Ingomar watched how his wife Agata put their youngest child Andorin to her breast. For a moment, the sharp creaking of the spruce trees being jerked mercilessly by the cold mountain wind seemed to quieten for a moment. Even the clamour of the villagers seemed far away. The spiritual connection between mother and child transcended their blood bond in a way Ingomar would probably never understand. Nevertheless, it brought him peace. And as a father, he served another purpose. He would make sure his children could withstand the harsh life in the highlands.

Andorin was Ingomar’s third child. All of them strong boys. His bloodline would be upheld, there was little doubt about that. But Ingomar’s own hands were gaunt, his face sunken. In his bones he felt that it wasn’t his age or the continued famine that gripped the mountain folk. His time was running out, and it wouldn’t be long before Agata would realise. He prayed he would be in time to teach his sons how to use a knife and spear to defend themselves and how to use a bow to hunt for boar and deer in the forests that surrounded their mountain village. He could not leave them like this. Not now.

Outside, the hoarse voice of the village chief pierced through the surrounding din, rousing the villagers. Ingomar looked at his wife. 'The advance march will soon begin.'

Agata rocked Andorin gently in her arms. 'I remember when it first seemed that a period of scarcity was upon us. All our hopes were pinned on the monarch. And now look what his regime has brought us to.' She stroked Andorin's head while he drank drily. 'Even our children are starving.'

'I do not believe that the Monarch envisaged this future when he came to power,’ Ingomar said. ‘When supplies dwindled, it was not he himself who took measures. It was his uncle, his most valued advisor, who rationed food and ordered strict action against fortune seekers. That's what he called his starving subjects begging for food.'

'I hope for the sake of our children's fate that we can make a difference today,' Agata said.

Ingomar gathered his axe, bow, and a hank of rope, and walked out. The village chief was standing on a rise and around him a large ragtag horde of denizens had congregated. His words were persuasive, but Ingomar felt in his heart that the villagers were too weak to be able to force change. They were completely bound to the mercy of the Monarch.

Ingomar’s two oldest sons, aged five and seven, came running up to him with excited faces. 'In the afternoon they are going up to the Monarch's fortress!' his eldest shouted. 'Are we going too?’

‘Yes,’ Ingomar said. ‘It is very important that we go along with the entire village. That way, there will be a far greater chance that the Monarch will heed our pleas for help. But don’t forget, we have other things to do first. The nights are getting colder, and we’ll have to go into the forest to gather firewood now.’

Agata came out now as well. Andorin had fallen asleep in her arms and looked very much at peace. Ingomar kissed his youngest son and looked wistfully into Agata’s eyes. He had wanted to tell her for so long, but the words never came. He wouldn’t have the first clue how to comfort her. No, he would carry this burden alone until the inevitable happened.

'Hopefully we'll find enough dry firewood after the rain last night,’ Ingomar said instead. ‘Chances are we'll have to venture deep into the forest and won't have time to get back to the village before the advance march.'

'That doesn't matter,' Agata said. She kissed him. 'Then we'll see you at the Monarch's fortress.’

Ingomar led his two oldest sons around the mob along to the outskirts of the village and waved goodbye to his wife. Then they disappeared into the forest. The sounds of the mob slowly died away, as they followed a trail that led west to an old part of the forest where there were many dried out twisted dead trees. Ingomar's sons ran ahead of him laughing. They were tireless. He had felt the same way most of his life, even during the famine, but the last few years his body had started failing him. Now, with each step his heart rate went up and he could feel his leg and back muscles burn. He resisted the urge to pull out his axe from his belt and use it as a walking stick. If he concentrated, he could still control his breathing and make it sound normal so as not to alarm his sons.

As they approached the old part of the forest, the trees became more capricious. Some stood hunched over like old men, their black roots buried deep in the earth. The air smelled musty and it was hard to believe that most of them were actually still alive. Sensing that the old souls were watching them, Ingomar looked around for a moment to make sure nobody was following them. Here, death was constantly lurking. The laughter of his sons soon ceased, upon which they rejoined him.

Ingomar tried to shake off the feeling they were not alone and led them off the trail to an overhanging cliff under which the trees were still dry after last night's rain. As he approached the cliff, it seemed to tower over him as if it were reaching high into the clouds. Ingomar started to feel lightheaded and had to force himself to continue moving. Then, the moment he walked into the shadows beneath the cliff, it suddenly became dark before his eyes. A strange sensation cascaded down his spine and he could feel his spirit slowly slip away, barely able to disentangle his surroundings. Gasping for air, his body filled itself with a strange force that threatened to rip his flesh apart. Something was inside of him. He fought to remain conscious, but was powerless against the dimness that was hankering to devour him.

In the dark, far far away, Ingomar felt his right hand reaching for his axe. He heard his own muffled voice shouting commands to his sons demanding they take refuge in one of the cliff’s caverns. With all his strength, he tried to regain control over his limbs, but instead the entity inside him pushed him away even deeper. He felt his fingers working the rope he had brought along to tie the firewood together. What was he doing? His sons’ cries seemed to linger for an eternity, while he moved unwillingly away from them through the forest. Ingomar tried to hold on with his last ebb of strength, but fell in and out of consciousness several times, losing all sense of place and time.

Using all his strength, Ingomar made a final attempt to escape the darkness. He fought with all his available might in an attempt to find his way back to the last shimmer of light in the distance. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he stood on a ridge at the edge of the forest, looking out upon the walls of the Monarch’s fortress. His skin was still prickling from the bowstring that had just chafed against his left wrist, the crisp twang still resonating in his ears. He was unable to move still. Astonished, he gazed at the sky. He watched as the arrow sketched a wide arc above the crowd that had gathered in front of the fortress to listen to the Monarch's speech. However, it was the Monarch’s uncle who was addressing the crowd, his face wrought with anger, showing total disregard for the hunger of the villagers. Ingomar watched with childish enjoyment as the arrow pierced deep into the man's upper body. Panic immediately broke out in the crowd, but Ingomar merely smiled. Even when the Monarch's soldiers raised their weapons and started rushing towards him, he remained standing there, now laughing out loud. His bow still in his hand.

At that moment, a shudder reverberated through Ingomar’s body. A stabbing pain spread through his entire being and his legs gave way as he slumped to the ground. The entity inside him was now wrenching itself out of him. He cried out as he felt it leave his body. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a shadow moving into the safety of the forest. A screeching sound pierced the air and reached him from behind the trees - the disturbing laugh of Teriyas, the Evil God. That was the moment Ingomar realized he had been deceived. Horrified, he stared at the approaching soldiers while memories came flooding back. He had left his two eldest sons tied up in the cliff cavern back in the woods.

Ingomar made a run for it, but his weakened body failed him before he even got to the edge of the forest. A moment later the soldiers reached him. He reached for his axe and tried to defend himself, but a fierce blow to his stomach drained all his strength in one breath. His axe fell to the ground. He gasped as they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him towards the fortress. Painstakingly he raised his head and saw that the Monarch's soldiers had regained control of the crowd. All were now staring at him. Some furiously, others pityingly. A single shrill cry of distress cut through the air and a slender figure with a child in her arms hastily made her way through the crowd, but was finally stopped by the soldiers. Ingomar wept, for he saw that it was his wife Agata, with their youngest son Andorin in her arms.

'Ingomar!" she shrieked. 'Ingomar! But the soldiers forced her to her knees.

Ingomar emitted a desperate cry, whereupon one of the men who had seized him dully struck the back of his head, immediately making him dizzy. He was dragged along and thrown to the ground in front of the Monarch.

'Take him away,' was all the Monarch said. He had only eyes for the wounded man in his arms. His uncle's face had gone pale and foamy white saliva was oozing from the corner of his mouth.

Ingomar looked back one last time as the soldiers dragged him through the gates in the fortress wall. Fighting against the darkness that threatened to engulf him once more, he saw how his wife and child had been left broken. Then they disappeared from sight. The soldiers lugged him to the catacombs of the fortress where he was thrown face first into the dungeon. There he remained, exhausted, feverishly trying to fathom what had come to pass. Then, from nothing, everything turned to black once again, both in the dungeon and in his mind.

Hours passed, before Ingomar regained his senses. He crawled upright groaning and looked at the moving shadows on the dungeon walls. Someone had lit a candle. When he looked up, he saw the Monarch standing in the corner of the dungeon with a large knife in his hand.

‘You must be wondering why I haven't killed you yet?’ the Monarch asked. He put the tip of the knife to one of his own fingers and slowly rotated the weapon until a drop of blood appeared. He stared at it for a moment.

Ingomar did not answer. He looked at the reflection of the candlelight on the bronze blade of the knife.

'I do not understand why you did it. And why you just stood there for so long, laughing. You have enough to live for, it seems to me. I had to listen to the uninterrupted wails of your wife and child.'

Ingomar's eyes grew large.

'Oh, don't be afraid,' the Monarch said softly. 'I have done them no harm. At least, not yet. They lie at the gates, begging for your release.' His facial expression changed. He knelt before Ingomar and put the knife to his throat. 'I know my uncle can be cruel, but I love and respect him. He brought prosperity to many of us.' The Monarch clenched his jaw. 'He will not live long. If the arrow had not been poisoned, he might have survived.'

'Poisoned?" Ingomar asked, as he realised he could feel sweat trickling down his forehead.

'Don't play stupid!" retorted the Monarch furiously. He pressed the blade deeper into Ingomar's flesh. 'We all saw you.'

'It wasn't me. Please believe me. I heard his laughter. It was Teriyas, the Evil God. You must believe me.' He looked pleadingly at the Monarch. 'You must help me. My sons are tied up in the forest. You must save their lives.'

The Monarch got a cold look in his eyes. 'I would rather let them starve. If the wolves have not already torn them apart.' He pushed Ingomar away from him. 'I'll only ask you once. Why did you do it?'

'It was the Evil God,' Ingomar said softly, but he realized how unlikely it sounded. Everyone knew the Evil God from nightmares, but he had not been seen by anyone for centuries.

'Die, you will. Have no illusions about that,' the Monarch said. 'It is the manner in which I give you a choice. And you will suffer if you do not answer me.'

Ingomar remained silent. To his relief, at that moment there was a knock on the dungeon door. A soldier entered. 'My Lord,' the man said to the Monarch. 'Your uncle asks for you.' He averted his eyes. 'He doesn't have long.'

The Monarch turned his head to Ingomar. 'I will leave the candle here,' he hissed. 'When the flame dies out, I will decide on your fate. Be wise Ingomar, and tell me the truth. Then I will grant you a painless death.' He turned and left the room.

After the door was locked again, Ingomar crawled towards the candle. He saw that his clothes were covered in rips and tears and that his hands and forearms were drenched in blood. He would die today. And if he did nothing, his two oldest sons would die as well. What was to become of Agata and Andorin then?

Ingomar exhorted himself to calm down and then sat down in front of the candle. He stared into the flame. Just under an hour remained, he estimated. Was there anything more he could do for his family? For a long time he pondered in silence, but he couldn't help the fact that, as the candle dwindled, panic engulfed him again. 'Why?’ he mumbled. 'O exalted one, what did I do to deserve this fate?' When all that was left of the candle was a little stump of tallow with a small flickering flame, his plea turned into a furious outburst.

At that moment, something shimmered its way through the dungeon and the thin air around him began to vibrate. Ingomar instinctively let out a cry but it got caught in his throat as he watched a shape appear from the Ether. He rose up and moved back. The first thing he could see were a pair of dark eyes and two rows of vertebrae running under the thick skin of the creature’s skull from his forehead down to his shoulders. Ingomar shuddered when he realised what was happening. It was Teriyas, the Evil God, who appeared before him. As the God took on physical form, his skin and muscles moved in strange patterns over his bones. Then he stood there, rising to his full height so that he towered almost two heads above Ingomar.

‘Why me?’ Ingomar asked softly. A question in which so much hatred was hidden that even the God seemed to hesitate for a moment.

'The Gods have their own feuds,' Teriyas finally replied. 'Sometimes humans are the ones that suffer as a result.' He looked at Ingomar for a moment and seemed to take pleasure from his plight. 'But perhaps I owe you an answer,' he said as he leered over him.

Ingomar suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to know the God’s motivations anymore. 'My sons,' he therefore whispered. 'Are they still alive?'

Teriyas nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'But it is not your two eldest sons for whom you must fear. I have foreseen that they will be found not long after your death. It is the fate of your youngest son that is dark.'

Confused, Ingomar shook his head. 'Andorin? How? What will happen to him?'

'That depends on how you meet your end.' The God laughed. 'The murder of his uncle will cause the Monarch to curse the villagers. He will become worse than his uncle, and poverty and hunger will claim many lives. There is one person, however, who can reverse the fate of the villagers.'

'Andorin is only a child,' Ingomar said. 'Not even three years old.'

'Therefore, he may not remember much of this part of his life. But, when he is a man, he will dream of the day his father was publicly executed. At least, if your death is memorable enough. It will awaken a fervour in him and cause him to risk all he has to avenge you. He will save the villagers from their demise.'

'You are cruel, exalted one,' said Ingomar now he understood what the God meant. The harm had already been done. The way he died would determine Andorin's future. And so the fate of the mountain folk.

Teriyas examined him, the amusement clear on his face. 'Then you know what you will have to do.'

Ingomar watched as the God slowly disappeared into the Ether. A moment later, the candle went out. He held his breath and waited. It wasn't long before footsteps sounded. The door was flung open, after which two soldiers entered and took him away. Ingomar did not struggle. When he got outside, the Monarch was waiting for him.

‘My uncle has died,' the Monarch said softly, upon which he made a small hand gesture to the soldiers. They dragged Ingomar through the gates where a large crowd had gathered. Agata, restrained by two soldiers, cried out. Andorin floundered in her arms. Ingomar caught the gaze of his youngest son and wept as the soldiers tied his hands to the execution pole in full view of the crowd. When they were done they pushed him firmly to his knees. In the corner of his eye Ingomar could see the Monarch’s executioner calmly watching him from afar.

It wasn't long before the Monarch stepped in front of the crowd. There was nothing left of his grief to be seen. 'Hear me!’ he shouted. 'Today I shall deliver justice over the murderer of my beloved uncle, who was also my most esteemed advisor. But first I will give the accused, Ingomar Yenat, the opportunity to confess and repent.'

Ingomar urged himself to calm down. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened out for the silencing of the crowd so he could confess his crime. From the depths of his mind he heard the screeching laugh of the Evil God. A shiver pulsed through his body as he remembered how Teriyas had taken possession of him, pushing his spirit away into the darkness. Was that what was awaiting him? At that moment the desperate cries of his son Andorin filled the air, and he instantly knew he would fully obey the wishes of the Evil God. Against all his better judgment, he knew that too. But if this was what he had to do to save his family - to save the mountain folk from their demise - then he would do it. He straightened his back and looked the Monarch straight in the eye. 'I have nothing to say to you.’

'This is your last chance,' the monarch assured him.

Ingomar merely grinned and cast a fleeting glance at Andorin. At the Monarch's signal, the executioner began to move. He selected one of his scourges and walked towards the condemned man. Ingomar did not move, even when he heard Agata’s shrill cries.

'Not the scourge! Please, no! Not the scourge!' Her voice became hoarse. 'Ingomar!" she shouted. 'Why did you do it? Tell them why you did it!'

But he remained silent. He would suffer. Only when the executioner tore Ingomar's tunic from his upper body and forcefully brought the scourge down across his back, did he cry out in pain. A dozen or so blows followed, until the executioner stopped his work.

'This is only the beginning,' snarled the Monarch.

Ingomar pantingly raised his head and, to the dismay of the crowd, let out a loud laugh. Agata stared at him with a dead look in her eyes. She had given up on him. Andorin, on the other hand, cried like he had never cried before.

'Let this be an example to you all!" shouted the Monarch furiously, then he took the executioner's scourge and walked up to Ingomar himself. He brought his mouth next to Ingomar's ear. 'Now you will know what pain really is.'

Ingomar solidly clenched his jaws in time with the scourge smarting his back again and again. His body squirmed beneath the blows, but he kept fighting the pain until he was only half conscious. The agony was overwhelming and blinded him to the point that his mind began to fail him. Then, all of a sudden, the Monarch abruptly interrupted the punishment. Ingomar collapsed in a heap on the ground. The Monarch knelt down beside him. 'Die then,' he said. He pressed the blade of his knife against Ingomar's windpipe and, with a swift and powerful movement, drew it backwards. As the blood gushed from Ingomar's neck, he saw Agata and Andorin. His youngest son stared at him with wide eyes. 'Daddy...' Andorin whispered. While Ingomar sank into darkness, he knew he had achieved his goal. He smiled. Then, the pain left his body and there was nothing.