Conan

The Legend of the Death Bird 7

*****************Another God ******************

Conan stood upon the precipice. He stood on the same spot where he and Glista had reached the night before (at the entrance to the cave of Annaki)...

Looking towards the opening he peered into the abyss. Still, even with the eyesight of a lion (a beast that did most of its hunting at night), Conan was unable to penetrate the deep veil of darkness which curtained the cavern only a few steps in.

The youthful barbarian gave pause here a moment. He considered what he might find once he entered, and then proceeded to places of which he and Glista had not reached. He stood contemplating...

Conan was a warrior, a fighter, a barbarian. He thought about his existence, not because he considered himself a worldly philosopher, nor did he consider himself as some kind of priest, some servant of a god with bigger, bolder aspirations of a wider universe. He paused here because he was human. And any human was allowed to consider the thought that they may be at the brink of their own death.

He stood there knowing that there was no turning back. There was no retreat until he reached the end...and with that end he knew that this event would either find him answers, or travel him to the afterlife.

The youthful Cimmerian swiveled in his stance. He then looked out over the mountainous ridges of his homeland...

(From his lungs escaped the breath of a person who had just exerted himself climbing the Wall of Annaki, the Death Bird's lair. It had been no easy task. However, Conan was no easy man)

Puffs of glazed smoke escaped the Cimmerian's mouth. The exhaust leaving in white trails as it became cold and dense, and too, showing the efforts of his climb.

It was getting dark, and the sun had dropped leaving deep shadows across the land (its eye was only now just past the horizon). Still, Conan could see much of the snow-covered peaks, valleys and ravines of his native soil...and he marveled at its beauty. He loved the area of his birth...just as Glista...

(Who, in their humble mind could look upon such a sight and not witness the hand of a Divinity, a place that was like no other?)

Conan and Glista, the two may have become adventurous souls; their youthful exuberance combined with young ideas presented no boundaries, no borders. It pushed them to live life to the fullest. Still, each knew that there were rules, even the gods had restraints. But they were at an age where death would only come for them when their eyes became cloudy and their bones brittle. Death was someone who stalked the old.

The young barbarians had grown restless, but they would never forget the land of their birth. Still, each did possess a wish to see more, more than just cap-covered mountains and frozen streams; they had a yearning to see what lay beyond...

(There were people even in this time...Souls that were not satisfied with merely living day to day, hunting, gathering and trapping. They had a desire to witness what could be found over the next mountain, over the next ridge).

Cimmeria was a big land, and people could live here, tribes of people. But they were born to be defiant, rugged, with wills of iron. Clans that existed in these remote territories that were as hard as stone, and had little knowledge of the outside world, but they weren't recluse, they did have some. Conan wanted to see things for himself, not just to be told what lie in distant lands.

Life here was a struggle. The mountainous regions of Cimmeria were not for everyone, and mostly they were not desired by others...The snow and the cold were almost continuous, the hunt for food ongoing, and the search for something to put on the pyre, never ending. The tribes here weren't farmers. They were not merchants or builders of great cities. They were simple folk, peoples that lived off of what the land provided. And with that they lived, loved, and were content. Well mostly, but not always. Some were born to wander (Conan the Wanderer).

Still, this place was not without adventure. For years the clans of this land had been haunted by another, another god, the god Annaki, the Death Bird. It flew overhead on the coldest of days and during the strongest of winds, and, the tribes of this country were confused as to why Crom, their god, would allow another to invade his kingdom. The Winged Beast, or devil, or whatever it may be, also sent out its servants, its priests, to gather offering and sacrifice. If displeased, then it was said that Annaki would rise, and then set off on wing to destroy those of its anger, by fire.

Now, as Conan stood (again at the opening of Annaki's home), he knew that he and Glista had violated the god's domain. They had been trespassers of its territory, and one of them had paid dearly for that transgression. Annaki may have become angered, and maybe had sought revenge. Still, the youthful barbarian had not been coward by what had happened...no, Conan would not let himself be ruled by fear.

He had watched Glista as she had fallen, and he had witnessed in those deep blue eyes that she believed that she was on her way to death, even before she had reached the ground...

(It was said that one's life flashes before their eyes at the moment of their departure from this world. That one relives their own trials and tribulations from birth to death. A soul weights their deeds, whether good or bad, in a single moment. And that a person is truly their own judge when it comes to the evil they have done)

Conan turned back towards the cave. At that moment a tear came to his eye and it froze before it dropped from his face. By all graces he thanked god (any god), that Glista had been wrong about her death. She was still breathing, and he had not become scared by what had happed, he more had become angered.

If stealing back the riches offered to the beast god (and then setting those treasures as worship to Crom) if that regained him Glista, then Conan would do it. He meant again to have what he had lost, if not to gain a future for Glista then, let him not have a future for himself...

Conan knelt before entering the cave, and with sword drawn, and its sharp point stuck into the footing of the rocky ledge, he wove his fingers tightly around the hilt. And then, he lowered his head. This was not a prayer to Crom. The young barbarian did not pray to his god. No, this request was for the blessings of his people, his mother, his father, and all of his clan.

The Cimmerian youth was doing what every birthed child of his tribe had ever been taught. What they had been honed to do since that day they had first come into this world, and that was to fight.

Conan had been born on a battlefield, and if going into war or to battle (and by Crom's will) one must die, then go courageously, with honor. It was the riddle of steel.

Conan stood, and then moved towards the opening of Annaki's dwelling. He would seek out the riches that he desired. And if battle deemed, if the god Annaki chose to contest him, then, in his way of thinking, what better a way to find one's end? What more courageous deed or honorable way to climb the "Mountain of Crom" than by facing down a false god? Legends were written about such warriors.

Conan sheathed his sword, and then wrapped it tightly in wolf-skin so that it would make no sound. Just because he was going to kill Annaki, and steal the god's treasure, well, that didn't mean that he had to tell him that he was coming (Conan the Thief).

Conan may be strong, and big of muscle, but he was no mud-worm, he was not stupid. If using stealth gained him the advantage, then so be it. He was facing a god for god's sake, shouldn't he be allowed to be sneaky?

Conan plunged forward, headlong into the darkness and he knew that along his path he would find a torch to light his way. And he also could feel something, something that was a bit strange yet comforting at the same time. Was Glista with him, if not in body than in spirit? He wasn't sure, but he did feel a presents.

END PART 7

Next Chapter: "The Lair"