The Unlikely Hero- Short Story

The Unlikely Hero

Eighteen-year-old Theodogan watched the one hundred Morgalian soldiers marching towards his city-state of Nelandros from the door of his farmhouse. He sweated in his sleeveless white chiton from the afternoon heat. Curious, he left his house and walked through the open green fields to follow the small army. From a distance he could see the gleam of their bronze armor breastplates, their red plumed helmets and gray spears.

On the way he passed a closed goat pasture near a farmhouse with an orange tiled roof. Many of his fellow farmers had fences to protect their flocks from wild animals. He continued following the Morgalian soldiers from a distance and picked out their features. Leading them was a giant of a man, towering over his fellow soldiers and sporting glittering golden-scale armor with a pointed golden helmet covering every part of his head but his eyes and mouth.

Theodogan neared the troops. The giant turned around for a bit, and the young man was close enough to glimpse his piercing green eyes augmented with dark eyeliner and his brown dreadlocked hair. He panted in fear and quickly hid behind a nearby stone granary.

He knew the man's name. Bagham, his greatest dread. After all, he was the most vicious warrior not just in his own city-state of Morgalis, renowned for its warriors, but in all Gratia, the southeastern land of the continent of Cletus that Nelandros was part of.

Once the coast was clear, the farmboy continued towards the Morgalian force, which had now stopped in front of Nelandros' wooden gate. A short limestone wall enclosed the small city. He stopped and hid behind three cypress trees near the gate.

Bagham slammed the gate with his spear.

"King Andros II! You know why I am here!" he ordered with a voice as deep as an ogre. The farmboy felt a chill down his spine.

Suddenly, the gate opened, and out stepped a man clothed in an elegant blue toga with a red cape, leather sandals and a silver circlet. He was young with a black mustache and short hair. Four other men clothed in red togas, along with two guards wearing rudimentary leather armor flanked him. They stopped in front of Bagham and his troops. Behind them, in the main road of the city, stood a crowd of men, women and some children. They all shrieked.

"Greetings, Bagham. Please give me some more time," requested the crowned man.

"Bloody dog, have you forgotten our orders have been for the past 8 years?! Every two years you must choose a champion from your weak city to face me!" demanded the giant.

"Yes, Bagham. I understand-"

The giant shield bashed Andros in the face, and the king screamed, falling on his back.

"Then why the hell isn't there anyone?!" yelled Bagham.

Andros raised up his hands, his head down and his mouth bloodied. "Ugh-Please! I have fighters in mind, they just need preparation! Your greatness and ferocity require it!" he pleaded.

"You Nelandrians are a bunch of weak cowards!"

Andros looked up at the giant, who stared at him wrathfully.

"But I am merciful. I give you until tomorrow to choose before I raze down your city. Do you mark my words?!"

Andros gave a salute. "I will, Bagham!" he shrieked.

Bagham turned and marched back on the road, as did his troops. Theodogan spotted a speck of red tents hugging a moderately sized hill to the south. Andros and his delegates walked the opposite way. The farmboy also headed in that direction, passing the fearful, murmuring crowd.

"We can't stand this anymore! Nine of our nobles murdered, every time our champion loses!"

"Andros must know that no one, not even his guards, will fight! We do not want to be slaughtered like dogs! He will have to volunteer himself!"

Andros stopped cold at these words and looked down at the ground.

Theodogan passed by the king and his delegates. He planned to leave the city and join his family at his uncles' home, miles away. However, he had been asked to buy food and water for them from the city market, and did so in a hurry, passing the city's ashlar grey houses with red tiled roofs. He purchased a pork leg, tomatoes, apples and lettuce, keeping them all in a hazel-colored straw bag which he put in his leather backpack.



Theodogan left the city and returned to his farmhouse which he had entrusted to his friend Barbas. He stayed there for an hour then gave farewells to his friend and left.

Theodogan started hurriedly down the road and looked up at a tall green hill many miles away, filled with cypress trees. He hoped to pass by it come nightfall. Three abandoned farmhouses lay beside the road at different distances. The one closest to Theodogan to his right had its entire front collapsed. Gray rubble sat piled inside and outside the dwelling, surrounded by yellow withered grass. It had a cracked rear wall. Waking faster, the young man neared the second abandoned farmhouse to his left which had an intact roof and walls.

Theodogan caught the figure of an old man sitting under its round archway, sheltered by the protruding orange roof. He took a closer look. The bearded man had long silver hair and wore a shining gray cloak and held an ashen white staff. The man seemed unusual, perhaps a wandering pilgrim or priest. But Theodogan had no time to stop. As he passed the house, the man stood.

"Good afternoon, young man. Where are you going?" he asked.

"Nowhere," replied Theodogan as he continued walking.

"Perhaps I could help you," said the man.

The farmboy heard footsteps behind him, but he didn't stop.

"Nope, sorry. No time."

"If you knew who I am and what I offer, you wouldn't be so quick to shun me, Theodogan!"

The young man froze and turned to the old man.

"How do you know my name?"

"I will tell you in due time, young man. But first tell me what troubles you."

Theodogan sighed then explained his situation.

"I understand. But have you considered volunteering yourself?" asked the old man.

Theodogan's jaw dropped.

"Me? You're kidding, right? I tend sheep. I'm no fighter," he said.

"You once fended off a wolf attacking your flocks," replied the old man.

"Only my dad saved me, but not before I got hurt."

Theodogan held out his left arm, which had a faded, curved red scar.

"Still, not many can boast of having survived attacks by wild beasts. Your talents go beyond what you dream, Theodogan. I know that you play music on your lyre honoring the gods, and that you once ran a mile to catch a stray sheep and tricked a wealthy woman into relinquishing her jewels. You possess creativity, speed and mischief. Tell me, what god is associated with those qualities?" asked the old man.

"Uhm...Fadan. But wait, you're not telling me that..."

"Yes. You are not who you think you are, young man."

Theodogan's eyes widened in disbelief.

"But that's impossible! I lost my real dad in a chariot accident when I was just a baby!" he exclaimed.

"A story made up to protect you from the responsibility and trouble facing demigods. But now you know."

"False! I am Theodogan, real son of Tomar and adopted by Nepo from the Hercal family. Even if you were right, it wouldn't help against Bagham."

"Fadan always finds a way, Theodogan. Trust in him and you will be able to defeat Bagham."

The old man extended his hand.

"You're Fadan? No, I'm sorry, I can't believe you. Now excuse me, I must leave," blurted Theodogan.

He turned and ran down the road. The god sighed and entered the dwelling.

The farmboy sprinted past the last abandoned house. Panting, he collapsed in a thicket of tulips beside the road. He looked at the sun set in the direction of the large hill. After taking a drink, eating some pork and an apple, he headed on.

Theodogan approached and passed the hill in the growing darkness. He yawned in fatigue, walking to a circle of cypress trees hugging the west of the hill and laying down on a bed of grass, looking up at the stars in the night sky. A few minutes later he dozed off.