Avenger of Blood

It has been two-hundred and fourteen days since it happened. Two-hundred and twelve since I started on the trail of blood.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

I finger my ring; the silver is cold. Memories of better days flash before my eyes. Of his smile–now long gone.

Everyone always said I didn’t deserve him. That he was too good for me. I couldn’t have agreed more. Everyone, including myself, knew I was a bad apple. Quiet. Angry. Bitter. Even my name, Shivani, meant death.

But their hatred was more than just that. I was Powerless. Unable to do Magic. And so to the eyes of the Nobility, I was worse than useless. A blight. A mistake. A burden. They hated me for my inability.

I was the example parents used to keep their children in check. You don’t want to become like Shivani, do you?

I smiled at that. No, they did not.

I rebelled against school, despite being nobility. I could learn quicker on my own. Going to magic school was useless anyways. I was a Powerless.

I didn’t mind.

I wanted nothing to do with the nobility or their sorcery.

But Koen was different.

He was good.

The top of every class, beloved by every teacher, and considered a magic prodigy, he had everything I didn’t. Especially kindness.

We only had one thing in common. We liked being silent. But that led us to being alone. And deep down, we both wanted companionship. And so, in each other’s silence, we found friendship.

Despite being his friend, I never tried to become like him. I knew it was impossible.

I figured that his goodness would make up for my lack.

Now, I find that the burden has come to rest on my shoulders. I find myself whispering, “For Koen.”

For him I will succeed. I will avenge his Blood.

I stand, dusting off my pants and stomping out the dwindling fire. Slipping my ring onto a chain, I tuck it beneath my shirt and wrap my cloak tightly around me.

The sky is dark and sunless with few stars above. The moons are obscured, their light weak. Tall, leafless, trees raise their gnarled bows to the heavens. I imagine they are begging for spring to come.

I can hear the sounds of wildlife all around me, but no creature dares come near. Not with the sword that lays at my feet. They know that sword’s name.

It means death.

“Smart creatures,” I whisper, “you can feel it, can’t you?”

I pat my bundle, laying my head down as I stare into the foliage that is now dusted with a white layer of frost.

Grief enters my dreams in the laughing face of my beloved.

I wake up feeling as if I had never slept at all. As far as I’m concerned, I spent the night in hell.

I gather my things. Rolling up my blanket and food supplies into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I grab the Avengers sword and rest it against my shoulder.

When I had been given the Sword of the Avengers I could barely carry it and had to let the tip drag on the ground behind me.

Now, I could carry it just fine. My body had adapted, muscles strengthened. Yet the Sword was still heavy as it cried out for the blood of the accused.

That was why man and animal alike avoided it. For Bloodlust was its name.

It has been two-hundred and fifteen days since it happened. Two-hundred and thirteen since I was given the sword and became the Avenger of Blood.

I trek my way through the forest, checking my map multiple times to be sure I’m heading in the right direction. I’m planning on stopping by a small town not two miles north from where I was. It is situated on the edge of the Last Forest.

It isn’t called that because there are no more forests, rather it is the last one near the Deadlands, which is where I am headed.

It doesn’t take long for the town to come into sight. Small and rickety, pathetic wooden walls surround it. Two soldiers stand guard outside, both looking like they would be happy if a monster attacked them, so long as they didn’t have to keep standing there.

They immediately let me inside, but there is fear etched into their faces.

“Do you recognize the sword I carry?” I ask.

They nod.

I look down at its glowing runes that tell of death. “There is only one life I am fated to take.”

This seems to relieve them, and they visibly relax.

The town is of humble size. The houses are made of wood, sticks, and dried mud and only have one room, including the tavern. The streets are muddy and the land sparse and bare. A light layer of snow covers the place, but despite the chill, the townspeople are out working with smiles on their faces.

This is a good place.

I find the local tavern quickly. With only one room, travelers pay to sleep on the floor. I find a quiet spot, away from the drunkards or rowdy adventurers. They all avoid me anyways. Too afraid to look me in the eyes.

No one speaks to an Avenger of Blood willingly.

I wrap my fingers around a cup of warm ale, letting it relax my body. Leaning my head against the wall, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I hold my ring in my hand.

For a moment, I will try to forget. Forget my awful mission. The reason why I bear a cursed sword.

The moment does not last long.

“Nice sword, lady.” A deep voice says.

I open my eyes.

A tall man sits in front of me, legs crossed. His hair is cropped short, one side of his head mauled by three claw marks that don’t allow the hair to grow. He has a long black beard that falls to his waist and laughing blue eyes. His shoulders are broad, muscles bear-like. He wears trousers with no shirt, despite the cold, and dark markings cover his chest. He wears earrings with the symbol of an eagle. A large axe rests across his lap.

He grins.

“Do you not fear death?” I say slowly, tone deceptively lazy.

“Nah, I’m too used to it by now.” He points to the axe, with its large runes that match my swords.

I close my eyes. “Do you think that because we share the same mission we should be friends?”

“For people like us, things can get lonely.” He says, "It's not every day we meet another one of our kind. We might as well make the most of it.”

I don’t respond. Perhaps ignoring him will make him give up and go away.

“Isn’t it strange?” He continues, “Everyone here fears us, yet we can’t hurt them.”

“I could.”

“Don’t lie,” he laughs, "there's only one person that sword cries out for. Only one person you must end. Until then, your sword will never be satisfied with another. Even if you wanted to, you cannot hurt anyone else.”

I stiffen. “By the looks of it, your weapon has been appeased. You’re free.” I can’t help the wistful tone to my voice.

Oh to be free.

“Free?” There’s scorn to his voice, an angry bitterness that makes me open my eyes. Hatred is etched into every line on his face, his eyes are burning with it. “Free? Oh no. Once you’re given a Weapon of Blood, it cries out against any injustice you see. The moment I was given this axe, I became the hand of justice. And I will be till I die.”

“Am I supposed to pity you?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“Pity yourself.” He shrugs, the hatred fading from his gaze. “You’re just like me. We’ll never put down a blade till we die.”

“I look forward to it.”

He laughs, “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then he asks, “You haven’t completed your first mission, have you?”

I flinch. “How did you know?”

“Gut feeling.”

“How unreliable,” I murmur.

“But I was right.”

I look at him carefully. He seems to be maybe seven or eight years older than me, but he has the experience of an aged Avenger of Blood. If he had no current mission, he might be useful.

Before I can speak, he shakes his head. “I know what you’re going to ask, and unless you have something valuable to give me in return, I’m not helping you.”

I nod. Oh well, it was worth a try.

I run my thumb and finger over the silver of my ring, watching as it reflects the light.

The man points to the ring, “Give me that and I’ll help you.”

“No.” I say it quickly, clutching the ring in a tight fist.

He nods, “Ahh, I see.” His voice turns suggestive, and he winks. “Lover’s gift?”

For a moment, I consider telling him about my fiance. I shake my head. Fool, you don’t even know the man.

“Something like that.” I say.

“Ah, young love,” he smirks, sighing dramatically.

“Love for us, is dead.”

He scowls at me, “You’re a little mean for a girl.”

“And you’re talkative for a grown man.” I quip.

“Where are you headed? I can travel with you if we have the same destination,” he says, adding, “but mind you, that doesn’t mean i’ll help.”

“Deadlands,” I say, because I’m sure he isn’t headed there. The Deadlands were universally avoided by everyone.

“Luck is with us, I’ll travel with you till we get to the Deadlands, then we’ll part ways.” He turns, not waiting for an answer and calls out for another tankard of ale.

I sigh.

What a pain.

It has been two-hundred and twenty days since it happened. Two-hundred and eighteen since I left to bring justice to the bereaved. I have been traveling with Draven, the man I met at the tavern, for five days, and we have only just gotten to the edge of the Last Forest.

The sun dips low in the sky, its colors bleeding the horizon a golden red. Draven prattles on about his glorious past of slaying monsters. For the most part, I am able to tune him out.

As we finally leave the forest behind, Draven abruptly stops talking, and both of us go still.

Far below, a terrible battle is taking place. Bodies are writhing in a mass of blood and steel. The smell of death assaults my senses. The grass is wet with blood. Corpses, or what is left of them, cover the earth like a blanket. But what’s terrible about the scene is that the bodies are that of peasants. Not warriors, but people from a town that is now set on fire.

And then I see him.

Koen’s running, golden hair slick with sweat and blood. Four town guards surround him, and he hacks away at them mercilessly. He raises his wrist and the ground beneath him opens up, swallowing the unsuspecting along with women and children who happen to be nearby. Koen is limping, calling his men to retreat. But I can see an archer take his aim. Koen doesn’t see him, his back is turned. The Guard archer is near me, and before I can think, I snatch Draven’s bow, and shoot the archer in the hand. He drops his bow, screaming in agony.

Because of my Sword, I cannot kill. That makes me more creative at times.

Koen turns, hearing the scream and his blue eyes lock onto mine. He freezes. I hear him call my name just as one of his men trains their bow at me.

I can’t move, I’m stuck staring at him. Frozen in place.

Draven pulls me aside, dragging me into the forest just as the arrow whistles by my head.

“What was that?” He yells, shaking me. “Why didn’t you move? What were you doing, getting involved in someone else's battles?”

My legs go weak and I fall to my knees.

“What’s wrong with you? Who was that? Why did you help a man who just destroyed an innocent town?” He’s angry, but I can’t apologize.

The least I can do is explain it to him. He deserves that much.

And so, later that night when we found a safe place in the forest, close to the edge but not too close that some of Koen’s men would find us, I confronted my past.

“So?” Draven asks, “You promised to explain?”

I nod. Without saying a word, I toss the ring in front of him.

Instantly, I can tell he understands. “Your lover. It’s that man.”

I swallow, “Koen. He is the one I must slay.”

Draven, for once, is silenced. But not from surprise. His eyes are solemn with understanding.

“I too had to end my Father. He tried to kill the king. I was given this axe to slay him.”

I can’t help but feel surprised. But I still could not bring myself to speak more. My throat was tight.

“He was better than me. I was the one who always complained, who was angry…” I started to speak, and found I couldn’t stop. The words just kept pouring out like a dam had been broken. “But I didn’t know… no one knew how much he was hurting. I never thought… That he would start killing people. It doesn’t make sense, I don't even know why he did it… But, I was chosen to be the Avenger of Blood. I have to…I have to stop him.”

Draven is unmoved at my outburst and waits for me to collect myself. Carefully pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill with ink, he begins to write.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Helping.”

“But you said you needed to be paid–”

“Shhh,” He says, finishing the letter and handing it to me.

It is written as if I am its author, telling Koen to meet with me before he crosses the border into the Deadlands. It says I want one last time to see him, and that I won’t harm him.

I raise my eyes skeptically. “He won’t meet me,” I say.

But I am wrong. After I saved him earlier, I had sent a message that I loved him too much to hurt him.

So when Draven delivers the letter, Koen sets up a time and place to meet the next day.

I wait at the border of the forest, Draven by my side. He must leave once Koen gets here, and take my sword with him. But for now, he waits with me.

“Why did you send the letter?” I ask.

“To give you a choice. To show mercy, if you wish it, or end him. I won’t judge you whatever you choose.”

“ Uncharacteristically mature,” I note.

But I have no more time for words. Koen approaches, alone. Silently, Draven slips away leaving us in silence.

We stand far apart. It feels strange compared to when we were in love, planning our wedding. We would stand as close to each other as possible, because even the slight brush of a hand was considered scandalous. So we made up for it by closeness.

But now we are apart.

“Shivani,” He says softly, as if amazed that he is speaking the words.

I say nothing. Unable to speak.

He takes a step forward. “I never thought I would see you…”

I swallow, recognizing the look in his eyes. “I’m only here to say goodbye.” I say; but what kind of goodbye would it be? One that led to death, or the one that let him live?

“I know…” He looks down at the ground.

“Why?” I ask, the words bursting out of me. “I have to know, before you leave. Why?”

His eyes darken, and there’s a cruelty in them that frightens me. “Why? Isn’t it obvious? The mages of this world take advantage of the weak–they have more power than the common man and they use it to destroy the already beaten down.”

“This isn’t because of me, is it?” I ask, hands trembling, “you’re not trying to get revenge for all the people who hurt me–? For the mages who looked down on me for being Powerless?” The idea that I had been the start of all this crushed me, I could barely breathe, my hands shaking.

“You were just the start,” he says, his beautiful face twisting into a horrible expression. “They hurt you, beat you and spit on you for something you couldn’t control. And they do the same to everyone else.” He looks at me, his expression relaxing. He holds out his hand, his blue eyes smiling. “Don’t you see, I’m doing the world a favor!”

I flinch, taking a step backwards.

“Koen, you’re killing women and children.”

He shrugs, “It’s all the same, they’ll grow up to be killers anyways.”

“What–what happened to you?” I can barely speak, the words choking me. “You were supposed to be the good one, the hero!”

“I am!” He insists, annoyed. “But to be a hero, you have to spill blood sometimes.”

The words are haunting, and suddenly I’m reminded of my mission. As much as I was hoping to let him go, I knew what I had to do.

I walk up to him, and kiss his cheek. He freezes as all of the moments we shared together flood my mind, the time when he first told me how he felt, when he gave me the ring I carry around my neck. Each a precious memory.

And in that moment I pull out his sword from its sheath and thrust it into his stomach.

A tear falls down my face and I smile sadly.

I know he believes me when I say, “I love you.”