The Heroes Law

thethemeis: Heroes

theauthoris: Luke Stephenson

   Alison picked up the Hero Blade. It was short, more akin to a dagger than anything else. It shone brightly in the light cast through the temple roof, as if it were made of diamond; which of course it was - partially. Most of the blade was folded steel, but the last inch or so that formed the edge was diamond. Alison gave it a twirl to feel the weight and balance; her movement was clumsy as the balance of the Blade was very different than her son’s wooden one. Still, she didn't cut any of her limbs off, so that was a start.

   “Very nice,” said a voice from below. The tone was sarcastic. Alison glanced down the altar’s stone steps to see the middle aged clerk pausing from his notes to observe her. Like all Hero Temple clerks, he was a priest from the local church, given this work detail in order to complete his mandatory ‘community’ hours for that week. He was beginning to grey, and his face was covered in lines; caused in equal measure by forty years of brow furrowed in annoyance and raised in judgement or disapproval. Alison rolled her eyes and sheathed the Blade, before slinging the Hero Shield onto her back and donning the Hero Cap.

   As Alison descended from the altar, the surly priest rolled up the parchment he had been working on and dripped onto it the wax from a nearby candle, forming a crude seal. “Take this writ to town hall,” he said, presenting the scroll to her. “The clerk there will fetch you the Hero Journal from the library. Add to it as you need to.”

   “I will be sure to treat it with the respect it deserves,” Alison said.

   The priest scoffed. “Then you’ll be paying for the new one.”

   Messy stacks of armour were visible on the rows of old, splintered racks behind the clerk. There was no elaborate decoration or even any signs of particularly skilful craftsmanship, but there were all kinds of pieces  here to suit warriors of any size, strength and discipline. It was Hero Armour. Following her gaze, the priest took a new piece of parchment from the pile at the side of his desk. “You want some armour then?” he asked.

   Alison nodded.

   “Five sovereigns.”

   She looked at the priest in surprise, trying to gauge his expression. Could a man of God be trying to cheat her? “You charge for the Armour?”

   “Absolutely,” he said sternly.

   “You would charge the Hero for her Armour?”

   “Don’t speak of it with such ill deserved reverence,” the priest spat, waving his hand dismissively. “There is nothing whatsoever in the prophecies regarding armour. Diamond tipped sword? Yes. Shield? Yes. Hat? Absolutely. The Seer dedicates an entire chapter to getting the hat right. But not a single florid verse about armour.

   “What you see here is bought and paid for by the town treasury, to aid the Hero in the Quest. His Lordship used to provide it for free, but a few dishonest heroes and half our stock had been sold to travelling merchants. So now we charge market prices. Five. Sovereigns.”

   He made a point of speaking more slowly and clearly for the last two words for emphasis, leaning forward and looking Alison firmly in the eye. Sighing, she broke his gaze and held her hands up, defeated. “Fine,” she declared in exasperation. “No Hero Armour.”

***

   It was a nice day to begin the Quest. Hooves clopped on the cobblestones of the main road, their wearers pulling a wagon piled high with straw on the way to one of the new roofs being thatched near the fields. A faintly sweet aroma drifted on the breeze, most likely from the freshly baked bread being prepared for market; a pleasant - if brief - respite from the smell the farms would produce once the heat caught them in earnest. Alison descended the steep temple steps, smiling as she heard a familiar laugh from nearby. “Got you, demon!” the voice cried.

   A young dark-haired boy stepped out from the shade of the temple, his arms folded. “No fair,” he complained, “my sword broke. I woulda beat you otherwise.”

   “No way!” the first voice said, joining his friend on the road. “My mum’s the Hero! You know what that means? It means God’s watching over us, so we can’t lose at anything!”

   Alison ruffled her son’s short, already scruffy hair. “Now Rupert,” she said, “you know that’s not how it works.”

   Rupert grinned, showing off a missing tooth caused by one of his more recent duels where the Lord’s attentions must have been elsewhere. “Well,” he said, “it’s either that or Billy has to admit I’m a better soldier than him!”

   The other boy stuck his tongue out. “I’ll just have to beat you next week then!” He ran off in the direction of the fields where his family would be working. Rupert took his mother’s hand as they began to walk, eyeing the dagger with scarcely concealed awe.

   “Are you gonna kill demons with that?” he asked in a high pitched voice.

   Alison nodded. “If they come, but they haven’t in a while.” She waved to a couple passing the other way, and some townspeople would touch their caps as a mark of respect as she passed; one of the farmer’s wives even gave her a loaf of fresh bread from her basket, and similar offerings followed in the form of eggs and milk. It was nice being the Hero.

***

   Derren set three grubby tankards on what remained of the old table; withstanding years of fights and constant use by heavyset farmers, smiths and masons had taken its toll, leaving the legs odd lengths and the surface cracked and uneven. It had been a long day working on the roof of a new house; he was covered in sweat and his muscles ached something fierce, so the prospect of a few drinks with his workmate was a welcome one. The third tankard was for someone who wouldn’t usually be found in the tavern once it was dark, lest the drunken men leer and grope, but doing something like that to the Hero was likely to earn a sore night in a jail cell.

   “So,” Alison began, wincing slightly as she sipped her ale, “what was it like for you?”

   John rolled his eyes as his friend grinned beside him, eager to tell the tale for the hundredth time. Perhaps the demons would come this week, and somebody else could finally claim the bragging rights for besting them.

   “I got a knock on m’door about... three months ago,” Derren said, scratching his scruffy black beard as he tried to organise his thoughts. “It was one of them chaps from town hall, who works for Lord Tellop. Tells me it’s my turn on Hero Duty! I’ve never picked up a sword in my life, but I go to the temple, grab the stuff and part with a couple o’ coin for the armour-"

   “Hang on,” Alison interrupted, “How much did you say the armour was?”

   “Er, two sovereigns I think.”

   Annoyance and amusement fought for dominance in Alison’s mind, resulting in her making the sound of something in between that was neither chuckle nor curse. “I knew that shady priest was scamming me,” she said.

   John shrugged, hiding his smirk behind his drink. “Got to pay for those fancy windows somehow.”

   “Anyway,” Derren said in his deep voice, obviously annoyed at the interruption, “them demons hadn't shown up in almost six months right? So I weren't expecting much. But then on the third night, I start hearing  screams from down by the bakery, and smoke too.

   “So I get over there sharpish, right? And there are these creatures there, right? You’ve probably caught glimpses of ‘em at least during one of the attacks, but they’re just like the priests tell you about: tall and thin, covered in fire, curly horns, pointy tails and these long claw things that shred skin ‘n’ bone like it were straw. They’ve even got them legs like on goats.”

   Alison’s skin crawled at the description, she had never actually seen one of the demons herself; she’d heard rumours but never expecting to hear they were true from a man who had actually fought them. Derren looked her in the eye and spoke softly as he continued.

   “As soon as they saw me, all of ‘em - to a man, if you could call ‘em that – come right for me. Snarlin’ and screamin’ and swingin’ them claws around in a frenzy. I just stand there in a cold sweat as they run my way. I ent never held a weapon before in my life, and I’ve no idea what I’m doing. The first one comes close, and I just swing. Don’t think about aim or gettin’ a good stance – I just swing, and this thing’s head comes right off. The next one claws at my armour and barely scratches it, so I kick it hard in the belly, and it slams against a wall and breaks its back.”

   Alison had edged forward on her seat, eyes wide as she hung onto Derren’s every word, captivated. John was absent-mindedly nudging at a ladybug that had made its way onto the table. Derren took a drink and leaned back on his stool before continuing.

   “There’s about a dozen of them,” he said, “all just swarming me, and I just swing like a madman... but they can’t touch me. See this?” He pulled the matted hair back that was hanging over the left side of his face to reveal a long scar close to his ear. “That’s all they could do.”

   “How?” Alison asked in a stunned whisper.

   “God or somethin’ ennit?”

   “It’s destiny.” John cut in, catching Alison’s eye. “You ever read the Seer’s prophecies?”

   Alison shook her head. She had heard of the Seer, the prophecies and how they were somehow attached to the way a new Hero was selected for the town each week. But the contents of these prophecies weren’t widely known; Hero Duty was the law, and you followed the law or went to prison - simple.

   “Well, me neither,” John said. “And they don’t like to talk about it at church – seeing the future supposedly being a sign of the devil or some such like that. But I have heard about it from someone who has.”

   “And?”

   “The Seer lived a few hundred years ago, and started writing down his predictions. Really precise stuff as well, exact days and names of folk involved. To start with no one took him seriously, but eventually, they started coming true – every single one.

   “Now, I dunno if he were possessed or had some kind of divine power, all I know is that his power was real, and one of his predictions spoke of demons plaguing the land. Every so often for two hundred years they would come, and a Hero would rise to aid the people, slaying the demons and saving the town. The prophecy described the Hero’s weapon, shield and hat – and as long as the Hero lived, the town would be safe.”

   “But, nobody could live for that long.” Alison said as John paused to finish his drink. Derren grunted in agreement as a serving girl brought him another tankard – she had been doing this since the first round and he was beginning to acquire quite the collection.

   “Of course not; which is exactly why Lord Tellop is such a genius. He realised that as long as the prophecy was never contradicted, the town would always be safe. One hero may live for sixty years; become a strong and wise fighter and save the people from demons. But he could also be a danger, install himself governor by force, and would eventually die and leave the town at risk.

   “Have a different Hero each week, on the other hand, and you keep the town safe indefinitely. When fighting demons the Hero is protected by God or fate; when they grow old and die the town is still safe. That’s why Lord Tellop passed the Heroes Law.”

   The table shook with a small thud as Derren slumped onto it, dribbling slightly and beginning to snore. “God Almighty,” cursed John. “This is why I don’t usually talk much. Let his lips still for more than a moment and they’ll be slurping half the ale in the land, and twice as much as he can hold.” He downed what was left in his own drink before standing up and slinging his friends arm over his shoulder, pulling the sleeping Derren onto his feet.

   “Best get the lad home,” said John. “His missus’ll kill me if I let him have any more.” He smiled at Alison as he turned for the door. “Take care this week, love. If you see any demons, just keep calm. They can’t do a rutting thing to you.”

***

   Alison set down the Hero Blade. The sun was out again, but the steel and diamond did not shine. She had cleaned it the best she could, but she had waited too long after the fight, and the blood had dried. But no matter - the temple clerks would take care of the rest.

   She set down the Hero Shield. Fresh claw marks cut deep into the metal, and almost the whole top third was missing where a demon’s head had struck. A new one would have to be wrought quickly; until the shield matched the prophecy, the town would be unprotected. Hopefully it would be many more months before the demons came again.

   The Hero Cap was more or less untouched. There had been one terrifying moment when it threatened to be knocked from her head, but it had resisted. Alison wondered whether fate would still consider her the Hero if it had fallen. Would she still be protected by God’s hand, or would she have been slain as those terrible claws finally struck true? The thought made her feel nauseous.

   In the end, everything had happened just as Derren and John had said. She couldn’t decide if she was doing her part to realise destiny or to trick it; either way she had stood her ground against a demonic horde, and won. She had swung and moved wildly, bearing naught but a few scratches and a broken shield as wounds. She didn’t feel heroic though; heroes didn’t panic and scream. Heroes didn’t cry once the villain was slain. She was a hero because some force she didn’t understand and some law had magically kept her safe.

   But as she laid the Hero Cap upon the altar and left the temple, the surly priest from her first visit smiled at her and bowed. He had been close by when the attack came, and her presence had kept him safe. Rupert awaited her outside the temple doors, smiling his gappy smile – safe, thanks to the Hero. At that moment she was content; it didn’t matter if she felt heroic or not. It didn’t matter if it was due to skill, providence or God. The demons were gone; her town and her son were safe.

   And that was enough.