Once out of the front gate, they carefully started down the slope. Arax exhibited a slight limp, and the hardy sky steed whined with the biting pain that it felt from its wound, aggravated further while walking on the ground and supporting its body weight with its legs. Ayenwatha paused a couple of times and spoke soothingly to the beleaguered creature, the arrow shaft still embedded in its blood-matted haunches.
Nearing the base of the hill, a number of villagers came out from the trees and hastened towards the warriors. Their eyes were laden with sorrow and fear, the burden growing even heavier as they noticed the absence of many warriors who had not returned.
Villagers trained in healing arts, including those of the Healing Societies, were immediately summoned to help injured warriors and steeds alike. They guided those who had suffered significant wounds to open spaces amid the trees. Ayenwatha and Arax were helped over to a space in between the prominent roots of an ancient oak tree.
In moments, the arrows in Ayenwatha and Arax were taken out. Ayenwatha was dizzy with the intense flash of pain that he incurred, but he kept his body under control. His steed thrashed madly about, knocking over a couple of villagers that were laboring to restrain the beast. At a few soothing words from Ayenwatha, spoken through gritted teeth, Arax calmed down enough to be led away to where the rest of the sky steeds were being tended. The wounds were then dressed in a makeshift manner, as there was little access to either material or sacred healing herbs.
Litters were hastily fashioned for a couple of the warriors that were very badly injured. The two warriors would likely require the full rituals of the masked Healers, those of the Healing Societies who wore the sacred masks carved from living trees. Ayenwatha and the others were soon relieved to learn that most of the sacred masks in the village had been salvaged, and that most of the members of the Healing Society had survived.
Ayenwatha lay to one side, his wounded shoulder kept off of the ground. He quietly endured the moans of the injured warriors close by, wishing that he could not hear the sounds that brought him more pain than his physical wound.
It had been all that he could bear to suffer the horrid shriek emitted by Arax, when the beloved steed’s arrow had been pulled out. His ears now conveyed without mercy the incessant sounds of crying and lament pouring from his fellow villagers. His heart grew heavy, along with a deadening fatigue that slowly enveloped his body. It took all of his concentration just to confer with the warriors that began to visit him, or to bring him new information.
The word of the extent of the attack and subsequent battle in the sky slowly reached his ears, as he finally rolled over to lie upon his stomach.
Of over thirty courageous riders that had gone into the skies to the defense of the village, only eleven had returned. A couple of riderless Bregas had found their own way back, though the rest of the missing steeds were presumed dead or strayed. The Darroks had indeed been diverted and stymied, but it had been a very costly defense.
The village had taken incredible damage, with nearly every structure absorbing an irreparable amount of destruction. Longhouses had been smashed into so many bits of wood, far past any hope of repair.
The number of killed and wounded villagers, most stemming from the initial onslaught of the unexpected attack, was extensive. Not a single survivor had escaped the devastation without having lost a member of their family, a friend, or a child.
As the various dire tidings continued to stream in, Ayenwatha tried to make some sense of the dreary situation. His understanding of it brought to bear a sobering notion.
With the first shadow of the Darroks falling upon the village, and the first large stone to crash into the village’s midst, the people of the Five Realms found themselves in a full state of war with the Unifier. Ayenwatha could not deny that his first thoughts were melancholy, if not devoid of hope. He could not see how the tribes could defend their realm against a power that commanded such hellishly fearsome weapons of war.
The war would likely become one of attrition, a struggle that would be impossible to sustain for the tribes, which had never been great in numbers. The losses suffered in just one melee had been devastating to the village’s sky steeds and warriors.
Their losses could not be replaced, while the Unifier could draw upon the warriors of many rulers and lands.
It was inconceivable to think of rebuilding, as the villagers could not begin to think of any reconstruction when winged titans could manifest at any moment to reduce a village to splinters in such an incredibly short span of time. Nonetheless, the fight would have to be fought, come whatever may. It would be an existential battle, waged against annihilation or capitulation.
Ayenwatha clenched his teeth as a spasm of pain wracked him, prompting him to shift his body a little.
The handful of sky warriors had indeed been successful in driving off the attackers. They had also been able to limit the casualties to far below what they would have been had the enemy been allowed free reign in the skies above the village. Once the village had been destroyed, the enemy could well have searched out the villagers as they fled and tried to regroup away from the hill, levying even more carnage and death.
While it was true that a great number of the enemy Trogens had been slain, all of the huge flying beasts that they had arrived on would be returning to their camps alive. The Darroks would soon be outfitted with mended carriages, fresh supplies, and rested warriors to ride them. It was also likely that new precautions would be taken, bearing in mind the approach that Ayenwatha and Sky Arrow had used to render the one Darrok’s harnessing unstable.
What was certain was that the next time a force of Darroks came there would be little to nothing that could stop them from raining a torrent of destruction down upon all of the forest villages.
Ayenwatha had also not forgotten that just beyond the western borders of the Five Realms’ lands, large columns of enemy warriors had been arriving and assembling. His own war parties had shadowed such formations, and he knew that they were not just a demonstration of force meant to intimidate. The Unifier’s emissaries had been unequivocal when the Grand Council had rejected the demand to submit to Avanor’s insatiable ruler. The Five Realms were declared hostile enemies of the Unifier, and all those in His burgeoning alliance.
Ayenwatha was under no illusions. The forces massing on the western borders of the tribal lands would soon be invading the territory of the Five Realms, joining their strength to the attacks from the skies.
Ayenwatha knew that he would have to approach the village elders about the only option available to them: the evacuation of all of the villages, and a retreat into the eastern region of their lands.
The villages were very vulnerable to the horrifying new method unveiled by the Unifier. Situated on the cleared summits of hills, they were exposed. The unanticipated attack at night was coldly brilliant, as the enemy knew that the village population would be gathered almost entirely within the palisades. Fires within the village perimeter had probably been used as beacons for the enemy to hone in on the village from the air. There was little question that as long as the enemy had the use of the titanic Darroks, the villages were little more than death traps.
Though there was no denying the realities, it was a tremendously difficult burden to embrace. The land, for a member of one of the tribes, was an intimate part of who they were, interwoven with their very identity. It was what they had always known, an enduring gift of the One Spirit that had always bestowed the means of life to their people for so many generations. The notion of being uprooted in their own lands was unthinkable to any villager, much less a great war sachem.
Circumstances had become mercilessly cruel, and that which would have otherwise been thought unacceptable was now the only viable course of action. There was no other choice, Ayenwatha ruefully acknowledged. If they were to stay in their villages, they would be easy targets for an enemy that would inevitably gain mastery of undefended skies, while simultaneously assaulting the tribes wi
th their many thousands upon the ground.
Ayenwatha had never felt more despondent in his life.
“Ayenwatha,” interrupted a low, steady voice.
Ayenwatha slowly looked up, to see the familiar and quite welcome form of Deganawida standing near to him. Ayenwatha gingerly rotated back to brace himself on his strong side, the effort tedious with the weariness that continued to sap his energy.
The village headman and Grand Council sachem looked a little older to Ayenwatha’s eyes, his luminous, dark eyes gazing down upon the injured war sachem. Behind the taut expression on the Deganawida’s face, Ayenwatha knew that the man was sharing his agony, undoubtedly to an even greater degree.
Despite the physical and mental pains that he was struggling with, a spark of joy nonetheless had leaped up within him at the recognition that Deganawida had survived the terrible raid. A soothing breeze of relief washed all over him, allowing Ayenwatha a brief respite from the withering heat of the inner and outer agonies that he was suffering.
“You fought well … so very well, against all odds and hope,” Deganawida continued after a moment, the unwavering tone of his voice hinting at the substantial inner strength present in the venerable sachem. “You fought so very bravely, for us all. Others have told me how you drove the great sky beasts off, and how you and Sky Arrow disabled one in the face of incredible risk.”
No small amount of pride effused the words of the great sachem, though Ayenwatha was not in a condition to take any joy from accolades. “It was what we had to do. But they will return, and we lost two of every three that went up to face them,” Ayenwatha replied, in a low, heavy voice, not wishing anyone else to hear the biting pessimism that was rife within him.
“And you must already know that none of the other villages are safe … and that no tribe is safe … and that no man, woman, or child can remain within a village site. You also know of the army that masses to enter our lands, which they certainly will, and very soon indeed,” Deganawida replied firmly, the look in his eye conveying that he understood Ayenwatha fully.
Ayenwatha nodded, not entirely surprised to hear such candid words from the old sachem. Deganawida had never been one to waste time trying to sweeten a bitter truth. Ayenwatha knew right then that the old sachem would agree with him about what had to be done.
“It must be done … the villages must be abandoned,” Deganawida stated, confirming Ayenwatha’s thoughts, as if he had spoken them aloud. Deganawida then spoke in a lowered, compassionate tone, like that of a father giving the wisdom of a hard lesson learned to a suffering son. “Remember … though it is a very cruel time, and though your heart may become all too heavy in the trial to come … it is the people that are the land, and the land that is in the people. That is the wisdom you must hold fast to within your mind, and in your heart. … The people are the land. They are the tribes. They are the Five Realms. Do not forget these truths. As long as you know this, you and yours will never be lost, even if we have to keeping moving as we seek new refuges within our own lands.”
The old sachem held Ayenwatha’s gaze, seeming to drive the sentiments deep into his being by the sheer force of his will. Deganawida’s face had softened into an affectionate smile, his eyes echoing the sadness that Ayenwatha was being tormented by.
The sounds of many hurried footsteps preceded the arrival of a couple of young tribal warriors, both of whom had a look of resolve ingrained on their faces.
They held some thin leather thongs, strung with shells, each thong itself tied to a rough, rectangular piece of wood. Coming to a full stop, they looked expectantly towards Deganawida, who eyed the combinations of shell-strung thongs with attached wood sticks with a look that brooked a hint of relief.
“We were able to enter your quarters from the side, great sachem. The entrances to your longhouse have been completely destroyed … but much of your chamber was left intact,” one of the warriors announced. “We found these with little trouble.”
“A small bit of good fortune in this darkness. Two notches on each … and make haste,” Deganawida then instructed them. “And tell the sachems of each village to move all their people out of their villages and into the forest immediately, without delay. That must be done now. Tell them everything of what has happened here. Spare no detail, no matter how terrible. They must understand what they face, and your account of it may mean all the difference in gaining their cooperation. They must gain the wisdom to empty their villages, before they make their way here two days from now.”
Ayenwatha knew that Deganawida’s words were no understatement. Unlike rulers in Gallea, Deganawida could not command others outright. He could only urge consensus, and employ persuasion to reach it.
The warriors nodded dutifully, before turning and breaking into a run. Their forms were quickly swallowed up in the darkness, leaving the other two alone again.
“Change has been forced upon us, and we cannot go back,” Ayenwatha reflected ruefully.
“Change to the world, perhaps … but not within us, Ayenwatha,” Deganawida corrected him, giving a small smile of encouragement to the vigorous warrior. “It is why we will bend no knee to this Unifier. It is why we will fight.”
“How can we hope to fight? I lost many of my best warriors this very night,” Ayenwatha lamented, concentrating hard not to let his voice choke with the emotion abruptly welling up in him.
His thoughts drifted back to Sky Arrow, and the others that he had seen falling to terrible deaths. As if accenting his feelings, his wounded shoulder continued to throb with a dull pain.
“Our people will find a way. The sons of the World Mother will continue their war, as they have through all time. What may come of their fight is not for us to say, though we know that the Dark Brother has his hand in this time of peril. Remember, the fire dragon helped the World Mother. Perhaps we will find our own fire dragon, in days to come,” Deganawida said.
The words brought Ayenwatha back to the many times he had heard the stories told regarding their treasured heritage when he was just a boy. They had impressed many things upon his young heart, not the least of which was that the path of good, honorable men and women often led through periods of great turmoil.
“Then we must not lose heart. There will be no fire dragon if we do,” he replied after a few moments, seeing the sliver of light that Deganawida was focused upon.
“That is what I am saying to you, Ayenwatha,” Deganawida confirmed gently.
The old man lowered himself down to one knee. For having lived so many years, the old man still exhibited supple movements. Deganawida raised his right hand, which Ayenwatha now noticed was balled into a tight fist. Slowly, he opened his fingers to reveal a dark patch of ash lying within his palm.
“You must keep your strength. Your mind. And your body,” Deganawida said softly, as he blew the ashes in his palm.
The small cloud of ash covered Ayenwatha’s face, and he reflexively flinched and shut his eyes.
It felt as if a blast of hot, searing wind coursed over his skin, as the ashes settled along his body. As he opened his eyes once again, he felt the tiredness seeping swiftly out of him. The throbbing pain in his shoulder rapidly ebbed, until the last dull aches were completely gone.
For a long moment Ayenwatha was silent, in a state of bewilderment at the sudden shifts in his body. Gingerly, and methodically, he moved his left arm, and felt no sign of discomfort from the shoulder area. It was as if he had never been injured. His whole body felt as if he was fully rested, abounding with energy. Ayenwatha drew himself up into a cross-legged, sitting position, and looked up in wonder at Deganawida.
“Did you think that you knew everything about me?” the old sachem said, smiling, in a brief moment of mirth. “When you are younger, you feel as if you have all answers. When older, you realize how few answers you do have. Maybe I still have a few surprises left, even for the likes of you, my bold young friend.”
Ayenwatha smiled warmly back at Deganawida, his spirits b
uoyed up by the radiant presence of the seemingly tireless old man.
The elder women of the village had selected Deganawida to be the village’s headman many years ago, at an age most uncommon for assuming the highest position of influence in the village.
Ayenwatha had known Deganawida as the village’s leader ever since he was a young boy. It was said that Deganawida had come to the village not long before Ayenwatha was born, having been discovered by a war party. He had been wandering about the woodlands in a disheveled state, without memory of where he had come from, or what had happened to him. The war party had brought Deganawida back to be adopted by the village.
Whatever his origins were, and whatever trauma he had been through, his wisdom was soon demonstrated to be far beyond his years. His kindness and generosity shined forth in the years that followed, and all within the village were bettered by his presence among them.
It was almost a foregone conclusion when he was appointed as the headman of the village. The wise clan matrons, who alone held the authority to remove a headman, had never once called his guidance of their village into question.
Wise in council, and unsurpassed in compassion, Deganawida’s reputation had spread quickly among the villages and tribes. Soon, a great number of village headmen and other sachems found themselves deferring to his sagacity, and he had risen to become the most influential and respected man among the Onan.
When the Onan sachem holding the most prominent seat on the Grand Council had gone from the world to the abode of the One Spirit and the heaven lands, the clan matrons, after having conducted all condolence rites, had appointed Deganawida to the exalted position.
His judicious nature and keen insight stood forth at the unified council that took in all five tribes. Known well among the Onan, he soon became beloved by the other tribal sachems. The ascension brought greater honor to Ayenwatha’s tribe. A generous spirit prevailed, as there was no envy or jealousy among the other sachems for the tremendous regard given to Deganawida.
Crown of Vengeance Page 63