he had found a reason. His friends… his family, maybe in trouble.

         The wail of the young child reached him before any other sensation. The cry was not one of hunger but one of fear, inspiring and even greater charge in Kerlew.

         Something black struck His bottom torso, it held then gave and fell under his feet, yielding as they trampled over it with a sickening crack.

         Another black shape hit his lower body but turned away and flew to the side rather than fall directly under him. Then all of a sudden the blur broke into a mass of red, orange and black. The heat singed his whiskery lips.

         He halted and in an instant took in what he could not possibly believe, if it were not for his very own eyes. The once peaceful hut, with its thatched roof, lay in a smouldering pile. The great wheel that had once turned in the stream, powering some ancient energy source, had collapsed, broken and charred, across its one-time lover, parts of it breaking off in her grasp in order to rejoin with her loving embrace.

         Close at hand he caught sight of Warin, a few paces to the left of the ruined hut, grappling with several of the black clad figures.

         Each of these figures wore a cloak that covered their bodies from head to toe. The cloaks was so dark that it seemed in such gloom, to look anywhere but directly at them would cause them to disappear. Each of the dark figures held a weapon varying in description, iron maces and flails, short swords that had been carefully and lovingly sharpened on both edges from guard to point, producing both great swinging and thrusting weapons.

         In his haste for the hut Warin had forgotten to equip himself with the trusty axe which now lay embedded in the trunk of the tree. However, he had since equipped himself with a long dirk, snatched from the hands of a fallen fighter that had tried to put and end to the woodsman’s fury quickly. In he waded amongst the black cloaks, looking like a lone figure stood in the centre of a hole in space and time, save for the vicious slashes of sliver that warned of an enemy’s presence.

         Kerlew, realising the depth of his friend’s plight turned to go towards the crowded mass of stygian soldiers. The flash of silver brought his attention downwards, just as a searing pain raked across his chest. Such a blow could have and should have split the Cheloshes’ abdomen, if it were not for his fortunate turn of body. Instead the pain merely brought to the surface adrenalin enhanced power. He reached down and plucked the squirming miscreant from the ground. The bottom of the cloak flapped about his wound, causing a stinging that only caused to further infuriate his temperament.

         The figure struck at Kerlew’s unguarded face with the devilishly sharp tool, but succeeded in nothing. The grip of the sword collided with Kerlew’s hand, as it had shot out to intercept it. Ripping with all his might the Chelosh wrenched the sword, complete with gloved hand, and swung it downwards in and arc that cleaved through the cloaked figure, shoulder to hip. He let it drop and once again headed towards his friend.

         The whistle of arrows and the scream of bolts told of the existence of further more unseen assassins, no doubt hiding in the tall trees or lurking in the dense undergrowth that surrounded the small glade.

         Kerlew looked towards the last spot, where he remembered seeing his friend fighting, but was forced immediately to avert his eyes as a blindingly green flash erupted to his fore and right. This was followed by and intense red explosion accompanied by a deafening detonation of thunder that rocked the ground beneath him. The force caused him to stumble backwards losing grip on the earth with more than one foot.

         “No!” he roared, gazing at the ground where friend lay sprawled amongst the blazes.

         He stumbled to his feet and began to move to where he would be able to fight easier. Out of the smoke that was now becoming thicker, hazing his vision and hampering his movements.

         “No!” he whispered.

         The adrenalin had now expired and weakness was returning to his limbs. Due to his smoked up vision the half burning corpses that lay strewn about the body of his friend, seemed to collapse into two dimensional shapes that flecked the land as entrances to dark chasms. The once troublesome noise had died to a muffled sound of low murmurs and slight crackling, and though the duet of child and Purr could still be heard, it no longer raked his senses as it had when he had first entered into this nightmarish scene.

         He moved towards the body but it seemed he was being restrained. His back legs could no longer move and his centre pair could do nothing to help them. Too late, he swung around to fight of that which held him back, for it now pumped within his veins. Fear gripped him at the realisation that death was come for him. Fear not for himself but for those that he had tried to protect.

         The cold bleak blackness seized over his consciousness and his legs gave way underneath him. He collapsed, breathing heavily, straining for one last moment of clarity. And such was his reward as he heard the swoosh of cut air close to him.

         “Ah, my dear young Master Maladbier,” echoed a strangely familiar voice as the final corners of black wrapped their blanket void about Kerlew’s mind.

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