Game of the Gods - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Teelay

As it did every day, light began to fade from the white speckled sky. Wind swept snow brushed against the lone barbarian's face, small clusters of frozen ice beads forming upon his unshaven upper lip, but he had not wasted time or energy on the effort to remove it. Even if he had given it mind, he would not have had the strength.

Since he had buried Grendar, Theminor had traveled the entire day without rest or food, slowly trudging through the ankle deep snow towards Tosche. He had once tossed about the idea of turning back towards Radik, but he had finally reached the shores of Milay, and if he was not to die on the soil of his homeland, then so be it. Besides, that simple decision to keep moving forward was the last he had made. The man continued upon his course, as if sleepwalking through the barren snow.

It was weakness that slowed him down. Weakness from his wounds, the loss of blood, the lack of sleep, and the lack of food. Most of all, the lack of his friends and companions. Burying four friends in so short of time was something he had never thought of doing. How could a thought like that ever cross someone's mind? And now he had just about given up himself. If he had really thought about it, Theminor might have laid down right where he was, even if he had finally reached solid ground. At first it had been that fact alone that had kept him moving, but after several hours even the sight of snow-covered trees did nothing for his apathy. Then again, his stubborn will would not allow otherwise. The barbarian's eyelids hung low, slightly inhibiting his sight, but he kept stumbling through the snow.

Theminor did not realize that his wounds had exacted so much of a toll upon him; a burning fever had set in, growing hotter with each step and pulling him further away from consciousness. It was the fever that sapped him of his remaining strength, but the barbarian was too delirious to consider this. His mind was already walking the Fields of the Gods, and blessedly, he was completely unaware of the cold surrounding him. Even the taking did nothing to motivate him. He just staggered up and down the slight hills as the flat plains of the ice bridge gave way to the forested mainland.

His mind swam from one abstract thought to another. At the moment, pictures of Konan-Schlar swept through his brain, the longing he felt for his family was urging him to return. Theminor would have done just that, if his mind truly was in control of his body, for surely his mother would still care for him. His father might have no use for a failed deca'lar, yet his mother would overlook that fact. He had completely lost his sense of reality, for all he could tell, he was already on the way home to his mother's tent.

Delirious thoughts continued uninterrupted as he fell to the ground, stumbling over the carcass of some animal. He laid there a moment, facing the remains, unaware he had fallen; even his legs still moved as though he were walking. Still dazed, he realized that he was on the ground. Somehow through sheer will, he pushed himself back up. He swayed drunkenly, and fought to regain a momentary hold of his senses. "Where am I," he thought. "I must be getting close to home."

Theminor would have easily recognized the mangled form of the wolf lying next to him if he had been in his right mind. He did recognize the large bite marks covering the gray hide, very similar to those the barbarian bore upon his forearm. He fumbled at the sword lashed to his back to defend himself, but gave up in his attempt. "I am home," he said in his delusional state. "I am safe here."

The rising heat from the body of the dead wolf could have told any hunter that the animal had recently been slain. To Theminor's delusional thoughts however, the heat was simply from the burning embers of the campfire in his mother's tent in Radik. Right now his only desire was to curl up next to that fire, to lay his head on a soft caribou hide pillow. He had to get to the warmth of his mother's fire. But as he knelt near the dead animal, the fire grew far away, for the carcass was rapidly cooling.

Theminor continued on, aware that he had fallen and that he was now covered in snow, but not considering that there might be more ek-taks about. They no longer existed for him. His continually rising fever even hid the fact that the snow was beginning to melt in the slightly warmer temperatures on the peninsula of Milay. Fortunately, for all of the things that he did not comprehend, at least one fact remained; he realized that his strength was waning fast.

A small copse of pine trees stood before him in stark contrast to the barren strait he had just traversed, and the barbarian headed towards them, aware that this most likely would be where he rested forever. It would be a beautiful place to die. A small mound of snow surrounded by large gray-white stones sat off to one side of the copse, like a beacon guiding him to shelter. Theminor lurched towards the rocks, oblivious to the broad tracks set deep in the white powder leading in that same direction. Kneeling in the snow, Theminor stared into an opening among the various sized boulders just large enough for him to enter. He managed to get the great sword off his back and imbedded it into the rocky earth outside the opening. He set his own grave with little reverence. His would not be a death worth celebrating, but at least his grave would be marked so that those who may search for him in the Everlasting Feast could find him. The barbarian crawled through the maw of the cave thinking that perhaps Stratura had arranged for this to be his final resting place.

Echoes reverberated through the cave once he was inside. The domed ceiling overhead and the dirt floor stretching to the curved sides of the cave made the room appear even more spacious. Had the pain not kept him hunched over, the cave would easily have accommodated his seven foot frame. Stone stalactites covered with ice hung from above, pointing towards the floor like teeth. The rhythmic sound of dripping water came from the farthest corner. Theminor pushed his face into the pool of water formed beneath the stalactites, thirstily lapping at the cool liquid.

His thirst finally quenched, Theminor slowly sank to the floor. Desperately grasping onto consciousness, the barbarian fought with his last ounce of strength to remove the clouds from his head in a vain effort. The fever covered his mind too deeply while the veil of darkness covered his sight. His feverish thoughts swam as he surrendered to exhaustion. Theminor crashed to the dirt floor of the cave, his arms and legs sprawled out in every direction. Now his existence rested in the hands of Stratura. The sounds of movement within the cave fell upon deaf ears.

************************************

Theminor jerked awake. His eyes flew open to greet the darkness around him. His deep sleep had been restless, yet it had momentarily chased the clouds from his head. Even if the fever still raged, at least the delirium was gone. Surprisingly, he found that he could clearly remember all that had passed in the last few days since the attack. Theminor wiped at his eyes, and wondered just how long he had been asleep. The only sense of the passage of time he had came from his angrily growling stomach. Although he remembered the battle and the deaths on his journey here, he could not recall the last time he ate; it could have been hours or even days ago.

With awareness finally returning to his body, the debilitating pain coursed from his wounds once again. He would have to take another tarmoc if there were any left, but he wasn't about to take one on an empty stomach. That could be dangerous. At the very least it would make his stomach so sick that he would be stuck here for hours. He felt in one of the pouches at his side for a tarmoc sweetleaf and breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers closed on the crinkled brown leaf. He was not sure if the sweetleaf shrub grew on the Milay peninsula, and he was sure that he would need leaf to mitigate his pain.

Theminor stretched the muscles in his legs. The tingling that moved up the sides of his legs told him that he had probably slept on them. Or the cold had finally got to him. He leaned toward the former, as the burning sensation of returning blood increased as he stretched them out. He took his time to sit up, lest dizziness return to overwhelm him. Theminor instinctively thought he had felt something move near him, but brushed away the thought when only the sound of dripping water filled his ears. Besides, the prickle of danger was absent from the back of his neck. Maybe the fever was still playing tricks on him and he was just hearing things. He could not do anything about that, but at least he could do something about his hunger.

Reaching within the stuffed pack he had brought in with him, Theminor removed a heaping handful of dried caribou strips and a half loaf of hard bread. He salivated profusely and his stomach growled again in anticipation of the feast. He barely had time to chew the hard meat and bread before he was cramming more into his mouth. Washing down the final piece of jerky with a gulp of ale from the skin, his stomach finally quieted, satisfied for the moment.

Theminor shifted his weight, his legs having fallen asleep again. His sudden movement caused something else to move near him, and he stopped dead, his heart pounding. Despite the fever, he knew that he was lucid; something had definitely touched him. Theminor's heartbeat slowed to where he could hear a soft scratching on the dirt floor of the cave. He knew that he was not hearing things this time; something else was definitely in the cave with him. But the absence of that itch told him there still was no danger. No matter, he thought as his muscles tightened. He silently reached over his shoulder for his sword and realized he had left it imbedded in the snow outside. He inwardly sighed in disgust at his carelessness and vowed never to do that again; if he was to survive this, his father would flay him for losing the family sword.

Theminor strained his ears with all the focus he could muster, searching for any new signs of movements in the dark. A soft, almost inaudible whimper arose near his side as something lightly brushed against his furs. Theminor pulled back his fist to strike the unknown creature. His fist stopped short, however, as he let out a long, deep breath. His hand grasped a small ball of fur curled up next to him. The small furry creature did not retreat at the pressure of his hand, but the desperate cries continued. This is what he had intended to strike?

Curiosity now outweighed his apprehension. Theminor felt about in the pack closest to him and pulled forth a small flint stone and an iron bar. Setting these aside, he reached for one of the oil-soaked torches, which he shoved between two of the large rocks beside him. Striking the steel on the sliver of flint sent sparks flying in several directions, but most landed upon the rags of the torch. An orange flame danced before his eyes; the heat did little to warm him, and the sudden light blinded him. Blinking away the tears that had welled up in his eyes, Theminor could at last see where he was, and what was lying next to him.

Theminor grasped one of his daggers tightly in his hand, holding it ready to strike. Best to be careful, he thought. The whimpering creature burrowed in the folds of his fur coats raised its tiny head, following the smell of smoke rising from the burning torch. Eyes closed against the light, the young wolf pup sniffed the air, searching blindly for something. The pup still whimpered but did not shy away from him. Theminor set his dagger back on his pack; he could not kill a helpless animal. His mind was suddenly clouded with images of a dead wolf lying in a heap of snow. Then he remembered the lupine tracks in the snow entering the cave. This must be the dead she-wolf's pup, which meant that the pup was starving.

The pack only held several more pieces of jerked caribou, but Theminor removed them from the bag. He chewed the meat into small pieces and held some out to the wolf in the palm of his hand, only a few bits at a time so as not to over feed it. The young wolf devoured the caribou meat. The wolf pushed against his empty hand, obviously still searching for food. He chewed a few more pieces for the pup, offering them to the starving animal.

Theminor followed the shadows dancing on the rock walls, taking stock of his surroundings. The only opening was that in which he had crawled in through. He felt the coarse tongue upon his palm as the wolf licked the juices off his hand. After finishing its meal, the pup stood up on four weak legs, opening eyes of pale blue to the unwanted light. It wobbled over to the pool of fresh water and drank, thirstily lapping at the cool liquid. Theminor swallowed hard, realizing that his throat was extremely dry again. He cupped his hands in the liquid, raising the refreshing water to his wind-parched lips. He savored the cool water, which at the moment was surely the best he had ever tasted. As he drank down several handfuls, his eyes began to flutter. Theminor's exhaustion returned and he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes to the light. He laid his head back upon the pack that served as his pillow.

Warm torchlight fell upon him as he drifted into restless sleep, the fever returning slowly to his mind. His dreams were many, some understandable, some unfathomable. He dreamed of the dead wolf, murdered by the same beasts that had attacked his companions. Murdered was an apt word. Her body had not been torn apart, as it would have if the ek-taks had been hunting for food. No, the beasts had simply taken her life for the enjoyment of it. He knew nothing of the animosity between the wolves and the ek-taks, for his mind was alien to them. It didn't matter for long, as his dreams continued their drifting.

His visions wandered onto his friends, dreams becoming nightmares. As he tossed upon the cavern floor, the sound of voices reached his ears again. Within his feverish dreams, his friends had come to claim him, taking him to the plains where the deca'lar hunted. But these barbarians had strange accents, as if they were speaking a language that Theminor did not know. Speaking to him as if he did not belong. He could not understand their words.

Theminor shook awake, his vision now blurry and his body weak and aching. Though his torch had guttered and died hours ago, the cave was still light. The sunlight pouring through the entrance of the cave told the barbarian that it was shortly past dawn. A small nose nuzzled at his hand, looking for a handout of food. Despite the pain and low provisions, Theminor obliged, even finding a smile as he went through the feeding ritual again. He took only little for himself. Returning from a trip to the pool, the little wolf pup playfully jumped upon the feverish man's leg. Finding its mock prey uncooperative, the animal fell to the ground, rolling onto its back. Theminor couldn't help but notice that the wolf was female as she rolled upon the hard rocky ground. He admired the young creature, strength visible again within her wiry frame after only two small meals. Even at such a young age the wolf was already powerful.

"This wolf needs a name," he spoke to no one in particular, maybe to the wolf.

"My great grandmother was a beautiful woman: her strength admired greatly by all men," he continued, "Her name was Teelay, as will be yours."

The little wolf pressed her muzzle gently into the great hand, seeming to understand his words and how they pertained to her. Nonetheless, she found the man useless for sport and strolled away to find more entertaining activities. Theminor placed the palm of his hand against his throbbing temple. The wounds upon his chest had reopened during his sleep, the white bandages now completely red. It must have been the loss of blood that caused his head to spin, dizziness overwhelming him. Closing his eyes only made the spinning worse, causing his stomach to turn.

Theminor raised his heavy eyelids, the pain now throbbing through his upper body. Teelay had returned from her voyage around the cavern floor and nudged at his hand, almost sensing the barbarian's discomfort. He gently stroked the small, grayish-white ball of fur with a shaking hand. She positively relished the attention, softly taking the huge hand into her needle sharp teeth. But he did not feel a thing.

Theminor knew that he must leave. He was dying here, with only a wolf-pup for comfort. To die here would be the death of a coward. If he was to die it must be in battle. There was no hope of survival by staying in the cave. He would die as a deca'lar. His only regret was that without him, Teelay would shortly pass into the Fields with him. He paused and thought a moment, placing the remainder of his caribou upon the floor of the cavern. Very shortly he would have no need for the food; perhaps he could delay her passage. She may even gain enough strength to forage on her own.

Grimacing at the pain of his cracking joints, the barbarian stretched his muscular legs, hoping to find support in them. Every effort took a considerable amount of energy, but slowly he forced himself back to his feet. He braced a weakened forearm against the stone wall to help keep him from abruptly returning to the ground. Forgetting about the pack he had carried into the cave, Theminor stumbled towards the entrance to retrieve the sword that had been meant to mark his grave.

The forest engulfed him as he crawled out of the opening, snow lazily falling again. Skyward, the sun shone through the mist of morning; a beacon pointing to the north. He re-slung the sword over his shoulder and took his first tentative steps out of the cave. His steps had not reached twenty when a small ball of fur ran between his shaky legs, romping in the powdery snow. She stayed near the large man, venturing forth only a short distance.

"Teelay," Theminor's voice was faint even in his own ears.

The wolf ignored the feeble sound. Theminor wondered if she had heard him, but he realized that she did not recognize the name, and likely never would. His first thought was to leave her behind, but knew he would not have the strength to stop her from following him. So he resolved himself and set out, his new companion loping along beside him, traveling south.

Not even a league later, the last reserves of his strength gave way, the fever burning at his skin and his wounds seeping the last of his blood. Theminor's eyes rolled back and he tumbled to the earth, giving in to his sickness, only wanting the throbbing pain to end. Teelay pushed at him, licking his weathered face but getting no response. She whined helplessly. The man could not feel this, nor hear this for his eyes were shut to the light and his ears were focused elsewhere. Gasping for air, he could feel the death rattle in his chest. His time in this world was ended.

As if answering his thoughts, Theminor discerned voices in the distance. Although the words were incoherent, he rejoiced as they grew nearer. His departed companions had found him! Perhaps he was destined for the Everlasting Feast after all. Perhaps his death had been viewed as one of battle. This thought filled him with ecstasy. At last, he was deca'lar. "Brothers," he mumbled, "I join you." With that said, the world went black.

Please read on: "Game of the Gods - Chapter 4"