A Trek of A Storyteller

Ch.4: Skylos The Brave!

He awoke with a start to bitter cold. Worse than that, he could not stop his shivering. He was sure his lips were blue. It was still dark outside and, shivering uncontrollably, the boy panicked once again.

"Be calm," he murmured under his breath, clouding up his tarp with the fog. It was enough. He steadied his breath, keeping his chest from raising so rapidly. 'Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so!,' he thought to himself, challenging the cold itself. 'On second thought,' he smiled, standing from his makeshift tent with a new idea.

In his too-large boots he made his way down the crooked steps, quite a feat given that he kept stumbling and tripping in the dark. The moon, still full, was hidden beneath the twisted oak limbs which captured it in their reaching branches.

When at last he touched the uneven roads below, he dropped to his knees, cold as the ground was, and searched with his hands. He found at last what he was looking for. A stick. Long and sturdy, but not thick. Wielding it as a sword with a large smile on his face, he climbed the steps to the stage, stumbling past all the stacked benches.

Finally, he reached a more open area where there was a small corridor through the benches, lit by the moon through the branches. Raising his sword and stifling his shivers, he began one of his favorite stories. He had not heard it before himself, but he was sure it would be his favorite.

He stood in a field of battle during the dead of night, soldiers on either side of him. One side, his own team; the other his enemy. Across from him, Magnar the Great. He was undefeated, much larger than the boy himself and with much stronger weapons and armor. But the boy was smart and brave. He may only be a bard from a small village but he was not to be made a fool of, his own brother had taught him to fight well and though his brother was among the first to die at the hands of Magnar in The War of Wretched Years, the boy himself was ready to avenge such a trivial wrath.

"Thou art no God-fearing boy to stare a fighter such as me in the eye and not beg for thy own life! Men more powerful than thou hast dreamed of have dropped to their knees before me! Art thou dim or brave, I am unsure! I offer truce to spare thee a life cut short!" Magnar taunted the boy from across the bloodstained field. The boy laughed aloud, and bared his teeth.

"And why should I fear any God? Are we not all His children? And should He not love us as such? I implore of thee, why; why on this earth, wretched as it may be; why should I not stare at the face of God and laugh? I accept no truce, not from the hands of like!" the boy called. Magnar roared, a loud battle cry that shook the ground.

"Thou hast a tongue of snakes!" he bellowed, angry as a bull. He charged with another roar and the boy was quick to leap out of the way, disappearing from Magnar's sight, quick as a jack rabbit. Magnar let out an angry cry. "Where hast thou run? Thou canst not escape me! And I know this surely, for it was I who slain your kin upon this field! It was I who stained their blood upon my hands and watched it fall to waste in the dirt! Now, show thyself village-boy and meet thy fate unafraid! Laugh in the face of God, loud enough to reach His ears, it will only serve thee to Hell all the quicker for I am bless'd by God and I wear that which He has given with pride!" Magnar's voice seemed to carry around the darkness but the boy did not tremble with fear once.

"And here I am Magnar! Art thou blinded? Hast God himself perhaps seen thy evil and curs'd thou so? I am unafraid of thy strength! Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so! For I am no girl, to be made pale by words! Thou art more vast, more dread than I, and thou art proved, I know, and I am young-- but yet success sways with the breath of Heaven! And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know, for we are all, like swimmers in the sea, poised on the top of a huge wave of fate which hangs uncertain to which side to fall and whether it will heave us up to land or whether it will roll us out to sea! Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, we know not, and no search will make us know; only the event will teach us in its hour!" the boy said, standing plainly in the light of the moon.

Magnar charged at him once again, but this time held his sword aloft so that the two blades met. There was a great force against the boy's body but he fought well, using his swiftness against the lumbering fighter's strength. As Magnar pushed against the boy's sword, the boy slipped his blade down, dodging swiftly and sliced along the fighter's upper leg, spilling his blood. Magnar cried out with confusion and pain and the boy tumbled into a roll and escaped, on his feet in an instant.

"Nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more or surrender so that we may end this curs'd war!" Magnar cried.

"Thou art not in harem with wanton girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; but in the dance of battle, and with me, who make no play of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand. Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! Remember all thy valor, try thy feints and cunning," the boy was quick to respond. Their blades locked together again and though Magnar's feet were quick, the boy's were quicker and he once again escaped with a slice upon the fighter's other leg.

"Boy! Thou wilt not jump down thy rabbit hole again!" his chest heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice was choked with rage; at last these words broke way, "Thou canst not surely escape my grasp a third time and break away unharmed! I damn thee for ever and aye; in the name of God!" The boy simply laughed, a cruel barking sound.

"I will stand upon this field of lost lives until the sun has risen and set a thousand times more, and I will stand until my legs are unable to stand and then, only then, will I fall. Never once shall I surrender! I will fight thee from my knees if I must and without a beg to leave my lips! I will not give up so easy! Thou may have God, but I hold the name of jack rabbits and they are far quicker than any God may be!" the boy yelled, having not yet broken a sweat.

Their swords once more met and there was a brief moment of struggling before both armies witnessed Magnar the Great's sword thrown so high in the air that it buried into the ground to the hilt when it fell and the boy's sword was plunged into his heart just as deep. There was silence as the boy stared into the dying eyes of Magnar.

"Underestimate no one, Magnar. Not even that which walks the earth. God may walk upon clouds, but I, a much more real foe, I walk upon the ground. And it is that same ground where thy blood now spills, wasted in the dirt. Jack rabbits will pick thy bones and I damn thee to Hell for ever and aye to face such a fate," the boy spat upon the fighter and stood, triumphant.

"Skylos the Brave!" his army cheered, chasing off the enemies quickly. He was hoisted aloft shoulders and all around him, they cheered. "Skylos the Brave! Skylos the Brave!" they cheered. "Fighters beware, Skylos the Brave will not surrender!" they cried.

He was knocked out of his story by a rustling in the benches. Looking around nervously, stick held aloft as though it truly were a blade, he set his shoulders and shuffled his feet uneasily.

"W-who's there?" he stuttered in his bravest voice. There was no answer. He called out once again. "I am Skylos the Brave, show thyself," his voice echoed back to him and he peered through the gaps of splintering seats to seek out the source of the rustling.

Creeping along with careful steps, the boy once again heard a noise and froze. He evened his breath, stood as still as a statue, and if there had been someone there, they indeed would not have seen him and perhaps just mistaken him for an oddly cast shadow, still as he was.

Barely breathing, he took another quiet footstep and admired the softness of the leather on his too-large boots that allowed him such quiet steps. He rounded the corner with his head held high and saw the glowing eyes of a demon staring back at him. He froze, a gasp stifling his cry of fear.