The Forsaken

THE BLACK FOREST

The great army marches forth in a thin, stretched line through the narrow forest path; barely five soldiers can stand side by side. Snow consumes their pace making them trudge as the pure white blindingly reflects the sun above. Sometimes too cold, sometimes too hot, it is fickle that way. Surrounded by trees on high ground, they walk the only way they can. Forward.

The indistinguishable terrain weighs heavily on the mind, making it seem as if they are trapped in limbo. Imposing snow-covered trees watch the small humans in their struggle; their barks darker than any in the kingdom of Ferro. The black forest. A fitting name. Leading the army at the vanguard is General Iro showing no signs of weakness. There can be none, for his burden is great. Such is the role of a general. A moment of peace breaks as a singing wind blows; caressing their bodies in its icy embrace. General Iro raises his hand as the army immediately stops.

At the carriage, Melione looks to the distance.

“We have to go soon,” Melione says as Tyr looks at her. This time he dares not mock her for the image of what happened in the tent remains fresh.

“Death to the Queen!” Noname blurts out inside as her right eye twitches and her finger flips.

“General?” an officer asks as General Iro commands silence with his finger. He observes.

Amid the army an unnamed soldier looks around, embracing the serene in a deep breath. Suddenly, a shadow looms over them. A rain of arrows in the sky. They turn the day black, covering the sunlight.

“AMBUSH!” General Iro yells, warning his comrades.

“Shields!” a man yells. They raise them.

“Argh!” another man screams as the arrows pierce his flesh.

From the high ground, behind the trees, a swarm of Northmen appear on both sides, flanking the unfortunate army. Shooting arrows, throwing rocks, and screaming at those down under. Tyr jumps down as he takes cover near the carriage. Ulric goes in the middle of the two carriage-carrying horses. Melione remains sitting, watching the arrows barely miss. This is her way.

“Where are my scouts?” General Iro asks amid the turmoil.

“I do not know, sir,” an officer responds keeping his gaze fixated at the sky.

The momentary chaos passes as the army quickly moves in formation, half to protect one side and half the other. It doesn’t for another shadow to encompass the sky. The soldiers glance, behind their shields, at the incoming volley.

Deep in the woods, a pack of Fenrir riders are resting as their beasts feast upon the flesh of armor-stripped men; near them, a bundle of their equipment stacked on each other as the Northmen pick the spoils. From a close distance, a one-armed man watches the battle.

“Chieftain Calder, what do we do now?” another Northmen asks, approaching the one-armed man.

“Kill,” Calder casually says, wasting no words.

The hail of arrows passed. The soldiers take a breath of relief. Suddenly, a horn echoes through the Black Forest, commanding death. The Northmen descend upon the army, attacking both flanks; screaming, shouting with bloodlust in their eyes. The two armies clash as steel-on-steel begins the symphony of death. Death is here.

“General, do we retreat?” the officer asks.

“Hold positions,” General Iro commands.

“Hold positions,” they repeat the command in a chain of voices as it echoes across the battlefield.

The defensive line of Union soldiers is steady. They hold it off with shields and spears; the savages lunge at them with the full force of their bodies, smashing flesh against a shield. Spears appear from nowhere as they impale the Northmen. Behind them, new attackers appear as some throw axes and others attack at openings. It does not take long for blood to spill. Worms shall feast tonight. Union archers shoot at the descending enemies; some go down, but most continue rushing with arrows sticking out of their bodies. From their rear, two beautiful young white-haired females appear amongst the Northmen army. Moving like the wind itself they cut down soldiers of Union with pale almost invisible blades, seemingly made from ice. The soldiers fall to their attacks as blood remains on the transparent blades, looking like it floats in the air. One savage smashes his axe in a young soldier’s face, breaking it apart as the unfortunate youth screams in pain. The other Northmen stabs a soldier in the neck with a spear, leaving the head gurgling with blood and the man unable to scream. An experienced veteran blocks an attack as he knocks down the Northmen with his shield, only to finish him with a swift strike of the blade. The vanguard cavalry charges at the enemies trampling the unfortunate souls caught in their path and those not trampled are mercilessly cut down. The song continues; steel-on-steel with a chorus of screams painted in a bright red. There is an unnatural scream at the vanguard. Two black creatures with no eyes appear in front of the army; the same ones Tyr and Shaphas faced in the waterfall caves of Greybloom.

The sight of these creatures shakes the courage of even the bravest of men.

“Do not falter!” General Iro commands as his knees quiver for a moment. The beasts ferociously attack.

Melione jumps down from her seat. Near the carriage Tyr, Shaphas, Harry, Noname, Little Pete, Big Pete, Ulric, and the silent spear-wielding woman have engaged some enemies that managed to break through.

“We have to go,” Melione says.

“What? Go where?” Tyr asks as blood drips from his sword.

Melione points in a direction. There appears to be an opening as the chaos of the battle grows ever larger.

“Whattcha talking bout?” Harry yells pulling a dagger out of a dead body.

“We must go now!” Melione commands as she moves.

“I recommend you listen if you do not want to die,” Ulric says with a smile as his body trembles with excitement.

The screams from far behind intensity.

“What we do, Noname?” Little Pete asks with a pale expression.

“Fuck!” Noname yells as she instinctively follows.

“Aion, guide us,” Shaphas adds, mustering courage.

They make their way, as almost invisible, up to the forest as the battle rages on their left and right; running up to the cover of the black trees. Four Fenrir riders in the distance notice the fleeing party as they set their eyes on them and their beasts.

They run, possessed by a single purpose- the will to live. There is nothing else in this almost out-of-body experience; no thoughts nor emotions, only the deepest primal sense. Exhaustion returns them to reality. Too tired they lean on the black trees. Each breath is heavy and cold; they can see them.

“Stop! Please stop,” Little Pete says, hugging a tree.

“Ya have no stamina,” Noname says with a heavy breath as she falls to the ground.

“Ya all are weak,” Harry barely speaks, taking deep breaths.

Big Pete remains silent, holding on to a tree; he never did speak much.

Ulric, Tyr, Shaphas, Melinoe, and the spear-wielding woman look at them as they shrug.

“City folk are weak,” Ulric adds.

The voices whisper.

“You think you can save them?” Two asks.

“Why do you want to save them?” One asks.

Melione thinks about the question as she smiles.

“I don’t know. I feel like it,” Melione says, giggling.

“Foolish,” One says.

“They will soon be upon you,” Two warns.

“I can smell them,” One says as it makes a snorting sound.

“There will be blood,” Two adds as it laughs.

“Blood! Death! Blood and death! Death and blood!” One screams as it maniacally laughs.

“Dead like bunnies in the fields, dead like bunnies in the fields,” Melione sings along as the others look at her as one would a madman. They are not far off.

“At least someone finds this amusing,” Shaphas says as he approaches the exhausted thieves helping them up.

“Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” Noname blurts out as her right eye twitches and her finger flips.

“Dis ain’t time for ya evil spirits, Noname,” Harry says walking over to her.

“Dis reminds me when we were kids, Harry. We usedda run away all da time,” Noname says.

“Dat we did, Noname. Dat we did. I’m glad I met ya. Even though ya put me into dis mess,” Harry says smiling at her.

“Ya getting all sentimental on me?” Noname asks.

“Was a hard life, but we had a few laughs. Here and there,” Harry says as he offers her a hand. Noname reaches to accept it smiling at him as suddenly as if time slows down a Fenrir rider rides past Harry and with a swing of the blade- decapitates him. His head falls to the ground near Noname’s legs.

“HARRY!” Noname screams.

“ATTACK!” Tyr yells.

Four Fenrir riders surround them.

The party raises their weapons, ready for combat. Noname grabs Harry’s head as, for the first time in her life, tears flow. She murmurs uncontrollably.

“Lunch of worms! Death to the Queen! These are my carrots! Wolf...” she speaks and repeats, losing herself to her bad spirits.

Little Pete and Big Pete’s faces turn red with sorrow, but there is no time to be sad, not now.

“Was that someone you knew?” the Fenrir rider who killed Harry mocks with a vile smile. Noname looks at the Northmen as her mind goes blank. Before she realizes it she lunges at him, straight into the jaws of the wolf creature. The Fenrir goes for the throat as Shaphas appears and smashes it with his mace; Noname jumps at the Northmen as she repeatedly stabs him. The other Fenrir rider goes for Big Pete and Little Pete as from behind the spear-wielding woman stabs pierces the beast making the rider plummet to the ground; Big Pete and Little Pete descend on the fallen savage. Tyr moves with swift speed, evading the third Fenrir rider as he slashes the beast and the rider until they finally succumb to death.

Ulric shoot at the last one as the bolts hit his flesh he remains mounted; he turns and flees.

Noname is still stabbing the dead body as her clothes and her face are drenched in blood. Big Pete and Little Pete pull her away from the body as she struggles to set herself free and continue with her onslaught.

“We have to go! They can return,” Tyr yells.

“Let dem! I will kill em’ all!” Noname screams as Big Pete and Little Pete struggle to restrain her.

Melinoe approaches her as she hugs her; blood-covered Noname falls to the ground, panting and trembling.

“We have to go,” Melione repeats, staring her directly in the eyes.

Noname takes a deep breath as she takes one last glance at Harry.

She remembers. Two young kids stealing to feed themselves. Remembers the beatings they received when they were caught, the smiles they had when they ate, and the good times they shared, here and there. The time when Harry shaved his head, and she got angry at him. She remembers yelling and cursing.

“Imma sorry, Harry,” Noname says as she turns away.

His tale was harsh from beginning to end, but he did what he had to to survive; he lived through the good and the hard, here and there.

“Goodbye Harry”, Noname softly says.

They run away as the sounds of battle echo in the distance; screams and steel. Leaving tears and blood.