On the Path of the Giants

Chapter 4: Lydia

        The burnt village wall was still smoking at the Sunset gate. The others had attacked several hours earlier, and had gathered everyone at the centre square, next to the Hall of the Fathers. That was where Joshua had been condemned to exile, and where the chief of the intruders had decided to take residence.

        The invaders, who styled themselves as Sharpmen, had killed every hunter that opposed them, and naught but one of their men had fallen. The Sharpmen were equipped with long, shinning, silvery knifes, as long as spears, but sharper and easier to manipulate in combat.  Their leader, who was called Ron Sharp, was a young man, a bit older than Joshua, who rode a woodless deer. “It’s called a horse” he had said “and Lightning here is one of the last of its kind.” His long, brown hair was flowing out of a silvery helm, and he donned a rigid metal shirt. He bore a moustache that descended all the way to his chin, stopping neatly at the jawline. All the eyes of the village were focused on him, from which Lydia was able to seek a bit of solace. “People will likely forget about me now” she thought, naively.

        Sharp was riding his horse around the perimeter of the square, like a wolf surrounding its prey. The entire village was huddled together, scared and speechless at the invasion, but they all knew better than to confront the Sharpmen. Clearly, they were better armed, and better trained than the people of the village, wherever “they” might come from. For all Lydia knew, the people of the village were the only survivor of the curse, and they only survived through the Giant’s sacrifice. She could not imagine that others out there would have survived such a catastrophic event without the help of magical creatures, let alone such a war-minded bunch as the Sharpmen. “Maybe the Giants saved them too” she thought, but she quickly cleared the thought away.

        “Who here is your leader?” exclaimed Ron Sharp, still galloping around the square. “Point him to me and no harm shall befall you.” The eyes of the village fell on Damian’s corpse, lying in front of the Hall of the Fathers, hunting knife in hand, and his entrails on the cold, blood-soaked earth – still warm, but quickly cooling in the spring’s cool air. He had been the village’s chief and overseer. His wife was weeping in the middle of the square, in the arms of her eldest daughter who desperately tried to comfort her. Sharp understood. “This…place is now under the control of the great Sharp kingdom. Swear me fealty, and none shall me harmed. Defy me, and you will be joining your leader.”

        Lydia felt as though she was a deer being surrounded by wolves. Even though the whole village was around her, the way the Sharpmen were circling them made her feel alone amongst her people.

        “Of course, your defiance shall not go unpunished” Ron Sharp added, looking at some of the hunters who had tried to defend the walls, but were taken and disarmed before they could stop them. They were forced to kneel on the damp earth. Amongst those hunters was Lydia’s own father, Erik. After Karl’s murder, it made sense for his younger brother to take the place as chief hunter. But Erik did not know when he accepted the honour that it would be this short. No one could have predicted that. “Unless the Sharpmen were sent by the curse as a way to punish us for our bad deeds” thought Lydia. But she could not bear the thought much longer, as this would mean that Joshua would be treated with the same fate.

        Sharp dismounted his horse, and took out his spear-knife. “They tried to defend this place with honour, and they will die with honour. They shall perish by mine own sword. That will be their greatest honour.” As he said this, he approached Erik, and motioned his men to keep his face down. He then proceeded, in a swift swing, to remove his head from his body. Lydia uttered a cry of horror. Her own father had just been murdered in front of her. In front of the whole village. And many more deaths were to come, seeing the way Sharp was looking at the others he had taken hostage.

        Lydia saw the glimmer of the setting sun on the sword as it fell a second time. She did not dare look at who had been beheaded this time. She closed her eyes.

        But Lydia could still hear the sword come down, again, and again, each strike accompanied with a low thump.