Chapter 58 #2
Skyre and Eirn made their way up the path. It was rocky and hard to traverse, partially covered by fallen logs. Skyre imagined the village boys crawling up the rocky incline. He might have called it foolish if he thought he’d have done different at that age.
“Another way, perhaps?” Skyre said, surveying back the way they’d come.
“This one seems fastest.”
From a distance, he heard Cían shout, “Your Majesty, come quick!”
His shoulders stiffened, and he and Eirn rushed in the direction of the call. Blades drawn, they slid their way down the ravine to where the others had already gathered. The king looked between them.
Swords in sheaths, smiles on faces. He shot Cían a confused look.
“Found the villaigh’s great black beast,” the younger pointed.
There, coiled in the grass, was an angry black adder, its serpent eyes following them in annoyance.
“Ye wee bastard…” Skyre let out a breathy laugh. “You ought to leave it be. Dinnae you ken they’re poisonous?”
“Course!” said Cían, “But I thought it needed dealt with! Cannae have it wreaking havoc on these good people any longer.”
The snake’s tongue flicked out aggressively.
“Aye, away with you.” Skyre smirked, pushing the boy’s head down. “We’ve got enough work to—”
A wretched groan shook the air. A haunting, guttural wail that had them grasping for their blades.
Cían was on his feet in an instant, swiveling as they checked their surroundings.
Beneath the ruptured roots of an enormous pine was a deep, tall hole dug into the soil. At the mouth curled four giant, plump fingers. What emerged after was a horrid creature, wafting the ravine with the smell of swine and rot.
It heaved itself up over the dirt, and upon its thick neck were two heads, and on each head were four horns. It blinked sleepily and licked its lips and gazed out at the men with hungry eyes.
“An ettin?” Cían gasped.
The creature towered two men high over the warriors below. It wore a putrid garment patched together from dried human flesh. The scent was so rancid, Skyre was momentarily stunned, but the creature reached into its burrow and pulled up a gnarled club.
It spoke then, if one could call it thus. Rather, grunted and gargled sounds.
But the message was clear.
“You were eager a moment ago,” Skyre muttered beneath his breath. “Shall we let it feast on your bones?”
Cían didn’t turn to look at him, but Skyre heard the smile in his voice.
“Let’s see him try.”
Skyre reached for his shield, slipping it over his bracer and pulling the leather strap tight. His eyes stayed on the creature, lumbering towards them with thundering steps. Quick, it surely wasn’t, but what it lacked in speed, it made up for in heft.
“Torin, Eirn, take the high ground, keep your distance and shoot down.”
“Aye,” they agreed, but the moment they moved, the creature’s four eyes locked upon them. It sprang forwards with surprising grace, landing amidst the group in a violent crouch that shuddered the ground beneath them.
“Go!” Skyre shouted, and the two snaked off from the group, narrowly dodging the swing of its massive club. “Spread out!”
The warriors scattered. Eirn and Torin climbed back up the rooty hill, taking position on the edge and drew their bows. They aimed for the ettin’s fleshy neck. It roared in response, charging towards the mound, and Skyre shouted for his men to follow.
“Aim low!” he commanded. “Cripple its legs!”
The club swung down, crashing through the mound, collapsing the earth around it. Torin and Eirn leapt aside, quickly scrambling to find footing. The remaining eight encircled the beast.
Skyre lunged forwards, thrusting his blade against its skin, but its trunk-like legs were thick and hard. The creature swiped with its free hand and one of the men was sent careening towards the trees.
“Dinnae let up!”
They were like fleas upon the beast, swatting and biting, ducking beneath its swings.
It kicked out at them with powerful legs, breaking through a targaid with a violent crack! But the men darted in, and in again, and with their archers above, the ettin grew disoriented.
Its guttural roars echoed around them as it swatted angrily at the warriors. They drew little blood, but the arrows found their marks, till the creature was stumbling and drooling.
“Keep at it!” he shouted, seeing the beast wearing down.
The ettin let out another horrible wail as it staggered and crumpled on the ground.
Skyre smiled proudly.
They had won.
A deep tremor raced beneath his feet, but he glanced not down, but to the treetops. The birds chittering above fled from their branches as a roar bellowed out—this one coming from behind them.
The men stilled, fingers tight on their hilts. The ground shook again, vibrating up their legs and the pines bowed as between them rushed a titanic creature, twice the size of the one they’d just subdued.
Skyre’s mouth was filled with dirt and beside him Cían choked out, “Sire, I think—”
“I ken’ih,” Skyre hissed. “It has a godsdamned mother.”
They could do nothing but jump away as the great ettin plowed through. Upon seeing the younger, it let out an anguished cry and spun. Its hollow eyes locked on the men.
With a massive hand, it lashed out, grabbing up one of the warriors—a farmer’s son from the midlands named Aiken. With a violent swing, she hurled him aside. A loud snap! sounded as he collided with a bole and slumped against the tree.
She had no weapon, and needed none, as she tore into them with gargantuan fists, ripping up dirt and grass as she went, making the ground a battlefield in itself.
Eirn scrambled up a nearby pine, perching upon a high branch.
He aimed his bow and emptied his quiver into the side of her throat.
One of her two heads watched him, and with another roar she grasped the pine, shaking it till its needles rained down.
Eirn clung to his branch as the trunk splintered underneath.
Skyre rushed in, rolling behind her and drove his blade into her heel. The forest rang with her screech and she kicked the Vaich aside. Skyre spat blood into the dirt, barely having time to shake his vision into focus before Maran cried out, “Sire!”
A shadow was over him and he rolled aside as the great ettin stomped down where he had lain.
The men regrouped, recreating their previous tactic of striking low. Their iron cracked against the creature’s strong skin.
The ettin threw herself at the warband. Cían leapt up upon her hand, hacking at her wrist. Eirn, still clinging to his branch, let go, dropping onto her shoulder. Her left head bit out at him and he fisted her dirty grey hair, dangling free as he swiped at her neck.
Skyre scanned the area, settling on the crooked pine now hanging precariously overhead.
“Maran!” he shouted and the larger man stopped his pursuit, following the Vaich’s gaze to the splintered trunk. They raced for the tree, positioning themselves at the hinge. “Mind the wood, lest you skewer yourself!” Skyre said and together, they started to push.
The others, seeing their plan, charged in as further distraction. The ettin swiped at them, sending Torin’s blade flying, and scooping Cían up in its hand. Its tongue lolled out as it brought the prince to its mouth and Skyre grit his teeth.
“Push!” he shouted. Maran grunted beside him. Their muscles strained against the effort.
The tree groaned and swayed.
The sound of wood cracking echoed in his ear. Maran stepped back, gathering his bearings, and surged forwards like a rampaging auroch. He hit the tree hard. The force shuddered the pine and reverberated through Skyre’s arms. The weight shifted and the two stood back as the trunk broke at the stump.
The warband scattered as the tree crashed down, the ettin caught beneath like the fall of a blade. Both tree and beast toppled with a ferocious quake that echoed over the mountain. Skyre jogged over, pulling Cían free from her grasp and the men gathered at its head.
“Is it…?” Cían panted, out of breath.
“Suppose it isn’t.” Skyre gazed down at its stinking mouth and thrust his sword in. The men followed suit, till its veins were bared and its chest ceased to rise.
“Well,” he said, “let’s hope she wasnae married.”
The group was battered, bruised and bloodied, but they had lived, and the creatures were dead.
They gathered round Aiken, lying in the brush where he’d fallen. He was breathing hard, and Skyre asked, “Is anything broken?”
“Not sure I can move my legs,” said the man.
“And that’s nae the worst of it.” Eirn pointed to the emerald lush beneath him. “Pusmoss.”
“Cré ma nighm!” Skyre growled. Eerie bumps had already begun to form on Aiken’s skin.
“I can carry him down the mountain,” said Maran.
“It’ll spread as quick as you touch it,” said Eirn. “We’ll have to wrap him first.”
Maran pulled his mantle free and set it on the ground. They gathered round and, carefully, lifted the fallen man from the fungi and placed him onto the wool.
“I’m sorry to be a burden,” murmured Aiken.
“Rest your mouth,” said the king. “You’ll get back safe as you came and the healer will be waiting when you do.”
Cían, who had trotted up the dirt mound, looked longingly towards the summit. “Sire, since we’re done now, might we still go up?”
Skyre helped Maran to his feet. Aiken lay across his arms, but Maran’s bull-like physique made it look almost easy.
“We need to get him back as quickly as possible.”
“But not all of us need to go.” Cían jerked his head towards the peak. “We’ve come all this way and cleared the path. Spare me some fun, and we can go home with a story!”
Skyre sighed. “You’re an eager’un little prince, but we did our job. Now, we’ve got to head down.”
“Oh, come on, sire!” Cían goaded. “There’s still plenty of day! How often do you get to say you conquered a mountain?”
“Is there glory in such a thing?” Skyre frowned.
“More than glory! A godly weapon! You could put the legend to rest once and for all.”
Skyre nodded Maran onwards, and assigned two more men to follow him down.
He glanced towards the path ahead, narrow and steep through the thinning green. Skyre didn’t know if he believed in the stories, but the allure of achievement danced before him.
He said, “Anyone who wishes to return, you can head down now. Anyone who wants to go forth…”
Cían beamed, looking triumphant.
“I’ll go just to see you look the fool,” said Eirn, nudging the boy in his tender ribs.
Cían smiled through his wince. “I’ll reach the summit a full week ’fore you, then who will look the fool?”
Skyre rolled his eyes, chuckling. “And who is going to carry you down when wee babby gets tired?”
“It willnae be me, ken’ih well,” said Torin, mussing the younger’s hair.
The king looked between the grinning faces of his victorious men. It felt like it had before. A moment without judgement. A moment without care. Just the wild and the fresh air and the freedom to choose power.
A reckless game unfurled before him, and he reached for it again.
“Alright,” he said. “To the top.”