Fragments

[Patrick]

OOC: please keep comments in the Critic's Corner, this story shall have quite a few chapters and I wouldn't want to have the flow disrupted.

 

Prologue

410 years before Grimfalk’s return

 

“The moment he saw her he knew that she was the one. The one he was supposed to fall in love with. The future mother of his children. The woman he was going to kill sixteen years later.” - The Prophecy

 

She glided softly across the dance floor, clearly a much better dancer than her current partner. When the song ended she gracefully let his hand go, declined his invitation for a drink and went over to the bar, sitting on the stool next to me. I was terrified of her. Behind her cheerful smile and captivating eyes, I could already see her lying dead on the ground, blood flowing from her chest, the dripping knife in my hand. I could already see my two sons, and my daughter, unborn for years to come. Death on a battlefield, drug overdose, being gunned down for a case of mistaken identity. I knew everything about their lives even before they were more than a thought in her head.

 

“Hi, my name is Inya,” she said, her voice sounding pleasant. That was new information to me. I knew already the exact date of her death, yet I had not even known her name. My expression must have shown my sadness at knowing the future ahead of us, for she asked me why I was so sad. I had a trouble finding words, and stayed silent instead.

 

The band struck up another song and she took hold of my hand. “Come on, dance with me.” I could not resist. I was already in love with her.

[Patrick]

Chapter 1

18 months before Grimfalk’s return

“He was young, yet destined to be a greater man than some three times his age.” – The Prophecy

The flickering flames of the fire only dimly lit the room. Thickly wrapped in furs, the warmth of the fire not enough to keep him from the glacial cold outside, the old man puffed on his pipe, the aftertaste of the supper still lingering on his tongue.

“Sean! Sean!” a woman’s voice drifted from the upstairs room. “SEAN! Haul your fat ass up here!”

“Stupid woman,” the man muttered underneath his breath. The love that had once passionately fuelled both of them had ended many years ago and only the lack of another viable partner and their three children kept them together.

Puffing on his pipe more in annoyance, than for the taste Sean Wilson Sr. suffered his way up the stairs.

“The boy is gone,” his wife simply said. “You know as well as I do, where he’s gone to.”

“Humph. I’d wager he’s just chasing skirts down in the village. You know the boy, Marge.”

“Chasing skirts! With the Imperial Army just hours away? You heard it yourself! They landed in the Northern Basin twenty-four hours ago. You always knew that your accursed boy hated them. He’s gone to join the rebels, without a doubt.” The conversation was turning out to be another of their usual arguments.

“Bollocks! That boy knows what’s good for him.” He simply dumped the contents of his pipe into the small fireplace in the room and started refilling it again. “He is my son, he is no fool.”

“It is exactly because he is your son that he has left! You should go and find him before he gets himself into more trouble than he can handle.”

An inaudible mumble followed, but still Sean Wilson Sr. turned and headed down the stairs. He had no wish to go out into the biting cold. But still… He had to admit to himself that his son, Sean Junior, had been acting weirdly ever since he had heard the news about the Imperial Army. Cursing his conscience for not letting the matter go, the old man reached for his thick fur coat.



The cold was even worse than he had imagined. It bit through every layer of clothing he wore. He tried huddling close to his horse’s neck, tried sheltering himself from the howling wind, but there was no escape. He could already feel his gloved hands growing numb. He cursed his wife and his conscience yet again and urged the steed onwards.

The full moon illuminated the whole valley ahead and made following his son’s trail an easy task. The trail led directly north. Towards Halmand Castle. Away from the village.

“Halt!”

The command caught him completely by surprise and in his surprise he pulled the horse to a halt. Three men, carrying rifles, and dressed in uniform barred his path. It was only upon closer inspection that it dawned on him that these men weren’t those he was used to seeing patrol these regions. They were regular soldiers from the Imperial Army.

“No civilians are permitted further north. A major military operation is ongoing.” The voice was harsh and left no room for manoeuvre.

“But, my son, he has gone that way!” he indicated the trail of footsteps that the wind had still failed to blow away.

“If your son is inside of the operational area, then he shall be considered an enemy combatant. Now leave before we have to use force. This is no place for a civilian.”

[Patrick]

Chapter 2

410 years before Grimfalk's return

“A fateful meeting. Neither able to resist the love. Neither of them able to disentangle themselves from the thread of prophecy.” - The Prophecy

My whole life has been shaped by the prophecy. Ever since the age of ten, in my first lifetime, thousands of years ago, when I was first told of the prophecy, what I was going to do and when I was going to do it has been foretold. One can never know whether the prophet relating his words in a haze of drugs simply has insight into the future that is to happen or whether he chooses the future to happen. Nonetheless, whether I wanted to or not, events unfolded around my life over which I had no control.

I had a brother in my first lifetime. An older brother who grew to be the greatest hero the universe had ever known. From the age of sixteen my life was overshadowed by the influence he wielded and the deeds he accomplished. Of course all of it had been prophesized and for the two of us it was like living a dream we had had years earlier. But for everyone else, he was the hero the universe had needed to bring it out of centuries of civil war and economic ruin.

It had never been easy growing up knowing that I would be an average nobody. All of my choices had already been made for me and I just needed to go along with them and live the life that had been laid out for me, while my brother had the life I had always dreamed of. I was to die, as foretold, at the disappointing age of fifty-three in a car accident of all things.

In my first lifetime I had been as proficient a mage as the universe had ever seen. Of course, since my brother was at least as good as me, and had six extra years to show off, no one took much notice of me. I was educated at the magical university as everyone else who manifested magical powers. Of course, being just the younger brother of the greatest prodigy, no one paid much attention to me and I was just one of many. All my adult life I got to work as a tribunal mage, sorting out the truth of testimonies from the false.

I did not resent my brother for hogging all the fame from me. We were always closer than most people thought. Our fates had been tied together in the accursed prophecy and he stayed close to me, even though I was nobody. He knew that millennia later he would need me.



It was strange to open my eyes again after the crash and pain of the accident. I knew that I was supposed to be dead. It had been foreseen as the day of my death. It had taken me a couple of minutes, staring at a man in a white lab-coat, his hands enormous compared to what I could recall as the right size for hands, to realise that I had been reborn. Thoughts alien to a baby just born were present in my mind from the day I was brought to the world. The mother who birthed me for my second life was dead from childbirth, but I had another life ahead of me. A life in which I was supposed to become the most dreaded person the universe ever knew. From the point of view of a child just a few minutes old it had seemed incredibly absurd of course, so I had the most natural reflex, and started crying.



Twenty-five years had passed since I was brought to life again as a brother-less orphan. My father had died while my mother was five-months pregnant, his life of crime finally catching up to him in an electrical chair. A cousin thirty years older than me raised me. She took good care of me and even provided the best education she could. Never through all these years did I tell anyone of the millennia-old knowledge inside of me. Never did I mention it to anyone what I was destined for. I tried to live as simple a life as I could, dreading the day that the prophecy was to grab me up again and drag me down the path I had no wish to trod.



Her eyes were at least as beautiful as the prophecy had foretold. I felt as though I could forever gaze at them as we danced through song after song. She turned away anyone else who wanted to dance with her, choosing me, the twenty-five year old law student, over everyone else that night. We were made for each other.

We made love passionately that night. The moment felt like it could go on forever, but for me it was just the beginning of a dreaded journey.

[Patrick]

Chapter 3

410 years before Grimfalk’s return

“Love. A trap that can catch even the mightiest.” – The Prophecy

“Inya,” I let her name roll of my lips as she came back, dripping and naked from her morning shower. We had known each other for just two months and already rented a flat together. She lay down next to me, and put her head on the pillow. I leant over and kissed her. “There is something I have to talk to you about,” I started. I had meant to have this talk earlier, but finding the right time and place was never easy for such a talk.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked her. The question must have caught her by surprise, but she did not show it, “Of course. You are George Heath, twenty-five year old law student, top of his class and the man very lucky to be loved by me,” she rolled over and playfully tickled me. Despite every inch of my body desiring to join in the game, I resisted and gently pushed her away from me.

“In a certain sense that is true. But there is much more to me. Do you know who Grimfalk was?” I asked her. She nodded. Everyone knew who Grimfalk had been. History lessons still sang odes about his exploits in putting a ravaged universe back together more than three thousand years ago.

“I don’t know how to say this, but - ” I paused as she put a hand on my arm, an expression of curiosity mixed with concern in her clear blue eyes. “It will be hard for you to believe this, it is sometimes hard even for me, but I am, I mean I was, in a previous lifetime, Grimfalk’s brother.” Seeing laughter in her eyes, I added, “This is not a joke or a game Inya. I sincerely wish it were. I am as accursed by the prophecy as he was.”

She did not reply. I caught myself thinking that she considered me mad. Calling the prophecy accursed in a universe redeemed by it would have, by most, been considered blasphemy.

“All the history books say that Grimfalk’s brother was as powerful a mage as Grimfalk ever had been. In all your life you never showed any signs of magic coursing through your veins. Of all things you are a law student George!” Her tone was chastising. “I find it very hard to believe you, yet somehow, I can’t disbelieve you either.”

“Watch,” I simply said and lifted up one of my hands. A slender green stalk shot from my hand and rapidly grew to a length of several inches. Within a few seconds a beautiful white flower perched atop of my hand. Inya stared at me in wide-eyed shock. Suddenly she started shaking. Immediately the flower disappeared from my hand. I gently pulled the sheets over her naked form and hugged her tightly. It took me several minutes to bring her back to a relatively calm state.

“My parents weren’t killed in a car accident as I told you when we met,” she said after several more minutes. “They were killed by a rogue magic-user who had broken off from the Mage’s Guild Academy before he had completed his training.”

“And you’ve been terrified of magic ever since the day. The prophecy had said it,” I said. “I knew what I could cause to you and for that I am sorry. But I had to prove to you that I was not a raving lunatic.”

“Please promise me that you shall never use magic again,” she said. “Please.”

“I promise, Hasanlia,” I said and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Hasanlia?” she asked.

“The magical word for an unbreakable promise,” I replied and hugged her tight.

[Patrick]

Chapter 4

2912 years before the return of Grimfalk

“Hear me, oh Gods! Hear my feeble voice! Hear my prophecy!” – The Prophecy

The day of my graduation from the university went surprisingly well. Even my great brother, the hero of the entire universe came. Of course everyone had focused on him. Of course ninety percent of the press coverage of the day would be about him. But he had not come for all that. He had come to see his little brother, Armus White, receive the diploma that he himself had never acquired.

The need for a hero had torn my brother Grimfalk from his education when he was just eighteen. When his generation was still safely nestled inside the educative system he fought battles spanning solar systems, negotiated with warlords and monarchs and participated in the unification of a universe torn apart by conflict.

But he had been there the day I graduated.

That night was the last time that the whole of our family dined together. It was an emotional affair. Grimfalk’s first night at home in many years coupled with the pride my parents felt at my graduation brought the whole extended family to our house. The press, hungry for any morsel of information they could possibly acquire about my brother and his family were never far away that night. But they weren’t the worst.

It was shortly after midnight that the first bomb exploded. It missed our house by a good hundred feet, but the sound of it woke us all. Grimfalk was the first outside, a white light surrounding him, his arms outstretched as he tried protecting us all from the sudden attack. In no way could he have anticipated the attack about to come.

Dozens of bombs flew at us from the sky, all of them stopped by my brother and I. But around us, the landscape was being torn apart, by the full-scale military assault. The final attack came suddenly and was so unexpected that not even my brother could stop it. A massive spaceship, more than three miles in length hurtled through the atmosphere, a white-hot projectile burning through the thin layers of air surrounding the planet.

Only seconds were left. I was paralyzed in fear. Despite all the training I had received, despite all of my studies, I did not have the experience that my brother did. The flagship of the attacking fleet easily smashed through our magical defences. Grimfalk grabbed my arm and the ground slipped from under my feet.



Soft sand grated underneath my feet. Salty ocean air, a stunning contrast to the burning air I had breathed just a second ago, invaded my senses. Apart from the waves softly breaking on the beach no sound could be heard and nothing moved.

“Look,” Grimfalk said and pointed to the star-lit sky above us. I could recognise the constellations. And in the middle of it, the planet where I had spent my childhood and my learning years. Half of the planet was engulfed in a massive inferno, spreading rapidly to the other side.

“Father…mother…” I heard Grimfalk fall to his knees. I wept silently with him, gazing at the unfolding massacre. It was long before either of us uttered another word.



“I was their target. They killed everyone just so as to have a chance at killing me,” I had never heard Grimfalk’s voice so sad, never felt so much determination in him. “I want revenge.” He turned his blood-shot eyes away from the skies and looked at me. “Little brother. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…this is all my fault.” He disappeared from my side. I wouldn’t see him for six years.

[Patrick]

Chapter 5

18 months before Grimfalk’s return

“On a fateful winter night, he embarked on a journey, the end of which no one could have guessed.” – The Prophecy

The cold was even worse for Sean Jr. He did not have the thick furs his father wore. He wore a simple shirt underneath his sweater. Both were frozen to his body, the initial perspiration of his exertions now a frozen sheet of cloth. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and his footsteps swayed erratically off the path he mentally imagined.

He already regretted leaving against his mother’s wishes. The warmth of the family home felt like an unattainable paradise, but when he had left it he had stepped through the gates of this chilly hell.

It was only a question of minutes before his senses left him and he lay down in the warm snow, never to stand up again. Already the desire to stop and just simply give up was almost irresistible. Joining the rebels had been a foolish venture from the start. A dream only a fool could entertain.

The soft snow rushed up to meet him and he embraced it, content to finally not have to move anymore. His thoughts drifted far away from the weather, far away from a small matter of the 12th Imperial Army trying to reassert control over a rebellious planet.



He woke up several hours later. To tell the truth he was quite surprised to be alive. He had half expected to only open his eyes in the afterlife, but it seemed that the Gods had wanted things differently.

Flickering lights on a ceiling above him let him know that he was indoors. The air was pleasantly warm, a very good improvement on the deadly cold outside. He tried moving his arm, but stopped as he felt a gentle, but firm hand touch his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t move. You almost died out there and are still weak.” The voice was a kind, deep voice that Sean did not recognise.

“Where am I?” he asked, fighting off the urge to move his arm. Something did not feel right with it, but he could not pinpoint exactly what the problem was.

“Halmand Castle. You collapsed just in front of the gates.”

Sean turned his head and looked at the man who was talking to him. He wore a thick fur coat, the hood of which was thrown back, revealing a thick dark beard and hair that was matching in colour and reaching almost to the man’s shoulders.

“My name is Jonathan. I’m part of the medical team,” he said, answering the question Sean already had on his lips. “I was quite worried about you back there, but you pulled through nicely,” he added with a smile. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Sean lied. “I have come to join up. I want to fight the Imperials!”

“Even if you had been out hunting you’d have no other choice.” Jonathan sighed. “They have the castle surrounded. Now, let’s not think about battles and war for a few minutes. I have some nice hot soup for you here.”

Jonathan helped Sean sit up and lifted the bowl for him, but then put it back down.

“How stupid of me. I was forgetting.” He gently took hold of Sean’s right arm and lifted it from under the sheets. “I’m so sorry.”

Sean looked in horror at his hand. Thick bandages smelling of disinfectant were wrapped around it, but he could still see what the problem was. His right hand had only two fingers.

“Your fingers were completely frozen. We could only save your index and little finger.” Jonathan compassionately put a hand on Sean’s shoulder.

Sean fought down the urge to cry. He fought down the urge to cry out for his parents. Tears welled up, but he did not let them come out.

“Lucky that I’m left handed isn’t it?” he said, picking up the bowl of hot soup and putting on as brave a face as he could. He put the bowl on his lap and then leant over for the spoon. To tell the truth, he had never been more scared in his whole life.

[Patrick]

Chapter 6

410 years before Grimfalk’s return

“Is it possible to love knowing what the future has in store? Is it possible not to hate someone for a future betrayal? Or are we all just puppets in some grand scheme, unable to move contrary to the threads dangling from the puppet-master’s hands?” – The Prophecy

It was a beautiful afternoon. The rays of the distant sun caught on the golden leaves in the park, bathing the soft grass in an almost yellow light. Three months had passed since our first meeting. The summer had ended, but the onset of autumn did not in the least tarnish our feelings for each other.

And still I carried the dark secret of the future inside of me. Even in my first lifetime I was among a privileged few who knew more than half of the prophecy. My brother had known slightly more, but the whole picture had never been revealed to him either. In the millennia since the truths and lies had become so entangled that no one had an accurate picture of the prophecy any more. No one but me.

The prophecy did not determine every action. It wasn’t a thread you had to follow without deviation. The way I had always imagined the prophecy was as a widely flowing river. You could move whichever way you wanted to in the river, you could swim from one bank to the other. But there were times when you had to descend a waterfall, because the current left you no other choice.

Today I was at a waterfall. Not because of anything that had been prophesized, but because of one of my own choices. I could no longer bear to hide the truth from Inya.

I took a deep breath and started talking without any real introduction to the subject.

“I sometimes wish I could have lived a different life. Free of all these obligations, free to make my own choices and not have to comply with the future that I know has to happen. Unfortunately my life is simply as living through a movie I had already seen previously. I know in general what happens, but it’s as though I had been really tired when watching it and occasionally fell asleep, since parts of it are missing.”

She was listening attentively. I was the only person in the universe who could talk about the prophecy this way and she did not hide her curiosity.

“There is a part of the film of my life that hasn’t happened yet, but which is a pivotal point of the story. It is a turn for the worse. Inya, I am prophesized to kill you exactly sixteen years to the day when we first met.” The words had not come easily, but they had to come.

My feelings were as torn apart as hers must have been. Part of me wished with all its might that she would run away from me, breaking the prophecy in the process and saving herself. The other part of me wanted to hold her close and to never let go, effectively dooming her, tying her for the rest of her cruelly short life to the thread of the prophecy.

“I love you Inya, but believe me when I say that I wish that we had never met. I have no reason to want you anything bad, and I can’t see myself become the person that I am bound to become, but there is that nagging feeling inside my heart that what is going to happen can’t be stopped.”

She spoke slowly when she spoke, as if she carefully weighed every word still not sure of one word, when she spoke the previous one. “When I met you, I felt that you weren’t someone ordinary. Of course that was love speaking, but then a month ago you told me who you really are…were back then. I believe you when you say that the prophecy can’t be stopped.”

“There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know yet. My life had been pretty bad until I met you, George. Men always think that being a good-looking woman makes things in life easier. For me it made life much harder. I never liked being the centre of attention was always shy. But having the looks I had acted like a magnet for boys even while I was still in school. Even when I told them that I did not want to see them they still came to see me. For them it was cool to be seen in my company. Even my girlfriends only hung out with me because they hoped that some of the attention that I was given could rub off on them.”

“I dated quite a few of my admirers before I met you. But I never loved any one of them. It was as though I was looking for someone perfect who would never come along. After one of these failed relationships I was so down that I tried to kill myself. Luckily for those who cared somewhat for me as a person, they were able to save my life, before the overdose could kill me.”

“Even afterwards my life was hell. Until the day you came around. I couldn’t recall a day when I had been happy in the last six or seven years before I met you. I had always just been getting through the crap life was throwing at me, envious of the friends who I considered luckier than myself and who found something in life that satisfied them. But then I met you, and I was finally as happy as those I had envied earlier. You gave me what no one had ever given me before. You did not consider me a doll that you could showcase alongside your sports car. You were the first man in my life to consider me for who I really am, someone who is very different on the inside than on the outside.”

She took hold of my hand.

“My life did not have a meaning before I met you. I was close to going for suicide yet again, but this time determined not to fail. You gave my life meaning. George, if I had to die now, after only three months with you, I’d die happily. You say we are given sixteen years. I say we cherish the time given to us and try to live it out as fully as we can, not thinking of what has to happen that fateful day, until it eventually does come.”

My heart beat faster than it ever had.

“Inya, I…” I paused, not knowing what to say. “Shh, don’t say anything,” she put a finger against my lips. “You don’t have to say anything.”

[Patrick]

Chapter 7

18 months before Grimfalk’s return

“Who does not want to control the crucial piece in a puzzle apart from those who ignore the puzzle?” – The Prophecy

Halmand castle was an imposing structure, built several centuries earlier, but through renovations and extensions still a commanding fortress, towering over the surrounding valley. Built on an island in the middle of a fork of the Halmand River, its strategic position had allowed it to become the most important military establishment on the whole planet.

The Dukes of Halmand, once an important family, ruling a vast swathe of land had called the castle their home. But the Halmand family had long since died out and the castle had been a museum until seven years ago, when the inhabitants of the planet had rebelled against their imperial rulers.

Building on the initial success of the rebellion, the defences of the castle had been brought to the modern standards and a large garrison was stationed inside. Given its strategic position and its undefeatable status in the minds of the rebels, it was one of the first objectives of the imperial assault.



“Even more imposing from down here than it had been from the air, isn’t it?”

The three men stood on the thick snow covering the frozen river, three miles upstream. All three of them wore thick uniforms, and two were heavily laden with various medals and insignia. The third puffed rapidly on a cigarette, trying to keep his bare hands out in the cold as little as possible.

“Smoking is-” the older officer started, but was cut off. “I don’t care. As an observer I am not under your command here.”

“What is the Mage’s Guild’s purpose in sending you here anyway? It has been decades since the Guild called upon its privilege of observing the Imperial Army’s deployments.” It was clear that for him the observer was unwanted baggage, attention he could do without. But he was in no position to contest Imperial High Command having dumped the observer onto him for the duration of the mission.

“None of your business, general. I am here to observe. Put that into your report.” He shot an icy glare at the officer commanding of the imperial forces in the valley. The general turned, spat in disgust, and walked towards the left bank, where the artillery was setting up.



“Are you sure that this is the place?” the younger officer asked once the general was out of earshot.

“There is no doubt. It is the right place, and almost the right time. The prophecy has never been wrong,” the mage replied. “Just keep close to the general, listen to whatever he says, and act like the officer that you have replaced. And be very careful not to draw attention to yourself. You can never know who reports to him. His men seem to be everywhere nowadays.”

“Understood. What about the boy?”

“He got to the castle before the perimeter was fully secured. He’s safe for now.” The middle-aged mage brought a pair of binoculars from his pockets and turned them towards the castle.

“I don’t understand why he is so important,” his accomplice asked.

“You don’t need to know the exact reason. Knowing that he is key in the return of Grimfalk should be more than enough to satisfy your curiosity. Now leave me. I need to think.”

[Patrick]

Chapter 8

17 months before Grimfalk’s return

“Hell on earth can be cold. Extremely cold.”- The Prophecy

Day after day of artillery shells smashing against the fortifications had achieved the desired effect of playing with the defender’s nerves. The fact that no one had deserted was a clear sign to the influence and the respect that the rebel leader evoked in his men.

Jorgen was as unlikely a figure as one could find to lead a rebellion. Married, father of six children he had everything to lose. His whole life he had been an engineer building things. Yet when conflict called he had been ready to destroy. Ironically the first bridge he had blown up during the rebels guerrilla campaign had been the first one he had designed. In his own words, it had helped to know where he had to place the charges.

When the first rumours of the Imperial Army being called in had reached the leadership of the rebels, Jorgen had been named the commander of the northern sector. It was barely more than a strip of land connecting the two great landmasses of the planet, but, strategically, no other sector was more important.

Almost the whole sector’s defensibility depended on Halmand Castle. The rebels knew it and the imperials knew it. Three thousand defenders faced off against a full Imperial Army of twelve thousand men and their superior equipment.

Being one of those three thousand had introduced Sean to a life different in many ways than the one he had been used to in the comfort and warmth of his home. Meals were never in regular times for fear of imperial shelling, it was almost never warm, even with all the measures taken to keep the defenders out in the cold for only the necessary time.

Once his hand had sufficiently healed he had been transferred to the messengers. His youthful speed and his wounded hand together had been enough to keep him out of fighting duty, much to his own chagrin. Little did he know that he’d very soon have more than his own share of fighting.

“Sean!” came the voice over the wire transmitter in his quarters. The rebels did not use any wireless communications, knowing full well the imperials prowess in intercepting and decrypting those signals.

He did not need more than that to know that he was needed. Reluctantly scrambling from the relative warmth of his furs and covers he put on the warm clothes given him after his arrival and ran the short length to the dispatch room.

“Message for the Northeast Tower,” the same voice as over the transmitter greeted him and Sean took the data unit from his superior. “Be careful,” the elderly man cautioned, “Sniper activity is high around the bridges today.”

Halmand Castle had been built in a very peculiar way. Sitting on an island in the middle of the Halmand River four artificial islets were raised in the river surrounding it and its four towers were built on these heaps of reinforced concrete. The towers were connected to the castle itself by thin, fragile bridges. In case of destruction of the bridges, new, temporary ones made of steel, could easily be deployed from the castle.

In peacetime there were three ways of entering the castle. The castle itself was connected to the west bank of the river, joining the main North-South road about half a mile from the river. The two eastern towers were connected to the eastern bank of the river, by sturdy bridges. At the beginning of the siege Jorgen had ordered those two bridges destroyed. Their slabs of concrete still littered the frozen river.

The Northeast Tower had been given particular attention by the opposing artillery. Merely two days after the beginning of the siege they had scored a lucky hit on the bridge connecting it to the castle. In the three weeks that had passed since then seventeen temporary bridges had been also hit.

Sean accepted his assignment without complaining. It was the second time in twenty-four hours that he had to take a message there. He never knew the contents of the messages he transported, but he could guess that the rebels were having troubles in the Northeast Tower.

Getting to the north-eastern corner of the castle was easy. Hundreds of shelters existed where one could duck when hearing the whistle of an incoming artillery shell. The difficult part was getting over the bridge. Getting there he saw that there was no bridge.

The engineering crew next to the opening had however been waiting for him. As soon as they spotted him they started deploying the temporary bridge.

Almost immediately artillery shells came raining down. Two bridges were wasted before finally the third reached the tower on the other side of the gap.

“Good luck,” the leader of the engineers whispered to Sean. “Nice kid, hope he fares better than the other messenger two hours ago,” he added as soon as Sean had set out at a sprint across the bridge.

He just made it. Seconds after he reached the other side of the bridge an almost direct hit on the fragile steel structure sent it tumbling down onto the hard ice to join many others already down there. Watching it fall, Sean noticed the body of a messenger he had come to know, who had not been as lucky as him. Frozen traces of blood showed that he had not died a quick death.

As Sean handed over his message tube to the Sergeant in charge of the tower he heard retaliatory artillery shells, fired from the castle courtyard fly overhead. It was the first time that the defending artillery had opened fire. Ammunition was short and only the surest shots were taken. That day they hit fourteen of the high-technology pieces of artillery the opposing army used.

“Well, well, well,” the Sergeant said upon reading the letter. “My name is Jack Brown. It seems that you shall be staying with us for a bit, my boy.” He handed the message to Sean for him to read it.

Losses in men, equipment too high to resupply NE T. Evac judged too risky. On your own. Best of luck. – J.

[Patrick]

Chapter 9

394 years before Grimfalk's return

"Tragedies have always shaped the course of history. A tragedy is always more powerful than a joyous event." – The Prophecy

The mood was sombre at best, comparable to what one could find at a funeral at worst. For sixteen years this day had been dreaded, thoughts of it pushed back into a subconscious, but always present. And now the feared day had come and no one in the small suburban house wanted to see it unfold.

The youngest three, my children, simply did not know why this day was so special. They did not know why their mother hugged them much longer than usual as they departed that morning. We had judged that telling them that their mother had died in a car accident was much easier than having to tell them the truth.

Rachel, the youngest of the three had inherited her mother's eyes, but had pale blonde hair in contrast to Inya's soft brown locks. She was going to be six the next week and loved going to kindergarten.

George Jr., ten years old a week earlier, was a dreamy boy, thinking about tales of adventure quite often. One time, several months ago he had gone into a long-winded speech about how he was going to be a writer when he grew up. He already had the names of his two heroes, who were going to fall in love and live happily ever after. They were to be called Inya and George after us.

Fifteen year old Thomas, born from the first time we had made love, was almost an exact image of me. He had turned back and waved as he left the house that morning, suspecting that we were hiding something from him.

The three of them were off to see Inya's parents, living in the countryside, for the weekend, to leave us some "us time" as we had put it.

The door closed, closing a chapter of my life. I knew that my whole life was going to change after this day. Without Inya…I didn't want to imagine life without her. We had discussed this moment often in the last couple of months. Knowing that I was supposed to kill her, but not knowing how or why had been a terrible feeling for both of us.



"Quick and painless," I whispered, holding the knife in a shaking hand. Both Inya and I had tears in our eyes, but we had agreed that instead of facing an uncertain death, Inya would have a fast death, one which brought her no pain. We kissed, and I placed the knife at her throat.

"And he shall kill her in the worst way possible." The words of the prophecy flashed in my mind. Why had I chosen to remember half-forgotten words uttered thousands of years ago right now? My hand shook violently and the knife scratched Inya's neck. The sight of the small trickle of blood made the knife fall from my hands.

It clattered to the ground with an absurdly loud noise in the sudden silence, rebounding multiple times until it settled on the cold tiles.

"I can't do it; I can't become a willing puppet to this accursed prophecy. If it wants to get its dirty work done, it will have to do it itself."

Inya reached up to brush away a tear from my face. The lovemaking that followed reminded both of us of the first few days after we had met. The fiery passion we had felt then was rekindled and magnified by the tragedy we believed we would witness that day.



Laying on the bed afterwards, our bodies close together, we were both startled by the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen.

By the time I got there, still fully naked, the three masked and armed men had already entered by the broken window. They had planned for it to be a simple robbery; taking the valuables they thought were present in the home and leaving. The appearance of our two naked figures did complicate things.

"Don't you move," one of them said, in a voice heavily laced by an accent I had heard in my previous lifetime for the last time. "Don't you bloody move! Tie them!" While two of them kept their guns pointed at Inya and me the third went through the kitchen cupboards, until he finally found some string. He tied me to the pillar in the middle of the living room, taking care to tie both my feet and hands securely.

"You look mighty fine, mighty fine," he said in an even more accentuated voice when he came next to Inya. Instead of the motions of tying up someone his hands caressed her body. Inya tried slapping his hands away, but was stopped by a gun shoved against her chin. Another of the three men had come up next to her.

"Make it quick," the third, still brandishing his gun at me, told his companions.

I could not move my eyes away. Both physically, tied up as I was, and mentally I was forced to watch as the two men took their turns raping her. Inya did not give in quietly. She struggled, she bit, she fought as hard as she could, until they had gagged her and tied her hands and feet.

And through it all I was forced to watch. I watched on as my life was raped away in front of my eyes. Long forgotten words jumped at me from his subconscious. Words that I knew could kill the three men in a heartbeat. Words that I had promised Inya I would never utter.

The gun going off made both me and the man pointing his gun at me jump. My world folded inwards, grief already threatening to overwhelm me. The prophecy had taken my challenge. It had sent others to do the dirty work. The prophecy always won. And I had killed her in the worst way possible, through not doing anything to save her.

A gun being pushed against my temple had brought me back to my senses. Through a shroud of tears, through my heartbeat drumming in my ears I could hear the three men argue about whether they should also kill me, now that they had killed my wife. To be honest, I did not care. I wanted nothing more than to join Inya.

But the anger welling up in me was too strong. I had made a promise not to use magic anymore sixteen years ago and I had meant that promise. But without Inya that promise was no more. The irony that the powers with which I could save her were only available after her death was not lost on me.

The three men never knew what hit them. Never before had they, nor anyone in the entire universe heard about such power being unleashed. The resulting explosion wiped out more than ninety percent of the city, leaving only a naked man alive in the midst of the destruction. A naked man and the grief the prophecy had inflicted on him.

[Jechum]

Jechum floats in...

 

Oh I do like old stories...

 

While its there is no Zool here my comment should bring some looks on this story once again...

 

Note to self... Might need to go back and clean my tracks.

 

Jechum floats out...