Home
My Poetry
Novel
Short Stories
About Sam
E-mail Me
Guest Book
Hell Bent - Novel: God-Like
GOD-LIKE
Introduction: Family
Chapter 1: Arguile
Sam is an avid Fantasy reader and has always dreamed of one day writing a Fantasy novel of his own. So far he has not made much progress, but hopes to soon.
Introduction: Family
Gray clouds filled the sky, drowning the light from the sun to fall dismally upon the trees and thatch rooftops of the small hut-like buildings below. Nestled between a forest of great oaks to the north and large mountainous hills to the south and east lay the quiet village of Ardon. Named for the first god to take up residence here centuries ago, not much had changed since that time. A small lake, perhaps the length of one of the taller oaks across, sat at the base of the nearby hills. Mere paces away were the nearest buildings, homes of local farmers and hunters. The oaks continued for a ways up the side of the mountainous hills, some almost topping the crest of the hill itself. A number of small streams fed the lake from the hills, following paths worn into the rock from lifetimes of erosion. Rushing water from one of the larger streams flowed down a steep hill to collide with rock below in a flurry of mist. Atop the small waterfall, sitting cross-legged on a large outcropping rock in the middle of the stream a young man, just coming of age, held a pile of smooth rounded stones in his lap. Each stone was lifted in slender fingers, so he could feel their smoothness and test their weight before hurling them into the lake below and watching them skitter across the water hopping in great leaps at first and eventually falling to the bed of sand and stone below. He watched each with anticipation, peircing, green eyes following the stones, counting the number of skips before they fell. Short, dark, tousled hair framed the young man's honest face. The smile on his face was unforced and the creases on his cheeks proof that he smiled often. A slightly too large bulbous nose dominated his features, his cheekbones were undefined and still seemed to have the remnants of baby fat even though his body was lean almost to the point of emaciation. He looked nothing special, other than perhaps his eyes, the green coloring being very uncommon among the men in these parts.
He depleted his pile of stones over time and eventually had no more to throw. He uncrossed his gangly legs and stood to his full height, maybe half a head shorter than the average full grown man from his village. His upper body was almost hairless, and his legs were covered with long brown trousers, held firmly at his waist by a thin peice of twine, made from what looked like woven leaves or vines. He began to make his way down the sheer face of the rocky hill, picking his way carefully, though he knew the path almost as well as he knew his own brothers. After a few paces, he stopped and looked up to the roiling clouds, just in time to see a flash of lightning in the distance. Before he had a chance to hear the thunder, he felt the first drop of rain pad against his face, landing squarely on the tip of his nose.
He wiped away the droplet of water and began to hurry down the hill, remembering still the stories of old Elrich being struck by just such a bolt of lightning... Some, like his father, whispered that it was a god of their enemies that called the lightning, foretelling their people's downfall, others laughed it off and blamed it on misfortune, but either way, Jayven knew better then to be on high ground when lightning storms began.
Jayven continued to half-hurry down the slope, still wary of his footing, the rags woven around his feet offering little in the way of traction or protection. He was close to the bottom now, a few more steps before he met the worn path that would lead him into the village and to his home. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, savoring the outdoors, not looking forward to returning to his home and his father and brothers, but mostly wary of the work that he would be put to throughout the day. His only respite from this world of his, was to wake up early in the morning, before any of the other villagers began to stir, and then for a few moments he would have the world to himself and bend the forest and the stream and the lake and all that he knew to his desires. He could lose himself in his imagination for hours if given the chance, but rare was the opportunity.
Still lost in thought, he felt a wave of heat and halfway through opening his eyes he was deafened by a great clap of thunder. Dazed, he fell the last few feet to the path and rolled to his side with a hollow thud as his body crashed to the ground. He opened his eyes in time to see the blackened bough of a nearby oak falling seemingly like a feather to him. He opened his mouth to cry out, but before a breath could be taken, the bough was on top of him, leaving him pinned to the ground and unconcious, blood flowing from a large gash in his head.
* * *
"Where in Ardon's name is that boy?" The gruff voice came from a sinewy man with a full silvery beard and long grey thinning hair. "If he's out catching sleep while we're all hard at work, he's in for a whipping. By Ardon, I'll learn him how to be a man if I have to beat him senseless." By his tone and ensuing growl it was clear that his words were not idle rantings.
Kyrre, the youngest boy in the hut, visibly winced at the man's words remembering the pain from past beatings all too freshly in his mind. Thin to emaciation as all the others were, the boy's brown eyes peeked from behind hand length straight brown hair that seemed constantly to cover most of his eyes. He had an obvious family resemblance to the older man in the room and the older boy, all with bulbous noses, fatty cheeks and bushy eyebrows.
Jared, the older boy, gritted his teeth and continued packing the tools of his trade into his knapsack, bow strings, knife, rope and thick woolen winter cloak in case of rain or a sudden storm, though it was chewed through by rats or torn in multiple places. His hair was extremely short, almost bald, he liked to feel the wind on his head and cut his hair as short as he could nearly every morning. His eyes too were brown, his clothing also tattered rags. He was old enough to claim land of his own soon... Some men younger than he had already done so, but his father Patrik wouldn't hear of it, he still needed him.
The room was small, scarecely large enough to house the four men. Straw beds, reeking of old sweat and grime littered the floor. Stones against one wall surrounded what served as their fireplace, a chimney of dried clay climbing a few feet to keep the wind and rain out then opening to the sky. One single large pot reserved for cooking their meals hung from a metal rod that doubled as a spit for roasting the occasional animal that they kept for themselves. Thatch walls and roof kept the majority of rain from spilling in, but drips here and there weren't uncommon. There was a noticeable lack of other furnishings, just a small pile of collected items next to each of the beds, makeshift cups, plates and spoons as well as homemade waterskins from the skins of animals and a few rags that passed as alternate clothing.
Patrick spit onto the dirt floor, grumbling under his breath something about the boy and a large stick. He was dressed somewhat better than his boys, wearing furs from the animals he hunted and a ratty pair of boots that were too large for him and had holes in the toes and heels. He raised his pack over his shoulder, pulled his cloak close to him, roughly pushed open the door and walked into the downpouring rain. "Get your asses out here." He bellowed " You make me stand in this rain another minute and you'll regret it."
Both of the boys jumped outside, hastily grabbing their bows and slinging packs over their shoulders. Not a moment into the rain they heard a distant shout coming from a man running wildly towards them. "Patrik!" Patrik turned and squinted in the direction of the shout, making out Haron, one of the neighboring farmers. "Patrik, yer boy Jayven, come quick." He continued his wild run, still too far away to throw a stone.
At Haron's words Patrik began to run towards the man, Jared and Kyrre following quickly behind. Seeing them approaching, Haron stopped and waved violently to hurry, catching his breath he shouted again "He's barely breathin', stuck un'er an oak branch."
"Damn that boy" Patrik grumbled just loud enough for his boys to hear. He eyed his youngest as he continued to run, "Kyrre, run to the village, fetch help, try to find the surgeon." Kyrre stopped in his tracks, turned and ran back towards the town to fetch help. Jonathon, the "surgeon" was no more than a man too old to hunt or till the land who sewed up cattle and horses and gave haircuts to many of the townsfolk. Somewhere along the way, he began to sew up townspeople as well and became known as the surgeon.
Patrik caught up to Haron who began running again, this time back towards the hills. Jared was just behind them running as fast as he could. Their breath came out in grey mists as they all began to breathe heavily. They ran to the edge of the hills and Haron pointed out the huge oak bough lying on top of Jayven's limp body. The bough was larger round than the 3 men combined, fallen from the largest oak as far as the eyes could see. The end of the bough rested in the lake.
The men slowed as they approached, Haron scampered up to the boy and pushed a rag to his head, that was already soaked in thick red blood. They all could see Jayven breathing shallowly. "I tried to stop him bleedin', but I hadta' get some help, I sure'n can't move this thing." he said wiping rain from his eyes with his sleeve.
Patrik's only response was a muffled grunt. He looked to Jared, "Come on boy, you get on the other side and lift." Jared began to make his way around to the other side and Patrik continued "Haron, pull the boy free when we lift this damned branch."
Haron nodded and readied himself. Patrik got a grip under the oak limb and waited for Jared to do the same. "Now boy, lift this bugger." And strained his muscles to their max, veins popping out from his arms even moreso than they already did. The large limb twisted slightly towards Jared, and he had to scramble for a better grip on the slippery wet bark before following his fathers suit and and lifting the limb slightly from the ground. Haron pulled the bare-chested boy with all his might, clearing him of the limb and scraping his chest on bark enough to draw blood in the process. Patrik, face red with strain let out a loud half grunt half sigh as he dropped the bough to the ground, leaving Jared once again to scramble away and drop his end with a matching grunt.
Besides the gash in his head, now covered by the dirty rag that Haron had produced, Jayven was in bad shape. Scrapes and bruises covered his chest, arms and the right side of his face. The left side of his ribcage appeared to be indented, crushed down onto his lungs and his left leg lay bent at an awkward angle, obviously broken. Patrik didn't even take another look at his son, instead, he rounded to the edge of the bough, where it had fallen from the tree above, noting the dark black singe marks with one eyebrow raised.
"What was this... lightning? Looks as though this bough was cut clean through by a bolt of lightning." Patrik's gravelly voice didn't sound pleased.
Haron looked up from the boy, still holding the cloth to his head and nodded. "Tha' boy's lucky. Tha' only reason I even headed out this way's 'cause I saw the flash 'n heard the thunder so nearby. I know'd it musta' hit somethin' over here."
"You did right Haron... Probably saved the boy's life..." Patrik responded half-heartedly. He looked down his nose at the limb, lost in thought. After pausing for a long while, he continued "Though I don't know what good it'll be now. Looks as though he'll be a long time recovering if he ever does... And I don't know I trust this lightning. Who knows what gods may be looking to do this to us."
Haron stiffened at Patrik's words, taking the thought in for the first time and gulping the lump back down his throat. He continued holding the cloth to Jayven's head silently, hands slightly trembling now. Jared looked askance to his father, contemplating his words for himself.
"What would any gods want with Jayven father?" Jared asked timidly, unsure of his father's mood.
"Bah, what do the gods want with any of us? Who knows why they work their wills. Perhaps a god wants to teach us a lesson, who knows the thoughts of gods?"
Haron chimed in, "Maybe the weather's justa gettin' rougher an' it ain't got nothin' to do with no gods."
Patrik barked a laugh, "Not bloody likely. The gods have got their hands in everything, of that you can be sure. Can't take a piss without a god deciding what color it'll be."
All three turned their heads as they heard others approaching. Patrik's eyes bugged out and the other two gaped. There was Kyrre, head bowed and looking nervously from side to side while trying to hurry, followed by Jonathan the Surgeon, stooped and hurrying along as fast as his feet would take him, but beside him, walked the man that all three gawked at like small children. He seemed mostly a normal man, but more than his fine clothing stood out. His features were cut of stone, he was sinewy as most in the town, but not emaciated. He wore a velvet green cloak and polished boots, impeccible black breeches and silken shirt. Bright green stones glistened on his belt and a sword that would take a normal man two hands to even lift hung at his side. Long dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail and a short trimmed beard adorned his angular face. Nealry black eyes looked upon the ragtag group as he approached, and a slight smile creased his lips.
Patrik and Jared fell to their knees almost simultaneously, Haron already on his knees, released the cloth for the first time and pressed his forehead to the ground. They were in the presence of their god. Arguile continued towards them and asked quite unhuriedly, "Is he alive?"
Chapter 1: Arguile
Coming Soon.
Back to Top
