The Warrior who Forgot to Die - Inktober 2018 Day 19

Y'all want some metal?
Cuz i got me some Metal fors ya.

“A long time ago, there lived a warrior so terrible that he continued to haunt the lands of the living even when they had destroyed his body.”

The boy pulled at his blanket, his face unable to restrain a smile forming on his lips.

“Dragging his giant sword, its hilt made out of the melted skulls and bones of his enemies, cast and recast in steel harnessed from the belly of Hellforge itself, which was folded and refolded seven times over seven months as it burned white-blue fire, with each of its flame-tongue shrieking, seeking vengeance until each of the ghosts of his enemies finally surrendered, finally succumbed, finally submitted…. And they were forever bound to his service. Their graves, their final resting place, A SWORD! The sword that cannot be stopped, its name is Wrath, and it answers only to the unending warrior! Yes. The warrior walked,” Grandpa Hugh paused, drawing breath, “And all trembled before him.”

“But then, he met you! Grandpa!”

The old man coughed, the spell rocked his entire frail body.

“Later, much later.”

“Were you scared?”

“I already told you this, Lloyd. I had lost everything at that time, DEATH would have been merciful.”

“So you weren’t! You weren’t scared!”

“Pipe down. Let me tell you the story proper.”

Lloyd retreated back into his pillow, eyes wide opened.

“The warrior walked, and all trembled before him.” Grandpa Hugh continued. “Even animals had the wits to avoid his path, for he was indiscriminate in his destruction, and nature had its own kind of wisdom about disasters. The bravest fighters set out to end him. Thirteen hundred iron crocodiles were let loose upon him. Six kings joined together in solemn oath, formed and committed under the beauty and serenity of the Fountain of Songs, which burst only once every thirty-one years, and whose blessing is known to all men, women and children, binding six mighty kingdoms in a noble quest, a most sacred quest, to end the Warrior who forgot to Die.”

“They couldn’t do it!”

“Yes. That’s right. Nothing could.”

“But one day, he slipped! It was winter and he slipped on ice!”

“Yes. Though once his iron boots had fine soles, made with great care and design, all the years of perpetual walking had grounded the patterns and spikes into smooth surfaces. A winter came upon the lands, sharp and bitter, the kind of winter none had seen for many decades, its winds howled long and terrible, and it spread its icy veins far and wide, and with such unbelievable swiftness as if one would spend an afternoon in autumn and wake the next morning to snowfall. This was the year that you were born.”

“Ma and Da blamed it for all eight of us!”

“Well, it lasted eight years.” Grandpa Hugh nodded, the implications lost on the child entirely. “Yes, his iron boots had soles as smooth as a newborn’s buttocks after countless days of walking and so he stepped upon a frozen lake and fell mightily. My grandfather, a child yet at that time, saw this with his own eyes and though he was trembling in ferocious fear only minutes prior to this, huddling and hiding behind brambles and fallen logs by the lake, he told me that he had never again laughed as hard as he did that day when he saw the Undying Warrior slipped on ice.”

“He fell into the lake and was frozen! Salvation!”

“Yes, that’s right. He fell into the lake, all of him, Sword and boots and helmet all. Some said he tried to return to the surface but that his own steel outfit was too heavy, too cumbersome, its gilded horns, each of them a mark placed upon his suit of armor by the Demons of Old, was too precious to let go. Wrath was of no help to him under water. His choice was simple, let go or drown.”

“Did you see him, Grandpa?”

“Yes. He was entombed as such under the surface of this lake right here, just outside your window here, whose name was Lake Rose at the time, on the account of it looking somewhat like a rose if seen from above, though I know not if I would agree, since I once had travelled a distance away from here, dear boy, and from the nearest mountain top, I’d say it resemble your basic triangle than a rose, but nevertheless it was known as Lake Rose, though they were calling it Salvation Lake once the Warrior was tamed by its icy form.”

“But winter passed…”

“Yes, eight long years of horrible cold gripped us but eventually it passed. Little at a time, the world came to remember that there were such things as long days of Summer, and of abundance. And little at a time, the lake thawed.”

“So they sent magicians! With their horned staff and long beards!”

“So they did. My grandfather, teenager at that time, was sent away and he returned with four Arch-Mages. Old and grand, they were. Wise, very wise, some said they were wiser than trees, and therefore they were prone to eccentricities and caprice. Shown they were, of the lake that was melting and of the Warrior Who Gripped Wrath at His Hands that slept underneath its surface. And so they cast a great spell, which was a terrifying act that involved the rapid aging of all who were nearby to the place. That morning, when my grandfather showed the Arch-Mages the lake, he was eighteen years of age, but by the afternoon, he was fifty-six. The spell had used up life forces as its toll! All four Arch-Mages were already very old, but when they had finished the incantations, they were turned each of them into a Tree that Walked, a Song that Rides the Wind, a Terrible Thought, and a very, very young buck.”

“A deer? But why?”

“None knows. We give thanks to their sacrifice and to the sacrifice of the townsfolk of Salvation Lake. It was in this way that the Warrior who forgot how to Die was kept in peace, for many, many years.”

“But then, he met you!”

“Yes, later. Much later. And now, it is time for you to sleep.”

“Good night, Grandpa.” Lloyd yawned. “Will you tell me more tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”