So I have been inspired to write. I do enjoy writing but rarely is it more than a poem, blog post or ritual. I am no longer anonymous, but that is the consequence of ensuring that my name is credited to my writing.
The battle was bloody. Slaughtered bodies as far as the eye could see. I knew what I had to do as I unfurled my wings and stepped off that cliff.
I could feel the decaying wind, cold and hard against my face, pushing through my hair, as I dove down, my wings hard against my back. The thump of my body jolting to a stop as I spread my wings and positioned my feet towards the ground ready to land amongst the dead.
I scanned the field, the smell of hot blood and dust filled my nostrils. It was instinctual, a form of intuition, I just knew who my marks were. I had been doing this since the end of the last Great War, when He lost the battle against that Beast.
Why do I always dwell on the past during times like this. I know that there will be another Great War, I just don’t know when. So much has changed since then, so many of them are no longer here, just us, the loyal ones, the ones that continue like nothing happened, like nothing has changed.
The worlds are changing. Men are losing themselves. What was once a smorgasbord of souls, is now a slow, dirty, hunt through the rotting flesh. We were once majestic, admired and respected warriors. Today we are nearly all but forgotten, just a memory, a fairy tale. The shadow in the corner of your eye.
I walk through the bodies and I can feel the dirt becoming soft as the blood seeps into the ground. I need to work fast, the smell is changing and I need to get my souls before the blood turns cold. I need to get them whilst they are still them, whilst their minds are still lucid. If I miss my timing, they are no more use than the draugr.
Five, only five this time, five each. That’s only 50 for the day. Not even 1% of the field. Back in the day when men were fighting for a cause, for honour, we could easily collect 50 each. It used to be about 75% of the field that were deserving to enter the Halls. Brave, strong, honourable, fearsome warriors. Today, most do not even know why they fight, why they die or what they are even dying for.
Four, I have four… where is he, where is my other mark? I stop and flap my wings, lifting myself off the ground a couple of feet. I scan the field, the bodies, but there is something wrong… No, not wrong, different, something is not as it should be. Where is he? I close my eyes and breathe, slowly, in… out… in… out. I open my eyes and look to the left, I squint as a reflection hits my eyes, it hurts. I move towards the light and I can sense my mark, he’s here, under this pile.
Something is not right. I lower myself to the ground, it’s hard, my heart begins to race. Why is it hard? It should have softened by now. I feel it, my weight, it is starting to push my feet into the ground… My heart slows… I look over to the right and I see the others taking flight. I am running out of time, where is he? I can feel him, he’s close, why can I not see him? I bend down and physically push aside some intestines that had spewed out of the guts of some poor man’s body. The smell, you never get used to it, but you learn to not empty your stomach each time you smell it.
I can hear them calling me in my mind.
I reach my hand down, three bodies deep. I move my hand around hoping to feel him. I can sense the connection, but something is still not right. I reach a little further down and a little forward. Ah, I have you.
Quick I’m nearly out of time. I bend my knees and push hard on the ground and then upwards, launching myself into the air. I let my wings whoosh as they open, they shimmer as they catch the last of the day’s light. I rush myself up further.
I did it, I always do.
If you enjoyed this little snippet please credit me when sharing. I have a lot going on in my life and it will be a long drawn out project but I will eventually get this story finished and my dream will be to publish it. (Even if it is self-published).
Source: The Valkyrie – Donna Astill