Creatrix

Chapter 4 - Bubbles of Nonsense

Aitkin had sped off fro his meeting with Anika bursting with adventure red faced and triumphant with his secret prize. He tore across the village green, briefly glanced over to where his friends were playing, and scampered off in the other direction. Now he had a more urgent task. 

Aitkin wanted more than anything to be a warrior, he had wanted to start training with the warriors in the village, but he was hectic and clumsy. They didn’t trust him with a sword, and he’d walked away from their mocking words often enough to know not to ask anymore. He’d been desperate for someone to take him seriously and help him train. He had found a teacher and over the last couple of weeks had been working with him. Aitkin had sworn the younger boys to secrecy, told them they’d get a thump if they told anyone.

He remembered seeing Tyr for the first time. He knew he would be able to ask him for help; he was impressed by the way the warrior helped the younger characters work on their stances. He towered over them, yet seemed to enjoy a magic that allowed him to look them square in the eyes. Aitkin had stood a safe distance away and watched. The cool warrior treated them as equals, and there were all kinds of boys there, some even younger than Aitkin. They seemed bigger and more warrior-like as their mentor gave them praise. 

Aitkin remembered how he had wanted to run up to him and plead with him. Can I join you? I want you to train me, please! Then say, I know I can be a good strong warrior. This is something I have always wanted, my dream! Give me a chance, please! He held back the impulse to say everything at once - knowing that as soon as he did the words would tumble out of his mouth like bubbles and splash into nonsense on the ground. 

His mother always told him he’d be better heard if he slowed down because, she said, he spoke too fast for most people’s ears. Despite his obvious restraint, Tyr had noticed him.   

‘Hello, I haven’t seen you before, what brings you to Accra?’  

 ‘I’m Aitkin and I’m new and I’m looking for somewhere to train; I want to be a warrior you see, I’d make a good one too! The men in the village say I’m clumsy and no good, but I’m not . . .’ he couldn’t stop himself, ‘anyway I know with training I can be good. I am pretty good; when I spar with my mates I’m always the winner - maybe you know someone who can help?’  

Aitkin cringed as he remembered his blundering attempt at making a good impression, but his words hadn’t burst into nonsense. Tyr had looked him up and down, the clumsy looking child balanced - one foot on the other, almost toppling, and biting his bottom lip with a pained expression. Aitkin remembered how this kind warrior told him face-to-face, man-to-man, that he had a great spirit, and he would make an awesome fighter. He was eager and quick; and with training and the boy’s self-belief, he would do well. Tyr agreed to help him with his training.

That was two weeks ago; a long time in Creation, and now Aitkin was tearing down the hill and tumbling over his eagerness, keen to display his loyalty and appreciation to his new teacher. He ran around the back of the tavern and, urgently demanding attention, he collapsed against the door. Aitkin pounded his forearms against the wood - it rattled and thundered at the shock. 

 ‘Whoa, whoa!’  Tyr leapt up and opened the door. The red-faced mess bundled in with a force that threatened to send him crashing into the table. He had to firmly hold Aitkin upright by his shoulders, steadying him. 

‘What is it? What’s going on?’  

‘Solviann,’ he gasped. ‘Solviann,’ he repeated. Then in a single breath, ‘Someone’s gone to kill him right now - that great dirty demon - they’ve left already and I don’t think they can do it, I mean you’ve trained for ages and you’re not ready yet. I just don’t think they’re as strong as you,’ the words just poured out - bubbles of nonsense.  ‘They’re going well they’ve gone what if they don’t get out in time, oh my...’  

He could hardly string together the words, he was panting, his hair was damp from running and he glowed bright scarlet over his freckles. He attempted to steady himself, to make sense.

‘They left this morning; I don’t know if . . . I guess they’ll be nearly there by now. He’s so fierce that demon it’s crazy why would anyone go alone? After what happened to Dolhran...’ he lowered his tone and his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to speak of Dolhran. Tyr’s heart kicked. Aitkin ranted on.

‘Oh yeah, yeah alone just like er . . . he did. What’s gonna happen to her? I mean he could knock the mightiest warrior down with just one blow. Well he did, he has! He will tear her to pieces!’ 

 ‘Her? It’s a girl?’  Tyr exclaimed.

 ‘Yeah, the only one in the village crazy enough to do it, I don’t think you’ll get there in time and if you don’t . . . then Solviann tears her to pieces; ripping apart her flesh, leaving nothing but armour, blood and bone; dragging her outside, he’ll strap her feet . . .’

‘STOP IT!’ Tyr’s sudden outburst shocked them both. Aitkin stood there with his heart racing, his eyes reflecting the panic he felt.

‘But that’s what he did, everyone knows it.’ He said. Tyr went red; he needed Aitkin to stop.

‘Just tell me - slowly, who has gone to fight Solviann?’ he spoke deliberately, wishing and willing the panic to settle with each word.

‘I can’t tell you.’ Aitkin spluttered, and collapsed into the chair.

‘Can’t tell me! But you just told me everything else! WHY NOT? Why can’t you tell me?’ his eyes narrowed, he had no tolerance.

‘I can’t I promised.’

‘Argh, will you just get my armour from that crate.’ It was a command not a question, and Aitkin hurried to obey. Tyr made no comment when took his armour and silently strapped it over his tall fair frame. His muscular chest strained against the leather and metal. He sighed...‘Stay here!’ he commanded. ‘No, on second thoughts,’ he said, ‘its better if you just get out of here.’ He spoke harshly, and the words bit hard.

The boy’s wild ranting had set a panic in Tyr’s heart and he bundled him out of the door, followed, sealed it in a flash, and turned to head straight out of town. He passed the other characters without a glance or comment and let their gossip fade to a whisper. Frantic urgency willed him forward. 

He considered what he might find. A dead fool most likely. Aitkin was right, she could easily be torn apart; he imagined her lying half dead, with Solviann standing over her, purring and dripping with blood lust. And if what happened to Dolhran was true, then she could be in real danger too.

As soon as he cleared the city gates he began to run. Heavy armour slowed him down. Tyr wasn't strong enough to face the beast alone, but if it had already been weakened, he might have a chance of getting her out of there, but he knew that he too could be killed.