The Last Love of the Forgotten Father

           The Last Love of the Forgotten Father

            Hidden away from the eyes of her subjects, a queen lay dying. She had lived long and accomplished much, but even as she rested easy, knowing she had always tried to do the right thing, an endless feeling that something was missing tore at her. She had felt it most of her life but, try as she might, she could not fill that void in her mind. Every victory was tainted, and every defeat was made sour as she struggled secretly and wondered, only in whispers, what wasn’t there that should be.

            As she lay there, comfortable but resigned to her end, she desperately searched her memories from years long past, looking for what she’d missed, but could only recall a faint blur somewhere in the corner of her mind’s eye. This blur was consistent like it was the missing piece of the puzzle, but it was like trying to remember the details of a lost dream and quite hopeless.

            Eventually, she resolved to give up on the mystery that nagged at her. She would have slipped into oblivion never knowing the answer to the riddle if someone hadn’t walked through the door that she’d seen before.

            It was an old man, perhaps at least as old as the queen herself. He would have been unremarkable were it not for the shiny silver armor he wore and the warm smile that seemed somehow familiar to the queen.

            “Hello, little love.” said the man.

            “Who are you?” asked the queen in a feeble voice.

            The words struck him harder than he anticipated.

            “I am your father, child,” he answered, hiding his despair like so many times before.

            “Father?” she asked, and her eyes widened.

            “It is me, child. I swear it.”

            “How can you…” she started, confused. “But the war, he died.”

            “No. Your brother died. Your father was only lost.”

            “My brother, Romak?”

            “Yes, child! Can you remember?”

            “Romak…”

            Suddenly, the queen gasped, and her eyes widened as she stared at the man.

            “Romak!” cried an eager child as she ran up to a warrior that was preparing to go to battle.

            “Eira! You shouldn’t be here, sister.” said the warrior.

            “Don’t go!”

            “I have to. You know that.”

            “No!” yelled the little girl and then threw herself around his neck.

            “I will come back! I promise!”

            --

            “He didn’t come back.” said the queen. Her voice was so quiet that it could barely be heard. “I waited on the wall for so long.”

            “He wasn’t the only one that didn’t come back.” said the man. He now sat in a chair beside her.

            “Tell me.” pleaded Eira.

            “No one came back, child. There was no one left.”

            --

            It was the last, great conflict between humanity and the bear-kin of Grakbon. In that war, such was the toll of death that the surviving people on both sides wrote an eternal contract never to war with each other again.

            King Jerrik had been there, along with his remaining son, Romak, on the front lines side by side. They defended the onslaught of bear-kin infantry for four days before the attack began to ebb, and it was on the fourth day when the mages attacked. The overwhelming scent of incense filled the air and rain began to fall that burned like fire.

            Screams carried through the night as the human mages fought back, but their power could not match that of the bear-kin. Soldiers not under cover or not shielded by mages burned alive in the acid rain.

            Jerrik realized they would soon be overwhelmed if they tarried too long in eliminating the mages that were wreaking havoc on his men, so he had his sorcerers scry the location of the enemy. He was surprised to see them not far from the front lines in a cave to the east.

            The king ordered Romak to return to the castle as he was sure he would die on this mission and the people would look to the young prince for guidance, but his last son refused. Jerrik would have argued with his son or even maimed him if he thought it would make any difference, but there was simply no time. The trenches were filling with acid rain and they had to move quickly.

            The King and his soldiers, protected by a single mage from the acid rain, raced through the trenches, dodging bodies of friend and enemy as they went. It was nightfall before they arrived near the mouth of the cave. Outside, three bear-kin soldiers provided watch for their allies inside and the only way to get past them was to kill them. Jerrik cursed under his breath that he didn’t have more time to plan a proper ambush against the beasts.

            “Only three, father,” said Romak. “We can take them.”

            “Three men to a bear-kin!” barked the king. Have you learned nothing?”

            “Surely, the king counts as three,” answered Romak.

            “Let’s hope, son.” chuckled Jerrik despite the circumstances. “Let’s hope.”

With the rain still falling and ever-threatening to overwhelm the defenses of Valonoir, the king, the prince, and their royal squadron of ten strong warriors charged into the bear-kin guard. Their only advantage was ferocity and surprise, but the surprise failed quickly as the distance they had to cover over open ground with no concealment was sparse.

            Romak was the first to strike, swinging wildly at the throat of the closest bear-kin but the fatigue of days of fighting with little rest caused him to miss and the blow glanced off his foe’s armor. The bear-kin reacted smoothly with only an outstretched arm and disemboweled the prince with little effort.

Jerrik roared and struck out with his mighty hammer against the enemy that killed his son. The hammer caught the beast in the left hip and down it fell with a scream of pain. Another blow to the head followed quickly and the bear-kin fell over with a thud. A second enemy flew past the king, nearly smashing into him, but instead was pinned to the ground by a sickly yellow mist that smelled of burning sage leaves. Soldiers followed swiftly and hacked the beast to death. The final bear-kin let out a mighty roar and charged the king’s mage with an outstretched glaive. The mage tried to twist out of the way, but the speed of the bear-kin was too great, and he cleaved into the mage’s left arm and it flopped to the ground. The king’s warriors charged the bear-kin to save the mage, but their killing blows were a moment too slow, and down fell the glaive, taking the mage’s head in one motion.

            Without the protection of their mage from the acid rain, they made for the cave entrance, dragging the fallen prince inside. King Jerrik knelt beside his slain son and cradled his head in his arms for just a moment. He shed no tears. He had none left.

“Pass now, little love. Pass triumphant,” said the king. Then, his mind turned to Eira, his last child.

She was hidden deep within the fortress of the castle, safe from the savagery of the war that raged outside. She was only five years old but had already lost so much to the never-ending bloodlust of bear-kin. Every other member of the royal family, including her mother, had died on the front lines defending what was their own; only her and the king were left now.

In the distance, the clouds of death wrought by the mages deep in the cave still wreaked havoc on the men in the trenches. A selfish man would leave the battle and return to the little girl that didn’t yet know she would never see her last brother alive again.

“She wouldn’t approve of a selfish king,” whispered Jerrik quietly.

“Sire?” asked a nearby soldier.

“We have mages to kill. Onward.”

It wasn’t long before they heard chanting in the growling, guttural tone of bear-speak. The voices, though dry and crackling at times, were nonetheless unending.

The king and his royal squadron of soldiers tread softly, ever closer to the source of the voices, eventually finding only a single path that led to their destination. The air was coldest in there and the voices loudest. They peered over the edge of a natural overhang and found five bear-kin mages below. One, giant and gray, sat in the center with a scrying glass, and the other four sat around him.

Jerrik recognized the massive, gray bear-kin immediately and called out to him from high above.

“Asbjorn! Face me!” cried the king in the guttural tone of bear-speak.

The alpha bear-kin responded slowly by looking over his shoulder at the human standing on the ledge. Then, he stood and turned to face Jerrik and the royal squadron who were moving to surround the mages from the high ground.

“Where is… my son?” asked Asbjorn.

Jerrik felt a pain in his stomach when he heard those words and he felt his knees weaken.

“Your son…”

“Where is my son, human king!?”

“He is dead! I killed him!”

The chanting by the other bear-kin stopped in that instant. Asbjorn seemed as if he was mortally wounded and fell to his knees in agony.

There was a deafening silence a few heartbeats, then Asbjorn acted first. Rising to his feet with a lightning-fast action defying his size, he clapped his hands together with the force of magical energy and a mighty shockwave tore down the ledge that the king and his soldiers stood upon. Jerrik and his warriors braced and then rode the falling rubble as it slide down the high cave walls, then rolled with the impact sparing not a second to charge when they found their footing.

The stink of spell casting soon became strong as arcane energy erupted in every direction. Humans would strike with swords only to be parried by the sickly purple form of a magical barrier. Spells would fly only to be dodged by an exhausted soldier. But neither side could keep up the fight without a misstep. The bear-kin drew the first kill when an energy blast slammed square into a human’s chest and began turning it into stone. The man screamed in horror as he dropped his weapons and clawed at the creeping progression of flesh transforming into brittle chunks that were disintegrating into dust, but his screams soon stopped when he no longer had lungs.

Humans drew the next kill when they retaliated in fresh rage at the loss of their fellow soldier. One struck low at the offending mage’s legs as he still seemed to be relishing his own kill. The blade bit into the knee and the beast fell to the ground. Seizing the moment, all the nearest soldiers began hacking at the bear-kin with wild abandon.

This proved fatal for many of three of the king’s guards because they failed to see the three remaining mages eviscerate two other nearby warriors and then focus all their energy into the vengeful fray. Magic erupted from the body of the fallen mage in the form of molten fire and consumed them.

Bear-kin and humans alike fought fiercely, but soon, none stood but Jerrik and Asbjorn. As their last allies fell, both faced each other in exhausted combat stances barely able to stand. Asbjorn stumbled from exhaustion and Jerrik, realizing this might be his only chance to end the mighty mage charged to strike only to be stopped dead in his tracks, hammer held high and frozen in place.

“No…” whispered Jerrik, realizing he had been defeated.

“Jerrik…” began Asbjorn, struggling to speak in the human tongue. “King… Jerrik.”

Jerrik didn’t respond.

“How many children do you have, King Jerrik?”

Still, the king did not answer.

“How many!?” roared the bear-kin so loudly that the sound echoed around the cave.

“Seven… but they are all gone,” answered Jerrik. “Your war has taken them from me.”

“No, I don’t, think so,” answered Asbjorn. As he spoke, he picked up a piece of the shattered scrying glass from the ground and held it in front of Jerrik.

“Where are your children, King Jerrik?”

“No,” said the king.

“They will break your walls. They will break your kingdom. They will hang the children of the king from on high for all to see.”

“Why?” screamed Jerrik.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know!?”

“We were born into the war, King Jerrik. I have fought because it was required of me but why do you defend?”

“We defend because we…”

“No!” roared Asbjorn and then moved to look the king in the eyes. “Why do you never attack?”

Realization of what Asbjorn meant occurred to the king in that moment, yet he had no answer.

“Only we attack,” said Asbjorn, nodding to himself and turning from the king.

“What does this mean?” asked the king.

“It means I am going to end the war, King Jerrik.”

“End how!?”

“Where are your children?”

“They’re dead. All of them.”

“Where are your children, King Jerrik?” he asked again. He then held the scrying glass to the king’s face once more.

“They’re dead. I swear it.”

But the mage’s words had begun to echo in Jerrik’s mind, and a glimpse of hope had sprouted and there, on the scrying glass, images appeared of Eira.

“A father should be with his children, King Jerrik,” said Asbjorn.

“Asbjorn, please,” pleaded the king.

“I will not hurt her, but I will end this war. She will never know. She won’t remember.”

“No, I will tell her, Asbjorn. I will tell my people of your actions. You will be remembered by all, forever. I swear it!”

“No. She won’t remember , King Jerrik.”

“Asbjorn, what does that mean!?”

“He was my only child my ,” replied Asbjorn.

As he spoke, his voice cracked, and tears began to fall. The scent of strong incense filled the air and purple flecks of magic danced around the form of Asbjorn, Grand Mage of Grakbon. He spoke in the human tongue, but the display of magical power bore evidence of a mighty spell.

“The war will end with my life and all those who stand and fight. The battlefields will run red forever and all who look across those fields will remember the price for peace. And you, King Jerrik will watch from afar. You will be forgotten by all, trapped in the nowhere between this world and all others. Only when your child needs you most will she have you, but she will know you as stranger.”

As the mage finished speaking, the coils of purple, magical energy that had wrapped themselves around him exploded and the father was lost

“The Ruby Sea…” said Queen Eira.

“The battlefield turned to blood-red stone.”

“They all died, even my father.”

“No, little love. Only lost.”

“He used to call us that, didn’t he?” asked the queen.

“I was with you more than you will ever know, child.”

He’d been trapped somewhere, or nowhere, for longer than he could remember. The blackness around him was everlasting and the only tangible thing besides his own body was the ground beneath his feet. In the beginning, he ran so far. Exhaustion meant nothing. Sleep didn’t exist. Hunger never stirred. He only existed in blackness.

The first time he saw her, it was a glimpse. He’d been in darkness so long that the faintest light in the distance caught his eye immediately and he ran screaming towards it. He thought maybe he was saved, maybe someone found him or maybe the spell was broken, but when he made it to the light it was just an image as one would see in a scrying glass. It was an image was of a young woman that he didn’t recognize. She was running from something in the woods that was lit only by the shining of a full moon. His heart was racing and when she fell to the ground he screamed, “No!”

The image changed the moment she fell and turned to show some beast that was barely visible but for gleaming eyes and bared fangs. It was bearing down on her at speed but just before it pounced, he heard a scream that made his heart skip a beat, “FATHER!”

And then he was there

He was disoriented at first, so much so that something barreled into him hard enough to knock him down. The beast was on top of him in seconds biting at his suddenly armored form.

The nightbeast opened its maw like that of a snake and made to take Jerrik’s head in one bite, but Jerrik slammed an armored fist into its left temple hard enough to stagger it. The nightbeast stumbled from the power of the impact and Jerrik jumped to his feet with all the grace and speed of a warrior in his prime. The nightbeast responded by swinging around and preparing another pounce, but the king was ready with a vicious kick that caught the nightbeast in midair and fell it to the ground. Then, hammer raised high, Jerrik let out a war cry and smashed his hammer down, ending the beast’s life.

Jerrik then looked around to the woman the monster had been chasing. She was sitting not far away sitting against a tree. He walked closer, at first afraid she might run away from him, but soon he saw she was nursing several deep gashes on her arms, legs, and a nasty bite on her shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asked the young woman.

“Are you real?” she asked. She had ripped part of her clothing and was wrapping a gash on her arm and eyeing the warrior curiously.

“I think. As real as a nightbeast, I suppose.”

“Real enough to kill it.”

“It ambushed my caravan. My guards were holding it off so I could get to the gates, but it must have killed them before it caught up with me and Mamnek.”

“Mamnek?”

“My personal guard,” she answered. For the first time, he saw tears creeping into her face. “He died so I could get away.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve lost much as well, long ago.”

“Who are you, champion?”

“Once, I was known as Jerrik. I’m not sure that means much anymore.”

“Jerrik?” said the woman. She suddenly seemed very interested in the old king and then got to her feet and moved closer and looked at him closely.

He could see now by the glow of the moon that she must be younger than he thought, though the way she carried herself belied that.

“I swear, I knew someone by that name once. Maybe when I was a child,” she said as she examined his face.

“It was a common enough name when I was young, but that was long ago.”

“Yes, but…” she started but was cut off by voices in the distance. “Soldiers, from Castle Valonoir.”

“Valonoir?” said Jerrik, confused.

“Where did you come from that you didn’t know?” she asked as she began moving towards the voices of the soldiers.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, defeated.

“Thank you, Jerrik. I’ll remember you.”

“Remember?” said the old king under his breath, then he cried, “What is your name, child?”

“Eira!” cried the girl as she ran away.

“You were in the forest.” sighed Eira weakly.

“I didn’t know it was you. You were so grown up, so strong.”

“They scolded me for…” she began, “…Mamnek.”

“But you were queen. Don’t you know who came before you?”

“A dead king.”

“You didn’t know the name of the old ruler?”

“I suppose I never had the time. I was so young… too young. There were so many dead, trapped in the sea for all eternity and they looked to me to save them. I guess it was too much to remember.”

            “I guess anyone would want to forget it.”

            “They did until the urchins attacked. They froze the ocean to the north right up to the castle walls in a single night. That was my war, my hell.”

            “I remember, child. I was there.”

            --

            She was fighting on the frozen battlefields of The Mako Sea when a shock ambush from enemy mages separated her from the main battle force. They had no choice but to run for their lives and hope to find either more friendly warriors or at least a more defensible fighting position. Instead, they found a crevasse between two massive waves that had frozen in place during the magical onslaught. As soon as they ran into the crevasse, their footing gave way and they slid deep into the cut that seemed to slice nearly to the bed of the ocean. The frozen walls shot high above them and the deeper they fell, the darker it became. All manner of sea life was locked in cold death stares and the skeletons of both man and sunken ships from ages past could be seen against the blackness of the deep.

            By now, Jerrik knew what the vision meant. He had grown accustomed to the visions and had learned to ready himself each time he was needed. Seven times had she called on him in her life since he became trapped nowhere at all. Seven times he had come to her aid, and seven times she had forgotten him all over again. It was like dying every single time she looked him in the eyes and thanked him before turning away. Twice he had tried to get her to remember, even pleaded with her to look into his eyes and know that he was her father, but it was to no avail.

            So now, he just watched through the scrying glass as Queen Eira and her royal guard slid far below the surface of the frozen ocean until they reached solid ground. They were on the bottom of the ocean and above them, the frozen waves stood like gravestones to the dead below.

            Running deeper into a great chasm that opened under the frozen ocean, they found themselves trapped. The chasm ended in all directions and the queen and her soldiers found themselves with their backs to frozen walls of ice. The royal guard arrayed themselves around her and prepared for the coming attack, and it was none too soon as the enemies of Valonoir found them.

            The royal guard struck first with great spell attacks that flew out and sliced some of their foes to pieces while others caused some enemy soldiers to scream in horror as they slowly and painfully turned to stone. But, despite the violence of the opening attacks by the guard, there were just too many to kill. The enemy attack broke onto the shields of fourteen BRAVE warriors and the battle queen launched into a display of magical attacks that would have made Asbjorn of Grakbon proud. Bright green flashes of light accompanied by the smell of incense filled the cavern. Limbs were severed and torsos eviscerated, but still, they came. Roars of defiance emanated from the royal guard and weapons imbued with magic lashed out against anything close, and while many enemies died, yet more came.

            Three mages then appeared amid the enemies out of thin air bearing no weapons and wearing nothing but simple robes. They looked the same as the rest of the queen’s enemies, sickly blue skin with enormous green eyes set on a face that was perfectly round.

            The mages then turned their full attention to the royal guard who still stood firm and began to chant as one. Their voices echoed around the great chasm like the coming of a tidal wave and Eira prepared herself for whatever came next when suddenly, the entire ice cavern shifted. The ceiling fell sharply, and the walls convulsed inwards forming long spikes that skewered the entire royal guard, then curved and lifted them high above their queen, and then the walls and ceilings reformed into their original shape, save for the spikes and the soldiers impaled on them.

            “No!” screamed Jerrik from nowhere at all. “Call me, child!” he screamed at the image as it played, but no one could hear him.

            With a scream, the battle queen lashed out with the green magical energy as before only to have it deflected by one of the mages. She struck out again, focusing her power on the one closest to her and the spell struck home on his left arm destroying it. The mage cried out and tried to retaliate but it was no use. She bared down on him with all the rage of a battle queen and painted the frozen walls of that chasm with his blood.

            The other two mages responded by signaling the waiting soldiers to begin their attack again and then they began chanting. The soldiers broke on her magical barriers like water on the walls of Valonoir but for every strike, two died. So many bodies laid at her feet that her foes had to climb over their fallen comrades to reach her, but still, she would not relent.

            Suddenly, two ice spikes exploded from the ice walls and impaled the battle queen. One punched through her left shoulder, the other through her torso. The attacking soldiers would have taken advantage of the injured queen, but even her screams of pain bore enough magical power that the remaining enemies feel over dead belching blood as their organs exploded.

            Only the two mages were left, but both had fallen to their knees.

            “Call me, child!” he screamed as tears welled in his eyes.

            It seemed to the king that his greatest fear would come true in that one day, in her most dire situation, she would not remember him, not even to save her life.

            “Please!” he cried. “I’m here. I’m right here. I can save you!” he whispered to the image before him.

            “,” whispered Eira.

            And old king Jerrik heard her.

            He took a single breath before he opened his eyes, and when he did, he was there, in that chasm between all manner of death and his little girl.

            To his right, she was there, impaled through and through. He couldn’t tell if she was dead. To his left, the mages stood there with confused looks on their faces.

            Then the mages voiced as one in some incantation but were instantly drowned out by the roar of the old king that no one remembered. He charged like an animal, hammer swinging, and caught the first mage in the stomach tearing out a chunk of flesh large enough to cover the hammer head. The body of the mage barely moved when he was struck, but the chanting stopped when he fell to the ground dead. The second mage’s face contorted, and he bared sharpened teeth that dripped with green liquid. When he attacked, he rubbed his hand across his teeth and then formed a magical bomb around the acid and launched it at the charging form of Jerrik. The bomb hit Jerrik square in the chest but didn’t so much as slow him down. The mage was so stunned that he stood, frozen in place as Jerrik took his head off with a single swing.

            With the mages dead, Jerrik turned his attention to the remaining enemy soldiers and began wading through them as if they were merely a shallow swamp. Every swing of his hammer obliterated two or more warriors and what he hadn’t yet killed began to cower at his display of both martial might and the raging battle cries echoing all around them.

Then, the battle around him lulled unexpectedly as a familiar roar reached Jerrik’s ears and the enemy soldiers stumbled around in confusion. In that moment of respite, Jerrik backed closer to his still impaled daughter that he hoped without hope was still alive.

            Soon, confusion turned to fear and Jerrik’s foes seemed to forget about him altogether when those that weren’t screaming began posting defensive positions at the mouth of the chasm. The roars finally grew to a crescendo, and through the mouth of the chasm came an entire squadron of bear-kin. They tore the remaining enemy apart as if they were paper and just like that, the battle was over.

            Jerrik then turned to his child and rushed to her side and gently pulled her from the spikes that impaled her. He laid her on the ground and pressed a mighty hand on the most severe wound to stop the bleeding and then whispered, “Eira, can you hear me, child?”

            When she didn’t respond, he became distraught until someone touched him on the shoulder.

            “She will live, Champion.” said the bear-kin.

            “Can you be sure?” asked Jerrik looking around into the black eyes of a bear-kin mage.

            Instead of answering, the bear-kin touched her hand, waking her for a moment.

            “Eira…” whispered Jerrik.

            “Mamnek?” she asked weakly.

            --

            “Eira?”

            “You were always such a good man,” said Eira in a faint whisper as a thin smile appeared.

            “You remember?” gasped Jerrik. He jumped to his feet and stood next to her bed and his heart raced.

            She was staring intently into the distance at nothing at all and tears filled her eyes.

            “You were there for me,” she said then looked at Jerrik, her smile growing wider.

Her frail breaths were coming shorter and shorter and he brushed the white hair away from her eyes and said, “Yes, child. When you needed me most.”

            “I am not a child anymore, Mamnek,” chuckled Eira softly.

            Her words stung him like no blow from a blade had ever done, for even in her last moments, she could not remember the old king.

As the Battle Queen of Valonoir drew her last breath and tears fell from the old king’s eyes, he said, “Pass now, little love. Pass triumphant.”