The Boy in the Golden Armour

This story is by Elizabeth Nettleton and was a runner-up in our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Elizabeth Nettleton originally hails from the Sunshine Coast, Australia, and now lives in England with her family. She enjoys writing fantasy and dark fiction stories, and her work has most recently been published by Eerie River Publishing and Iron Faerie Publishing. To learn more about Elizabeth’s projects, please visit elizabethnettleton.com.

Daniel whimpered, but the sound was lost amongst the shouts in the village below. Dust billowed in the distance, cloaking the sunrise, yet it mattered little. Everyone knew what lurked in the shadows.

Vleron had finally found them.

The northern king sought to conquer Daniel’s homeland, and had spent most of the year consuming it bite by bite. Now, a small army had made camp near Daniel’s village, teeth bared for another mouthful.

Their own king was busy defending the cities, so they’d been left to protect themselves. Daniel had begged to join the fight, but despite being as tall and capable as his brothers, was told he was too young. He’d then volunteered to help evacuate families, but the elders said they’d be slaughtered before they reached the nearest village.

So, with nothing left to lose, Daniel stole a faded map from his papa’s chest, grabbed his friends Yuri and Samuel, and headed to the mountain to find Hallem’s shrine.

If anyone could save them, Daniel thought as they scrambled up the narrow dirt path, it was Hallem. He’d heard the stories since he was a child: in the realm’s darkest hour, Hallem had descended the mountain on clouds in his golden armour and saved them all.

Their village had once maintained the shrine, yet with time came apathy, and now all that was left of Hallem’s legend were stories and this map.

Trees thickened around the boys as they climbed, obscuring the sunlight. At last, after much stumbling, they reached their destination.

And found nothing more than a clearing with a jagged red rock in the middle.

“Did we go the wrong way?” Samuel asked, pushing his long dark hair out of his eyes.

Daniel frowned. “No, this is definitely it.”

He ran his hand across the rock, his fingers catching on the rough surface. There was no script across its front, no distinguishing features except its crumbling edges and sharp corners.

“Let’s dig around it,” Daniel said. “Maybe the shrine’s been buried? It’s pretty old.”

The boys only had trowels, so progress was slow as they tore through the dirt, praying to Hallem the whole time.

“I think we’re praying to the wrong person,” Yuri panted. “Hallem’s not a god.”

“Who are we s’posed to pray to then, huh? There’s no god of lost things,” Samuel said.

“Maybe that’s why we can never find anything.” Yuri smirked.

Daniel’s trowel thudded against something hard.

“What’s that?” Yuri asked.

“Dunno.” Daniel brushed some dirt away to reveal glistening metal. “But it’s no rock.”

Roots held the object like outstretched fingers, only releasing when Daniel cut through them. With one last tug, he freed the mysterious item.

“Is that…?” Yuri’s blue eyes bulged.

“Yes.” Daniel swallowed hard. “I think it’s Hallem’s helmet.”

The helmet was a deep golden colour, with wings at the side and a narrow slit for eyes—just as the stories said Hallem’s had been.

Yuri gulped. “Does that mean that’s Hallem?”

Daniel recoiled with a shriek. An eye socket, now packed with soil, watched the boys from the side of the hole. Curved white bone jutted through the earth.

“That’s disgusting.” Samuel’s face brightened with glee.

“No,” Daniel said, almost pleading. “If that’s Hallem, then he was nothing more than a man. A man buried in a shallow grave, no less. Hallem’s a legend! He descended on clouds to smite his enemies!”

“He might’ve descended the mountain, but I don’t think that skeleton was riding any clouds.” Samuel nudged the skull with his boot. “Let’s keep digging for clues.”

Not sure what else to do, Daniel picked up his trowel. Before long, they’d found a breastplate, gauntlets, leg armour, and longsword—all as golden as the helmet.

Daniel’s eyes welled as they carefully reburied the skeleton. They needed a miracle, not a suit of armour! If he didn’t receive Hallem’s blessing, everyone he loved would perish. He would perish!

A distant bang interrupted his thoughts. The boys cowered, then crept to the edge of the mountain, their hands intertwining.

Vleron’s soldiers had gathered in front of their camp in lines, their silver armour blinding under the mid-morning sun. A man paced in front of them, then a horn sounded, sharp and urgent.

The army moved forward.

“They’re coming!” Yuri’s face paled. “We have to go!”

Daniel trailed his finger across the golden helmet. Although scratched, it bore no significant damage. It could probably still protect someone…

He swallowed hard. “The Hallem we knew might be little more than myth, but perhaps this armour is a blessing, all the same. Someone in the village can use it.”

The armour was too bulky to carry, even divided, so Daniel offered to wear it. “Pick me up if I fall, yeah?” He sighed.

The boys grunted as they dressed him, yet somehow the armour felt lighter on Daniel’s body than it had in his arms. Samuel went to take the sword, but Daniel waved him away before curling his fingers around the hilt and placing it in his scabbard.

“Let’s go,” he said.

 

***

 

Villagers wept as they ran between houses, their boots squelching in the mud. Old men shouted terse instructions, younger men waved dull weapons, and small, frightened faces peered through windows. A little girl squinted at Daniel as he approached, then widened her eyes. Relief flooded her ashen face.

“Go, hide,” Daniel told his friends. “I’ll give the armour to my papa.”

He marched towards the village’s northern wall, where fathers, sons, and a few stubborn daughters had gathered in mismatched armour. Frowns softened into hopeful smiles as he weaved through the crowd, murmurs of “Hallem” following him as he went.

“Could it really be him?” a soft voice asked.

“Look at his golden armour. It has to be!” another answered.

“I’m not…” Daniel said, but nobody seemed to hear him.

“I won’t leave you!” A small voice cut through the chaos. A few yards away, a young boy tugged on his father’s coat.

“You must! You need to hide.” The boy’s father glanced at Daniel and his face lit up. “See? Hallem’s here to protect me.”

Tears smudged the dirt on the little boy’s face. “Will you?” he whimpered.

Daniel hesitated.

“Please,” the boy begged. “You’re the only one who can!”

Daniel couldn’t bear to break the boy’s heart—not when he needed to be brave. “I… I promise.”

“See?” The man kissed his son’s cheek. “Now hide!”

The crowd parted as Daniel neared the wall, and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Daniel turned to find his papa staring at him, his expression hard to read.

“Are you sure you wish to fight with us?” Papa asked.

Daniel yearned to tell his father the truth, but his tongue wouldn’t form the words. There were too many excited faces near them; he couldn’t let them down. “Yes,” he said instead.

Papa’s gaze shifted to the sky. “Then it seems the gods have heard us.”

The enemy’s feet thundered across the valley, urged on by war drums. A slim boy crouching on a stable roof nocked an arrow, but his trembling hands bumped it out of place again. He exhaled a shaky breath, glanced at Daniel, then nodded. Straightening his back, he reloaded the arrow, his arms steady once more.

Daniel raised his sword and the crowd behind him roared. When he fell, which he suspected he would, they’d know the truth: he was nothing more than a boy in hero’s armour. Yet, he decided as he tightened his clammy grip on Hallem’s sword, if he could give them hope—if he could help them put up the fight they deserved—it would all be worth it.

“For Hallem!” a villager cried.

“For us all!” Daniel yelled.

 

***

 

The enemy crashed into the village like a wave, swinging their weapons and screaming. A sword clipped Daniel’s arm, but Hallem’s armour held firm, protecting him while he returned the blow. Blood soaked into the churned-up earth, and the clash of metal filled the air.

The battle raged into the night. Yet, while the army outnumbered the villagers, it could not match their fury. Eventually, Vleron’s army raised their white flag and retreated, leaving the village shaken but intact.

Ale flowed as men returned to their homes, and one small boy smiled as he drifted to sleep, his father’s warm arm wrapped around him.

Some tried to find Hallem after the fight, but he’d disappeared. One swore he returned to the mountain with two angels, although it might have been the drink talking.

As the years passed, the story grew until Hallem destroyed his enemies with fire and turned to ash when the final horn sounded. That was the tale Daniel told his own children as he tucked them into bed each night, his eyes twinkling.

He and his friends never revealed the truth. Sometimes, they told themselves, myths are more powerful than facts.

Daniel always kept the map safe, though.

Just in case.