Hexamon ~ 4

Zorog rushed to the edge to only meet the rest of the bridge vanishing in a veil of darkness. He waited to hear a sudden crash or rumble, but nothing came. The debris just disappeared through a cloud of mist, down an endless blackness and what remained, still hanging from the posts, clattered against the rocky sides in a noisy bang, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Hot blood and a pounding chest brought Hexamon down. His face was a mix of storm and anxiety. Legs wobbly – partly from the long ride and partly from downright fear. He had narrowly missed death, but that was the least of his fears. He scrambled, looking around like a lioness who had lost her cub.

“Where is Roth?” he fumbled and gasped, his chest heaved and his breathing was frenetic.

The crew had dismounted, and every head was dropped. “Roth…Ro…Roth, where is he?” he stammered.

No answer. Heads still hung and occasional dreary eyes weakly met him and shied away, not that they feared but because they were filled with melancholy. No one feared Hexamon in the least, he was a rookie.

“Where is Roth?” Hexamon barked, fury rising in his voice. The sharp tone broke the solemn air and Ilmos rose from the boulder on which he sat. His ash clothes fluttered weakly behind as he moved gracefully to tap Hexamon’s shoulder. He stared directly into him with intense noble blue eyes, then shook his head slowly with a stern bold face – the kind that defined tragedy. The Kind that spoke a million words in one gesture.

Hexamon’s face dropped with pain. He sniffed and breathed as his eyes flared with anger. Then he pulled away from Ilmos before the fairy could utter a word and walked to the chasm.

Two stout poles, older than wind and snow stood at the cliff – undoubtedly the posts which held the bridge. He peered down and it was endless. A bottomless pit, black as pitch and silent as death. Hexamon called.

“Roth!” His voice echoed endlessly down the chasm and a menacing wind, which smelled of old age, rocks and stagnant water wafted from the depths. There was no human response and it churned his rage.

“What happened?” Hexamon demanded without turning. A deep silence suddenly engulfed them. It was one so deep that you could hear the joints of your body creak with frustration and your head pulse with tension. So deep the occasional wind sounded like a tolling bell. Then as if the silence had stretched to breaking point, someone spoke.

“This is just bad business” the voice started, breaking the evil silence. It was the clear inflection of a Rhean. Masculine and sharp, knocking every word into you. Hexamon knew exactly who spoke and a sort of reverence overcame his rage.

“It happened so fast, my mind hardly perceived… yet so slow every hand was dulled against it,” he said, then paused in a sort of solemn reflection. “The demon, got to the bridge…” speaking plainly and coarse. “Roth had nothing left in him. His face was icy and pained. Hands were lose and dangling, I saw it with my own eyes. He had nothing left in him; his grip was broken and he couldn’t hold on – couldn’t hold on to life – couldn’t hold on to you.”

Hexamon could hear a slight tremble in the firm voice, something he hadn’t heard before from this man. “When your horse heaved to the landing, he slid from the saddle and fell down the pit.” The voice ended abruptly and the silence crept back quickly as the tale ended.

Then Hexamon turned to the band, pain and anguish in his eyes. “Borgen gully!” he sneered slipping Zorog a hard stare. “This is no gully… this is more like… draeshen akmaw Hror.” He coughed. The wind rushed again and everyone looked with creased foreheads.

“What was that you just said?” Daw questioned with confusion on his face, as did everyone save for Rohein and the sage. The wounded fairy darted a piercing look at Hexamon. It was a look of astonishment yet of anxiety. Hexamon met it just before it slipped beneath his thick brow and it punished him. He swallowed hard, wondering what he had said. A strange feeling made him weightless. That feeling when a boy ignorantly speaks out in the congregation of elders and is met with fierce eyes.

Was it that bad? He thought, the words had just poured from his throat and he understood it no better than the puzzled crew.

“I… meant, this place is a death trap!” Hexamon said weakly not knowing what else to say. He looked at the hungry stares of Ilmos and Zorog and sighed knowing they weren’t satisfied. “Look…I don’t know what I said.” He said frankly. “Well well, how ridiculous,” Zorog spewed. “The boy does not know what he said.” He looked with suspicion at the sage.

“How come you don’t…”Ilmos froze before he could say another word. The air suddenly chilled as he lifted his bow in a defence stance. Then everyone jumped. “The demons!” they tensed.

Beyond the deep – on the other side, a number of Death riders scratched to a halt. Anger poured from their faces in dark flushes and their vague white eyes which stood; an island in a pool of blackness, roared with menacing intent and evil impress.

“Gather around”, said daw stretching his bow. Where they camped was just a small area of a long stretch of rocky terrain, shrubs and grass, which meant they couldn’t easily hide if push came to shove.

Hexamon startled as his eyes drew to the relentless icy stares from the other side. The band readied and the horses whined with spook. Looking at the crowd of them threw new light on what they were facing. All the rage Hexamon had drawn, drowned in an ocean of sudden fear and confusion.

Snarls and gnashing issued from them, they appeared as energetic as ever. Then what looked like their commander dismounted. He was equally the size that Roth had killed. Bald and fierce. His eyes weren’t like the others, there was no white. It was all black. Looking at him was like gazing into an endless cycle of horror and when he moved, shadow followed.

The demon walked to the edge of the chasm and stared into the deep. He roared sinisterly and so did his followers. The noise echoed and diffused into a fearful presence, then he turned his gaze back to the band with a sharp jerk of his brows. They steadied themselves and retreated as if the demon would jump the expanse at any moment. His eyes searched them as a blazing touch torch would a deep cave.

His black eyes swept more chill into the air, then he laughed with a stomach churning cackle before looking away.

Without warning, one rider drew a black rod into his bow. He stretched. But the arm of their commander stilled him. The hulk walked back unto his stead and mounted, shifting uncomfortably as if receiving some invisible instruction.

“Unadoon magore ekragsh kui”, he cursed finally. Then they rode, vanishing in a cloud of dust and smoke.

It took some time before tension and adrenaline drained from the motley crew and probably some more time before blood returned to Hexamon’s face. Swords chimed back into sheaths and arrows returned to their quivers. “It appears our dark friends have finally left us.” Said Grandelhorn in his sagely tenor. He was the oldest … at least that’s what his appearance said and his robes were the forest green of all Sages. Grandelhorn had an old hard face, which couldn’t be questioned easily. His hair was a mop of grey falling behind him in fine strands.

“I’m truly going to get mad from all these crazy tongues” Ilmos fussed. “Oh come on, little brother, don’t tell me, you can’t distinguish a Nether tongue from this realms’” Rohein said with a critics eye. “Oh, let me guess” he added, adjusting his back to the boulder. “You were out chasing pixies, when you were supposed to be in the guild, learning the secrets of the fairy race.” He grinned in satisfaction, against the pain on his neck.

Blood rushed to Ilmos’ face. “Ok! Fine, so which tongue did Hex speak? It seemed different from the demon’s” he asked with a sadistic smile. Ilmos was the only one who called Hexamon Hex. He found it annoying to always mention the full name. Hexamon’s head turned sharply to the conversation and Rohein’s lips curved into disappointment.

“Oh…What now great scholar?” Ilmos mocked with satisfaction. “Having trouble, trying to remember what was taught?”

“Death would find you all… That’s what he said”, Grandelhorn said nonchalantly without

taking his eyes off the dark sky. Hexamon’s heart shot with electricity and his stomach tightened instantly.

“What? Is that what Hexamon said?” Zorog requested with a narrowed brow.

“Hexamon?” The old man laughed, before snapping at the men. “No! You fools”

“Not Hexamon… The Death rider,” he cried, walking back to the crew as if he had found the answers he sought from the clouds.

“So what about what Hexamon…”

“I think we’ve had enough of tongues for today Ilmos”, the old sage blurted excitedly.

“I’m exhausted, let’s rest while we can”

The suddenness of Grandelhorn’s proposal stupefied the lot and broke the prattle.

“Grandelhorn is right” Zorog seconded with his watery eyes dancing at everything that moved. He rose from his squat and clapped his dirty hands together. “We have to rest while we can. The lands ahead enter the black mountains”

“That terrain is troublesome and dangerous. We will need our full wits if we are to survive.”

“And I’m sure we must do our best to avoid unnecessary confrontations – those Death riders!” said Ilmos with a careful look at Rohein.

The fairy’s eyes were closed and his body was limp. In breathing, his face paled than the usual lightness of normal fairy complexion and the only sign of movement was the slight rise of his torso from the heave of his chest. He doesn’t look good to me! Thought Ilmos just before the sage countered his opinion.

“On the contrary, it appears that the Riders have increased, which is very…unusual” Grandelhorn rested his bag on the grass before sliding his back down another tower of rock. “That means, it’s very likely we will meet them…again” he said without stirring. Without emotion. 

“The truth is,” he lowered his voice with the instinctiveness of a seasoned talker, drawing a congregation of eyes to his side. “It is rumoured that the first Death rider was spawned by the darkness that dwells in the depths of the black range. I don’t want you to harbour any thoughts of glad tidings whatsoever, prepare yourselves just for the unthinkable in the least”, he darted a powerful look straight at Rohein. It was so fast no one saw it but the fairy. He shook his head almost telepathically at the codger. Whether in agreement or something else entirely – no one knew.

Though the sky was an unchanging dark grey, the essence of night hanged around and the band prepared to rest. Hexamon manned the horses and Ilmos went back atop the boulder.

“Had a rough day huh!” Hex said, his face held against his stead, caressing his powerful neck musingly. As he stared into the bulging eyes of the horse with hands steady and fluid against its black body, he rubbed absent minded. His head was heavy and his mind was trapped in dense thoughts. Standing there with the horse that had raced him from the gates of doom, the death of Roth suddenly hit him. His throat dried and tightened instantly and it stung bitterly than he had ever felt. That moment was probably the climax of his grief for his friend and teacher. There were no tears, just the weightlessness with which his head floated.

Heavy footsteps stopped behind him, and a heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder. It was Zorog. He waited for Hex’s response, but only received a weak shrug. His voice was even denser than Grandelhorn’s. “You know,” he pause and blinked his brown eyes hard. Hexamon looked at him slowly, his usual brilliant blue eyes were a dull grey.

“Men and us don’t mingle, it’s been that way for aeons. They never learned to respect us, so we never learned to cross their paths" he spoke hard and personal. "When a man meets a dwarf, he shows his disgust…But Roth was different.” He stopped as if he’d spoken too much, as if he just remembered himself. “He was much a fairy like any other, much Antien like you, and much like myself. Roth was a dear friend to me and my kind and I am truly broken at his death… He won’t be forgotten” his voice slowed to a halt, showing clearly he wasn’t going to say more. That was how his kind spoke anyway; short and straight.

Zorog was a dwarf, his skin was thick; a dark brown hue. His head was a large mane of shaggy red hair and his height was a bit above the chest. His long beard was woven into locks and when he moved they swayed. Naturally, Dwarfs from any region had a bizarre appearance and hated to express themselves. They’d rather exchange mean looks, insults and blows than tell where they were born or respond to a greeting.

Hex, didn’t speak but simply shook his head and smiled. The dwarf walked away in large strides.

“Master Zorog!” Hexamon called, finally feeling the gall begin to leave his throat.

“What!” the dwarf snapped, as if he hadn’t just spoken to him a moment past. Hexamon smiled again, already used to his roughness.

“I’m sorry if I appeared to have blamed you earlier on”

The dwarf froze and paled, looking hexamon wide eyed in the eyes as if the lad had clutched his kidneys. He blasted his large nose and tightened his thick brows just as he took a step towards Hexamon and stopped. “Your tongue is too loose boy. Men shouldn’t be lose with words” he said adjusting a heavy piece of iron that hanged from his side “Where is your darn pride?” he barked “You do what you have to do…” he stared with beady eyes which were black at the distance. “But if you try that again, I’ll kill you” he said nonchalantly then continued with his pounding steps.

“Dwarfs will always be dwarfs” Hexamon grinned before a sharp noise broke in the camp. He scrammed.

“Stay back!” warned Grandelhorn to a hurrying Hexamon. The sage’s face was not his own. It was fierce and the force of his words sent Hexamon staggering to the stunned others.

“What’s going on, what’s that?” Hexamon asked anxious and bewildered. Moonlight flooded the night in blue and on the floor, the sage crouched over a struggling creature.

Ilmos frowned at Hex and spoke sternly. “It’s Rohein”

“Don’t just stand defenceless, be ready you fools!” Grandelhorn charged in a sudden outburst.