A Comfort in Passing

"We are outnumbered."

"No shit. Did you figure that out all on your own?"

"Yes. I saw at least thirty more of them. There are only three of us."

"Jarziya... can you do me a favor?"

"Yes, of course Hajiro."

"Shut the hell up."

Silence fell, and for a moment the only sound Kinjai heard was his own ragged breathing. His exhaustion was becoming apparent. Every attack that came was more savage than the last, and every time he had to lift his sword the steel had weighed heavier on his hand. He was pushing himself as far as he could go, and he was fast approaching his limit. And once that happened, all would be lost.

Despite the long pause in the fighting Kinjai's pulse still thundered, he could feel his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage. It was as if his body knew it could not relax, not now. If he so much as put his head down he would fall into a deep, possibly irreversible sleep.

"Why do they attack so relentlessly, Kinjai? They don't seem to care how many lives they lose."

Kinjai turned to regard Jarziya's bloodstained face. There was dirt covering most of it and a nasty gash above his left eye. He had been blinking blood from that eye for much of the past hour but the stream had finally dried.

"They are only concerned with what we protect. They will stop at nothing."

In front of where they crouched there were scores of dead bodies, so many that the rocky ground was hardly even visible beneath the carpet of corpses. The amount of blood was astonishing, it was as though the ground itself had changed in hue after drinking so much of the crimson flow. Try as he might, Kinjai could not keep his eyes from the mass of death. He found himself studying the faces, faces that would never stir again with life, mouths that would never move to speak again.

"Why do the Gods not favor us?"

Before Kinjai could respond Hajiro's voice broke in harshly, carrying on it the weight of his frustrations.

"Favor us? The Gods shit on us! We hold these fucks off countless times, we lose five of our Brothers, and we slaughter hundreds of the savage shits! And still they come. They fight as if possessed! Show me where the favor lies. The Gods can go fu-"

He broke off, his rage seeming to escalate beyond the use of words. Hearing a strange gurgling sound Kinjai looked over his shoulder at the man. An arrow was sticking through his neck, and even as he futilely clutched at it he fell back, landing hard on the ground. Kinjai glimpsed the archer for a moment, but the man vanished from sight almost immediately afterward.

Kinjai scanned the area but saw no others, and hearing another gurgle from behind him he returned to where Hajiro lay. Jarziya knelt over him, concern without any semblance of hope composing his features. With a final look of hatred directed to the sky above him, Hajiro departed the realm of the living.

Hearing the sounds of running feet ahead, for the umpteenth time, Kinjai steeled himself for the assault to come. The two of them were all that remained of the Brotherhood. Listening intently, he lifted his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Beside him Jarziya hefted his spear, his expression grave. They both knew the truth. They were not going to survive.

The screaming, faint at first, steadily grew louder along with the sound of bare feet striking the rock laden ground. The faces came into sight, with wild and frenzied expressions that haunted Kinjai even as he drew back on the arrow and released it. The first man's eyes widened with surprise, and a fraction of a second later the arrow was passing through his throat. Kinjai wielded a longbow, and so the force behind the arrow was enough that it entered the neck of the man behind the first victim.

The narrow pathway became confused with stumbling forms, as the men behind were running full speed into the backs of the dying and wounded. Kinjai reached for his next arrow and found his hand grasping nothing. His ammunition was spent. Jarziya cast a meaningful look at him.

"They seek the relic with desperation."

"It appears so."

"And they will get what they seek."

Kinjai watched as the horde drew nearer, trampling the bodies of the dead and screaming with even more rage than before. The sound curdled the blood. Tightening his grip on the pommel of his sword, Kinjai closed his eyes, as if doing so would transport him somewhere far, far away. The sounds grew louder, and the stench of death remained in his nostrils. No, no miracles today.

"No. We were entrusted to protect the relic at whatever cost. How powerful it must be, that these men die so readily for a chance to attain it."

He rose and moved back into the ruins of the temple, with Jarziya following close behind. The attackers were nearly upon them at this point, their tattooed bodies moving with almost inhuman speed.

Reaching the bowl, Kinjai lifted it high above his head. It resembled wood, yet felt like clay and was carved heavily in a language they did not understand. But what they did understand was that they were its protectors.

The savages entered the temple, and Jarziya killed two before a spear skewered him through his stomach. Blood spilled from his mouth as he watched Kinjai throw the relic straight up into the air, to a height from which it was sure to shatter upon landing.

Multiple arrows struck Kinjai in the chest, and he fell to the ground amid barbaric screams.

Even as he lay drowning in his own blood, the last of the Brotherhood felt a single comforting thought enter his mind.

You can't take it with you, but you can deny it to your enemies.


WORD COUNT: 1000

SUBMISSION FOR WRITER'S CRAMP 5/6

PROMPT: Write a story or poem that ends with the line (exactly as written here):You can't take it with you, but you can deny it to your enemies.