A large man sat before a fire, a concerned expression on his face, warm light coloring his beard. A pair of ravens sat in silence nearby, seemingly afraid to break the silence.
After a time, Huginn spoke up. "My lord, it has been eight days. The boy has only come closer and closer to death. The fact he has survived this long is commendable, but this was a mistake. Remove the brand while we can still save him, grant him a reprieve. I can guide him to the survivors in the East, they remain safe, they will take him in! What happens to him after will not be up to us."
Karl did not respond, continuing to brood in the fire's light. Muninn sat with a worried look, but she did not say a word.
Huginn persisted, it would have surprised Val to see the prideful raven so desperately defending him. "My lord, please! We are torturing a human who was never even prepared properly for this trial! I saw his condition an hour ago. If we do not act now, even if he survives to see tomorrow, there may be nothing left of his mind if we decide to save him then."
A long silence ensued.
"… I cannot remove the brand." Karl finally broke his silence.
"What do you mean?" Huginn's eyes were wide as he asked.
"The mark was not his, that brand is not one of our lord, the rune in the center is wrong, I did not even know you could issue the mark of another, but giving it and revoking it are two different matters." Muninn answered instead.
Huginn looked at Muninn, then looked at Karl, who remained silent, not refuting her words.
"You lied to the boy? Why?" Huginn stared at Karl in disbelief.
"I did not lie, but your sister is partly correct. The brand will do everything I said. It is true, it is not a brand of my own. I can give it, but without my brother's blessing, it will only harm him. I believe he can survive this crucible. The boy will find the approval he needs, he must. He does not know of the dangers he will face, he comes from a place of peace, free of enemies who could truly harm him. This was the only path 'she' could see that gave him a chance. He will be tempered by this trial, or broken by it." There was no mirth on Karl's face or in his tone, whether he was praying, or only waiting, the two ravens could not be sure.
"This is a cruel trial…" Muninn softly spoke.
"Yes, it has to be, or he will not gain the strength he needs. He can curse me for it if he survives." Karl was not pleased, but he was resolute in his words.
"So we have no other option than to wait and see whether he survives? Is there nothing we can do?" Muninn asked.
"The boy's trial is his own. There is nothing more that I can do with what power I have left…" Karl lamented.
Huginn seemed to shake, whether with anger or frustration, it did not matter. "What purpose is there to this? What is so significant about this boy that we go to such lengths? What if his mind breaks?"
"I do not know. His bloodline fits, though diluted. If I had to guess, it would be his disposition. If his mind breaks, I will deliver him peace and rest myself." Karl said sorrowfully.
. . .
Val again woke in the dark nightmare, his face haggard and eyes bloodshot. He had the appearance of someone who had not slept in days, despite much of the last eight days being spent in an apparent sleep.
Begrudgingly he began shambling in a random direction, knowing it would not matter which way he went. He would come to the brazier, the shadow would approach, hand him a weapon, then proceed to duel and kill him.
In the silent darkness, he started laughing to himself, almost maniacal.
"How many times have I lost my head? Limbs, an ear, fingers, hands, I've lost them so many times I'm not even surprised when it happens. I've no scars, but I can still feel where I've been stabbed, slashed, crushed. Hahaha, I'm not even dead yet, and I'm in Hell!" He was talking and chuckling to himself as he walked, a deranged look in his eyes.
Sure enough, after walking a distance, a brazier appeared, and the menacing shadow stepped forward.
Before he drew his latest choice of weapons for the two of them, Val spoke. "Hey, you. How many times have we done this?"
"One hundred and seventeen times." The cold voice devoid of emotion responded.
"What's the point of this game? Maybe you think it's fair because you give us each the same weapon. You literally fight with one arm, but clearly, you're far stronger than I am, and you haven't even explained what I have to do to win." Val reprimanded the shadow as if it might care.
"Prove you are worthy of the mark." The shadow repeated.
"Yeah, that figures, this again… Fuck you."
The shadow did not react and tossed a shortsword to clatter at Val's feet. He raised his one arm, pointing his blade towards Val as he took the same familiar stance seen time and time again.
Val looked down at the sword, then looked at the shadow out of the corner of his eyes. Like usual, he was waiting for him to take up the blade before they began.
He stood there for a few moments, and when it seemed the shadow would run out of patience, he calmly picked up the sword and took a stance. Waiting for this moment, the shadow immediately closed the distance and, like every time before, began raining blows on Val.
It had been over a hundred duels with the same opponent. The movements, striking patterns, and pacing of the shadow were forcibly carved into Val's flesh after so many deaths. He parried and deflected blow after blow, as the shadow increased his pace and add greater variety to his patterns. Still, within what he had experienced, Val continued to defend against these attacks, almost skillfully, using as few movements as he could. A constant ringing sound was in Val's ears. He was growing deaf to each individual sword strike as they all seemed to blend like a discordant symphony of steel.
10 strikes…
20 strikes…
30 strikes…
…
60 strikes…
After over seventy strikes, it seemed as if the shadow could not increase his tempo any further, but Val's hands were numb, and he could barely keep his grip on his sword. At that moment, Val mustered his resolve and poorly executed a parry against the latest strike. Val's guard opened for a second, and at that moment, the shadow lunged forward, aiming to thrust his blade through Val's heart. Val grit his teeth, twisted his left shoulder and took a step forward towards the oncoming thrust. The silvery steel dyed crimson as it went straight through his body, piercing his left lung, but narrowly missing his heart. The acrid taste of blood filled his mouth and choked his breathing as his lung collapsed and filled with fluid.
Realizing he had missed his mark, the shadow moved to withdraw his blade, but Val grabbed the back of his neck and held him in place. Pushing himself deeper onto the sword, Val delivered a rage-fueled headbutt to the shadow.
"I can't even remember how many times I've died, but even if just this once, you're coming with me!" Val gripped the shortsword as hard as he could and thrust it into the shadow's chest where the heart should be, delivering vengeance for over a hundred deaths.
Bleeding profusely from his own chest and having spent all of his strength on that one strike, Val stumbled and fell to the floor. The shadow stood motionless, doing nothing about the blade in his chest. To Val's surprise, red blood flowed from the shadow's wound. As it did, color spread outward as if banishing the shadow from the figure's form. A man missing his right arm below the shoulder dressed in nothing more than frayed linen pants smiled down at Val with blue eyes. Val sat in disbelief as the man looked similar to himself, save for his eyes and height. Scars where the flesh had been cut or stabbed covered the man's muscular form.
Wordlessly the man kneeled down, he gripped his sword and pulled it from Val's chest, but it did not cause any pain. Despite the taste of blood in his mouth, Val found he could breathe normally. The man placed the blade as if to sheathe it in the ground, sinking until it disappeared completely. The man reached out and placed his hand on Val's chest. Warmth radiated outward, suffusing his entire being with a pleasant, energizing feeling. After a moment, the man lifted his hand, stood, and walked off into the darkness, leaving Val alone. Looking down at his chest, the same brand Karl had placed on his chest was now in this dream, too; however, it was no longer glowing. The runes were black, and overall, the image appeared like a tattoo, feeling it with his hand; it felt like his normal skin.
Relief and exhaustion spread over him, sapping him of strength to stand. Val crawled over to lie near the brazier and fell asleep.
. . .
The sound of gently sloshing water reached Val's ears. A small, cold, wet feeling was gently pressing against his chest. Val slowly opened his eyes halfway. Illuminated by the light of a full moon, a beautiful young woman seemingly in her twenties was cleaning his body of sweat and blood with a large cloth.
Val strained to utter a question, but what came out was only a fragment, as a hoarse whisper. "Who…?"
A pair of almond-shaped eyes, blue or purple, almost indigo in color, met Val's gaze, and a gentle smile grew on her sharp features. She had long, jet black hair that reached halfway down a slender frame, the tips barely touching the water. Her pale skin seemed to soak in the moonlight, contrasting sharply with the plunging, translucent black gown like silk that adorned her. By the height of her frame that stood out of the stream, Val reckoned she was a little over five feet tall. The shadow of her figure could be seen through her attire as she wrung the cloth in the stream. Pale crimson stained the clarity of the stream as the waters carried it away.
The two remained in silence as the woman worked her way around the ugly wound on his chest, Val's arms were still bound by iron shackles, but looking down at his injury, the brand had turned into a black tattoo, just like it appeared in his dream.
He continued to watch with gratitude that he could not find the strength to show, as she systematically cleaned his body of blood. Val's body was sore, and he felt feverish. His every muscle ached, but thankfully there was no longer a fiery pain radiating from his chest. The cool water washed over his skin and granted him a long-awaited reprieve from the fiery hell he had experienced. It felt like an eternity, and he was not sure if it had been a few days or a month. He was too tired to speak, or even think, so he closed his eyes and let her continue to work her way up to his arms.
Val dozed off as she worked for what felt like half an hour. The sound of gently sloshing water woke him again. The woman had stepped out of the stream, picked up a bottle, and returned to him. She gently lifted his chin with long slender fingers, and brought the bottle to his lips, slowly tilting it upwards for him to drink. Water poured slowly into his parched throat, but the first sip caused him to choke and cough painfully. Concern marred her beautiful features as she withdrew the bottle. After his fit was over, she brought the bottle to his lips again and let him drink. He had more success this time, and despite the occasional outburst of coughs as he struggled to drink after so long, with her help, he finished a half-liter of water.
"Thank you…" While still hoarse, Val could now utter more than a single word.
The woman in black gave him a gentle smile, and left the stream, walking off in a direction Val noted was away from the camp.
With her gone, the surroundings returned to peaceful sounds of nature, and fatigue took Val to sleep.