The Call of Jonas Creed by Marius H. Visser

Author:Marius H. Visser
Format: epub

PAST AND PRESENT

There was a time in Jonas’ life when he would have burned a town to the ground, set the world on fire, and walked through it like the hand of God, striking down anyone who dared stand in his path, breaking them utterly. The decisions he made back then, with no thought to his actions, burdened him heavily now, a terrible weight pressing down on his shoulders. All the lives he had taken, the hurt and anguish he had caused, were all done in the name of another, one who used him as a tool, a dog, to do his bidding. He was that dog no more. No more would lives be taken on a whim, and those who do as he did would feel his full wrath returned. They would be the martyrs to the Voidwalker. The only problem was, back then, he had men by his side fighting with him. Now he stood alone.

Hands trembling at his side, Jonas leaned back behind the boulder and glanced down at his bruised knuckles. He closed his eyes and turned his hand over, rubbing the inside of his palm, calming his frayed nerves. Get your head together, you arsehole. What are you going to do, run into that camp like a madman swinging your stupid axe? Mff, you’ll breathe the dirt before you reach the first man. He peeked around the boulder. Smoke trailed from the hundreds of fires that littered the camp, the smell of the wet logs bringing back terrible memories. Tents lay scattered haphazardly, pressed around the great, white-stone towers, while men with shiny blades and spears patrolled the fjord, heavy wooden shields, round with glinting iron skirting the rims, clasped to their backs. The odds were not in his favour…

‘Tails,’ Jonas said and pulled a coin from a black leather pouch, flicking it to the sky with his thumb, watching it spin as it descended. Heads, tails, heads, tails. He plucked it from the air and slapped it on the back of his other wrist, breathing deeply as he pulled his hairy hand away to reveal the coin. He sighed and traced the raised edges of the crown on the coin, its silver faded with years of rubbing. ‘Heads, always heads… Hold on, Jorin, I’m coming.’

The great spires twisted high, the foundation of the blockwork cracking on the undulating plains at its base. The deep, dark waters halted abruptly where a thinner river joined its body, brown sediment muddying the turquoise water and flowing in swirls before settling on the banks beneath. To the right of the towers an enormous boulder covered in streaks of white bird droppings cordoned off a section where he could hide and get close to the tower with no eyes on him. But first he would need to get to it, and between him and that boulder stood hundreds of savages.

Eyes closed, Jonas released a deep breath, one it seemed he had been holding for eternity. He waited until his head swam without air and waited some more, not drawing a breath.

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