Seven days. Seven days of running, hiding, backtracking and on occasion, killing. Seven days of knowing he was out there, relentless in his determination to bring me to heel. I could see it in him whenever I ventured close enough to spy him, see that this was not about punishment, nor about revenge. This was all about his honor and his power: he would not permit that I should stand against him.

His arrogance was as a God’s and I thought, perhaps, he must be one. As frustrating and maddening as I found all this, there was comfort of a sort in that notion. Here was a worthy adversary, the first I had ever encountered since realizing my divine nature. There must be the spark of the divine within him as well, for that could be the only plausible explanation for his unshakable tenacity.

He was certainly as beautiful as any God. I watched one night when the chase had ground to a halt, the men exhausted, the dogs spent and confused by the pungent herbs and animal scat I had strewn about. I watched as he set aside his armor and his tunic and spent hours at pleasure with a young man who had been by his side throughout this long contest. He had marched no less than his men, and had had no more of food or rest or comfort, yet his appetites were strong and he did not stint in sating them.

The seventh morning found me skirting the ridge of the western side of the river valley. These were lands only familiar from long, long years ago and as the wide arc of hunters drove me further and further north I came to realize I would be driven from my lands, away from those people I called mine and everything that had become familiar and comforting. Rage seethed in me, but there was little I could do- my bow was lost days ago and my bag of tricks emptied. They would not be dissuaded or eluded and even as I tasted the bitterness of those traitorous thoughts I felt the weariness setting in. The sun was not even half way along its journey across the sky and I was feeling spent.

This was hopeless.

Exhausted, I stumbled toward a great old tree that marked the westernmost border of my territory, of my divine sphere and home. The tree had marked this edge of it for as long as I had lived here. It would take six men clasping hands in a circle to surround it, and its gnarled, twisted branches held many crevices, and even a water hole in a crevice about five arm lengths above. It was the thickest, most twisted, least handsome, and yet most beautiful tree in my realm, and always had it guarded this border for me. I felt a kinship with it, for it had been here as long as I could remember, as long as even I myself had been here, and it had grown and changed so little in all that time.

I suddenly realized I had not walked past it since I had left the company of mortals and began realizing my divine nature. I also understood I was unwilling to walk past it?not to be driven past it, in any case. Instead, I patted the rough bark on its side, and put my head down, feeling the weight of exhaustion. I listened to their approach, and resolved that if they were to capture me, I would kill as many as possible first. And what then? They could not kill me, this I knew, but what abuses would be forced upon my body? And what would it matter?

The wind shifted and interrupted my reverie. I could hear them again, my nose tasting the scent of the oil on their weapons, their sweat and exhaustion on the air. There were at least five of them, and they were close. Weary from a long night of searching, excited that their prey was in sight. Raising my head and turning toward them I drew my knife, then hesitated as I saw him: Rufus himself was staring at me from amidst his small band of men, leading this party personally.

Holding my knife, I gazed levelly at him. He stopped, holding up his hand, and returned my gaze. He spoke, those clipped words of his people, and his men spread out to encircle me. One sounded a horn and others responded. They would rush to this spot to behold their prey, hoping to witness her destruction.

A sudden smile came to my lips as I realized I had been a fool. No wonder the gods had abandoned me: I had failed to see the most simple, most direct avenue of escape. I dropped my belongings; just a belt and a small bag, and then moved five paces towards Rufus, who remained motionless, his face as a stone visage gazing upon me. With deliberate scorn on my face and in my pose I dragged my bare foot through the soft loam, scratching a line in the earth and then stepped back, and prepared to defend myself.

Rufus spoke, and several of his men laughed. Their mirth angered me and as I took in the scene I realized that Rufus was calmly stripping off his armor. He would take me down himself. I ached to taunt him, but did he know my tongue? His words were foreign to me.

“Gweme, leudhe dewale, en dhautun geuse par minaizōn handiwōn,” I hissed in the old tongue, Come little Godling, and taste death from my hands, but there was no comprehension in his face. I tried again in the words of the seafaring peoples and this time he clearly understood me. His face darkened slightly, but then he laughed.

“You are rather tall, but too thin, and there is the stink of fear about you.” He finished stripping down to his tunic and drew a long, slim knife from his belt on the ground before stepping up to the line I had drawn in the earth. “Drop your weapon.”

It was a command, not a request. What a magnificent creature he was, his body so firm and muscular, yet moving with such supple grace and quickness it made me feel weak just to behold him. How could I think to stand against this?

He stepped across the line and I lunged forward, throwing my left leg out in a wide arc, sweeping low to take his feet out from under him. He dodged like a cat, but my right leg swept in the reverse and he fell with a sharp exhalation of breath, his arms rising only barely in time to catch me as I fell on him, my knife seeking his throat. I had the advantage, but only for that brief moment and I surged against him… and his strength overwhelmed me, throwing me easily off and away. I spun and regained my feet, turning to ward off his attack, but it did not come. He stood warily, grinning at me, but a line of blood welled from his right arm where my blade had kissed him.

“That was nicely done,” he said, grinning.

His words threatened to enrage me and I forced myself to step back, circling him as I waited. I could see the tension in him, the shifting of his face and his stance, betraying his moves a precious moment before he made them and as he lunged inward I slipped low and drove the knife against his ribs. He twisted, my blade raking against him rather than sinking home, leaving a bloody rent in the skin as he sought to entrap me with his left arm. That was the deadly embrace I had to avoid at all costs. I had felt his strength and I knew myself unequal to it.

Twice more we closed, and each time I managed to touch him, but no more. Still, minor as they were his wounds angered him and I laughed at him, taunting him wordlessly. I needed his rage, needed him intent upon murder rather than capture. This was my only hope.

As we closed yet again I sought to brush against him, slipping in and out of his grasp, but either a slip of footing, or perhaps a tremor of fatigue, slowed me just enough that his left fist closed about my right forearm, bringing me to a sudden halt. We stood there, frozen in that moment, faces so close I could taste his breath, and I saw the triumph in his eyes.

I surged forward, driving my forehead against his face, but he slipped the blow, then pulled my arm high, twisting it behind my back as he pulled me close against him. His fist clenched hard as I struggled in his grasp and my heart sank as he dropped his knife. My knee surged upward, striking him hard in the groin and he shuddered, but if anything his grip tightened, my right hand going numb as he stripped the knife from my grasp. Desperate I sank my teeth in to his neck, but he had both my wrists trapped in his left hand now and with his right he took me by the throat, closing my windpipe, peeling my mouth from his neck and forcing me to my knees. I tried to kick him again, but my body just trembled, refusing to obey my will as my lungs screamed for air and the world shrank in to a dwindling tunnel of darkness and pain.

NEXT: Rufus

Posted on December 27th, 2005 by Zsallia
Filed under: The Past