Young Writers Society

Part one of chapter six: https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=1...

The Fallen King

Lownire is under siege from monsters of the night. These monsters give the attacked a terrible Corruption, which only Liam can cure. He discovers his friend Matt has been corrupted. 

***

He hadn’t recognized it before. Matt’s ordinarily ruddy face was pale. His usually bright eyes were filled with a distant battle and close pain. But that was Matt’s red hair, pointed nose, and thin frame.

Liam tasted bile at the back of his throat, and panicked tears stung his eyes. He pushed those all away. If he panicked, Matt could die.

“How long?” Liam asked. Time was a vital factor in cleansing a Corrupted. If they are not cleansed fast enough, the Corruption will take root in their body. Then it would be impossible to remove it without killing the host as well.

“It took a chunk out his shoulder a couple minutes ago,” Fisk responded, pushing Matt to the ground as his eyes rolled in his head. His chest heaved and feet kicked, but Fisk’s strong arms kept him stationary.

It was as if Matt was struggling with some unseen foe. Because he is, Liam reminded himself. He fought the darkness for control of himself. He fought to keep it out of his flesh and soul to keep them from becoming so tangled that they were inseparable. That is why cleansing must be chosen. They must battle with the Darkness and resit it, pushing the Corruption out of themselves and into the water and fire. Healing has to be accepted. It cannot be forced.

Hough came up behind Liam and looked down at his son. “Matthew,” He gasped, dropping down next to Liam and placing the pitcher on the stone. He stared into his son’s face for a moment before recovering himself.

“Hold him down the best you can,” Hough said to Fisk as he pulled his Lownire blade off his belt. Fisk pressed Matt to the stone, holding on to each of his arms. Liam and Hough quickly cut the leather straps of the breastplate, removed it, and tore open the shirt.

His chest was pale and spiderwebbed with black veins which bulged with each heartbeat. Liam knew that look. He’d seen his father be killed by it.

“Fight it, Matt,” Hough pleaded. Matt’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he let out a growl through his clenched teeth.

If you did not fight the Darkness, it would take you as one of its own deathless creatures. But fighting it without cleansing spelled death. Fisk had said minutes. Had that been enough time for the Corruption to take root?

***

Sitric studied the wolf. It was injured but not dead. He had not been able to get his short Lownire blade in close enough to deliver a hit yet. He was currently unwilling to use the Astrum to fight it. To do so would put out the torches they used and only invite more danger.

It limped towards the edge of the wall, growling. If it made it into the city, even in its current state, it could be a massacre.

“The Silver!” Sitric ordered.

A sharp-eyed man on the opposite side of the walk knocked a gleaming silver arrow. Aleck was a hunter by summer and a member of the watch by winter. One of Sitrics best men and his most accurate archer. Aleck pulled the string back to his cheek and aimed it at the hound. The crown of silver had never fallen to The Beast so that metal could still hurt Its servants.

“Eibhear, charge!” Sitric commanded. Four men, led by Sitrics brother-in-law, Eibhear, charged the wolf with their spears. They caught the hound on the neck and lifted its head into the air. Aleck followed its moving head with the point of his arrow. He stopped as it stopped, its head pinned against the sky for a moment as the entire creature was held up by the four spears.

“LOOSE!” Sitric shouted.

The arrow whistled through the air, striking the creature in the head. The four men retreated, dropping their spears as the wolf drunkenly fell back onto its front paws. Sitric stepped forward and plunged his Lownire blade into its throat. He slashed down the length of its front. The hulking mass collapsed, shaking the entire wall, and began to steam.

Sitric walked past it and to his fellow Keepers. He didn’t even glance back at the clouds rolling off of the dead creature. A member of the watch Corrupted concerned him more than the hound.

***

Liam turned at the sound of the collapsing hound and watched as it began to steam, its body unmaking itself as it bubbled and oozed. Sitric walked, not even glancing back at the creature, and arrived next to them, looking down at Matt.

Hough took the pitcher and shakily muttered an old sailor’s blessing to himself. He poured the water onto the wound, which steamed and sizzled as if the bloody gash was a hot pan.

His eyes shot open, filled with pain and terror. He was looking into the eyes of death itself, in its full glory. This was not deceptive and seductive like Liam had met on the path. This was the pure naked Darkness that demanded worship. Its tendrils were reaching into even the whites of his eyes, black lines creeping up, wishing to close around the window into his soul and plunge him into the eternal Blackness that awaits all mortals.

An unadulterated, uncontrolled scream was wrenched from Matt’s body. It was raw, with every ounce of his breath and pain pouring through his throat. It was almost worse than the howl of darkness. This was the cry of light fighting. This was the sound of life in pain, a pain and weakness that could be the hearers at any moment.

The cleansing was a terribly painful process, for man can feel the death of Darkness within him as if it is a natural part of him as if he was dying.

The scream stopped, and he sucked in a shuddering breath. Tears were flowing down his face. Sitric placed a hand on his bloody wet chest, “Come one, soldier! Drive it out! It has no authority over you!” He ordered.

Liam watched on in a strange mix of terror but also awe. He was viewing the greatest force on the earth at work. The great inevitable Darkness that even the mountains bowed to. That force of pure power had to wrestle with one measly man.

Matt’s struggling breathing gave way to a pained groan, sounding like the air was being pushed out of his chest by a stone block.

“NOW, LIAM,” Sitric ordered.

Liam held up his hand. Somehow he knew it wasn’t time yet. The torch didn’t mutter of it, and Matt still seemed to be in the wrong place of struggle. Matt’s groan gave out as if he ran out of breath, and he didn’t breathe back in. A horrible moment passed. Then all at once, he knew it was the time.

Liam plunged his torch into the black wound. Matt gasped in pain as his skin sizzled. The gasp was ragged, but he filled his chest with air. He let out another impossibly loud scream as he kicked his legs straight up and then slammed them back down again. By some inhuman (or possibly ultimately human) strength, he was able to push barrel-chested Fisk off of him and sit bolt up for a moment. Hough, Fisk, and Sitric all came down and struggled but managed to push him back to the ground. He writhed under them, and the black veins bulged more than ever. He had the strength of Darkness, the unslumbering, undying strength of Darkness.

The torch swirled and roared towards the black wound like it was being sucked into Matt’s very veins. Suddenly, all the Darkness that had crept into Matt’s body came back in full force to bear against the torch, making the tips of the blue go dark and start to go out. The fire sputtered and barely managed to stay alive. It crackled and sparkled. The blue light flashed and dimmed.

Matt’s scream filled the valley, so terribly loud it seemed it would send birds scattering all the way to the dark forest and sailors in far lands to look up from their work in wonder.

The scream wasn’t just the voiced pain of life itself but blended with it, battling inside of it, the angry voice of the corrupting Darkness - the same Darkness that could turn a playful hound into a monster, a royal stallion into a terror, or even twist gentle trees into fiends.

Suddenly, he knew he had to say the words of the ritual. Terror rose in his chest, he didn’t remember them-

Then, like someone was whispering them in his ear, he heard them. Almost like he could hear his fathers voice saying them. He repeated them as they came, steadily and smoothly.

“Take this Darkness upon Astrum, and be cleansed,” Liam recited in the King’s Speech.

When he finished the fire reared up one last time. In a woosh and clap as loud as thunder, it went out. Matt’s body collapsed back down like a puppet with its strings cut. His veins were no longer black, and the wound in his shoulder was now just bloody and burnt.

He had been cleansed. The flame had taken the Darkness and died instead of him.

Hugh grabbed his son and hugged him to his chest, a muted sob escaping his throat. Fisk stumbled back and took a deep breath. Matt lay on the stone motionless but breathing slowly like he was only sleeping quietly.

The other members of the watch were standing around, some staring at their recently healed comrade, others kneeling next to the figures on the ground, and a few watching the mist for more enemies.

Sitric stood up straight, “James, go fetch Daniel again. This man needs a bandage.” He looked around, “How many are dead?”

“Four,” One of the kneeling men called out, his voice filled with the weight of the number. The Darkness had taken four sons, brothers, and fathers. “Aidan, Sean, Keith, and Patric.” He continued. “All four died from natural wounds.” Natural wounds, that meant the hound had killed them before they’d had the chance to accept or deny the Darkness. Their bodies were still corrupted, but they wouldn’t need to fear any of the four awakenings as monsters if they did the proper funeral ceremonies.

Four, Liam thought. That meant four families would be mourning tomorrow. It meant four households would be darkened. Four may seem like a small number in a city of many hundreds, but it only takes the death of one father to orphan many children, only the death of one brother to leave many siblings alone, and only the death of one lover to leave someone broken.

Sitric sighed and opened his mouth to say something when a mournful horn sounded across the valley. It was constant, seeming to be held for a full breath. Every head turned to look across the city to the sound. “The Call of the Morning,” Sitric growled, “Another attack on the East wall!” He shouted, “Eidbhear, take your men and follow me. Liam, Hough, you come too. There could be Corruption.”

*

Questions for reviewers: 

1. Is the Corruption and the process to cure it understandable?

2. Does this part feel repetitive/pointless?

3. Are the descriptions of the battle well done or should they be cut?

Part two of chapter six: https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work/MaybeAnd...