Aerigo: An Origins Tale

Aerigo: Origins

  S.M. Welles

  Copyright 2013

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fan fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Aerigo: Origins

  About the Author

  Strength Excerpt

  The frustrating thing was that Bear was in jail because he hadn’t died. A redwood tree had fallen in the wrong direction, his direction. He had caught it in both hands and sank up to his knees in the dirt, saving his coworkers, Spit and Knuckles, and their workhorse from getting crushed to death. It had been more of a reflex reaction than anything. Bear was just as surprised to still be alive and unhurt but the situation worsened as soon as he heaved aside the fallen tree. Knuckles screamed for the guards. He pointed at Bear’s face, calling him a devil-eyed monster as he backed up to the fallen redwood. Spit unchained the Clydesdale from the log and galloped off, shouting, “Beware the demon! King Vivec has sent monsters to slay King Overonn!” Four guards ran up, their plate armor clanking and drawn swords gleaming in the afternoon sun. They called for aid and a minute later Bear had a twenty-guard escort to the makeshift jail on the edge of town. The dungeons weren’t complete yet and the soldiers were too afraid and superstitious to kill him.

  The whole world is too afraid and superstitious, Bear thought sourly. Had he died, the king and his former friends would have respectfully mourned him and his selfless act of bravery. Normal people couldn’t pull off such a feat of strength, nor did they possess eyes that glowed when experiencing certain emotions. But since Bear lived, and his eyes had responded to the fearful adrenaline rush, he was now a demon who’d saved two men’s lives. His heroics had been forgotten by everyone but him.

  Bear looked about the jail again. He sat alone in his cell, all alone in this three-cell jail of wood and stone. The jailer and his guards had sat outside the main entrance, too afraid that Bear would try to possess or hypnotize them—something like that—if they’d stayed within line of sight for too long. However, the bickering over what Bear was and what demonic powers he possessed had died down over an hour ago. Chances were the superstitious men had stolen away to a bar or brothel, having deemed guarding a demon or monster too risky for their liking.

  Bear stood and crossed to the door to his cell of wood and stone. The iron bars were spaced four fingers apart, too narrow for even a child to squeeze through. He grabbed hold of two adjacent bars and tested to see if he could widen the gap. The metal bent as if it were stiff clay. He bent the bars back in place and folded his arms, weighing his options.

  Staying in his cell didn’t feel right. He’d done nothing to deserve this fate—well, in his opinion. And besides: the Durnites would never let him go, much less let him live. Any possible threat to humanity needed to die. That was the dominant philosophy in the world, one that kept the population pruned and gullible. With the wells of the minds of men poisoned against him, the accusation of demonhood was itself a death sentence. If a felled redwood wasn’t enough to kill him, then what was? Would he suffer hours, days or even weeks of torture until someone finally figured out how to kill him? Bear reached for the bars again as he decided to not put the idea past his captors.

  Even with the bars bent, Bear was too big and broad chested to easily squeeze through. The bar scraping along the back of his tunic loosened with a metallic snap overhead. He froze half out, half in, and strained his ears for anyone coming to investigate. All he heard was the blood pounding in his head. He recommenced breathing, stepped into the semi-freedom of the jailer’s office, then bent the bars back into place as best he could. Maybe they’d leave him alone if it looked he’d spirited himself to freedom. Bear padded on silent bare feet to a glass window and peered through a sliver-sized gap in the wool curtains. A naphtha lamp lit an empty street corner. A slight widening of the gap revealed no one standing or sitting on the jail steps, or any part of the porch he could see. Bear let go of the curtain, sidestepped to the door, gripped the handle and applied the slightest pressure to the latch his unnatural strength could manage. Bear made no move when the latch made a heavy metal-against-wood click. He counted to ten to give anyone on the porch he might not have seen a chance to react to the noise.

  Nothing again but his pounding heart.

  Bear pulled the door open just wide enough for him to slip through, then shut the door. The latch clacked back into place. Bear paid it no mind, however he stopped mid-stride when he heard a wooden creak and the jingle of mail armor to his side. A guard sat up in his chair, then screamed the instant Bear felt his eye sockets heat with the warmth of his fearful glow.

  “Heeelp!” The guard surged to his feet and drew his steel sword. “The devil-eyed monster has broken out of jail!” He took his sword in both shaking hands and aimed the tip at Bear’s chin. “You stay away from me or I’ll—!”

  Bear reflexively swiped away the tip of the sword. The guard screamed again.

  “I yield, I yield! Please don’t kill me.”

  Bear took off down the steps before the guard could lay down his sword. He picked a random direction, not caring which way he fled, then changed course when he caught a whiff of a strong odor of horses. There wasn’t any point in caring anymore about how stealing a horse would affect his image. He ran down a dim, muddy street, slipped on a patch of what he hoped wasn’t horse dung, and found the stables a few houses down. The six horses stirred from their sleep, then pawed around restlessly once he started trying to put a saddle on the nearest one. The horse reared and jabbed its hooves at him, but connected with the stable wall twice. Bear wondered if horses feared his glowing eyes as much as the Durnites did. He threw the saddle over the Chestnut’s back and hastily started strapping it in place. The horse bit his arms a couple of times, but he paid the bites no more heed than if a bug had just flown into his arms.

  As soon as he had the final strap fastened, the right side of his back went afire with a stabbing pain. Bear cried out as he grabbed for his back and turned around. The guard from the jail stood before him and swung his sword. Bear ducked, pushed the guard out of his way and started running.

  Each stride, each pump of his arms, and each breath caused his back enough pain to urge him to lie down and writhe around with one hand clamped over the wound.

  Two mounted soldiers rounded onto the dim street, their swords drawn. Bear slipped when he tried to stop fast, and landed spread-eagle twenty feet away from them. The wind got knocked out of him but he rolled over and scrambled to his feet as hooves pounded closer. One of the mounted soldiers let out a war cry. Bear lost his balance again and stumbled into a somersault, a line of fiery pain shooting up the right side of his back. One set of hooves rumbled past him, and then the second trampled over him. A snap of bone, followed by the horse’s scream cut through the chill air. The soldier let go of his sword as he flew headfirst over his fallen mount and landed in a heap of metal and flesh just shy of the stables.

  Bear clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, set one foot on the ground and propped a hand on his raised knee as he pushed himself to a stand. His eyes felt like they were floating in a pool of blood and he went blind for several seconds until the pool receded. The guard who’d been thrown from his horse raised his retrieved sword over his horse’s neck and delivered a blow that killed the screaming and flailing for good. The mounted soldier was preoccupied with his own sword. Bear realized it was bent a third of the way from the tip. Had his own flesh resisted the sword blows like it had the redwood?
??s massive weight?

  Before he could ponder that, the guard who’d stabbed him in the stables thundered toward him on the very horse Bear had saddled. Bear turned and fled. Outrunning the horse was the only option left. He’d raced horses in his youth from time to time, once he realized how amazingly fast he could move, however the one behind him right now was keeping pace. Bear raced the guard to the edge of town, then faltered when he came upon the thirty-foot-tall stone wall he’d helped build before they’d started on the castle. He doubted his failing strength could pound through the eight-foot-thick wall before the guard came upon him, nor did he want to try. He and many others had put a year’s worth of time and effort into erecting the wall. He started running parallel to the wall, knowing he’d eventually come upon one of the four gates. Once through, he could make his escape route less obvious.

  When Bear spotted the gate, he could still hear the hoofbeats behind him, not too close, but not far off either. Four armed and armored soldiers guarded the gate. The guard pursuing him shouted to the others, but Bear ran by them too fast for anyone to land a blow on him. He ran into the dark forest turned all shades of silver and grey under the full moon, then turned south, heading for the Whispering River.

  Bear soon lost track of how long he’d been running. He grew fatigued and dizzy, and stopped once to throw up. Once his stomach was empty, he touched his back to assess the size of the wound. His fingers slipped right through the gash and touched bone. Bear dropped to his knees and let out a howl of pain. His mind had blocked out the pain during his flight, but now the agony hit him like a hammer the size of that cursed redwood. A sheet of sticky blood covered the right side of his back, had soaked through his sleeveless tunic, and dribbled all the way to his heel. No doubt he was leaving a trail of blood.

  As if in confirmation to his thought, Bear heard the baying of several hounds. A pursuit no amount of running could shake off. With the aid of a tree trunk, Bear raised himself to his feet once more. He meant to run but his legs would move no faster than a walk. It felt like his limbs were chained to weights he could do no more than drag, and his feet like they trod upon one giant spider web.

  Bear felt sick again, and then his body teetered face-first and he fell. The leaf-covered forest floor cushioned his fall, yet its cold dampness offered no comfort. Bear swung an arm around, then lay still. The dogs howled again and Bear willed his limbs to move, but managed to only tense his muscles.

  There was a flash of lightning, or something like it. Bear hadn’t the strength to lift his head to find out.

  “Oh, gods!” an unfamiliar male voice exclaimed. “Not a moment too soon.”

  A pair of hands slipped under Bear’s shoulders from behind and lifted his torso off the ground.

  A burst of air buffeted them from behind, leaves scattered, and then their rustling and the dogs’ barking fell silent in the next instant. The dirt and leaves under Bear’s legs felt strangely like warm sand. He opened his eyes and saw white sand flecked with black grains. Where am I?

  “Your injury looks terrible,” the stranger said, “Probably won’t kill you but I’d rather not find out the hard way.” The man started dragging Bear along the sand. “Close your eyes and keep them shut underwater.”

  Bear tried to ask the man what he was talking about but all that came out was a moan. He tilted his lolling head so he could look ahead with one eye. Instead of the Whispering River, a lake he didn’t recognize lay before them. The water was clear enough to see to the sandy bottom until it steeply dropped off, turning the water a deep blue. “Where...”

  “I’m dunking you in my lake. The water can heal injuries. Close your eyes and get ready to hold your breath.”

  Bear didn’t know of any lakes with healing powers, yet he hoped this stranger wasn’t lying to him. He wanted the pain to go away more than he wanted to understand where he was.

  The lake was just as warm as the sand, as warm as a late spring morning. As soon as they waded in up to Bear’s shoulders, he was turned over onto his back. He was toted further out. He tried to raise his head but his scalp bumped into the stranger’s bare chest.

  “Ready?”

  Bear closed his eyes and sucked in air. The other man’s hands slipped out from under his arms, placed them over his shoulders and pushed him underwater. Once fully submerged, the gash in his back felt like someone had stuck a burning poker to it. He opened his eyes and started struggling for the surface. As soon as he opened his eyes, he stopped struggling. A vision of stars beyond his ability to count surrounded him. Splotches and swirls of clouds clustered among the stars, all shades of pink, purple, white and gold. But those weren’t clouds in the stars.

  How do I know that? The truth was before him like writing on parchment, however his mind couldn’t seem to focus on understanding, or even why he understood.

  The stars turned into faces and places, both unfamiliar, yet Bear knew every person and place. His temples began to throb. And then his head was pulled out from underwater.

  “I said keep your eyes closed!” the stranger snapped. “There are things in this water mortals aren’t equipped to handle or understand.”

  Bear gulped in air as the pressure in his head vanished. The stranger gently shook him by the shoulders.

  “Close your eyes again. You need a bit longer than that to heal up.”

  “I need... a moment.” His voice came out hoarse.

  “I’ll bet. Ten more seconds of that and you’d have passed out on me.”

  Once memory of all those faces blurred enough, and his breathing grew more relaxed, Bear gave the man the word to dunk him again. This time he braced himself for the pain and squeezed his eyelids shut. His eyes did pop open for an instant when the pain hit him, but he shut his eyes and tensed his body.

  As soon as he felt like he could hold his breath no longer, the stranger let him surface. Bear tried to stand as he sucked in air, but the other man lifted him in both arms and carried him to the shore. Water noisily dripped off them and back into the lake, and then Bear felt the warm sand against his back and head and heels. And no pain.

  “When you wake up, you’ll feel much better. Sleep well.”