He begins to dig with the sword, which is cumbersome enough given his relatively small size and the weapon was forged for a grown man. Once again, in-tuned to Dante, the wolf begins to dig herself.
By midday, the two dug a deep hole. When he performs the difficult task of laying his family in the grave, fresh tears sting his eyes. He silently sobs as he finishes piling dirt on them.
“I have no flowers for you both. Christ be with you. My mamma. My sis. You go now to heaven. I know not why I was spared. If it be the Lord’s will to see you avenged, so be it. I was spared for a reason I don’t know. Until I see you both again. I love you. Always will. My heart will burn always.” Fresh tears stain his cheeks. He casually wipes them away.
Although his family did not receive a proper burial in which they are entitled to only adds to his misery. Though he knows it borders on sacrilege, Dante swears an oath to avenge their deaths. He knows someone ordered their deaths, his especially. He only has a name. The Falcon.
Dante smells a familiar and pleasant smell which reminds him of home. He walks out to the source, reaches out and feels the familiar budding flower and its thick stem. It is so strong and resilient; it must be cut with a knife. The plant is beautiful, useful in many applications and can grow almost anywhere. It is safe to eat and can be used in the base of cooking flour. It is the Camillia plant. Dante knows right then what he will call the wolf from then on. Her name is Camillia, the most renowned and resilient of wolves. “Camillia, come hither.” The dog responds and nuzzles her large stout into his open arms.
After several hours at the gravesite crying, dehydration and survival instincts induce Dante into action. He goes back to the fortwagon to retrieve necessary supplies. This time the distance is much too far for him to navigate on his own. If he could see, he would find it difficult to reach the wagon. The forest is a perilous place, especially at night. Camillia senses this and leads the way.
Her sense of direction is extraordinary. When he makes an error, she corrects him with a nudge of her stout or a bite on his smock to lead him in the right direction.
They barely make it to the fortwagon before dusk. Once there, Dante begins to collect useful items for survival. With a dagger he took from a corpse, he cuts several strips of clothing and collects it. They will be indispensable for keeping him warm. He takes several friction rods and beaver fat, which can be used to start a fire and sustain it for long periods of time.
He would have found it impossible to find any of the objects on his own. Camillia, as usual, senses his purpose and directs him with a nudge of her snout. He needs only to say an object, thinks about it, and she directs him to it. Their bond appears to be telepathic.
Dante finds an assortment of cooking utensils, cutlery, branding rods and hunting knives, a sling shot, paper, kindling, pots of jams, dried meats, loafen, queso and starch pudding, which is in solid form, but when heated could be eaten as a custard. He readily shares the dried meats with Camillia.
Dante finds two large knapsacks and deposits these items into them. They sleep in the fortwagon until morning. With the door locked, it is unnecessary for Camillia to keep a vigil and so she sleeps soundly but does not sleep more than a couple of feet from her new adoptee.
Dante sleeps peacefully, dreaming of his family and their happy life together. Unfortunately, he routinely awakes to the harsh reality of his miserable existence with his family dead. Realization brings uncontrollable hysterics.
When he is too exhausted to cry any further, sleep overtakes him. His subconscious state has not aligned with his present state and the horrendous circumstances he is in. So, he is forced back into reality upon waking, causing him to relive the nightmare repeatedly.
Camillia empathizes with him and whimpers when the boy awakes. In his dream state, he retains sight and waking up without it plunges him further into misery. His only refuge is his newly appointed guardian. She is the only thing keeping him from the abyss.
Dante’s excruciating pain afflicts him psychologically and emotionally. He is pragmatic, resilient, and determined to survive. Dante truly believes God has spared him for a reason. A part of him wants to live for the sole purpose of exacting revenge on those who ordered the death of him and his family. Another part of him rebels against this destructive mentality. He is only a boy and justice is better left to those who are in authority.
His father is the advisor to the King. The King will seek justice for what has happened to him on behalf of his father; his father, who abandoned him. His father, who is nowhere to be found when his sister and mother were viciously murdered. His father, who is nowhere to be found when Dante nearly been killed himself and lost his sight.
The longer Dante ponders these things, the harder it is for him to reconcile his feelings towards him. How could his father abandon him like this? Why was he forced to leave him like he did? A deep knot in his stomach churns relentlessly and sends torrents of pain throughout his body. The pain is sharp and brings fresh tears to his eyes. Dante is intuitive to know there is more to the story he doesn’t know. But for now, he hates his father. A seething rage envelopes him in his grip and like an aggressive cancer, he is powerless to stop it.
Eventually, rage gives way to sorrow and sorrow gives way to more hysterical sobs. When he has his fill of crying, he gets up. He becomes proactive. If he is going to survive, he will need to plan. First and foremost, he cannot stay here. They are too close to the road. If anyone is following up with the status of the assassins, Dante will be vulnerable, a sitting duck. He is a marked boy and he cannot trust anyone except his guardian.
With both knapsacks completely full of survival gear, Dante and Camillia leave the comfort yet vulnerability of the fortwagon and search for a safer haven. He puts his faith completely in her paws. She is a survivor and will find suitable shelter. Still, Dante leaves with some misgivings, knowing he will be much further from civilization. “Find shelter girl.” He says.
The command is unnecessary. Camillia leads the way. When Dante ventures too far off her path, she is quick to correct him by brushing up against his legs and redirecting him in the right direction.
In one instance, Dante narrowly averts a patch of poison ivybristle. It would not have been a lethal mistake, but the stinging barbs from the poisonous thorns would have caused painful, itchy welts, lasting for days. Camillia’s incredible sense of smell ascertains this and her maternal instincts causes her to act with expediency, as she would with any of her pups.
Camillia knows exactly where they need to go. Up a rocky, plateau, set inside a rocky outcropping are situated several small caves. The climb will be a laborious one, but it is set far enough away from the road to be a suitable haven; and yet not so far away as to be impractical and burdensome for retrieving game.
In addition, the vantage point allows them to observe potential predators who ventures too closely.
The climb is a treacherous one for Dante, who nearly slips several times. Camillia takes for granted her own physical attributes and traverses the steep slope easily. Her paws are knobby, allowing a sure-footed grip on the steep slope, much like the Billy jacks; and her retractable claws can further adhere to the rocky outcropping.
Unfortunately, Dante is not so well equipped. Several times, she doubles back to ensure he is progressing sufficiently. The boy perseveres relentlessly, despite being exhausted and weighed down with two large knapsacks.
After a couple hours of climbing, Dante and Camillia finally make it to the top of the plateau and find a suitable cave. Several of the caves are filled with burrowing wolverines, the largest and most vicious of rodents. Despite only being twenty pounds, they are quite formidable. Adult wolverines have been known to attack and kill full grown men.
They can burrow, jump over eight times their length and have razor sharp claws which can tear through tree bark. Their teeth are equally menacing and sharp. A small boy would be no match for a group of them. Fortunately, he has Camillia and she would make quick work o
f them if they ventured too close.
Dante and Camillia make camp inside their cozy little cave. Fortunately, it is buffeted against the harsh winds. Still, it is getting late and makes it nearly unbearable inside the cave. Forlorn, cold, hungry and disheveled, Dante musters all the energy he has and makes a rudimentary bed of the clothing that he acquired at the fortwagon.
He wraps himself up in a smock, shivering uncontrollably and begins to cry, unaccustomed to the severe cold and bitter darkness. Camillia responds in kind and immediately curls herself around Dante, a task easily accomplished thanks to Dante’s fetal position. He grabs a hold of her and sleeps that way all night, crying intermittently as he awakes to his nightmarish existence over and over again. As he does, he hugs her even tighter. Although uncomfortable at times, Camillia does not move from that position.
The next day, Dante awakes with Camillia to begin the day. Rather than dwell on his anguish and afflictions, he sets a course for survival. He eats some of the dried meats from his knapsack and drinks water and shares it with his guardian.
Once the rations have been used, she needs her strength reserves since she is the sole provider. He retrieves the friction rod, by which he ignites the fire with beaver fat and maintains the heat with dense moss wood.
That day, Dante and Camillia survey their environment in its entirety, which requires traversing down the treacherous slope. Going down is much easier and Dante feels more invigorated, having eaten. To his surprise, he hears and smells a fresh brook not far away. Once they reach it, he fills up the water moccasin. Camillia laps up the fresh water greedily and Dante takes his fill also.
Dante catches a mental glimpse of jumping trout in the stream. Camillia perks up her ears in response. Astonishingly, Dante picked up the mental projection from Camillia. Holding up one of her massive paws, Camillia retracts her claws and pounces, splashing in the water. In a deft move, she hooks a fish with her claw and transfers it to her mouth. She drops the fish in front of Dante, as if in deference.
Though Dante does not visually witness the events, he nevertheless senses it. When he is presented with the fish, he picks it up and tears off a branch in which to hook it on. So far, so good. Within a few short hours, they found suitable drinking and cooking water and a source for easy meals.
Dante and Camillia further scrutinize their surroundings and he is fortunate, with the strength of Camillia’s nose to find a halenut bush which have several small halenuts ready to be picked. The halenut is a very resilient and hard nut, which cannot be opened by hand. One can use a blunt object to crack the shell and eat the meaty and appetizing core. One could sustain themselves for days, even weeks with halenuts and their small size can easily be carried on long journeys.
Dante possesses more than a rudimentary knowledge of local plants, herbs and fruits and what is safe to eat and not. Unfortunately, without sight he will be at a clear disadvantage. He must rely on Camillia’s powerful nose to steer him away from poisonous and non-edible food.
Dante and Camillia return to the cave. As night brings the inevitable cold throughout the valley, Dante is buffeted against the cold with the sustained fire. Each succeeding day becomes slightly easier. If he can survive the next several months, he believes he can sustain himself for perpetuity. The thought brings an uncontrollable shiver down his spine. He loves his new doting guardian with all his heart, but the possibility of life without people sends him into a fit of melancholy where he cries incessantly and rocks himself back and forth.
He holds on to the belief, however remote, he is destined to be rescued. The other voice in his head also alerts him that wrong people can find him as well and he could be murdered. The man who ordered his death is out there and his orders, unfulfilled. That voice tells him he is better off staying here where he is under the care of a powerful and formidable guardian. Out here, both are vulnerable to men of iron with hard purpose.
And as inevitable as the sun sets in the sky, winter makes its way to the Siemen Valley. The bitter cold comes with it. Despite being cold most of the time, Dante survives. At night, he says a prayer to God and he takes out his figurine of Merlin, saying a prayer to it. A part of him felt foolish for doing so but hopes his prayers will reach him.
Chapter 10: Butchery in Missalia
The day begun as pedestrian as any other in the life of Sylvia, but it did not end that way. The morning of the massacre was as vivid as any other happy time in the girl’s life. It was imprinted on her psyche as stubbornly as an image is imprinted on a coin; for it was the last wholesome memory she had of her childhood before it shattered.
Her father woken her up for school that morning and made a breakfast of egg scramble and porridge fiber as he always has every morning. The family eaten together, and she was off to school; but not before kissing her mother good bye and saying the obligatory ‘I love you.’
Father loaded up the fortwagon for the day’s work at the steam mill and was off. Mother stayed behind at home with the farm and the two dogs, Wally, and Sherman.
On the way to school, father questioned them about their studies and inquired if they were getting along with the kids at school. They responded they both had. He became very quiet and feigned nervousness. He asked the girls if they heard something. They responded they didn’t but listened intently for several seconds. Suddenly, father lets out a loud fart.
Sylvia giggles hysterically, while her older sister rolls her eyes, but reluctantly joins in on the laughter. It is a crude joke and one done many times at the chagrin of Mother, who considers it immature and uncouth. Nevertheless, it brings shrill laughter to her and her sister.
Her father kisses her and her sister goodbye. It will be the last kiss he will ever give her. And they make their way off to school. The town of Missalia is medium-sized, boasts a flourishing economy with a large, modern school house. Instead of all the children having to congregate into one small school room, there are several grade levels, accommodating children from varying ages. Her sister, Adele, is in the upper grade and nearing completion of her education. She dreams of being a medicine woman and finding work in the city of Corith.
Several loud gunshots precede the school bell ringing. Who fired those guns and in such proximity to the school? Some surmised it had something to do with the steam mill. Others assumed some miscreant found the fireworks and was setting them off.
For the first few seconds, the children merely look around at each other, shrug their shoulders and resume their walk. Another set of shots rang out and these shots appear to be closer. The children stop dead in their tracks.
Sylvia never forgets what happened after that. The moment is utterly surreal. When she looks at her teacher, her gaze is locked in place at the horrific scene unfolding, a look of consternation slowly turning to terror. “Inside children, now! Hurry!” As Sylvia and her sister look back, she sees a group of riders who are in a deadly shoot out. There are several constables in the town and Sylvia knows some. They are neighbors, extended family. They are clearly trying to defend their small town from the horde of deadly shooters; but, unfortunately, they are overwhelmed.
Without thinking, her sister grabs her arm and begins to run with her towards the school house. Many of the children are now running at a frantic sprint and some trip and fall along the way. Adele cannot help them. Her sister is her primary concern.
Fortunately for the stragglers, the teacher is deeply obligated to her students and would not have one of them left behind. She yells at them, desperately hoping to instill a sense of urgency and she runs for the stragglers.
Sylvia is paralyzed from the waist up, her feet seeming to run of their own accord and match the speed of her sister. Despite terror seizing her in its clutches, she can’t help but to look at the horrific scene. The last image of the school yard is indelibly burned into her retinas forever. Her teacher, Mrs. Goddfried, picks up a small boy no older than six or seven and begins to race with him back to the school house.
As she is runnin
g, a shotgun blast shoots right through her and the boy, expelling her lifeless corpse through the air and across the yard. The teacher’s torso is positioned at an impossible angle against her legs, as if she were attempting some contortionist act. Intestines and blood flow gush from the hole in her midsection.
Sylvia is no longer frozen in place. She expels a shrill and prolonged scream that could have broken eardrums, were someone close enough. After that moment, everything is so surreal it fogs her memory. Perhaps her memory is repressed. Perhaps it is for the best. She has a vague recollection of hands grabbing her and her sister being hauled off by force and screaming for her. She doesn’t remember crying.
The survivors of the massacre are children and women. The women are kept for morale purposes, to entertain the troops and reward them with the spoils of war. They are raped repeatedly. The men are butchered, alongside their teenage sons, who could pose a viable threat. The angst of teenage boys could induce them into seeking retribution. The children can be used as leverage in negotiations and sold into slavery.
The Visi-Gauls were in direct competition with Herod for the coal mines spreading across the Gobe Desert to the north and the Asterlands to the west. These mines were owned by various tribes along the unincorporated Terraban Territory. The Tribes were migrating from the desert lands and heading West to the Sea of Aspen Way, where temperate climates and abundance of forested lands could better sustain them. The Tribes of the Terraban Territory were not materialistic and did not care about the bounty of profit that could be extracted from the mines.
The Brotherhood of Merlin Page 6