The Bridge

 I have returned! I'm going to be using this space as I usually do, though hopefully with more updates. I'll be posting up some short stories I write, and perhaps art to accompany them once I'm less rusty at Photoshop.

What follows is the beginning of one poor fellow's journey.

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“Where am I?” The world around him spun in drunken circles. His eyes refused to make sense of what they saw, he slammed them shut. He attempted to raise his hands, but failed. They were heavy, far heavier than they should be. In fact his whole body felt pinned to the ground under some inexorable weight.

“Hello?” Only the sound of his own voice returned, weak and full of confusion. His eyes slowly began to clear, illuminating his surroundings. “How..?”

 In front him a resplendent fortress stood, bathed in sunlight filtering through the gaps in the clouds casting it in a divine light. The bright stone shimmered as if bathed in gold. As far as he could tell he currently rested on an over-used drawbridge. The splintery wood around him was torn up in places, exposing glimpses into a heart-wrenching drop below.

Piles of scattered lumber stood in various places along the bridge, perhaps it had been under repair. If it needed to be fixed, where were the carpenters? As if to answer his question, at the far end of the bridge the sound of clattering wood shattered the silence.

He attempted to raise his hands again, his arms burned with exertion – armor. Black cloth covered his arms, cinched to plates of scratched steel lining the length of his body. He pushed himself forward mightily, the armor creaked loudly. The noise from the end of the bridge seemed to grow closer. Someone was coming, finally.

A groan issued from the approaching sound. Relief was suddenly and violently replaced by fear. He needed to stand up.

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

More wooden beams crashed to the ground, the groaning became clearer.

Get up.

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

NOW.

He pressed his palms into the ground and drew his knees up to his chest, hoping to find his footing quickly. The effort was nearly impossible. He pressed with all of his might, his body raising slowly off of the drawbridge, creaking loudly all the while. As he stood his balance forsook him, he tottered backwards crashing into a stone wall. The sound of metal screeching against stone rent the air. Inset within the wall was a monstrous wooden door, barricaded.

No way back.

The crashing ahead of him had stopped. Ice ran through his veins.

“H..Hello?” He cast his eyes to the ground, there was nothing within arms reach. He returned his gaze to the bridge. A man stood there, or something resembling a man. His skin was dark red, etched with scabs and a myriad of cuts. A constant moan escaped his mouth, rising and falling in pitch at random. His breath came in ragged gasps.

A loop of frayed rope wound around his body, securing his only piece of clothing (a horribly stained sheet of gray cloth with holes hastily cut for arms and legs) to his skeletal form. His eyes burned with something unnatural. Fever perhaps? In his hand he held a broken blade, sheared off neatly near the hilt, but still sharp. Rust coated the destroyed blade, the hand gripping it looked blistered and infected. The man took a step forward, a grin spread across his face causing a few of the scabs surrounding his mouth to weep dark trails of blood.
 

He pushed himself away from the wall, finally able to maintain balance. His legs felt leaden, his body hunched over underneath the foreign armor. He could barely lift his arms. He had to get out of it. His fingers scrambled over strange buckles, loosening straps and tugging on leather strips. His chest plate fell away, he gasped in relief.

The strange man was only a few feet away, but he had slowed down – a look of curiosity briefly flickered through his eyes.

He seized his assailant's pause and knelt down, attempting to free his legs from the steel greaves keeping him immobile – eventually they too crashed to the ground. He pulled the simple metal gauntlets off of his hands and stepped out of his heavy metal boots. He stood, unarmored finally.

The strange man snarled, his approach quickened.

He stumbled to the right in hopes of finding a way to defend himself, he quickly lost his balance and went sprawling into a nearby pile of lumber, he cried out in pain upon his elbow meeting a metal surface. A jagged cut sliced angrily up from the tip of his elbow, dripping blood on the ground below. He knocked aside the wood and gasped.

A man (or woman perhaps) in armor very similar, if not identical to his own, lay there. Dusty bones filled the armor, the chest piece had been hacked and stabbed at by a blunted blade. More importantly, next to the body lay a notched sword. The blade was about four feet long and worn, but more than sharp enough. The leather hilt had all but worn away. He seized the blade and spun, facing the monstrosity approaching him.

A terrified shriek escaped him, the man was already upon him uttering an unintelligible string of words - his blade held high over his head.

KILL HIM.

The ease at which the thought entered his mind would trouble him soon, but not now. He gripped the notched longsword with both hands and raised it over his head horizontally. The small blunted blade crashed into his own, his arms bucked in protest, he collapsed to a knee. A red scabrous leg entered his vision before he could react, he felt loose flesh pull away from the knee that struck him in the right side of his face.

Light exploded into his vision, he numbly felt the sword drop from his hands. He pitched to the ground, catching himself on his hands. Spikes of wood drove into the palms of his hands, raising pinpricks of blood. He could feel the man above him reading another swing, he rolled to the left with all of his strength.

Dull steel met the wood of the bridge, the man roared in anger – his blade was stuck.

Now.

He pushed himself to his feet and charged the man, pulling his right shoulder in close, barreling towards his foe. The thin man crumpled under the assault, crashing to the ground snarling. A long nailed hand clawed at his face, he batted it away with his own delivering a savage blow with his right hand to the strange man below him. His fist smashed the few remaining teeth in the man's mouth to pieces, but he snarled on. His strength was not giving out. He raised his hand for another blow.

A lightning bolt of pain ripped through his leg. The man had seized a large chunk of loose bridge and jammed it into his right thigh, blood poured from the wound causing him to roll off of the man.

The two regained their bearings, the mad man wiped at his mouth with a boney hand smearing a dark trail of blood across his face. He stood slowly, swaying slightly.

Leave the goddamned splinter.

Sweat coursed down his face, the man was already standing, approaching him bare handed. He fell back onto his hands, scrabbling backwards. As he moved his hand brushed across a metal object, the broken blade. He snatched it frantically, attempting to find a grip.

The man fell upon him.

Fingernails dug into his shoulders, he could feel the hot breath of the man on his neck his teeth snapping at his flesh. He drove up with his left knee, air blasted out of the man's lungs but his grip was iron. With his left hand he seized the man by the throat, simultaneously squeezing and pushing him away as hard as he could manage.

The furious look in his eyes was gone, replaced by a soulless lust for death. He attained the grip necessary on the blunted blade. With one final exertion he dealt the man a thundering blow to the side of his head with his left hand, he toppled off to the right clutching his ear.

He wasted no time. He gripped the blade and dove onto his tormentor. A long nailed hand swiped at his face again, missing by mere inches. Another hand rose, he knocked it aside, inching up with his knees pinning down the struggling man. He lifted the blade and rotated it, aiming the sheared end at his opponent. He drove down once without hesitation, the short blade tore through the ragged cloth into the man's chest.

A dark river of blood gushed from his mouth. He kept struggling, his crushed mess of teeth clacking wildly. He raised the sword again.

It had taken seven stabs to stop his ceaseless thrashing. Blood coated his hands and most of his legs. The dark chunk of wood protruding from his thigh burned. He carefully wrapped his right hand around the intruding fragment and was immediately rebuffed by mind-rending pain.

Blood ran freely from scratches on his right cheek, his shoulders bled from where the man had penetrated his skin with his nails. His face had begun to swell where he had accepted the man's knee, he couldn't see through his right eye after a few more minutes.

He laid down carefully, catching his breath. Sharp bolts of pain played throughout his body.

What now?

He sat up slowly, clutching the continually swelling side of his face. At the far end of the drawbridge, past the mess his friend had made on his way to brutally murder him, was the entrance to the sprawling fortress he had admired earlier. That door looked barred as well, but the small sentry stations on either side stood with their doors hanging open.

Without placing too much weight on his wounded leg, he stood and limped over to the pile of armor he had discarded. No more chances. His hands were ripped and torn from the confrontation, his feet composed of what mostly felt like shards of ancient wood. He shrugged back into the metal arm guards feeling the weight immediately sap what little of his strength remained. The gauntlets slid perfectly onto his hands, as if they were forged for him alone. The weight may have been great, but he felt slightly better for the protection.

Next he buckled on the heavy metal greaves and foot-wear. Any more pieces would render him unable to move around with coordination.

One more thing.

He limped towards where the fight had begun and seized the old longsword from the floor of the bridge. He turned it in his hands attempting to get used to the weight. The blade was badly damaged, even chipped in some places.

Better than nothing.

He took a steadying breath and turned to begin the walk down the long drawbridge towards the castle.

Three men stood there, their scab covered bodies only hidden by shifting gray rags wrapped about them in rope. Two held actual blades this time, one pried the severed sword from his dead comrade and joined his allies.

“Alright you bastards.” 

He strengthened his grip on the old blade.