Prompt #249 - Suffocate - In the Glow of Fire - Tekia - original

[tekia.livejournal.com]

Title: In the Glow of Fire
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Suffocate
Warnings: fail!fighting
Rating: PG-13
Summary: How two gods find themselves able to rely only on each other.


Their laws were the most important.
Their oaths, binding.
The gods frowned on the breaking of oaths, and the worst one to break was the oath of brotherhood.
Kuzi-Teshub has broken that oath. Even now, he lead the enemy deep into the city, through the maze of streets and toward the heart of the city, the palace. Against this army was only a small group of four, two guards, and two living gods.
They wouldn’t last long, each man knew. Suppiluliuma hoped they would last just long enough, though.
Long enough for him to face that traitor, his very flesh and blood cousin.
They met the first wave of Sea People at the very entrance of the palace, where the fire had yet to reach. They engaged into battle forthwith and Suppiluliuma let the god inside him free reign. The god was a god of war and thrived on the battle, on the blood spilt.
But Suppiluliuma was an old man. He couldn’t hold the power of the god long. After only a few moments in battle, he escaped from the fray and into the great hall.
The fire had reached the curtains hanging from the large windows and the wind rushed through the open passages and stirred the open flames. Suppiluliuma paused for breath, his sword laying heavy at his side, sweat pouring down his temples. His body was weak and he didn’t know for how much longer he was going to be able to hold out. He had to find Kuzi-Teshub, and quickly.
Before it was too late.
The doors burst open around him, and the king jumped and readied his sword. His guards entered first, pressed back by the onslaught of the army. The king rejoined the bloodshed, but then the press wasn’t so strong, and he was separated from his men.
Then he saw Kuzi-Teshub.
He narrowed his eyes at the man and readied his sword. The prince noticed him as well, and advanced.
Their swords clanged loudly as they crashed against each other. The god inside him lusted for the traitor’s blood, the god controlled his sword. Even so, Suppiluliuma found it hard to keep up with the younger man. His sword was heavy in his hand, and his arms were only weak flesh. He couldn’t hold up the speed of the prince’s quick pace.
His arm weakened and he fumbled, and Kuzi-Teshub took advantage. Suppiluliuma fell to one knee, watching with dread as the sword came down to him, slicing into flesh and muscle.
He screamed out as his arm was impaled. Kuzi-Teshub leaned down on the blade, smirking down at his older cousin.
“I told you, old man, that throne will be mine.” He tilted his head to one side. “But I’ll have Teshub’s soul first.” He pulled a knife from his belt. “And to do that, your blood must be spilt.”
Suppiluliuma couldn’t move with his arm pinned, as much as he tired. The great king watched with horror as the sword was raised high over his cousin’s head. Then a body was between them, a sword blocking his.
Kuzi-Teshub fell back with under the press of the new-comer’s sword arm. He cursed loudly and they fell into battle. Suppiluliuma slid back, away from the two men fighting. Around him, the army over took the Pamba and the second guard. With a shout, it was suddenly only Kuzi-Teshub and the guard fighting. The Sea People circled the two, kicking the dead body of the second guard out of the way and jeering at the mortally wounded Pamba.
Suppiluliuma struggled to stand with the support of the wall at his back and he reached out when the guard was thrown back against the wall. He pressed his wounded hand to the guard’s shoulder, smearing blood on his tunic and bare arm. The guard looked at him for only a second before his attention was taken by the prince, but that was enough for Teshub.
A faint trail of blood and a bit of magic moved with the guard as he stepped away from the great king. With the guard leaving, Suppiluliuma lost his last strength. He fell to the floor and couldn’t resist the arms that grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.
The guard was a great warrior, and well deserving of the soul Suppiluliuma had gifted to him.
His blade moved like a flame in the wind, flickering about and nipping his opponent when he least expected it. Kuzi-Teshub was hard pressed to keep his own against this youthful opponent. Suppiluliuma II watched as fate wove its threads around the man.
With a few deft steps, the guard was pushing Kuzi-Teshub away from the grand doors and making an opening for their escape, but there was nobody to escape. The king was held prisoner, the guard dead, and the champion mortally wounded.
Suppiluliuma jerked his arm free of the hand holding him and pointed to the door. “Go,” he shouted. “You must protect living god.”
Kuzi-Teshub froze at those words, his eyes bugging out with disbelief and rage. “No!” He spun on Suppiluliuma, and with a flick of his wrist, he impaled the king on his sword.
Suppiluliuma grunted with the pain, his eyes trailing up to meet Kuzi-Teshub’s crazed look.
When nothing happened save for the king struggling for breath, Kuzi-Teshub pulled his sword free and turned to face the warrior. He leveled the sword at him. “You will die this day. Give me the soul you have stolen.”
The guard couldn’t tear his eyes off his king. The sword in his hand faltered, and Pamba took the opportunity to speak.
“Mata’ka’ala,” he gasped, every breath painful. The guard jerked with surprise and turned to his commander. “Leave, you must live. Listen to your king. You must live and protect Telepinu.” When the guard didn’t move quickly enough, Pamba shouted. “That’s an order!”
Instantly, the guard moved to obey. He spun on his heel and disappeared out the door. He dashed down the hall of the palace and was soon lost in the smoke.
“After him!” Kuzi-Teshub shouted. “I want him alive!”
The soldiers rushed after him and Kuzi-Teshub turned to the dead king. He hacked and slashed at the body, filling the air with curses. Then his dark eyes turned to Pamba, still struggling for breath.
He licked his lips as he advanced on the fallen man. “You still have your soul, don’t you, Great Guardian.” He pulled the man up by his collar. “You may just make it through this alive. That’s a good thing.” He smiled and Pamba shivered. “If they don’t catch him, I’ll take Jarri inside myself.”
Pamba feared for the world if such a thing came to pass.

Mata’ka’ala paused to check to see if anybody had followed him into the dark passage hidden behind the servants quarters. He peered behind him through the darkness, then leaned back against the wall as regret filled his heart.
The king was dead now, he knew. He could feel it in his chest, feel it along with something else that had settled inside him. It settled inside him and filled him with a warmth unlike anything he had ever known before. He was also filled with this righteous anger. He wanted to go back there and slay each and every one of those men that dared to come to his home and take what wasn’t theirs. Who would kill his people without a second though.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves. He’d always had such control over his emotions before now. He had to, to be a warrior in the army. He had wielded a sword in the name of the Hittites and he had killed in the name of his people and empire. If he hadn’t had great control of his emotions, he would have long ago succumbed to the madness of war and maybe even have lost his mind to a bloodlust that couldn’t be sated.
So what was this? He questioned these strange emotions and didn’t expect to receive an answer. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a deep voice filled with thunder echoed in his ear.
“You are my king now, Mata’ka’ala. In you, I live.”
He jumped away from the wall he was leaning against and looked around the darkness. There was nobody there, and he could only hear the loud sound of his own heartbeat and the distant thrum of the fire. There wasn’t even anybody looking for him in this part of the palace.
“Who’s there?”
“I am your god, Mata’ka’ala. With me, you are great.”
Then he realized what had happened. His eyes went wide and he breathed a name over his lips. The presence inside him grew, swelling his chest with pride and confidence, stealing his breath and freezing his body. But he couldn’t fight a whole army by himself. He shot one last glance behind him, back toward the interior of the palace where Kuzi-Teshub dishonored his family and their people. He had to leave; leave only to return to fight when he was able to stand up against the man.
He could feel the god’s reluctance to leave, but Teshub was a wise god and he knew that Mata’ka’ala couldn’t win this day. The god slowly released its hold over Mata’ka’ala and the warrior could breath properly again. He pressed a hand to his chest and sank deeper into the secret tunnel and away from the burning palace, then out past the gates and on toward escape.
Once he was in the hills behind the city, he paused to look back at the specks of fire littering the great city, his once home. The people had been split up and they moved on wherever they would and, with a sinking dread, Mata’ka’ala realized that he was now the living god king and he had no people to protect, no land to rule, and no army to lead. As the city went up in flames, and his people dispersed to the four winds, all of the Hittite culture and history was only within him.
“Telepinu,” the voice whispered in his ear and he shivered, still unused to the closeness of the god inside him.
“He sleeps, does he not?” Mata’ka’ala asked out loud. “Is it not for that reason we suffer? That so few crops were harvestable?”
“Telepinu is in grave danger. The mother demands we protect him after all the trouble she went through to find and bring him here.”
Mata’ka’ala pulled a leather thong from his belt and tied up the hair that was being blown in his face by the heavy winds. “Where is he? How am I to find him?”
“The sleeping boy holds Telepinu in his soul. The priests are weak and cannot protect him. If the sleeping boy dies, Telepinu will sleep forever more.”
The sleeping boy? Quickly, Mata’ka’ala remembered the plans for the priests escape routs. He hadn’t followed them, thinking perhaps if he was followed, he wouldn’t lead the enemy right toward them. What he didn’t know, was where they were going to end up. Without their king priest to guide them, they could go anywhere. They could get themselves lost in the wide expanse of the world.
He felt the god inside him shift and suddenly he knew where he had to go. He took off across the rocky terrain, his leather boots smacking against the dirt, his sword at the ready in his hand. He followed the deer path back down the hills and emerged a fair distance from the city and at the exit of the secret tunnel the priests should have taken.
The tunnel was empty, and there was a mess of tracks everywhere. He knelt and perused the tracks a moment before he decided there were two horses and four warriors. They had found the priests, obviously, and taken them prisoner.
That confused Mata’ka’ala, for hadn’t the Sea People killed everybody else?
Before he could follow that thought, the god inside him suddenly roared. Mata’ka’ala dropped to his knees, his hands over his ears as the god’s voice echoed in his mind. He felt as if his head were going to crack open from the force behind the rage and pain. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged on his own breath.
A dark hatred overcame his emotions and his vision began to turn red around the edges. He couldn’t focus on the ground in front of him, and his head swam with the god’s own emotions. His breath came in short bursts and he knew if he couldn’t control the god, he was going to suffocate.
He fisted his hands in the dirt before him, and he focused on his training. He was a warrior, a solider of the king. He would not be brought low by this.
The red faded from his vision, and the pressure on his lungs eased. Grinning with pleasure at his success, Mata’ka’ala regained his feet and followed the tracks back toward the city, then beyond the crumbling walls, toward the Sea People’s camp.
The night was bright with the myriad of stars. There were a few scouts out there watching for any stragglers they had missed with their first onslaught. Mata’ka’ala easily avoided those men and the one he couldn’t sneak pass he quickly silenced and disposed of. He found the main camp and the men surrounding it.
There weren’t as many as he had thought there would be, but they were still vigilant in their watch. Mata’ka’ala wondered how he was going to rescue the living Telepinu.
The gods were with him, he came to remember. The scent of honey drifted on the wind and Mata’ka’ala froze. His eyes turned from their usual blue to red and once again his vision left him. His breath caught in his throat again.
The red around his vision suddenly turned black and he knew nothing more.
When his vision finally returned, he was astride a bay horse, holding the small frame of a young man in his cloak, galloping through the hills. He shook his head and pulled on the reins to slow the horse. He didn’t remember anything. He looked around him, his arms tightening around the body leaning heavily against him.
He could feel the presence of the other god burning within the boy’s body. It was almost like a soothing hum that radiated from his body, turning into the strangest of harmonies with the humming that came from his own. The gods recognizing each other.
The young man was sleeping heavily, not even the jostling of the horse doing anything to wake him. Mata’ka’ala pulled the horse to a full stop and secured the lead. He brushed the cloak away from his face and felt something melt at the sight of the youthful, innocent, sleeping expression.
He would protect this living god, and not because he was their last link to their past glory, but because the two of them were the last of their kind from this pantheon. Teshub had already changed him, and he thought, perhaps, not for the better, either.