The Hum
By L. Gorman
Second Place Winner, Bow & Chariot 2026 Fantasy Fiction Story Challenge
The air was thick with the scent of decay and the shrill cacophony of crows. Odo tightened the cloth wrapped around his mouth and nose. The stained fabric wasn’t much of a reprieve from the oppressive scent as he twisted and wound through the mangled piles, taking care not to cut his feet on the jagged edges of pikes. His eyes glanced about feverishly, taking in each man he passed.
“Nothing—no, not good…”
“Perhaps…” he knelt at the side of a twisted corpse of a man-at-arms. Vacant yellowed eyes stared into his own. Odo scrutinized the corpse before him. The bright red and blue livery was caked with mud and gore. He glanced at the arrow shaft buried in the man’s neck. The diminutive white fletching was flecked with blood and bile; no doubt, the man in his last moments emptied himself at the inevitable. Odo let his fingers slide across the maille; the soldier likely fell to his knees, clawing at his neck as the chaos ensued around him. Odo could see it now: those yellowed eyes, just days before, had likely been vivid with horror and in search of a miracle. His hand trailed downwards into a single pocket at the man’s side and encircled a shape of hope and desperation.
“Her faithful dead have no use of coin.”
Odo straightened, furiously wiping his hand against his dirtied linen breaches. As he wandered, he began to hear Her hum. His freckled ears pricked at the familiar sound–a persistent and ceaseless droning. The humming wasn’t unfamiliar; he had first heard the notes when he came upon the lamb many years ago. It was spring, and he had only seen five winters. The lamb was a tangled mess, strewn across the blue-budded flax field. That was when he first heard the notes—the soft hum that broke the still morning air. Later, when he asked his mother what had happened to the lamb, she replied that a dog had escaped the baron’s kennels. He recalled asking why the dog would attack that which it should protect? His mother laughed at his question.
“Don’t be stupid, boy.”
Ever since that day, he could hear the hum. It was everywhere. At the butcher’s block, the notes would peel through the air, only to stop at the fall of the cleaver before resuming moments later. The hum was always present at the gibbet; oftentimes punctuated as the rusted bars would swing and clang against the wood frame. It was there he often felt Her presence the most. When Odo stared into the hallowed pools of a condemned soul in the iron cage, it felt intimate; a moment just for him. Oftentimes, when he heard the whispering tune, he would stare at others to see if they, too, marveled at the sound. Instead, he saw their faces contort in irritation, and their bodies recoil in disgust. Their hands would flail and swat at the air as if to drive away the melody that surrounded them; a rejection of Her gift—something she shared freely for all who would listen. Yet, only he seemed to heed Her music.
Gingerly, Odo stepped over the wheel of a broken cart as he approached the center of the field. The hum was growing louder. Over the years, he had come to accept all aspects of Her gift. The burden of hearing Her song was not easy to bear at first, but as he watched the rejection of Her gift over the years, his resolve grew. He was chosen; he did not recoil at the flittering melody of death; he embraced Her. The moment he beheld the lamb on the petaled altar, his life had changed. Of course, people did not understand the gift. Over time, stern gazes turned to sharp tongues, which then shifted to the occasional deft blow of a fist. All of it was evidence of their own unworthiness and their inability to listen. Though an outcast amongst many, he was chosen in Her eyes.
As Odo scrambled over the tangled limbs of a fallen destrier, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. His mouth was thick with saliva and the tang of bile. The scent was nauseating and seemed to permeate his very skin. As he looked ahead, he could see the center of the battlefield, where the mightiest had fallen. He swallowed and continued forward as the hum grew to a drone. Her presence was strong here and inescapable. The air was practically alive. Odo approached the gleaming mass of the armored fallen and surveyed the grotesque scene. A surcoat of yellow and green caught his eye as he approached the fallen warrior. The knight’s pauldrons glinted beneath streaks of grime, and his breastplate was fluted with gold filigree. The knight’s once sharp features were now sunken. As Odo studied the knight, he knew that he was likely a paragon amongst warriors. Even in death, the knight was frozen in combat. The yellow-and-green knight’s arm was wrapped in an embrace around his last opponent, who wore the familiar livery of blue and red of Odo’s barony. Odo inched closer to the bodies, now crawling on his hands and knees. Her melody was beginning to hurt his ears. Clutched in the knight’s hand was a dagger, and slumped over him was his opponent. Odo closed his eyes as if in prayer, letting the dark hymn take him back to their final moments.
He could see it—the men had lost their swords in a clash as they pulled away and drew their daggers. He imagined they stared at one another, knowing they had begun that inevitable dance of fate. The knights leaped at each other, daggers cutting through the air as their sabatons slid through the mud, barely able to maintain footing. They locked in a grapple, each grasping the other’s arm, trying to outmaneuver and outmuscle the other. The yellow-and-green knight took his opponent down first and gained the upper hand. Odo could see the mud caked on the back of the blue-and- red knight’s tabard. Yet, he was perplexed about how a knight, such as he, would fall to the opponent now slumped over him.
The blue-and-red knight was of smaller stature; his frame sinewy. Hungry. Odo inched closer. The air felt alive here, and he wrinkled his nose. It was then he spotted the dark hue of a wound situated squarely between the yellow-and-green knight’s shoulders. The final moments became clearer. This exemplar of knights had been stabbed in the back. The yellow-and-green knight had been struck by a rider’s lance while straddling his opponent. The lance had pierced through the knight’s body and was wrenched free. As the lance left his body, the yellow-and-green knight toppled to the side. Odo frowned. He was irritated by the knight’s fate, but he quickly corrected himself. She was fickle in Her ways. It was not his place to question death; only accept Her gift and heed Her music. As Odo turned his attention back to the dead, he pictured the final struggle. In the throes of combat, the blue-and-red knight, blinded by his desire to win, met his end at dagger point. Seizing the final moment of opportunity, the yellow-and-green knight had stabbed his opponent in the side. Two warriors claimed in an instant, in a field of hundreds of tales.
Odo stretched out his hand, letting it slide along the fabric of the blue-and-red knight’s tabard in search of a pouch or pockets. His spindly fingers found the worn leather of a belt pouch, and he quickly unlatched it, worming his fingers through the contents, feeling for anything of value. He found two coins and quickly pocketed them. His gaze then turned to the yellow-and-green knight. He hesitated. His hand held aloft, almost as if in blessing, as the hum swarmed around him. Odo knew she would not pass judgment upon Her most faithful servant. Perhaps it was the lingering awe of the fallen warriors taken into Her embrace, or perhaps it was the smallest pull of shame that made him hesitate. The humming grew. Odo sharply inhaled as his hand slid beneath the muddied fabric. He found a pocket and his fingers grasped an unfamiliar shape. Slowly, he withdrew it from the folds of the surcoat and stared in awe. It was hammered gold fashioned into the shape of a sun. It was beautiful, exquisite even. The hum filled the air—like a call to vespers as the sun began to dip behind the clouds.
Suddenly, the hum stopped. Then there was pain—white hot and searing. Odo’s gaze dropped to the knight’s dagger buried deep in his side. He lifted his head, trembling in pain. The blue-and-red knight was alive. The knight had picked up the fallen dagger of his opponent and driven it into him. Odo’s mouth wordlessly moved as shuddering gurgles escaped his lips. The knight, who barely clung to life, met his gaze with bloodshot eyes filled with hunger and hate. The golden sun slipped from Odo’s fingers as the world went sideways.
“No, this cannot be…”
Odo felt the blood pool beneath him as the edges of his vision began to blur. It was silent, so very silent. The stillness was only broken at the final breath of the knight. He had met Her embrace—she was coming for him next. The silence was maddening, and despair clouded his thoughts. Her hymn was gone; had she abandoned him? Odo reached down and pressed his fingers to his side. Holding his hand aloft, Odo watched the rivulets of blood roll down his pale and freckled skin before meeting the white hem of his sleeve. Her embrace was nigh. He closed his eyes for a moment–steeling himself as the sticky warmth bathed him. When he opened his eyes, Odo made note of his final resting place. Indeed, the ground was trampled and muddy, but even with his fading vision, he noticed the brilliant hue of green. The spring leaves and stems of flax, though crushed by the footfalls of many, were beneath him. Odo blinked; his vision was murky, but he was utterly transfixed by the familiar blue blossoms that dotted the ground around him. He smiled.
The smallest hum began. The sound flitted around him until it became an incessant whine next to his ear as the sky darkened above him. Her sweet and beautiful hymn had returned, just as he had first heard the lilting notes all those years ago. Odo closed his eyes and let the hum lull him into the dark—Her most perfect servant; a faithful lamb.
