CHAPTER ELEVEN
CONTROL
After a quick discussion, the captains and commanders of the Hammer and the Blade decided that traveling through the forsaken wastelands would hinder their goal. They knew that they had to recruit new soldiers to their cause, and there were no people living in the blackened parts of the world. They made their way as quickly and directly as possible out of the wastes, deciding to circle the vast expanse in an attempt to find some villages or homesteads from which they could recruit fresh troops.
Blade and the Hammer marched, from dawn till dusk every day, and had been for over a week, having left the wastelands well behind them several days earlier. So far, though, their search for signs of human life had been fruitless.
Each night, Griffin and Mercius held long discussions; sometimes in one of their tents, sometimes on the outskirts of the camp, sometimes simply walking beyond its borders in the darkness. For three weeks they got nowhere; they were no closer to an answer about the strange power that they both obviously must wield than they were when they began.
It was at the beginning of the fourth week of their march when something finally happened that was inspiring.
The two men were sitting in Mercius' tent. A silence had fallen over both of them. They were frustrated due to their lack of progress, and both seemed at an end; ready to give up.
“I cannot understand what we’re even supposed to be doing,” Mercius said, “let alone how to do it.”
Griffin, in a rare display, stood quickly and violently threw the cup that was in his hands. He uttered a frustrated yell as the cup shattered on the dirt floor of the tent. “This is pointless, Mercius!” he yelled. “Each night we waste our time and our energy on this fucking foolishness! I can’t do this anymore! To Hell with this!”
The black man went to storm from the tent, but Mercius grabbed his arm. The touch was more firm Mercius had intended, but he, too, was frustrated and angry. Griffin spun and, in anger, thrust his hand at Mercius' chest. Before he ever made contact, however, two things happened to Mercius.
He saw the look in Griffin’s eyes. They were no longer the intense green that Mercius had always seen so much strength in. They were now on fire: a brilliant flame blazed in the man’s eyes that frightened Mercius on some very deep level of himself. The second thing that happened, almost before Mercius could register the look in the man’s eyes, was that he was thrown violently backwards, pain exploding in his chest and radiating out to his limbs and his head.
He flew, fully three feet off the ground, through the stained leather of the tent. When he landed, he was blind. He could see nothing, hear shouting and blades being drawn, and feel nothing but the pain in his chest. It felt as if some giant had squeezed the breath from his lungs and forced his heart through his ribs.
Then, just as Mercius was sure he would lose consciousness, the world came back to him. He felt hands on his body, and light burst into his eyes, painfully. Someone had removed the leather tent wall that had covered his face, and he could see again. There were several men and one woman standing over him, groping at his arms, helping him up. He got slowly to his feet, and looked vacantly about him. They were talking at him, asking questions, all the while glancing back to where the tent had stood. There, firelight dancing on his dark features, was Griffin.
Mercius muttered something to the people that were fussing over him, and it must have satisfied them, for they slowly began to disperse, each with backwards glances at Mercius and Griffin.
Mercius walked to Griffin, who was staring at his hands in shock and horror, as if he saw some stain there that he was attempting to wash away with his will. Mercius stared at him. When finally he became aware of Mercius' scrutiny, he looked up at him. His eyes had retained their former shade and intensity, but Mercius thought that he could see, somewhere deep within them, the blaze that had been there before; the power. There was shock and horror and sorrow stamped on the man’s face, and Mercius felt for him.
Stammering, Griffin said, “Mercius. I’m…I’m…”
Mercius silenced him with an upraised hand. “Please,” he said. “Do not even dream of apologizing to me. You've accomplished what we have been attempting for the last month. You have done it, Griffin!”
“I…I have?” he asked. His voice was weak and unsure.
“Of course you have, man!” Mercius was gripped with excitement. He breathed deeply and made a very determined effort to settle himself. He did, eventually, and grasped Griffin by the upper arm, guiding him out of what had once been the headquarters tent. Mercius mumbled something to one of the Blade as they made their way through the camp, making the young soldier understand that the pair was not to be followed or bothered.
Mercius knew what was running through the Griffin’s mind. He was afraid and confused and somehow elated. He knew, because he had gone through the same thing. Twice. He also knew that no matter what he said, he would be unable to put Griffin’s mind at ease. The man had to come to terms with what had just happened on his own.
When they were truly out of the camp of the Hammer and the Blade, Griffin spoke. His voice had lost the hesitant tremor that Mercius had heard earlier. “How is this possible? I mean, I believed the angel from the start, but I know now that I still had my doubts. How could I have truly believed, having never experienced such a thing. How could I have known?”
Mercius didn’t respond. The two simply walked in silence.
Then Mercius asked, “What did it feel like, Griffin?”
After pondering for some time, Griffin said, “It felt like power; sheer, liquid, usable power. It was horrifying. It took control of me, not the other way around. I was filled with some sort of rage that I have never experienced before, and it took control.” He paused. “How we’re supposed to harness this power I don’t know. It felt alive inside me, as if it had its own mind, its own purpose. How can we control such a…such an evil?”
“I think you’re wrong there, Griffin,” Mercius said, and he meant it. “I cannot believe that you have evil inside of you. Nor can I believe that Nephilia, the angel, as you called her, could intend for us to wield something that was wicked. No, as little as we may understand it, this thing is good, pure and simple. It will be our weapon against evil.”
“But why now, Mercius? Why, after all these years of battle and fighting and slavery and fucking torture, have I never been overtaken with this power?”
Mercius said quietly, “Are you sure you haven’t?” Griffin gave him a questioning look. Mercius continued. “I have spoken to some of your men. They say that you move like liquid fire in battle; that you know no fear and cannot be touched. Maybe you have felt this thing and didn’t know it.”
Griffin’s response was heated; almost a shout. “No! Do you think that I wouldn’t know it if that were true? That I could ever mistake that for something else? Battle rage, maybe? No, Mercius. You’ve felt it, and you know that it cannot be anything but what it is. Whatever that may be.”
“You’re right, of course. Forgive me. Now, as much as I know you don’t want to, we must work on repeating this phenomenon, in both of us, then harnessing it.”
Griffin’s eyes were pleading. “Not tonight, Mercius. Please.”
“Of course, not tonight.” With that, they walked back to the camp in silence.
Neither of them slept that night.
Each night, from then on, they practiced. It was slow, and, more often than not, neither of them could accomplish anything. It was only when they were extremely frustrated that they were able to feel the power flood into them. It started out with occasionally being able to move objects that they had placed around the tent. Move them without touching them. They failed and failed, over and over again, until one of the two would get so frustrated and angry at their failure that something would go skittering off the cot or stool on which it had rested. When this happened, they were always s
eized with the burning intensity of power flooding through them, and when they tried to take control of it, it would almost always slip from their grasp.
Diligently, they pursued their task, and slowly learned a very slight modicum of control.
Mercius was at the head of the troop with Darius and Peter. He was lost in his own thoughts, not listening to the conversation that the other two men were having. Griffin was walking beside Eliah and Jax, the two older men talking as they so often did. They seemed to have taken to each other in the way of men who have seen much the same things over their lives. Griffin was silent, and Mercius got the impression that he, too, was not really listening to the talk that went on around him.
With an eerie suddenness, the four men that were on either side of Griffin and Mercius went silent. They had all spotted the same thing at once, and sat their horses in shock. There was a tendril of smoke on the horizon before them and to their right. They had all halted at the sight of it, and sat in silence briefly.
Mercius said, “Griffin, where is that smoke coming from? Is it a demon blaze, or some sort of town or village?”
Griffin said, “There is a village near hear, but I can’t be sure if that is it.”
Mercius was suddenly seized with a surety. He knew what it was, and what he must do. Without a word, he kicked Fury into an all-out run. He faintly heard someone calling his name behind him, telling him to wait; Peter, he thought, but the warning went unheeded. He rode like the wind, but soon he heard hooves coming up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the men he had been riding with. Darius came abreast of him and shouted over the wind of their flight:
“I’ve ordered the boys to follow with all haste. But this is foolish, Mercius. We should wait, and come upon this thing as one.” Mercius simply kicked his horse again and didn’t respond.
As they thundered toward the trail of smoke, black and sinuous against the grey of the sky, two mounted men came galloping toward them.
They halted, facing each other, and the scouts reported: a village was being attacked. It was a small place, they told Mercius and the others, with no wall or outer defenses to speak of. There were about fifty demons, ravaging the place.
Mercius barely waited for them to finish before he rode off again. He heard Darius barking at the scouts to follow.
Mercius pulled his horse up at the edge of the village. He had been blinded by acrid smoke, but now he could see through the gloom. There were people running and screaming, no one even trying to put up a fight.
As he was watching, Mercius saw a boy of no more than twelve with terror written in his face and tears streaming from his eyes. He was grabbed from behind by a slobbering fiend with glass razor blades for teeth, its eyes sewn shut and the top of its skull missing. The thing began to devour the man, ripping out his throat, and even above the shrill screams of horror coming from the frightened villagers, Mercius could hear the liquid tearing as the demon chomped on his treat of flesh. The demon continued to feast on the man, his limbs still writhing and kicking, his eyes still filled with terror and tears.
Mercius was roused from his shock as Griffin swept passed him, roaring with rage. The blade at his back leapt into his hand, and almost instantly the thing was beheaded. With that, Mercius joined the fray, as did the others at his back.
He rode abreast of Griffin, pulling Illuricht from its scabbard. The two men looked at each other and both gave a grim nod. They leapt their horses into a nightmare, with snarling, snapping demons on all sides.