[As some users seem to find issues with links to wattpad not working (namely me) I reprint this here. It is a copyright protected material. Contains over-the-top violence, sexual innuendo, demons, and some other stuff not suitable for younger readers. Use your best discretion.]
(It has been almost seven years since the death of Kiljar’s parents and sister. Between years as a thief, a highwayman, a pirate, and a mercenary, Kiljar has learned many valuable skills. He has learned new languages, fought many battles, and his name is feared in lands hundreds of miles from his former home. His secret treasure hoards have grown.)
Chapter 1- Talk of Manhood
“I have slain more men than all the warriors of my village combined, seen lands they never dreamed of, known the pleasures of women’s bodies, yet I do not feel like a man, Volt. And do you know why?”
His swarthy friend only shrugged.
“I still have not fulfilled the raid that would have been my test of manhood. I was denied my birthright!”
Kiljar slammed his meaty fist down on the wooden table. The barkeeper raised his head, but gave no further heed.
The dim lamp light flickered. A bar maid slept drunkenly on Kiljar’s lap, undisturbed by the heavy thump of his fist. This was the fourth he had made it with in a week and his second today. He guzzled down his twelfth flagon of ale and called for another.
The barkeep brought out two more rounds to play it safe and Kiljar flipped him another silver coin from a land the man had never heard tale of. He went back to absent-mindedly wiping down the bar.
“I have the coin,” Kiljar continued between long pulls of ale. “I can buy a ship, but I need men to sail it and to help with the raid on Marune. Maybe a few foolhardy souls west of here would join for the right coin.”
“I don’t know,” Volt told him. “The tribes that dot the eastern shores are fierce warriors. It is said they behead their enemies and keep their skulls for trophies.”
“My kind of warriors.”
Volt nodded at the response. He cursed himself for bringing it up, but said nothing of his leeriness to Kiljar. He had known the man only a little over two years, but he knew him well enough to know he enjoyed a challenge.
“Too bad the Japheth crew didn’t stay together. There was a hell of a fighting force. Where’s Eli nowadays?”
“Last I heard, he is in the bosom of his ancestors.”
“What about Elric?”
“In the halls of the slain.”
“Molech?”
“Dead.”
“Theanos?”
“Dead.”
“Olaf? Abram? Minos? Deria?”
“Dead. Dead. Married and settled in Crete before being killed by a sea monster. Dead.”
“Ovi’s golden balls! Is anyone still alive?”
“Erik went north to find the Asa and see if he could get his hands on a mythic weapon. That was two months ago. Who knows how he fares now?”
The bar maid awoke. She smiled. She was young, pretty, still had all her teeth including a few baby ones. She stood slowly and took Kiljar’s empty flagons and brought back two more. She sat on his lap.
“Again, Kiljar?” She touched his face lightly with one hand. The other was far from his face.
“Tomorrow, dear. My friend and I are talking business.”
He slipped her two more silvers. He had long forgotten how many he had given her all together. When she left, he turned his attention back to Volt.
“If we leave tomorrow around midday, I can reach my hidden cache around midnight overmorrow. We can be at the coast in half a fortnight and sailing before the end of the month.”
“Ever the hopeful one. You really think it will require that little time to commission a ship and hire a crew?”
“I am Kiljar! Men will flock to me to join my crew! And I have Volt, Slayer of Gods! Who wouldn’t want to join us?”
“It was one demi-god. But yes, I suppose I am in.”
“Of course you are! To success and manhood!”
They clinked flagons and drained them down before each retired to his room.
Chapter 2- A Sea of Woe
Kiljar was right about men flocking to him. Not for his name though. They heard tells of golden cities with silver roads and fruits and founts granting eternal youth. They went for the myth of Marune and not the “legend” of Kiljar.
He soon had two ships and a crew of twenty to each, not counting himself and Volt. Kiljar would captain one and a skilled man named Routh was to sail the other. They were all given five gold pieces up front and offered equal share of the riches found on Marune. With goldlust in their hearts and tales of adventures on their minds, they set sail on a calm spring day.
The third day of the voyage, the seas turned rough. A massive storm came up in minutes from nowhere. Kiljar and Routh were barking orders to their respective crews. Men ran from bow to stern, port to starboard, securing crates and barrels of supplies, lashing down anything that moved. Bursts of lightning were all they had to see by. Torrential rains drowned out torch lights.
Waves slammed both ships. Kiljar lost a man to the sea, disappearing with the crash of a colossal wave. A line snapped unleashing rows of barrels that injured another crewman. Lightning struck the lookout and threw him from the crow’s nest, yet, miraculously, he was not severely injured. A minor bit of rope burn from where he tried to grab on to something and a shallow gash of his forearm where he hit the deck.
Routh was having even less luck. Lightning hit the main mast crushing four men as it fell and knocked another overboard. Waves took out a sixth man and another had his arm broken trying to save him. Water was pouring into the lower deck from a hole in the floor, weighing the ship down lower into the sea. Teams of men worked upper and lower decks both trying to bail out water. Routh did his best to steady the ship, but the choppy waters threw him in every direction.
Kiljar held his ship firm in what he thought was still west. But even his thick, sinewy arms strained to keep the wheel steady. Rain pelted his face in furious drops. The dark blinded him and the lightning flashes kept his eyes from adjusting. Volt stood nearby, one minute giving orders, the next praying to and cursing his gods in the same breath.
A large wave lifted Kiljar’s ship. It slammed him hard enough to lose his grip on the wheel. It spun wildly as Kiljar recovered himself. Before he finished the curse that was on his lips another hard jolt rocked the ship. He looked back to see Routh’s vessel careening. Men waved their arms frantically to get Kiljar’s attention.
A man ran back to Kiljar with word of what they were saying. The guide wheel had been struck by lightning, destroying the wheel and killing Routh. They were captainless and helpless.
“Get ropes,” yelled Kiljar over the storm. “Lash their ship to ours and tell them to abandon it! Once they are off, cut the ropes!”
Volt nodded and rushed to rally men. Groups lassoed and reined in the ship. Ten still lived to make it aboard Kiljar’s vessel. Others had died in the crossing. When the last crossed, the ropes were cut.
It was a while before Kiljar finally cleared the other ship and left it to float or sink according to fate. Another hour of storms kept Kiljar on his toes when they did not sweep him off of them. Even after the lightning subsided and Kiljar’s eyes could adjust to the dark, the rain remained relentless and kept his keen eyes straining for visibility beyond the bow of his ship.
A hard thump and a grinding shriek nearly threw Volt off the ship and dropped Kiljar to a knee. The crack of wood was as loud as any thunder Kiljar had heard during the height of the storm.
“We’ve hit rocks! We’re taking on water,” one of the crew shouted.
Kiljar noted the ship was moving neither forward nor down.
“Move the lower deck supplies to the back of the ship! Try to keep them dry! Can anyone see land,” yelled Kiljar.
The crew was frantic. One man said he thought he saw a tree line in the distance. Another said he saw only rocks. Another called out that some of the supplies had already been swept away. Yet another spat a curse as his hand slipped and a barrel of ale fell and broke. Two more invoked the gods as a crate of meats fell over on top of them.
Kiljar slapped one of the men and told them all to keep their heads as he began moving about the ship and assessing their predicament.
“Careful with those tents,” he barked. “I don’t want them ripped. Get that crate of cheese out of the water! Drop an anchor so we don’t get pulled back out to sea! Get a proper knot on those ropes; I won’t lose the last barrels of ale!”
The men scurried, calmer now, but quick to be about Kiljar’s orders. The rain had eased to a heavy misting, but whatever lie ahead, Kiljar still could not see it. It was hours yet til morning, and no one would sleep well tonight.
Chapter 3- The Child in the Forest
Day broke clear and cool. Kiljar could see the forest now, thick and lush, about a mile back from the shore line. The water between the rocks the ship had hit and the coast was only a short span, but the depth dropped from as little as three feet in some places to as much as ten in others between rock and shore. Crates and barrels would have to be moved as drly as possible and tents, weapons, and other supplies would have to be quickly dried for use and to prevent rust.
Kiljar picked his way through the waters to find the shallowest paths. But at one point there was a two foot wide, ten foot deep trench to cross. Kiljar set his men up in rows on the shallowest parts making a line from the ship to the trench. He and Volt swam over the deepest part and stood on the other side. The men hurled everything one person could lift from one man to the next until it reached the trench. Then the man closest would lob it to Kiljar. He passed it to Volt who then took it ashore and came back for the next load.
The heavier loads had to be unboxed and recrated into smaller loads that a single man could toss. When empty crates became scarce, one man was sent to shore and began unboxing crates and giving the empty one to Volt to be passed back to the ship for reuse. The men continued this well past midday before the ship was unloaded.
Once everything and everyone was on the shore, Kiljar began delagating roles. Of twenty-nine men still remaining, Kiljar sent three to gather firewood, eight to scout the area- four up the coast and four down it- and six to setting up a camp. He and Volt took inventory of what had survived the wreckage while the other twelve men were sent to gather salvageable materials from the ship. They returned a half-hour later with sixteen damaged planks of wood, a compass, one map Kiljar had made of Marune from what he had pieced together from travellers tales, two hammers, a handful of iron nails, and a trunk recovered from Kiljar’s quarters containing eight blankets, two cloaks, twenty-six gold pieces, 119 silver pieces, and a jeweled dagger he had taken off of a dead soldier during his days as a highwayman. The blankets had gotten a bit damp but everything was still in tact.
After two hours, camp was set, meals were cooked and soldiers were full and ready to rest.
The night passed without incident and Kiljar awoke with the sun, ready to explore Marune. He wanted to start with the forest area. His map had shown no forests this close to shore, nor any rocky outcroppings. He chalked it up to the mistold tales if drunk adventurers. But since it was here and so was he, he wanted to map it out a bit and try to find where it fit on his map.
Luckily, some coal and parchment had stayed dry enough for his use. He began with the visible shoreline, mapped the rocky area where they had landed, and drew the forest’s edge.
After breakfast, Kiljar set ten men to guard camp and lead the other nineteen into the forest. Ten of these collected firewood to take back to camp. The other nine followed Kiljar, carefully scouting the forest.
An hour into the thickness, they became lost. The canopy above them blocked out the sun. The air felt denser, harder to breathe. The trees seemed to block the path Kiljar swore they had just travelled. He scaled a tree and pushed his head out above the tree tops. The morning sun was in his face. The way they were travelling should have led them back out to the camp. Or at least to the shoreline itself. It could not have been afternoon yet. He climbed down and walked straight in the direction the sun had been.
Hours he travelled due east, back towards the sea. Finally, he sat down and passed a bit of dried meat around to his men. It was the only food they had brought in with them. He took Volt aside and both men scaled trees. The sun was now setting behind them. They were still heading east, but looked no closer to the sea than they had been when Kiljar had first looked above the canopy.
“Kiljar, look northward. I think I see a clearing.”
Kiljar looked where his friend pointed. Indeed there was a bald spot among the trees. It seemed to be a few minutes walk away from them.
“Let us make for it. Maybe we can get a better sense of our bearings.”
They descended and moved northward. In ten minutes time they were on the edge of the clearing. In the center set a lone cottage. Every beam of it was a dark red wood. A window was on the side facing them, perfectly square, perfectly centered. The door was on the east face. To either side of it was a garden, well tended with many colored blooms mingled together. Not a single weed sprouted, not a single bug gnawed the flowers’ leaves.
Kiljar glanced at Volt. Volt shrugged and did the only thing he could think to do; he knocked on the door. No response came. He knocked again. When no answer came, he opened the door.
The entrance was larger than one would think the small cottage capable of holding. Large open ceilings were held up by four pristine white columns. Gold inlaid swirling patterns on the ceiling.
“Keep watch,” Koljar instructed his men. “And do not let the door close.”
He and Volt journeyed in. Beyond the open entrance was a hallway that stretched longer than the abode should have been. Kiljar and Volt looked at each other and cautiously stepped further into the dwelling.
The hallway continued on with rich tapestries bearing scenes of gods and men mingling and feasting on rich meals of pork and beef. Many had glasses of red wine raised in toasts.
After walking on, the hallway led to a single door. Kiljar breathed deep and put a hand on his sword. He nodded and Volt gently opened the door.
The door opened to a small nusery. Inside, a single child lay swaddled in a gold crib in the center of the room. Above the child were painted stars and moons that seemed to twinkle and dance. Each wall of the nursery was decorated with a god or goddess. Kiljar recognized all of them. They were Atlantean deities his mother had described to him when he was a boy.
The child began to coo and then cry. Volt gingerly lifted it from the crib and tried to console the young one. He checked the diaper. Clean.
“He must be hungry. What should we do with him?”
“Unless you’ve begun to give milk, what can we do with him?”
They only had a moment to ponder the question. The house began to rumble and quake. The walls around them cracked, sundering gods. The ceiling with its dancing worlds ripped, splitting apart the hunter with his arched bow.
“Run!”
Volt was already moving, babe still in arms, before Kiljar finished the word. The room crumbled behind them. The floor of the long hall was beginning to crack. Tapestries fell from the wall. Kiljar only glanced, but it seemed to him what had been gods and men feasting on pork and red wine was now a grotesque image of gods and demons feasting on men and drinking blood. But there was no time for second glances. He just ran. The door way seemed further than he remembered, but they burst through it knocking down two of the men standing guard. The white columns gave way behind them and the gold inlaid ceiling crumbled in chunks.
Outside however, when they looked back they saw a structure still whole and standing. It did not appear to be at all like the one they had entered. What had been a newer looking cottage when they entered was now an old and rotting place. Though still structurally sound, rot had taken some of the beams. Mold grew under the eaves. The door was no longer on its hinges. What they saw inside was not a wide entrance to a long hall, but a small living space with open areas separated by old curtains that were moth-eaten and moldy.
Kiljar looked at the child in Volt’s arms. He was no longer a swaddled babe, but a young man appearing four or five years of age wrapped in loose and time-worn rags. Red hair covered his head in a shaggy mane. Upon his chest was a tiny three-pronged swirl, like an odd birthmark. He had teeth now. Volt too looked at him and almost dropped him in shock. The men of the band were as speechless as their leaders.
“Let us head east now,” Kiljar finally said. “I want to get back to the shore before sunset.”
The men wordlessly nodded and followed. It took only minutes to arrive at the forest, pass through, and reach the coast. Kiljar turned south and moved to where they had landed. None of them were prepared for what they found when they returned.
Chapter 4- Ghosts on the Beach
Kiljar swore when he spotted the camp in the dim twilight.
“Why have they lit no fires? Why do we not have food cooking?”
When they approached the camp site, Kiljar cursed every gods name he had ever heard mentioned and could recall. The fire had been burnt out for what Kiljar’s seasoned eyes told him was days. The men left there were a ghastly site. Dead and well into the early stages of decay, they laid in ackward positions. Legs were bent in impossible angles. Arms were out of sockets if they were even still attached. Two of them had head and feet both turned backwards. Another lay in two separate pieces on opposite sides of the fire site. Only one man had his hand on a weapon and it was being slowly pulled toward the sea by the tide while the rest of his body was nowhere to be found.
“What level of the damned is this,” Volt bellowed.
One of the soldiers behind him lost what little sustenance he had consumed since they journeyed into the forest. Another’s legs buckled and he crumpled to the ground. He was not crying yet, but looked as if he would any moment.
“Kiljar,” Volt cried. “These men have been dead for days. Some of them maybe even a week! How long were we in that accursed forest?”
“Five days,” answered an unknown voice. Volt swung around. In the spot he had left the forest boy was now a young man in his early teens, naked and coming into manhood.
“Five days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes to be precise,” the lad continued. “I thought you’d never find me in time to be honest.”
“What fresh new devilry is this?” Volt was on the verge of hysterics.
“What manner of being are you?” Kiljar was much calmer than his companion. Nevertheless, his hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw if need be.
“Hmm, a philosophical question. I suppose I’d be called a god.”
“Which one?”
“No one has named me yet,” he replied with a shrug. “You found me and raised me thus far. Well, more so than anyone else has. So I guess you get to do it as the foster parents, so to speak. Nice sword child of Atlantis, but you don’t need to worry about that with me; I mean no harm.”
“How did you know my origins?” There was a touch of rage in Kiljar’s voice.
“Well, I am a god. Sight and insight beyond mortals and all that. So, dad, name?”
Kiljar eyed the youth suspiciously. He felt some new trick forming.
“Tell me, with your sight beyond that of mortals, what happened to these men.”
“Grisly business, that. Fomorians. Goat-headed ones from the looks of it.”
“Bearded balls of Osiris,” Volt exclaimed. “We’re in Fomoria?”
“Yep. Seriously though, guys, I’d like a name. I’d give myself one, but it is against the code.”
“Fine,” said Kiljar. “Your name is Lu.”
“Lugh? Huh. I like it.”
“Not Lugh! Lu.”
“I like my way better, but I’ll go with it for now, dad.”
“And stop calling me that. I did not sire you.”
“No but you saved my life and have been with me longer than my own father.”
“I have many questions, Lu,” Volt said.
“Sure thing, mom.”
“Wait, why am I the mother?”
“You held me, checked my diaper, were concerned with feeding me. Funny joke about giving milk, by the way, dad.”
“You remember that? You didn’t even have teeth!” Volt was annoyed more than frightened now.
“It was forty-five minutes ago; I’m a god; sight beyond mortals. Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Well,” Volt replied, “You’re enough of a smartass to be your father’s son. Are you sure he isn’t yours, Kiljar?”
The barbarian smiled. It was an unusual site to see from him. Normally it preceded a decapitation, or at least a good fistfight. This time it was only followed with a chuckle.
“Not mine. But I think I may like you yet, Lu.”
Kiljar turned away and looked at the defiled corpses that a few hours ago (or days according to Lu) had been his living, breathing men. He shook his head. This was too ignoble a death for even Kiljar.
“Can you do anything for these men, Lu?” Kiljar was earnest.
There was long silence. Lu looked sad for the first time since they found him.
“I am not at full strength yet. By the time I am, these men will be beyond my reviving. The best I can offer is a proper send off to their gods.”
With that, a large altar emerged. Lu, with quiet words, restored each man to wholeness except the lost body that was beyond his abilities to find. They were laid upon the altar. Kiljar said a prayer for each man to his native patron god. Lu lit the pyre with but a look and each man was cremated within an hour.
“What now,” one of the men asked when he felt it was safe to break the sacred silence.
“We trek south to Marune,” replied Kiljar.
“That may not be possible, dad. Fomoria is sealed by magic. My mother’s doing. To keep Marune from being invaded by the demons that swarm this place.”
“Can you overturn her magic,” Volt asked.
“Not yet. It will be years before I have that kind of power.”
“Years,” choked one of the men.
“Hey, if you think being a god is so easy, then you do it, you horse’s ass!”
Lu’s response silenced the man.
“The only way I can get more powerful any quicker would be to defeat another god and absorb their powers.”
“Is there one? Another god you could defeat?”
Lu looked at his adoptive father with remorse.
“It’s a bit of a conundrum. I can’t defeat him until I am more powerful. I can’t be much more powerful until I defeat him. Unless you want to wait two decades or so.”
“By our mortal time or this strange isle’s time?”
“Yours, dad. Sorry. I don’t know that you would survive that long here, even with all your strength and cunning. The fomorians will return. If you could kill an army of demons, I could possibly defeat Balor, but those odds are slim.”
“How slim,” ventured Volt.
“Given the size of Balor’s forces and might verses ours and mine…nine trillion to one. Give or take a few of the more cowardly Fomorians.”
“Who is Balor?”
“The demon god…and my grandfather.”
Kiljar was quiet. He stared at the crackling bodies of his fallen men. The smell of their acrid flesh boiled his blood. The remembrance of their twisted corpses filled his heart with rage. He at last turned to his “son”.
“Nine trillion to one you say?”
Chapter 5- Forging in the Night
Lu watched over his new “parents” and comrades. He stoked the flames of the fire and watched for any potential threats. He conceived of a way to ingratiate himself with his new allies. He fanned the flames higher and began to forge. He used some of his magic to keep everything silent and wake no one. Stopping only to shoo off a curious creature or lone demon, he worked until the rising sun.
When Kiljar and his men awoke, they found themselves staring at shining metal that looked like nothing they had seen before. Lu was by the fire cooking some fish he had caught.
“You awaken,” he exclaimed. Kiljar thought he sounded genuinely happy.
Kiljar looked at the young god. He now appeared to be older than Kiljar. Maybe in his thirties.
“How much more will you age? Shall I awaken tomorrow to an old man?”
“Not tomorrow,” Lu laughed. His voice had reached its deeper tones now. “I have now reached ‘maturity’. Depending on the strength I gain, I’ll age as much as a year for every ten or as little as one for every thousand.”
“And these trinkets,” Volt asked gesturing toward the metal works Lu had made.
“Trinkets! Why if you weren’t my mother....” Lu smiled with his jests. “A breastplate for each of you. They look thin but I assure you they are tougher than any that has been made by a mortal. Not saying they are indestructible, but their durability surpasses even that of Atlantean make. Go ahead, dad. Swing your blade at one and see if it isn’t true!”
Kiljar pulled his blade. With all his force he brought it down on the neckline of one. A jolt of force went up his hand that made his whole arm numb.
“By the gods!”
“Don’t blaspheme in my presence, dad,” Lu joked. “Holy mother of me! You chipped it! You are a much stronger man than you realize. No man should have been able to do that!”
Kiljar smiled. But his arm ached for hours afterwards.
“And for my parents, a special gift for each of you.”
He held out a circular shield to Kiljar with a sun emblazoned upon it. It was the same material as the breastplates. Kiljar marvelled at how something so strong could be so light. It was no challenge to lift. He even tested it with his sore arm and found no problem. He clapped his “son” on the shoulder, truly speechless. Lu smiled.
“And for you, dear mom.”
“I’d smack you if I thought it wouldn’t hurt me more than you,” retorted Volt.
Lu laughed and held out a spear. The whole of it was the same metal, but the head glimmered like gold. Volt accepted it with awe. He felt he could hurl it a mile away.
“Now, I am new at the whole godly powers thing, but it should be impossible to knock it out of your hand so long as your grip is true. And your shield, father, will heal any minor injury if you but call my name while holding it. It isn’t good beyond normal illnesses and any injury less than life threatening, but it may help nonetheless. All of these things are impervious to mortal fires. Dragons, demons and gods can damage it eventually with their fires, but it will still take time.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what else to say,” said Kiljar finally.
“Your long life and health will be thanks enough. Both of you. But enough sentimentality, let us have breakfast!”
To this they all agreed and ate heartily. Every man got his fill. Though he did not require food any more than he needed to sleep, Lu joined them in their morning feast.
Chapter 6- A Final Mission
The breakfast was ended. Each man donned his new breastplate. The whole group seemed to gleam in the sun.
“So, will this protect us against the Fomorians,” one of the men asked.
“Better than what you were wearing,” Lu replied.
“So, we defeat this Balor guy and you can let us out of Fomoria?”
Lu laughed. “Not that easy, but yes. That is the gist of it.”
“Don’t forget the nine billion demons each,” interjected Volt.
“Trillion,” corrected Lu. “But at that many, I feel it’s kind of an argument in symantics.”
“We will do what needs to be done,” Acwellen said stoically. “I did not come all this way to lament fate. Whatever will be is what will be.”
His man kept his tongue. He knew he would probably die, but he would die a legend that fought hoards of the supernatural. Well, he would if anyone lived to tell his tale.
“Balor resides in the deep forest. The trek will take time. Probably days for us, so weeks in real time, if there is such a thing. The good news is that he has no keep. He resides in an open realm. No walls to climb; no gates to storm.”
Kiljar listened intently. He knew the odds were against them, but he wanted to make sure they had every advantage they could have. The odds would never be even, but maybe they could be improved.
“Balor himself is the real challenge,” Lu continued. “He stands eight foot and has one leg, one arm, and one massive eye. He keeps it closed, but that does not mean he is blind. When he does open his eye, everything in his sight is destroyed. Those breastplates will not stop that.
“I made a spear for myself. If we can clear enough of a path, I can take out his eye.” Lu paused and sighed. “But it will have to be open. His skin is too thick to pierce.”
“How close do we need to get you?”
“Mile. Maybe a mile and a half, but a mile I feel surer about.”
Kiljar closed his eyes and pictured the scene. Eleven men fighting a hoard of demons and supernatural creatures while a new god tries to hurl a spear a mile, all while being shot at by a giant eye shooting rays of death.
That will be a new one, Kiljar thought with a mental sigh. Let’s hope I get more new ones.
They gathered only the supplies they could carry. Kiljar did put some extra weapons in his trunk and bury it, hoping both that it would remain undisturbed and that he would get to return to it. He marked it on the map he had started but never finished and hid the parchment paper in his belt.
They marched into the forest.
Days passed in a matter of hours inside the forest. The men all gave up asking Lu how long it had been since they left; they learned quickly that they would rather not know.
Only Lu seemed at peace in this place. Kiljar was struck by how many tree types there were here. For every one he knew, there were six varieties that he did not. Volt hated the boxed in feeling of all the trees pressing in on him. The scared men bunching around him did nothing to help his feeling of claustrophobia.
The men themselves were frightened of the forest, but every one tried his best not to show it. They made jokes, sang songs, told stories. They never thought how easily a god and two seasoned warriors could see through their false bravado.
Several hours in the deep woods passed this way. Finally Kiljar shushed his men as they came to a clearing. This one was vastly larger than the one they had found Lu in. The open space stretched for miles and only the treeline at the edge of their sight was any indication that they were still in the forest.
But it was not the clearing or the treeline they noticed. It was a large stone slab, thick as Kiljar was tall, where sat Balor in all his frightening splendor. As Lu had said he was eight feet tall. His skin was a deep and dark red, thick and scaly like a dragon’s armor. A muscular left arm clasped a cup the size of Kiljar’s torso.
One leg sat over the edge of the slab for one leg was all there was. To Kiljar, it appeared to be a right leg. The demon had his great single eye closed and appeared to be either sleeping or in a drunken stupor.
For one brief moment, Kiljar thought they held the element of surprise. He thought they would sneak out and take him unawares. He was shocked and forlorn when Balor’s booming voice shook him.
“Welcome grandson! Welcome humans!”
Several of the men covered their ears. Kiljar and Volt reached for weapons. Lu just looked on. His spear was in his hand and ready but they were still too far away.
“Do not hide in the forest. Come! Let us see what fate has brought me to play with.”
Kiljar ignored the statement. He stepped out bravely. He raised the Atlantean blade high.
“I am Kiljar! A child of barbarians and a child of Atlantis! I bring with me death and despair! Surrender now and be spared!”
Balor roared laughter and the forest shook with his guffawing. He nearly rolled from his stone seat as his hand went to his rotund belly. He feigned wiping a tear from his closed eye.
“This is why I like humans; always making jokes. Jovial people. Until they meet me that is.
“So you wish to take me on, Kiljar, bringer of death and despair? Then c’mon! I will show you what a true bringer of death and despair looks like.”
Balor arose. From the ground sprang forth demons from where he stood to the far forest wall. Some like spiders of massive size. Others were horrible mixtures of horse and bird and snake.
Nude “women” with black wings and gold plumage for hair descended over the battlefield. Their mouths like the beaks of vultures and their hands and feet talons.
From Balor’s back arose many smaller versions of himself-one arm, one leg, one eye- but without the destructive sight. Each produced cudgels seemingly from nowhere. They hopped and laughed and cursed Kiljar and his band.
From the sides of the forest poured out the goat-headed ones that had taken Kiljar’s men. They were roughly Kiljar’s height and each was equally muscular. All had a very crude but sharp sword, three foot long and curved back at the top into a right angle about half a foot long.
The demon god’s army continued to flood the open space until there was no room in it. And still they came, lining up in the trees, flying overhead.
Kiljar’s heart sank at the sight. He figured Lu to be telling the truth but had still hoped trillions was an exaggeration. Now, seeing for himself the immense number, he for the first time in his life realized on a personal level that death was a real possibility for even him. He was not on the best of terms with his mother or father’s gods, but he invoked them now. He looked at Lu and suddenly, strangely, felt peace. Not because he thought he might not die today, but because he thought his life would have meant something if he did. Taking out even a handful of these demons and monsters would leave the world slightly better than he had come into it. It gave him hope. It gave him…joy.
Kiljar turned to his men. One had died, apparently of sheer fright.
“Men,” he said to the rest. “Take heart! If you die today taking one of these foul beings into the otherworld, your life will not have been in vain. Our way out lies through this army. One way or another!”
Turning back to face his foes, Kiljar whispered to Lu, “For what it is worth, god or mortal, it would have been my honor to sire a son such as you.”
Lu smiled. “I’ll see to it you have a chance yet.”
There were no further words exchanged. Every man and the god were ready to battle. They clanged weapons to shields, roared wordless battlecries.
What chance did ten men and a god have against another god with an army of demons?
Lu could not wait any longer to find out. He gave a mighty bellow and charged. Kiljar and his men ran along with him, weapons raised. They plowed through demons of all shapes and sizes, hacking the single leg off of some, cutting the goat heads off others.
Forward they pushed, but never seemed to gain any ground. A demon would fall and twenty more would take its place in battle. Metal clanged on metal. Wooden cudgels cracked against shields. Demons howled in pain and laughed in mockery. Kiljar cursed and swung his Atlantean blade in fury. Lu speared demons by the dozens and more emerged.
Behind them all stood monstrous Balor. His deep laugh shook the earth. He had yet to open his giant destructive eye. He had no need. This measly band led by his grandson would make no dent in his army of supernatural beings.
But on they pressed anyway. For hours, blood stained the fields. The first of Kiljar’s men to die in the battle had already slain well over three hundred Fomorians before a mini-balor smashed him over the head with a cudgel. Three of the goat-headed beasts slashed at him with their swords, the armor unscathed, the poor man’s head not as fortunate.
Kiljar slew all of them in a rage for his dead soldier. His ancient blade severed goat heads and rent mini-balors in two. A spider demon and six of the horse/bird/snake demons died before they realized Kiljar had turned his wrath on them.
Volt, on Kiljar’s left, was swinging the spear Lu had given him, swiping many of the foul beats to the ground and stabbing them while they were stunned. There was not a moments pause between opponents. From one to the other he jumped, slashed, thrusted, swept and thrusted again. No words on his lips. No prayers in his mind. Only the killing remained. In his mind, there was nothing but what was in front of him. The rest of the world had melted away.
Lu was by far having the most success with the killing business. He had lost count at half a million slain and that had been some time ago. The demons were now keeping their distance from him. His deftness with the spear had kept all enemies five foot away in a circle around him. He leaped from one direction to another in his cleared space felling those in front, then behind, then front again before the left side. Over to the right he sprang and slew and back to center. His stamina never seemed to diminish and the demons could never find an opening to strike at him.
But the hours pressed on. Kiljar saw a sunrise and could not remember if it was the first or second since the battle had begun. Even his mighty stamina was failing him. He was lifting his sun shield more than his sword now.
Volt felt his spear, light as it was, may as well have weighed fifty pounds. He still jumped and thrusted, but he was finding the target less and less. It was an effort to stand.
Lu was still bouncing and killing as well as ever, but even mortal eyes could see it was taking its toll. The circle of foes had closed in a good two feet and he found it harder to catch them off guard.
Two more of Kiljar’s band had fallen. Exhaustion had left them open to attack. Weak shots gave demons too many opportunities. The remaining six were now in a circle behind Kiljar, defending and rarely attacking unless they had an easy and clear shot.
The Demon-Fomorian army was also weakening however. The battle had taken a toll on them as well. The flying bird-women had landed and were now mostly dead since they could not avoid the sword swings by flying off and swooping down to attack. The mini-balors were all slain. The hybrid demons remained en masse but were on the defensive. The last spider demons had fled the field when the largest of them had been ripped apart by a more luck than skill sword strike from one of Kiljar’s men.
Balor stood from his stone slab. He stretched and cracked his back. He moved slowly on his single foot, hopping down the field toward the nuisance that had slain a good fourth of his army.
“Enough,” he roared.
Before even a portion of his troops had moved, his massive eyelid began to open. Lu gave the call to take cover. Everyone ducked.
He was three miles from his target. His strength was less than he had hoped now that his opportunity had come. Nevertheless, Lu gathered his resolve as he faced his grandfather. He readied the spear in his mighty arm.
As soon as the eye passed the mark of half-open, Lu took a short run forward and launched his spear. It fell several feet short. As if with one mind, Volt tossed the spear Lu had made him to the god. Kiljar bounded over to him. As Balor’s massive eye came fully open, Kiljar lifted Lu and flung him up and forward. The demon god’s deadly eye narrowly missed Kiljar and Lu was now sailing over its deadly gaze.
At the apex of Kiljar’s throw, Lu hurled his spear with a strength that surprised even himself. It sailed toward its target. Balor had just begun to shift his gaze up towards his airborne grandson when the spear connected. It ripped through the eye as easily as it would have punched through paper.
A deafening shriek split the air as Balor cried out in pain. He had no chance to get his hand to the spear to remove it before he fell down dead face first. His hoardes wailed at their master’s death and fled into the forests and earth from which they had emerged.
Balor’s massive eye continued burning into the ground it now faced. Lu walked over and jumped down into what was now a small crater and laid his hands on his grandfather. Even as Lu’s body began to shimmer with the well of power he drew from the other god, Balor’s body began to diminish. It was the size of one of the mini-balors when it finally crumbled to dust. Lu reclaimed the spear he had made for Volt. He did not need to climb back out of the massive hole. He ascended now into the sight of his mortal companions. Their cheers were enough to rival that of a thousand men.
Lu returned Volt’s spear before reclaiming his own. He smiled wide.
“You are true warriors all,” he told his mortal friends. “I will release you from Fomoria as promised. But first, we should feast and rest. This has been taxing.”
At the thought of food and rest, the men redoubled their cheering.
Chapter 7- Parting Ways
They woke late the next morning having drank to their victory and toasted their fallen dead. Lu, of course, was still awake. They had left the forest and camped on the southern edge of the Fomoria border. Lu had taken the night to retrieve Kiljar’s trunk of weapons and gear. He also had prepared a breakfast and had prepared meats and cheeses for their journey.
But Volt had other plans after the long fight. In all, in real time, they had been in the forest for over a month. Volt did not want another raid. And there was a more pressing matter.
“But manhood,” Kiljar protested. “Glory! You haven’t even gained a single coin since you arrived. How will you drown yourself in booze and boobs without some coin?”
“I can fix that,” Lu chimed in. He produced one hundred gold coins stamped with his likeness, not only to Volt, but to every man who had survived. “A reward for your service,” he said.
Volt took Kiljar aside.
“Lu has told me some…disturbing images he has seen. They involve my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
“I did. Long ago. I thought her dead. But Lu says she lives.”
“Let me help you then.”
“Not this time, friend. Some things a man must do alone.”
Kiljar nodded. He understood. He had been there before. He did not reflect on it.
“If you no longer find that the case, I will meet with you in winter in Ur. Even if your journey is not done, meet me. Two may accomplish more than one.”
Volt nodded and patted his friend’s shoulder.
“I will join you as far as the shores of the mainland,” Lu chimed in. “I wish to bring back a significant force to finish off the Fomorians.”
Volt nodded again.
“Goodbye, dad.” Lu hugged his adoptive father. “I will see you again before the end.”
“Goodbye, Lugh. I hope so.”
Lugh smiled. None of the other men caught the change in pronunciation, but the two shared a moment. Then Lugh removed the veil between Fomoria and Marune. He and Volt watched as Kiljar and his six men wandered off southward across the plains. Kiljar took only one glance over his shoulder and hoped he would see his friend and his “son” again some day.
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