Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook 23

They came from the sea. Raiders with blades and fire, hunting for grain, gold and anything valuable. The rest? Anything they couldn't take, they burned. The flames burned high in the sky, the ash covering the land around as screams and yells of fighting flooded the monastery. Hundreds of years of knowledge and growth, silenced and vanquished at the will of foreigners and their heathen God's command to pillage.

Idris dragged Rigel by his shoulder, the teenager clutching a makeshift weapon as if that would have any effect on men twice his size. These were men built to fight. Trained from birth to feast on their defeated foes and to challenge any who hinted at being more powerful than themselves. A madness filled their eyes, slaughtering all in their path.

"Idris!"

"Hush," Idris said, yanking them down and out of the way as something went flying near them. An arrow? Possibly. The abbot was dead. Idris was one of a handful of people who knew where the tunnels started and ended. "We need to get the relics out, not fight a pointless battle."

The relics meant nothing to the heathens. There were wooden carvings that dated back to the rebirth of deities. Miracles happened to those around them, or people claimed that they did. Now, if ever was the time for miracles. He forced the grate open and stuffed Rigel inside before slipping in himself. Rigel fitted better than Idris. He would make it work. Rigel stalked ahead in case someone had stumbled on a different entrance. Most were hidden, but the usual things hiding them were likely aflame.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"No safer than up there," Idris grimaced as they waded through unmentionables. "We need to move fast." Everything ached. His mouth was too dry. The weight of the relics around his neck almost dragged him down - not the physical weight but the responsibility. The abbot had pushed them into the tunnels before the brutes stormed the vaults.

Rigel wanted to talk. Idris didn't. It simmered in the air adding to the tension as the fights of fighting echoed against the stone. Smoke filled the top of the tunnels. Idris pulled his robes up higher to mask it. The world didn't like staying still. He had to keep moving. The exit inched closer as the water moved higher. Rigel moved closer, a comforting presence at his back as he stumbled. As they approached the exit, the world shifted from pitch dark to dim light, and the sea roared beyond.

The gate hung open.

A cold shiver went down Idris's back. He halted Rigel, pulling out his weapon. Unlike Rigel, it was a proper weapon. Idris trained for combat, one of a few allowed. Like himself, the axe paled in size to the things that the heathen wielded. A fraction of the size, but it would make someone bleed if needed.

The seawater numbed his feet from the cold. He stepped forward into the fresher air. A blade swung down; he blocked it. A demon beamed down at him, eyes hungry and face smeared with the blood of whoever else had the misfortune to cross his path.

A wave hit them both. Idris lost his footing, and the sea dragged him away from the tunnel. The brute followed, a battlecry ringing in Idris's ears as they fought. Metal sparked. The sea continued to wash over them as sand locked their ankles in place. The movement turned slow and bogged down. Neither could get enough power into their blows - the heathen's blows hit hard regardless.

Rigel yelled. Idris couldn't look. He blocked another attack. His knee crashed into the ground. Blood bloomed around him. Something hurt; the exact thing was a little confusing. He dodged a second attack. Something scratched against his chin. He punched upwards, using the butt of the axe. It collided with something.

More fighting, more dodging and everything blurred into an unholy mess. Eventually, they ended up bloody and continued fighting on the beach. It got harder. The better footing turned the heathen's attack stronger. Idris could dodge and weave around the and quicker.