Oliver - 1. Oliver

Oliver

The steady clop, clop, clop of hooves had almost lulled Oliver back to sleep, when Riah suddenly slipped on the muddy ground and nearly threw him off the saddle. By drawing in the reins, and muttering soothing words, he quickly managed to calm his spooked horse. After that, he had to adjust the heavy blanket around his shoulders. The constant rain seemed to seep into his bones. The cold numbed everything except for his leg; an enemy’s sword had grazed his thigh a few days ago, and it throbbed hotly in time with his every heartbeat.

Adam would probably know some herbs, a poultice he could make to help fight the infection. But Adam was dead.

How many times in the last few years, had Oliver questioned his decision to join the military? Every time he did, Adam’s broken body would appear in his mind’s eye after his father’s men had beaten him to near death then thrown him on the dung heap behind the stables. Like an animal’s carcass. As per his father’s orders, they had forced Oliver to watch them brutalizing his lover with unthinkable cruelty—all just to teach him a lesson. A lesson that, through his failure to protect the man he loved, to die for him or at least with him, had killed his very soul.

At first, he had wanted to follow Adam in death. But how could he throw away what the vibrant man had relished so much, despite the horrible things he had seen as a child? Adam hadn’t let past horrors control his current life. When Oliver finally realized that, in order to honor what his lover had stood for, he had to live.

His family’s status prevented Oliver from being executed for lying with a man. Instead, he had found himself faced with two alternatives: to marry a woman of his father’s choice or to join the army. As he couldn’t betray Adam, the woman, or himself, he had chosen the military. And if he were killed—all the better.

He had thrown himself into every fight, but by some twisted miracle, he had survived with nothing but scratches. He’d waded through countless blood-soaked battlefields, covered in mud and gore. Instead of atoning for his failure though, he’d become famous for his prowess. Instead of having a certifiable excuse to die, he had earned admiration.

***

When they reached the main encampment, everyone was completely exhausted. Oliver dismounted slowly, as his muscles were hard from disuse and the cold. Reluctantly, he released Riah’s reins into the hands of a waiting soldier, and as always, issued precise instructions for the care of his beloved horse. Since the day Adam had told Oliver that Henry’s Arabic name was Riah, thereby revealing he could understand and even talk to the animal, he had built a deep connection to the horse. It had only strengthened after Adam’s death—as if their shared grief had brought them together even more.

Another soldier showed him to his tent. The camp was huge and still growing. When Oliver saw a man running for the bushes, he randomly wondered if they had taken the time to dig out latrines this time, and if they had, he hoped they weren’t anywhere near where he slept.

They had arrived at their destination, and Oliver nodded at his guide in thanks before he ducked under the flap into the tent’s dim interior. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust: a small table, a stand with a chipped washbowl, and two cots, each with a trunk standing at its foot. His stood in a puddle of water that had seeped in through the floor coverings. Sighing, Oliver placed his saddlebag on the trunk containing his belonging and let himself fall on the small bed covered with slightly damp and musty blankets. For a short moment, Oliver let himself dream of a hot bath so he could be warm and clean again. Dry clothes, a roaring fire, a glass of red wine, fresh, fluffy bread and a chunk of the spicy cheese their cook’s brother always made were images that floated in his mind.

He woke to a loud commotion. Seconds later, his tent-mate entered, followed by two giggling females carrying trays laden with food and earthen jugs filled to the brim with beer and mead. As always, John brought enough for the two of them. Also like always, Oliver enjoyed the food and drinks, and declined the woman. After having finished his meal, he left the tent to groom Riah and to give John enough time to fuck.

When he came back hours later, everything was quiet, except for John’s snoring. Oliver grinned when he saw his friend’s face buried deep in Anna’s ample bosom. Luckily, Nell had already gone.

***

During the next few days, more troops arrived at the main encampment as they were gathering for the decisive battle. Regardless which side would win, the result would be the same, the war would be over, and those who survived could finally go back to their families. Not Oliver though, as he no longer had a place he could call home and where he would be welcomed.

Everything that was left for him to do was to prepare for his final battle. He checked his dark blue gambeson and thick leather pants for tears, brought the chainmail to the armory to repair broken links, and sharpened and cleaned his knives and sword. He wanted to give his best to finally earn his death. This time when he and the Reaper met, he would fight him to open the veil between the world of the living and the dead if he must. This time Oliver would die and join Adam on the other side.

***

On an evening a few days before the final battle, Oliver took all his gear, grabbed a blanket from the cot and the satchel with Riah’s brushes and combs, and went out to the pasture. The horse came as soon as he saw him. He pushed his smooth nose against Oliver’s shoulder, signaling he wanted to be petted. When he had enough, he sniffed at the hand where he knew Oliver hid a treat. After having successfully stolen the apple from him, he let Oliver comb and brush his dark coat until it gleamed. Then Oliver sat down with his back against a tree trunk, wrapped himself in the blanket, and spent the night in the company of his most trusted friend, who lay silently beside him and guarded him against the chill of the night.

In the morning, Oliver opened the gate to the pasture and sent Riah away with a hard slap on his rump. The horse didn’t go far, even though Oliver yelled at him to run. He hoped someone would find him, see what a fine horse he was, and take him in. He didn’t deserve to be killed in war.

***

The time and place for the decisive battle had been set in long negotiations. Both sides had amassed thousands of men in large encampments. As was customary, the generals and their advisors would watch from an elevated point and direct their officers through messengers—a bloody, lethal game of chess between equal forces.

However, Oliver’s leaders tried to tip the balance in their favor by sending a small contingent of men to the position of the opposing general, trying to take him out from behind in a surprise attack. If they were successful, it would guarantee chaos and mayhem among the enemy, and gave them the advantage they needed in an otherwise even battle.

Oliver had volunteered to lead the team, with John as his second. Both knew they had signed up for a suicide mission. But if everything went well, thousands of lives could be saved, and Oliver would be given what he had wanted for so long—certain death.

For several days the men hid out in trees, disguising themselves with leaves and small branches attached to their armor, hoping the scouts who roamed the area would never look up. The plan was to let the opposing army pass, and then sneak up to the hopefully-empty enemy encampment, where the only people left would be a few soldiers, the general, and his elite guard.

A large, grey cloud in the distance told Oliver the enemy army was moving to the battlefield and their time had come. They silently dropped from the trees to the ground, removed most of their camouflage, as it would only hamper their progress, and then carefully crept through the underbrush. They knew they needed to stay undetected for as long as possible to even have the slightest chance of success. In the end though, they had to come out of hiding and protect their archers with their bodies until they were close enough to release their deadly arrows.

The scout they had sent out confirmed that the enemy general was sitting on top of his horse, an easy target for their archers—if they could make it through the large open space surrounding him and his ring of heavily armed Elite Guards.

It took them almost two hours before they finally saw their target. Hiding in thick undergrowth, Oliver and John talked one last time in low voices. There wasn’t much to plan now. They still were not close enough for the archers to reach their targets. All they could do was surround the three men in the protective wall of their bodies, and then run as silently as they could in the absurd hope no one would look their way.

John grabbed Oliver in a fierce hug, whispering only for him hear, “Goodbye, my friend. It was good knowing you. If all goes well, I’ll see you on the other side. And Adam.”

By sheer luck they stayed undetected until they were almost close enough for their archers to take aim, but not before one of the general’s guards saw them and let out a sharp cry. The archers rapidly fired their arrows, and the enemy general sank from his horse with a deadly hit through his eye. Seconds later, two of his advisors followed. The other belted out orders and the Elite guards ran in their direction. Their fury at being duped was blazing from their eyes.

The men had done what they had come for. Seeing the sheer number of soldiers running their way, it was clear not one of them would survive this mission. So, Oliver let out a war cry and charged straight into the enemy lines. Man after man fell under his blade. The first few dropped without having the chance to lift their weapon. He fought as if he were possessed. When he saw a soldier attempting to sneak up on John, who was fighting beside him, he shouted a warning—but it was too late. The sword sliced through John’s jugular, and his friend crumpled down beside him. Furious with himself for not protecting John, Oliver kicked the enemy in the chest before he rammed his sword into his gut, only to rip it out again and turn around, already searching for his next target. He wasn’t done yet.

His men were falling rapidly. The sound of fighting soon mixed with cries of agony and death. Oliver let it fuel him as he fought for them, for Adam, for John, for finally being granted his greatest wish—his own death. Enemy soldiers saw him and backed away, with fear in their eyes. He didn’t chase them. He stood his ground, sword in hand. And then they came at him after all. He deflected sword after sword, turned, and twisted his body like a dark dancer of death.

Eventually, his sword became heavier and heavier. Nicks and bruises he hadn’t noticed before suddenly hurt and slowed him down. His injured leg burned, blood soaked the leg of his pants, and he felt it buckling.

The unavoidable finally happened. When he saw the tip of a sword protruding from his right side, he knew it was almost done. Even then, he managed to get in a few more hits until his legs crumbled, and the dead body of his last victim, an Elite Guard in full armor, fell on top of him, crushing his chest. He was too weak to push him away.

Oliver woke every now and then, the weight of the dead guard pinning him down, making breathing difficult. But life clung to him, didn’t want to let him go. Why couldn’t he pass? The groaning and praying and the cries for their mothers around him died down. The stink of blood and gore was nauseating. He felt dizzy. Cold crept up on him, and he couldn’t feel his arms and legs any longer. He was so ready to leave.

Adam, where are you?

Suddenly there was air to breathe again, and Oliver could see the sky. It was night. Stars twinkled as if they were winking at him, and curiously he let his gaze wander. There he was, a dark silhouette against the moonlight, the Reaper. Oliver smiled at him. Finally. In the background a horse snorted, and somehow he knew it was…Riah? He turned his head searchingly. As soon as he found him, the horse threw up his head and whinnied happily. And he wasn’t alone. Two other horses stood beside him. Layl and Hilal. This can’t be. I left them at father’s stables.

Then he noticed someone crouching beside him, his long, blond hair blowing in the wind. When the man bent over him, moonlight illuminated his face. Adam! He was as beautiful as Oliver remembered him. No blood, or bruises, no burn wounds, or scars marred his skin. Of course not! He is dead. We don’t bring our wounds into the afterlife.

Oliver tried to talk, but no words came out and then Adam touched his lips. “Shush. We’re here now. I’m sorry it took us so long. Riah showed us where to find you. ” He ran his fingers through Oliver’s blood-matted hair. “You will feel better soon.”

Soon. Oliver’s gaze searched for the dark man, and when he found him watching them, and he whispered, “I waited a long time for you, Reaper. Take me now.”

Adam chuckled and waved the man over. “This is not the Reaper.” He took the man’s hand in his. “His name is Zaidu. I once, too, thought he was the bringer of death when Zaidu found me dying at my aunt and uncle’s house. ” Adam leaned down to whisper in Oliver’s ear, “He saved me, as he will now save you.”

Oliver didn’t understand. What was going on? Who was Zaidu? He saw the man’s hand resting possessively on Adam’s shoulder, but before he could ask, Zaidu’s voice rasped, “Time is running out. We have to hurry. There is no time for more explanations.”

Adam cupped Oliver’s face lovingly. “Later then. ” He nodded at Zaidu and each took one of his wrists in their hand, and to Oliver’s utmost horror, long fangs briefly flashed in the moonlight, before they sank into his flesh. He felt a sharp pain, and his shout rang through the night. Helpless, he felt the rest of his life force leaving him, and just before blissful darkness embraced him, Adam’s lips touched his mouth.

***

Adam had his arms wrapped around the man lying beside him. He touched fading bruises as he watched the last of the severe wounds knitting themselves together until not even a scar could be seen. Without looking at Zaidu, who sat in a chair by the fireplace, he asked, “What do you feel from him?”

“Fury.”

“So, it’s the same as I feel from him. I just hoped…He will hate us when he wakes up, will he not?”

“Yes.” Zaidu stood up to put more wood in the fire. “But fear not, beloved, it’s the fury every newborn demon feels. It’s our nature and has nothing to do with who you are to him. ” He stoked up the flames. “When he wakes he will be hungry, and we need to feed him our blood. He will feel the bond snapping in place. It will calm him down. ” Suddenly Zaidu stood beside the bed. “Did you not feel his love for you when he saw you?” He kissed Adam’s hair.

“I did. But I fear he won’t understand—us. What we are and what we will be.”

“We talked about this.” Zaidu sat down on the bed and took Oliver’s and Adam’s hands in his. “This was meant to happen from the moment I met you at Lamashtu’s temple, my Amarud. I didn’t understand at first. You had to die. Through the pain of losing you, I was able to reform. In your second life, you found Oliver. He proved himself worthy when he did not follow you in death, but fought for your ideals, for your love of life.

"We are a Trifecta. The bond of three. Pain made us strong, blood joins us. Together we will protect humanity from our kind for all eternity. Oliver will accept our mission. You are our link. He loves you. I love you.”

“And you will learn to love each other?”

“We will.”