The God's Hunger
An Eachann and Connor Adventure
The old god of the Selkies is awakened and prepared to take its sacrifice. The lads prepare for one of their deadliest fights yet as it emerges from time immemorial with an unspeakable appetite for carnage.
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The thing—the Vuadd as the Picts had called it—pulled back its thin lips and a stream of black water gushed from it. Eachann and Connor stood their ground and stared into the Vuadd’s black eyes, flanked it before it came within striking distance. The beast-man snarled and quickened its movements as it snapped its gaze between the lads.
Llewis released his arrow, the bowstring snapping through the drone of the ocean. The broad iron head glanced off the Vuadd’s narrow back without a track of a wound. It shot its attention at the bard, prompting the lads’ advance.
Connor slammed his shield rim at the Vuadd’s chest then following with an overhead strike from his club. The Vuadd grabbed the ward and merely flinched from the blow. Its cold eyes glowered back at Connor above its snarling mouth. Eachann jabbed his sword at the membrane between its protruding ribs. Like with the dirk against the stone, the steel blade glided off the Vuadd’s flesh as if it were a splash of the water it rose from.
“What in the name of Lamhfada’s Spear?” Eachann shuffled back as his sword rattled in his grip. “It’s as if its skin were mail!”
Connor bellowed as he flattened his shield against the Vuadd’s chest. He shoved the creature back towards the stone. “Go find your dirk, I’ll hold it off!” he cried, looking back at Eachann.
In the final bluish wash of light across the land, Eachann whipped his eyes around the island. He looked up at the form of Llewis, who had knocked another arrow but kept his hand staid as the shadowed forms of Connor and the Vuadd collided.
“Llewis, give me light!” Eachann shouted.
Llewis relaxed his draw and sought through a small sack by his hip-quiver. He withdrew a bundle of peat and quickly set it ablaze with a few strikes from flint and steel. The fire belched to life and popped, casting an orange-yellow shine over the one-eyed bard and the ground before him. This moment of Llewis standing in the dark, torch held high, made Eachann think of one of the oldest bards of the Gaels, Amorgen White-Knee, whose famous words were, “I am the god who makes fire,” in the first song he made when he came to Éirinn in primal days. Eachann sought for his dirk as Connor waylaid the Vuadd; the combatants grunted and roared at each other. The creature struck at Connor with a flurry of vicious strikes; its tail whipped around, but Connor threw his shield up. The spikes punched into the planks and held the scaly appendage in place.
“Find your dirk!” Connor twisted against the Vuadd’s tugging; he battered its face and chest, but no bruises or scrapes showed on its skin.
The torchlight fell upon a pale, dull gleam of bone at the end of the rocks. Scían Tethrach teetered on the edge, mere thumbs away from the mindless lapping of waves. Eachann dove and grabbed the dirk. He leapt back onto his feet, holding blade point-up.
The Vuadd kicked at the scarred shield, pushing itself free and sending Connor backwards. He lost balance and tumbled into the water. The Vuadd turned and hissed at its remaining assailants.
Eachann met the god-thing’s gaze and lowered the dirk, but kept its point faced towards his foe. The Gael charged before eye contact could be broken, bellowing with air from the pit of his gut; the Vuadd rivaled that with a shriek, the loudest one yet. So loud was the shriek, it deterred Eachann’s charge, causing his steps to stutter. Regardless, he put the butt of the dirk between the fork of his toes—the wool wraps around the rest of his right foot were soaked—and kicked upward as he came within striking distance of the Vuadd. The dirk struck lower than Eachann meant to, landing on the creature’s upper left thigh, but it glanced off the skin, as with the other weapons.
“Macrall,” Eachann barely had time to curse before the Vuadd’s claws sunk into his shoulders. He yelled as heat rose above his arms—struck with several points of slow pressure—and started to trickle out from under the claws. The dirk landed somewhere close by, but Eachann’s sword-arm was pinned down by the beast-man’s batrachian foot. As Eachann lay on the ground, the god glowered above him, its tail slowly rose over its shoulder. Then, like a clap of thunder, Connor’s club swung across the Vuadd’s skull from the left, shoving it off Eachann. It scrambled away, shaking its head and moaning.
Connor sighed heavily, drenched from his brief banishment into the sea. He aided Eachann to his feet and the lads prepared another charge at their enemy, both of them evoking deep yells. The Vuadd shrieked and dropped on all fours before Eachann and Connor could move a single pace. Another form darted into the firelight; Talorc threw himself before the monster and seized it by the arms as it lunged. The pair fell and wrestled upon the ground. The Pict struggled with a wolfish fury, forcing the Vuadd onto its back. He planted one heel on its lashing tail as he secured both of his hands around its narrow wrists.
“Kill it!” roared Talorc, glancing up for but a moment at the lads.
Eachann retrieved Scían Tethrach and held it towards the Vuadd. He did not ready himself to send it into the creature, however. It cannot be killed by this, he thought. Can anything truly kill it?
“Now!” Talorc’s foot slipped off the Vuadd’s tail and the appendage rose up as a wrathful snake. The spikes punched through the Pict’s chest; a gout of blood gushed from his lips, yet he still clutched the beast’s arms. “Christ is my Overlord,” he wheezed. “Your shackles shall not hold us any longer.”
For all his hardiness, Talorc’s grip faltered and the Vuadd threw him against the stone. He collapsed in a heap beneath the profane monolith, leaving a trail of gore smeared upon the worn carvings.
The lads rushed the Vuadd before it could pounce upon Talorc. They set their weapons against it with cries echoing through the dim expanse around them. Though they struck with the remaining fury from the crimson wells of their hearts, their foe did not falter or bear any wounds. Their assault, however, drew it away from Talorc; they taunted and harried it with more blows until it stood before the first step onto the causeway. It dove off the island and into the water. With a mere several strokes, it reached the shore and rushed onto the land.
Llewis ran to Talorc and knelt. The warrior yet breathed, his chest rising shallowly. The lads came to his side and looked into his dimming, dark eyes.
“It will go to the village,” he rasped. “It has not consumed a sacrifice although it has been awakened. You must not let it kill anyone there.”
“I cannot slay it,” Eachann admitted, holding Scían Tethrach flat on his palm. “It is the one hide I cannot pierce.”
“And its bones do not break under my blows,” said Connor.
“It was folly of me to ignore my wife,” said Talorc. A tear welled in one eye and slid down his face. “She will know what can be used to kill it.” He turned his head up to the sky, now black with fading veins of blue. “I will wait for her in Heaven, now.”
Llewis set a hand upon his shoulder. “Go with God, friend.”
Talorc sighed once more, his eyelids fluttering. His chest did not rise again.
Eachann stood, stepping towards the causeway. “I will not let further failures break our oath, Connor. Though we do not share the same God as the Selkies, we have bound ourselves over to kill this wretch.”
“Let us not linger on this mistake.” Connor joined him in standing.
“It would be right for your next deeds to overshadow it,” said Llewis. “Do not let these people remain as chattel.”
The party raced landward as the Vuadd’s shriek carried once more on the wind.
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“The God’s Hunger” © Ethan Sabatella 2025 – Current Year, All Rights Reserved. Reprinting or replication of this work in its entirety in any form (written, audiovisual, etc.) without express permission of the author is prohibited. Excerpts may be used for review or promotional purposes with credit and acknowledgement of the author. This piece cannot be used for training of Artificial Intelligence programs.
Unfortunate ending with the promise of a showdown.