Heroes

Chapter 1 -

The Execution

It was cold. Not freezing, but more than just chilly. The kind of a temperature where it’s not enough to be unbearable, but more than enough to be wishing yourself in some faraway inn with a low fire in its place and a thin veil of white smoke gently drifting around the dark wood room. But I was here, and it was cold. I guess that’s to be expected alongside hours of general inactivity in such a place. That place being a circle of dark gray, mossy runestones sitting atop a grassy hill. Speaking of which, the hill didn’t help either. It was tall enough to give the wind a real bite through the dark grey trenchcoat I sported. Even standing behind one of the countless chalky, black obelisks that spiraled the hill didn’t help as the wind effortlessly wrapped around them like a transparent scarf. Albeit the hill was also tall enough to see and be seen for countless miles across the waving sea of usually light green meadows and pastures that the land consisted of; the reason why we chose it. Today they were darker. The meadows were a dull green gray this morning, fault of the sky painted with dark rolling clouds, heralding the coming the thunder voicing its gravelly tones off in the distance. As if foreshadowing was needed to aid the slow sense of dread that was creeping down my toes.

I was not eager about the coming event to say the least. In my opinion the two figures, both tall and wiry in build, were walking too fast down the dark blue gravel path winding its way across the landscape up to my perch. They walked with a sense of urgency and self importance clearly visible in their strutting steps, as they always did. They had reason to too. The valiant hero and his youthful mentor had always reaped the glory as I worked from behind their shadows. And yet even now, at the end of my life, they still had no hesitation around the work that needed to be done. And so they marched, footfalls almost in time, up the rise to where I waited, coat dragging in the wind. As I could begin to make out their features, the mentor’s limp brown hair and fair features alongside the hero’s blonde maine, strong jaw and stoic grey eyes, the cold no longer bothered me; I was numb. I felt nothing on the outside with a silent terror gripping my body and lungs and forcing me to put effort into maintaining my composure. And then the hero called out to me.

“I hope we haven’t kept you waiting too long!” taunted Roark in his nonchalant undertones. “I’d imagine it’s hardly been comfortable”

“I can’t believe you have the nerve left to talk like that;” I replied as smoothly as my breathless voice would allow. “My nerves were shot hours ago.”

“Obviously not that shot under consideration that you’re still here” Roark smirked as he stopped to size me up.

“Let’s get this over with before the sky starts falling.” growled Dexter as he strode past eyes set in a death gaze upon the hills flat top. At least someone shared my feelings on the matter.

The three of us made our way to the top of the hill as a chilling drizzle began. The smell of the rain always brought me comfort, and a small smile flittered across my then straight face as the tingling in my extremities subsided, and my body relaxed the smallest bit. Roark and I took up positions at opposing ends of the flat, boots crunching in the wetted gravel all the way, with Dexter in between us. I then pulled my old coat from my shoulders and left it in a soggy heap on the ground as for a brief moment I caught a twinge of regret replace Dexter’s frown with something more emotionally charged. I closed my eyes and willed myself into a state of practical nirvana as I fingered the steel dangling at my hip; accepting my fate whilst my opponent prepared himself.

“We don’t have to do this you know.” Roark broke my peace. “We always have another choice.” he mused looking to Dexter for a conformation. I sighed.

“You know we don’t. We can’t fight them. We can’t run from them. Hell, we can’t even bargain with them. There’s nothing we can do and now they’ve decided that It’s one of us or both.” I called dejectedly.

“They went back on their word!” he argued.

“There was no one to keep them honest in the first place. It was only a matter of time before they got fed up.” I replied.

“Be that as it may, you’re still wrong. We can always fight.” he spat. I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Roark had always been a rebel. But there were two of us, and two isn’t much of a challenge for the three or so thousand that’d make their appearance at the first signs of our meagre revolt.

“Cyrus. Please. Neither of us want to.” He continued.

“Enough. Life isn’t a fairytale. I don’t understand why you’re arguing with it anyway. It’s simple enough. You know that. We fight. You win. I die.” I finished. The rain had begun to fall harder, and colder than before. I glanced to Dexter, who was wearing all the shame of the traitor he was, and nodded to him to start. he took five steps back, and with a moment of silent and conflicted hesitation, dropped the crimson cloth he had produced from one of his numerous pockets. Steel was then drawn, and it began. Roark, as always, was the first to move; quickly covering the majority of the odd fifty yards between us, sword held back to strike. I obliged his assault and ran to meet him with a parry. Our swords clashed with no small amount of force, and my arms were jarred. And as suddenly as we withdrew with the musical ring of steel upon white iron, I felt alive. For a dead man.

He struck and I blocked, limbs jumping to meet his every move as if by a will of their own. Before long, I couldn’t tell which direction was up or down, caught in our twisting routine, quickly circling each other in tight circles as we danced our dance of death, sky shattered by the lightning above us. I was awake, and terrified, but too alive to consider my plight any longer. All of my comprehension was dedicated to what angle and at what time my foes razor would come flying at me, and where I could stick in my own strikes.

I was always the fastest in a straight fight, but then it was rarely a straight fight. I was quickly reminded of this as a wave of fire swept the ground produced by the slide of Roark’s foot. Forced off balance, I pressed myself into the air, twisting over the small tide of flame with the intention to strike before the ground, replacing finesse with force. And that's where things went wrong. Where I was expecting to connect with something, there was nothing there, and I was unprepared. With nothing to stop my arial momentum I sent myself into an awkward roll as I hit the gravel, trying desperately to put as much distance between my mistake and I as I possibly could. It was a panicked move, and panick has no place in this waltz. I had too much momentum in every direction but the one I wanted and I had pushed too hard to recover and had overshot the point where I should've come out of the roll completely,now sprawled out defenseless on my back with the wind knocked out of me.

the shadow descended, it's damned sickle raised high to reap what was left of my body, and silence what was left of my mind. But I was not ready, and still the shadow descended. Perhaps it wasn't me who found the nessesary strength to survive. Perhaps there was and still is some deity who against all odds would have the audacity to bless the wrong man at the right time. But regardless of whether it was a fear of the death incarnate falling towards me from five feet above, or a silent guardian angel who had decided it wasn't yet my time, I found the strength that was need to raise and catch the specter in my feet and carry the action that was meant to end me to help save me. It was a sort of roll with a forcing thrust made with the legs that held my foe that sent Roark flying several yards to my rear and left me in a crouch. I sprang to my feet and whipped around to find him in a position of frightening similarity to my former one. Every ounce of my body was filled with murderous glee as I became the death with his dreaded sickle that I had just cast off. I had survived. I would not die. And I descended sword raised high to strike. But then, like a spear a stray thought pierced my animistic mind, catching my arm with invisible hands mid stroke.

"You've never tripped before. Not once in fourteen thousand years. Not once!" I echoed my thoughts. Slowly, my mind filled with static, the world around me shifted back into focus as my heart pounding elation subsided. It was still cold. Still windy. Still raining. Dexter was still standing off to one side, although he was now seemingly petrified. As was Roark. The world was frozen in anticipation, a freeze frame of the animation that was there originally, waiting for an explanation. The sky was the first to break the silence with a slow rumble penetrating he deafening static the rain had slowly set upon us. I slowly stumbled back, and lowered my sword enough to signal my now nonviolent intent, but not enough to leave me defenseless. "Not once." I quietly repeated. My mind exploded into a flurry of thoughts, all seemingly contradicting, but slowly pulling in a current to a conclusion I couldn't find. Disregarding the duel completely and forgetting my sword, I warily approached up to dexter. "What's going on? I should be dead. Why aren't I? He could have killed me in at least three ways in as many seconds. He could have caught me off the roll, ran me through, twice, or simply burned me to a crisp! So why didn't he?! Why?!" I demanded, peering into the paling depths of our traitor’s blank face, searching for an answer.

"Well shit." Roark exclaimed from behind my back. I whipped around, sword half raised, almost expecting a renewed assault. To the surprise of my slow and dumbfounded mind he was standing in a tired sort of way, giving a sheepish smile. I didn't know what to make of it. And I was plunged deeper into my mindless confusion when he started to laugh. A slow chuckle at first, but it quickly became a spectacle of hilarity, as if an old friend had told him one hell of a tale. After a minute, he recovered his composure and looked to me. "It appears as though the jig's up." he said with a sigh.

I turned back to dexter, looking for an answer, any answer to drive off the heavy mist that fogged my mind. All I found on his face was a grimace. I couldn't take any more.

"What the fuck is going on?! What's happening?!" I cried in frustration. Suddenly the pieces clicked. I wasn't a duelist. I was only supposed to pretend I was. No, my life was not threatened, as I was playing the part of the executioner.

"You were right you know. When you said that it was one of us or both. Just not in the way you thought." Roark interjected into my revelations.

"No. This isn't how it's supposed to work.” I protested “I'll fight for my life, but I won't kill you in cold blood."

"I'm doomed either way." he replied.

"How?" I demanded.

"It's one of you or both." started Dexter dejectedly "An honest statement. In one way or another that's true. But what we forgot to mention was that Roark was dead from the beginning." I felt sick.

"It was that way from the moment the council demanded that one of you die. You know that they could care less about you, Cyrus. They just don't want to look bad, so they make it look like it's a test. Only It’s not. Roark has been an immovable thorn in their side for the past fourteen thousand seven hundred and twenty six years. You know how the story goes. They’ve finally got fed up, but knew that they had absolutely no reason to just kill him, so what do they do? They blame the one with the faults. They blame you, and demand that you be removed by Roark in the hopes that you turn out to be the better of the two. You however, are not. But just because Roark kills you doesn’t mean that they’re going to stop wanting him dead. So, then what? What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do when I’m tasked with forcing you together in the meanest of ways? Let you, the only things in this damned sea of everything that work die? You’re saviors to too many people to count! It would be a terrible idea to let all of that go to waste because of a fluke. And I can’t let the two of you live either because then they have an excuse to kill you both anyway. You know that. So I’m left with one damned option. Only one. And better if you don’t have to live with the guilt of it all.” he spat.

Silence enveloped the world alongside Dexter’s cessation. I was stunned. I had nothing to do put let my mouth hang open in the direction of Dexter’s violent pose.

“And now we’re here.” Roark wearily broke the silence. “And someone has to kill me.”