by Nicole René
The sound of loud shouts woke Leawyn up. She quickly threw the thick furs off her and marched to the opening of her tent to see what the commotion was.
She stopped in shock, taking in the men who’d rushed the front of the camp. Stepping out fully, she saw Tyronian run past her.
“Tyronian!” Leawyn called, grabbing onto his arm to stop him. “What’s going on?”
Tyronian grabbed her and started to push her back towards her tent. “Get back inside, Leawyn!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed.
“Get inside, Leawyn!” he yelled at her, pushing her one last time towards her tent. She stopped her struggling at his raised voice.
“Tyronian!”
Tyronian’s head shot up to look over his shoulder before he turned back to Leawyn. “Go to the tent and don’t come out until I get you!”
Leawyn could only nod before he ran off.
She burst into her tent, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She could still hear the men running all around the camp, seemingly in a panic. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She would be safe. Nothing would happen to her, she was surrounded by Izayges warriors.
Yes, but, what happens if something happens to them?
Leawyn blinked.
Her head whipped to the side at the sound of feet coming towards her. She backed up slightly, looking around for anything sharp she could maybe use to protect herself. Before she could even grab something, the tent flap flipped open and Tristan burst in. Leawyn breath rushed out of her, relieved. Smiling, she walked towards him, only to freeze in her tracks, her smile dropping.
Tyronian came in next, his arms around a slumped form.
“Oh Gods!” Leawyn gasped out, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
Leawyn stared in shock at the arrow sticking out of her husband’s shoulder, dangerously close to his heart.
Tyronian and Tristan carried Xavier’s slumped form over to the bed quickly and sat him down, sliding his arms off their shoulders.
Xavier slumped to the side, and only due to Tyronian’s quick reflexes did he not fall sideways off the bed.
“We need to get the arrow out,” Tristan told Tyronian grimly, who nodded in agreement.
Leawyn watched, still in shock, as Tristan took out a small knife and started to cut away Xavier’s bloody clothes until his chest was bare. Her head snapped up to look at Tyronian when he said her name.
“We’ll need someone to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding when we cut the arrow out,” Tyronian said softly but sternly, looking her in the eyes. Leawyn could only nod, swallowing against the bile that rose in her throat. She walked over to the bed.
“We’ll have to push the arrow forward. It looks like it went all the way through,” Tristan said, looking at Xavier’s back where the point of the arrow was visible. Tristan brought his knife up, and Leawyn had to look away when he started to cut the flesh around the arrow wound, trying to ensure it wasn’t attached to bone.
“Get ready.”
It was Leawyn’s only warning as Tristan snapped off the fletching before shoving the arrow forward, where Tyronian then grabbed onto it from the other side and yanked it out in one fluid motion. Xavier gave a coarse shout of pain before he slumped forward again.
Leawyn had to quickly swallow down the urge to vomit as blood gushed from Xavier’s wound and she caught him, pressing the cloth she held in her shaking hands against him firmly. The blue cloth quickly became red, soaked with Xavier’s blood.
“Poison!” Tristan spat, throwing the arrow head to the floor in disgust.
“We have to get it out of him, before it spreads.”
“How do we know it didn’t already? Who knows how long he’s had that arrow in.”
“We don’t have a choice!”
Leawyn looked up as a set of hands rested on her shoulders. Her eyes, full of helpless tears, met Tristan’s as he looked down at her.
“Go outside, Leawyn,” he told her softly, helping her rise to her feet and gently taking the soaked cloth away from her bloody hands.
“We’ll get you when you can come back.”
Leawyn nodded stiffly, still in shock as she ducked under his arm and out into the cold night air.She took a couple steps before she tensed and whipped around to look at the tent.She stared at it in wide-eyed horror as her husband’s deep voice echoed out in a pained scream.A tear made its way down her cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut, and she flinched when another pained scream made its way to her ears.
A distressed whinny from a solid black stallion caught her attention as he paced from side to side, rearing up when some of the men tried to grab the reins to hold him. Before Leawyn could comprehend what she was doing, sherushed over to the horse.
“Stop!” she cried, grabbing a man’s arm who was holding onto one of the reins. “Stop, let go!” she said desperately as the horse reared up in distress.
“My lady, he’s too dangerous for you to—”
“Drop the reins!” Leawyn yelled, interrupting him. “Drop them now!”
The men slowly did as she asked, having no choice but to follow her orders as the Lady Chief. The stallion reared again, landing on his feet and pawing the ground while he paced sideways.
“Easy!” Leawyn soothed, putting her arms out in front of her as the stallion snorted angrily, throwing his head in agitation.
“Easy now! Easy!” Leawyn said again gently, keeping her hands out in front of her and bending her body inward in a nonthreatening manner. The horse increasingly calmed down at her gentle ministrations. Gradually, his agitated pacing slowed until it came to a complete stop with one last throw of his head.
“There, see? All better,” Leawyn whispered to the horse as she pet his huge nose. The horse snorted, nudging her in the shoulder. She laughed.
“He usually doesn’t let anyone touch him.”
Leawyn looked up at the sound of Tristan’s voice, zeroing in on his bloody tunic. His shoulders were slumped, and she could see the distress in his brown eyes.
Leawyn swallowed as her throat suddenly became uncomfortably dry. She looked away from him and back down to the stallion’s nose that was currently resting against her breast.
“How come?”
Tristan took a step towards her, eying her curiously.
“He’s Xavier’s horse, Killix.”
“Killix.” Leawyn smiled, running her hands down the horse’s velvety nose. Killix let out another content snort. “It suits him.”
Leawyn patted Killix’s muscled neck before stepping away and meeting Tristan’s gaze once again.
“You can go see him now.”
Leawyn hesitated. She was afraid of what she would find inside her tent. She stumbled forward when a nudge was given to her back.
Leawyn turned to see Killix’s big form following her.
“That wasn’t very nice.” Leawyn glared at Killix, who only snorted at her, before she made her way back to the tent.
The heavy hoof-falls assured her Killix was right behind her.
“Is he . . . ?” Leawyn trailed off, staring at the still, sweating form of her husband.
Tyronian sighed as he pushed himself from his kneeling position by the bed to stand next to Leawyn.
“He’s weak. The arrow was poisoned. We got out as much as we could, but only time will tell if we got it all,” Tyronian said grimly, staring at the form of his cousin and leader sadly.
Tyronian sighed and rested his massive hand on Leawyn’s shoulder, making her jump. “I’ll take my leave now.”
Leawyn could only nod, her eyes never leaving her husband’s form.
“Leawyn?”
Leawyn looked to Tyronian, who was staring at her, one hand holding the flap of the tent.
“He needs you now,” Tyronian told her softly. He looked at Xavier’s form lying on the bed before looking back at Leawyn one last time and disappearing outside.
Leawyn stood staring at the space
Tyronian occupied a moment ago before she slowly turned around so that she was facing her husband.
She took a slow, measured step towards the bed.
Then another.
Then another.
And another.
Before she knew it, Leawyn was looking down at her husband with a blank expression on her face.
His bare chest was covered in sweat. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven pants. Dried blood covered him from his hair to his waist. His shoulder was already turning an angry red against the crude bandages covering the wound.
Her hands brushed his forehead, feeling that it was warm. Fever was already starting to set in. Leawyn pulled her hand away, and it was then she noticed the bloody dagger at her feet.
As if in a trance, Leawyn picked it up, holding it in front of her face. She glanced back down to her husband. Her eyes narrowed, her brows creased together. Her lips thinned into a tight line. Her breast rose and fell with ragged pants as she held her shaking hand out, the dagger glistening off the fire light as she held it against his throat.
It would be so easy . . .
So easy to end his life and make her escape. Leawyn would be free from his terrible treatment. She could run away. She could save herself. Take Deydrey, and run.
Leawyn pressed the dagger into Xavier’s skin, watching in fascination as beads of blood slowly swelled and dripped off the blade.
Do it, her mind whispered. Save yourself. He deserves it.
All she had to do was move her wrist, and she’d slit his throat.
Leawyn exhaled shakily and pulled her hand away, the dagger clattering to the floor. With a deep, mournful sigh, she sat down heavily beside Xavier on the bed, her shoulders sagging as the tension left her.
She picked up the wet rag from the basin of water beside the bed and lightly wiped the beads of blood away from her husband’s throat, and then started to dab it all over his head and body, trying to relieve his fever.
She was going to regret this.
THE VILLAGE WAS on fire.
All around him was chaos, the screams of the women in the village almost drowned out the clashing of metal as the warriors defended themselves against the men attacking them. It was a fierce battle, but the Izayges tribe was filled with the fiercest warriors of Samaria, and they would not go down easily.
Xavier looked around wildly, taking in the scene around him as he tried desperately to locate his father or mother. He was on the verge of panic when he finally spotted his father fighting with a massive man wielding a huge hammer.
His father’s clothes were almost as bloody as the sword he wielded, his face locked in a look of concentration. Though the man his father was fighting was big, Xavier knew his father was going to slay him.
It only took a minute more before Xavier’s father ducked under the swing of the hammer and sprung up, spinning his body around, and with ease, delivered the finishing blow by severing his head.
Xavier’s relief was cut short when his eyes spotted the man behind his father. An arrow aimed straight at him.
“Father!” Xavier screamed loudly, running to him as fast as his seven-year-old legs could carry him.
Xavier’s father whipped his head around, eyes darting through chaos around him before he spotted Xavier running towards him.
“Behind you!” Xavier screamed again, but his warning came too late.
Xavier watched in horror as the man holding the bow released the arrow and pierced his father’s back.
Xavier’s father raised his eyes to his son’s, looking at him for what Xavier knew would be the last time.
Goroth, Xavier’s father, looked up as a shadow fell over him, staring at the man in the eyes to bravely meet his fate. His attacker smiled, his rotten teeth showing as he readied another arrow to Goroth’s head for the finishing blow.
“NO!”
Xavier let out a scream of pained anger as he swung a sword at the legs of his father’s attacker, cutting them deeply.
The man bellowed as he fell forward, catching himself with one hand on the ground. He slowly turned his head to look at Xavier, his lips curling above his rotten teeth in a deadly snarl. Xavier swallowed thickly, raising the sword up in front of him and trying not to show his fear as the man stalked towards him.
He swatted Xavier’s sword away easily and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him until their eyes met.
“Foolish boy,” he snarled, tightening his grasp on Xavier’s throat. “Now you die!”
The man raised his sword high over his head, ready to cut Xavier in half when he suddenly jerked. Pain flashed across his face as he dropped Xavier.
Xavier crumbled to the ground. He jerked back up, only to watch the man fall face forward as his uncle pulled out his sword from the barbarian’s back.
Xavier scrambled to his feet and ran to his father, skidding on the grass to kneel in front of him.
“Father?” Xavier asked shakily, putting his hand on his father’s shoulder.
His father looked up at him weakly, blood soaked his chest and spilled over his lip.
“Take care of your mother,” his father gasped out, blood spitting out with each word he spoke.
“I will, Father,” Xavier promised thickly. He held his father’s eyes and watched as the life disappeared behind them, replaced with emptiness.
Xavier bowed his head. A firm hand was placed on his shoulder, and he looked up into his uncle’s grave face.
“Find your mother, and get out of here as fast you can,” Xavier’s uncle told him sternly. “Hurry!” he shouted, throwing Xavier forward just before he managed to block another sword coming down at them.
Xavier raced forward, dodging fighting bodies in his search for mother.
By the time the battle was over, all the invading men were either dead or driven away.
Xavier stared down at the corpse in front of him impassively. The arrow protruding from the man’s throat was a sure sign he was dead.
His mother’s bow was still clenched in his tiny hand. The battle won wasn’t without a price.
That day, both of Xavier’s parents died.
He failed. He broke the last promise he’d made to his father.
That day, Xavier made his first kill at seven years old
That day was the day Xavier lost his innocence and became the youngest and fiercest warrior in Izayges history.
HE HAD A FEVER.
Leawyn stared at her husband as she lightly rubbed the cool cloth over his hot and sweaty forehead. His condition had grown progressively worse since he was brought in four days ago. The arrow wound was ghastly; the red and black edges of the burn inflicted by Tyronian and Tristan to stop the bleeding were now covered in green puss.
Signs of infection.
Though no one said anything, Leawyn could tell they did not think he would survive.
It was all over their faces.
She leaned back and wiped an arm across her forehead and sighed. Her eyes closed in exhaustion. She had been awake all night caring for her abusive husband. Why?
She still had no idea.
Her eyes opened at the sound of a low moan. Her attention turned back to Xavier.
He was moaning in his sleep, his eyes flickering back and forth behind his closed lids. He was thrashing slightly, his hands clenched in tight fists.
Leawyn watched him for a moment, her brows creasing. He gave another moan, jerking forward in the bed as if he were struggling against something. She leaned forward, tilting her head to the side to listen to his quiet mumbling, trying to make sense of the words.
“Mother . . . !”
She jerked in surprise at his coarse shout.
“No . . . ! Please . . .”
At that tortured whisper, Leawyn couldn’t take it anymore. She leaned back and softly ran her hands through his sweaty and matted hair. When he continued to moan and thrash, without thinking, she started to sing softly under her breath.
Go home,
be free.
Like a swift breeze across the rolling green planes,
to the mighty mountain range.
Lay down the bloody blade of the dead,
lay ye weary head.
Her voice was very soft, whisper-like at first, but it seemed to be working. Xavier’s struggles lessened. She sang louder.
Fight the wind and the rain,
fight against the pain in your heart. Be strong, be smart.
Fight, you’ll see. You will come home to your mountains.
Stay here now, between the green trees, your home waits for thee.
Be free.
Go home.
Home to me.
Finally, he stopped struggling completely and his moans quieted on the last note.
Leawyn sighed in relief and gently pulled the thick furs over Xavier’s body again.
She stood, stretching her tired and sore limbs. She’d been cooped up in the tent for days, and she needed some air.
Leawyn checked on her husband one more time, and seeing he was still resting quietly, she went outside.
She was only a little startled to see it was nighttime. Most of the men were lying on the ground next to the fires. She looked to her right, seeing that her guard tonight was Hassef, a young man not much older than she. She smiled a little and shook her head when she noticed he was sleeping, soft snores escaping him.
She’d hate to wake him, but someone needed to be with Xavier in case he woke up. Leawyn walked over to Hassef and shook his shoulder to rouse him.
She stepped back when Hassef jerked awake, bringing his sword up with him. He had a moment of confusion in which he looked at his surroundings. She had to giggle when he blinked up at her.
“Lady Chief!” Hassef gasped, jumping to his feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you there!”
“Yes, I imagine it’s hard to notice anything when one is asleep,” Leawyn teased.
Hassef’s cheeks had a slight red color to them when he ducked his head in embarrassment and shame. “Sorry, Lady Chief. I-I failed in my duties.”
Leawyn shook her head, resting her delicate hands on his shoulder. “I was merely teasing you, Hassef. I am not mad.” She gave him a reassuring smile when he looked up at her hesitantly.