by
Adam Janus
The warrior stood on a flowered field, the setting sun reflected off millions of bright yellow and blue blossoms as a light breeze caused the high grass to sway rhythmically.
The breeze which blew down off white capped mountains in the distance was cool and refreshing and carried with it the smell of snow and honeysuckle, pine and heather. But too, there was an underlying smell; rotten, like the breath of a carrion eater. The warrior tilted his head back to breath deep, his long red hair flowing out from under an iron, fur lined helm.
"Yes, he is there," the warrior said to himself and sighed. He stroked his drooping mustache before idly checking the straps on his bronze forearm bracers. Calmly the warrior surveyed the laces of his baked leather breast plate and tightened the silver wolf's head belt buckle wrapped around his waist, which held up his checkered blue and green kilt.
With a shrug of his broad powerful shoulders, the warrior shed his wool tartan, letting the blue and green plaid garment fall to the grass behind him. The tunic he wore under his breast plate was of the purest white linen and the sleeves, which extended down to just above his elbows flapped in the breeze.
Neatly arranged before the warrior in the waving grass lay a heat hardened wooden buckler; enameled blue, with the same silver wolf's head insignia of his belt buckle. Beneath the round shield was a scabbard of leather-wrapped wood. The hilt that extended from the scabbard was simple, but finely carved, wrapped with bronze wire. Above the hilt, the cross piece was etched with intertwining mistletoe. To balance the weight, the pommel was large and in the shape of a snarling wolf's head, while two small red jewels made the wolf's eyes glow crimson.
The warrior bent to one knee and tightened the laces of his bull hide boots before picking up the buckler to slide his left arm through the straps and grip the handle riveted in the center. He then grasped the hilt of his sword and rising, the warrior swung the scabbard from the blade, revealing five feet of shining steel. To test the weight of his sword, the warrior swung the weapon in great glittering arcs; it whistled lyrically as it cut through the air, and the setting sun reflected along its length gave the illusion that fire followed in its blurry wake.
He banged the sword against his shield and called out to the distant forest at the base of the snow capped mountains. "Come! I am ready!" His strong, baritone voice rang out over the sea of grass, echoing as it broke the peaceful silence. At first, there was no reaction, but then the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of putrefied corpses. Black storm clouds formed above the mountains and blotted out the sun, their shadows roiling across the grassy field. From the boughs of the distant forest a flock of crows took flight, and a dark mist rose from the forest floor. From this mist burst a black horse and rider.
Eyes fiery red, hooves thundering, the black horse carried its rider over the flowery fields at impossible speed, thundering directly toward the defiant warrior with the glittering sword. Beneath the horse's hooves the earth died; the grass withered and turned sickly yellow and brown, the flowers wilted and decayed.
A fox bolted from hiding and ran in fear with its tail between its legs and ears laid back on its head. It paused in its flight just once, to look back at the charging horse. The black robed rider turned his gaze on the terrified fox, pointed a bony figure in the animal's direction and struck it dead where it stood as thunder rumbled across the land and lightening cracked from the clouds. In an instant the animal was devoured by buzzing flies and writhing maggots.
The air grew cold as the rider galloped up to the lone warrior and everywhere the black rider passed, fresh new spring turned to cold, barren winter.
As the rider drew up on his reins, the black horse reared, front hooves flailing briefly before stomping back to the earth, then it cantered angrily back and forth as steam issued from its flared nostrils. Its rider pointed a bony finger at the warrior, its skeletal hand snaking from beneath its black decaying robes.
A wave of fatigue washed over the warrior, his shoulders slumped and his head sagged, his long red hair fell over his chest as his arms suddenly felt tired and leaden, the tip of his sword nearly touching the ground. His chest began to constrict and it felt as if his airways were being choked off.
With a Herculean effort, the warrior shook the sudden lethargy, taking in air with great gulps. He picked his head up and squared his shoulders, raising the sword before him. The warrior laughed; the sound gave him strength as it rolled over the rider and its mount in waves. "I will not go willingly!" the warrior cried defiantly, finding hope in the strength of his voice, causing the black horse to canter about nervously in tight circles.
The robed horseman drew a black sword from beneath its foul robes as the crows circled overhead, cawing as they soared, and a heavy snow began to fall. "Long have you flirted with me," the black robed figure responded in a hissing voice, circling behind the warrior. Chills ran down the warrior's spine and the hairs at the back of his neck stood as the figure stalked around him, hissing angrily. "You have been running into my arms your whole miserable life! Only to evade my grasp in the end!" the figure taunted, reining its foul mount before the warrior once again.
Suddenly without warning, the horse lunged at the warrior, its iron shod hooves flashed before the warriors face, its foul stench almost overwhelming the warrior's senses. Instinct fueling his actions, the warrior ducked below the horse's flailing hooves and stepped into the beast's charge. His silver sword flashed out from right to left, making solid contact with the animal's exposed chest, parting flesh and cutting through bone. As he pushed the blade through the horse's ruined ribs. the warrior felt a spray of blood and a whoosh of foul air as the sword punctured a lung. He then yanked his sword from the horse's chest and moved to his right so as not to be pinned beneath the dying animal.
An iron shod hoof glanced off the warriors upraised shield hard enough to shatter the wood, sending bolts of pain up the warriors left arm. He cast off the ruined buckler, gripped his sword and turned to face the black robed figure who now stood behind the fallen horse. The animal's chest heaved and blood pumped from its mortal wound before it shuddered spasmodically and died. A crow landed atop the carcass and cawed once before taking to the air again; neither crows nor flies would feast on this foul corpse.
The warrior gritted his teeth against the pain and numbness in his left arm and took his sword in a two handed grip, moving in a tight circle as the black robed figure stalked around him, feinting, growling, taunting.
"I should leave you now and not return until you beg, beg for what seems an eternity in your pitifully short life! Your body wracked with pain, twisted, deformed and diseased, covered with lesions as drawing air into your body becomes an agonizing task!" snarled the figure in black, its voice hissing from the inky impenetrable darkness of its deep hood.
"And even then, I will let you linger, too weak to swat the flies from your flesh or brush the maggots from the open, festering, puss filled sores covering your filthy shriveled body!" Growling like a feral animal the hooded figure launched a furious attack. The black blade was a blur as it rose and fell with deadly intent, sweeping back and forth; its razor tip thrust with deadly accuracy, seeking gaps in the warrior's defense, seeking the warrior's flesh and vitals.
Sparks flew as their blades met again and again; the clash of steel rang out over the plain, each blow accented by flashing lightening and booming thunder. The warrior gave ground and back pedaled as he desperately parried and turned each attack.
With his sword held above his head, the warrior blocked a vicious overhand blow and the combatants became locked in that position, their faces mere inches apart. The black robed figure's hood slid back, revealing a hideous death's head; a skull covered with rotting flaps of diseased skin, while empty eye sockets writhed with maggots and worms. Hot breath which smelled of death and decay hissed out over black teeth, causing the warrior's guts to cramp with nausea.
"I.have.you.Now!" the black robed figure growled, exerting more pressure. Flies flew from its wide mouth as it spoke, and its black blade suddenly transformed into a viper, wrapping its coils around the warrior's blade as fangs dripped acidic venom a hairs breadth from his exposed face.
The warrior once again felt his strength flagging; the pain and numbness in his left arm returned, his chest constricted and his head swam. Darkness threatened to engulf the warrior as the black robed figure took one bony hand from the hilt of his living sword and gripped the warrior's throat.
"Give in and embrace me!" demanded the black robed figure through clenched, rotted teeth, and increased the pressure on the warrior's throat.
At that moment the setting sun sank lower than the roiling storm clouds and tendrils of warm light reached out over the plain. The warrior felt the golden glow through the black mist that had settled over him as his face was bathed in warm sunlight.
"No!" the warrior whispered defiantly, his strength returning as points of light exploded before his eyes. "I.will not.go.willingly!" he growled through clenched teeth. The warrior released his grip on the hilt of his sword and hammered his right fist into the hideous death's head. He felt the satisfying crunch of bone as his fist made solid contact. The blackness that moments ago threatened to engulf him turned to a swimming red haze. "NO!" he screamed again as he reigned blow after hammering blow into the black robed figure's grotesque head and face, driving the gruesome figure to its knees, where it held its hissing viper sword before it, defensively.
The warrior bent to retrieve his weapon and swept the sword before him. Sunlight flashed from the silver blade as it cut the fanged head from the viper's body and the return stroke separated the kneeling figure's head from its black robed carcass.
Overhead the storm clouds dissipated; tearing apart and scudding off, leaving dark tendrils spread over the purple sky of dusk. The crows cawed, and as one, they turned and wung their way back toward the forest from whence they came. A scream issued from the crumpled black robes at the warriors feet--the scream of a million tortured souls--as a black mist issued from the rags and shot skyward, to join the retreating crows.
The warrior fell to his knees and spread his arms, allowing the last rays of sun to warm his exhausted body. He then fell to his back and stared up at a point of light in the darkening sky--a star.
He closed his eyes and the warrior had the impression of falling.Up. Up and up he fell, carried toward the bright speck of light on a white mist. He opened his eyes to see a beautiful face looking down on him, smiling at him; deep brown eyes were framed with flowing chestnut hair. Her head was circled with a crown of mistletoe and she was dressed in a flowing white gown, while in her hand was a wooden stave with glowing green runes. Yes again to allow the sensation of floating to wash over him, carry him...
"Wake," he heard again; not so much with his ears, but within his head. His eyes snapped open and his mouth gasped for breath. His nose and mouth were covered with a mask from which sweet oxygen flowed.
Standing over him was a woman dressed in a long white coat, her hands crossed, one on top of the other, directly over his beating heart.
"He's back! He's alive!" she shouted. "Relax Mr. Fitzjanus," she added, smiling and brushing his thin white hair back from his lined forehead.
He turned his head slowly to the side, taking in his surroundings. A monitor beeped steadily just to his left, its green lines spiking in time with each beep as they ran across the screen.
At the periphery of his blurry vision, the old man noticed a black shadow dissipate through an open door, the door to his room.his room in the cardiac unit of Rahway Hospital.
The old man closed his eyes and let his head sink back on the soft pillow as people milled around him, checking his vital signs, asking him questions and talking in urgent whispers. One thing occurred to the old man; one thing dominated his thoughts as his hands feebly checked his chest, searching for that familiar rectangular lump usually found in the pocket of his favorite blue and green flannel--only to find his chest bare, except for sticky white electrodes that monitored his heart beat.
"Where's my cigarettes?" he whispered his thought aloud, then chuckled before succumbing to the morphine drip and drifting off into a drug-induced slumber.
The End
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