by Olivia Kerr
His religion did not interfere with the fact that he believed leaders should be fair and just, and take all viewpoints into account before making a choice. His co-commander, Lewis, was a fair and just man as well, and the two of them found that they got along as if they had known each other all their lives. Cameron wasn’t sure whether Lewis was a pagan or a Christian. Lewis was the first person Cameron had ever met that made him feel as if religion did not have to divide the country. It was as if Lewis was born to lead an army—nothing seemed to bother him, and he never took offense to anything that was said. On the battlefield, he fought well, but when it was over, he had an easygoing smile and a soft attitude that sometimes made people think they could take advantage of his kindness.
Cameron liked to think that he was similar to Lewis, but he knew that he was a bit harder, a bit rougher, and a bit more forceful in his beliefs and desires. Nevertheless, their differences seemed to compete with them, and they led their army as a force to be concerned with.
Someday, Cameron wasn’t sure that their force—or any force—would win the war. He knew that whatever happened would be God’s will, but they had a string of losses recently, and Cameron wasn’t sure they would recover the morale they had before the last few skirmishes.
He intended to walk down the road to the cathedral this morning and take in the early Mass service before anyone was awake. Because the army spent most of the day in drills, and most of the night awake and rowdy, there was hardly time for him to sneak away. He found that the sunrise service was one that he could always attend, even if it meant that he was sleep-deprived.
He took a swig of water from his flask and started his careful journey through the camp. He would have walked past all of the tents without a word had he not noticed faint candlelight coming from Lewis’s tent. He paused outside of it and listened to see if Lewis was actually awake or if he had just left the candle burning.
“Come in,” Lewis said, and Cameron smiled. He wasn't sure how Lewis heard him, but he lifted the tent flap and ducked in, regardless.
“Good morning,” Lewis said. He was sitting against the tent wall, writing by candlelight. It was still mostly dark, and the candle had been burnt almost to the quick.
“Have you slept at all?” Cameron asked him and Lewis smiled. It didn't matter whether he had slept or eaten in the last day or two; Lewis was always in a good mood.
“I have,” Lewis said. “I promise. But I was awoken by a thought, and I wanted to write it down before I forgot it.”
“Something to do with battle?” Cameron asked.
Lewis shook his head. “No. Renovations to my father’s house. He has been talking for months in his letters about wanting to build a hedge maze, and I had a dream about the perfect one.”
Cameron chuckled. “I do not know how you have room in your mind for such thoughts,” he said. “I dream about battle every day and every night. I look into my stew and see tactics and strategies.”
Lewis smiled. “Well, that’s not quite true, is it?” he asked. “You are making your way to the cathedral now, aren’t you? That is a thought outside of battle.”
“I am making my way to the cathedral to pray for guidance about the upcoming battle,” Cameron said. “So I am not sure that counts.”
Lewis smiled and put his quill back in his inkwell. “All quiet on your side of the camp?”
“Yes,” Cameron said. “Although it just quieted down. The last one stopped talking not long ago.”
“So I suppose I should be the one asking if you got any sleep,” Lewis said. Cameron let out a yawn in answer.
“I see. Perhaps you would consider skipping Mass this morning?”
“I would not,” Cameron replied. “It invigorates me. I am sure all will be well upon my return.”
“Perhaps,” Lewis said, as he looked out the open tent flap. “The sun will be fully risen soon. Do not mind if you take your time coming back. We drilled nearly an hour longer than usual yesterday, so we shall give the troops a slightly later start this morning.”
“I am not opposed to this,” Cameron said. “I just wonder if it will make any difference at all.”
Lewis gave him a confused look. “What do you mean by that?”
“Our record has not been strong lately,” Cameron replied. “And I am not sure how the troops will take another defeat.”
“I understand,” Lewis said. “That is why there will not be another loss.”
Cameron gave him a half-smile. “You are certain of that, are you?” he asked.
“I have no reason not to be,” he said, and shrugged. “We have worked on attack synchronization for nearly a week, and I would say we are damn near perfect. In addition, thinking we are going to lose does not do me any good.”
Cameron shook his head. “Perhaps I should pray for an attitude like yours, Lewis,” he said. “Or perhaps I should pray for a miracle.”
“I don’t mind what you pray for,” Lewis replied, “as long you are well-rested for today’s exercises.”
“I’ll be alright,” Cameron said, and then glanced at the scrolls on Lewis’s makeshift writing space. “Has your father joined the battle yet?”
“No,” Lewis said. “I am not an heir. I am the youngest child, and by many years. My father is far too old to fight, and even he accepts that.”
“I see,” Cameron said. “Do you worry that you will not see him again?”
“Sometimes,” Lewis said. “That is why I try to write to him often. If something happens to me, I would hope that he would get one last letter from me, after he gets the news.”
“I meant...if something happens to him,” Cameron said.
“My father is far too stubborn to slip away without all his children making it to his bedside,” Lewis said. “I am sure your father is the same.”
“I am not so certain,” Cameron said. “You have met my father, and you know that he does whatever suits him.”
“Speaking of him, we have not received the weekly packet of orders,” Lewis said. “When you are in town, can you inquire if there is a messenger? Perhaps he stopped overnight at the inn, as he sometimes does?”
“Yes,” Cameron said. “I am sure that will be the case. My father would never allow us to operate under our own volition.”
“I am sure he would, eventually,” Lewis said. “He has more experience in battle than us, so I welcome the weekly packets.”
“I see,” Cameron said. Lewis astounded him sometimes. “I should hurry, or I will be late.”
“I will see you soon,” Lewis said and turned back to his writing. Cameron let the tent flap fall behind him, and began walking into town at a brisk pace. He let out another yawn and looked up at the faint stars that were still in the sky.
What is your plan for me, God? he thought, as he walked. He asked this question nearly every day, and so far, he had not had an answer. He knew that God didn’t speak on command, and he never questioned his faith, but it would be easier to drag himself out of bed now and again if there was an answer from the sky.
As he walked, he found himself focusing on one particularly bright star. It seemed more silver than the others—perhaps because it was brighter—and it seemed to be sparkling from certain angles.
He kept his eyes on it as long as he could.
Is this a sign? Am I supposed to follow the star, as the three wise men did into Bethlehem? Am I supposed to understand what God means by a single sparkling star? Or is it just a consistency—a consequence of waking up just before dawn?
Cameron wished, not for the first time, that there was someone in his life who he could discuss such thoughts with. He didn’t think he would take a wife, but did that not mean he would never find someone to discuss things with?
He did consider Lewis a friend, most of the time, but he also found Lewis frustrating to talk to because nothing seemed to bother him or slow him down. Cameron felt uncomfortable approaching him about the thoughts that swirled in his mind at times, as Lewis would su
rely have no trouble with any difficult thoughts.
Soon, the steeple of the church came into sight, and Cameron breathed a sigh of relief. For the next hour, his thoughts would be given up to God. He hoped that he would find peace, or at least a path forward.
He had no idea that the biggest trouble of his life was on its way.
2
Cameron was exhausted by nightfall. He did not think that a day of drills could drain him, but he had also pushed himself to work harder, jump higher, and swing with more force than most of his men. As the commander, he felt the need to be better, stronger, and faster. His chiseled body did not fail him, and the men actually applauded him by the end of the session. However, when he finally lay down for the night, he felt his muscles begin to ache.
Does this mean we will win, Lord? He sent up a sleepy thought to the heavens as he rolled over, trying to get comfortable. Sleeping in a tent was never comfortable, but he usually managed to find one position that served him well. He finally found one after several minutes of tossing and turning, and was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a voice outside his tent.
“Cameron,” said Lewis, in a hushed whisper.
Cameron groaned and sat up. There was something about Lewis's voice that told him he did not want to just talk about the day.
He pulled his shawl around his shoulders and stuck his head outside the tent.
“What?” he asked. It came out a little harsher than he meant it to, but Lewis, as always, was not bothered.
“Come with me. We need to see someone,” Lewis said.
That got Cameron’s attention. He got up slowly and stretched.
“What's happened?” he asked. “Because, by God, if it’s Jordan again—”
“No, no one is trouble,” Lewis said. “We have visitors.”
“At this time of night?” Cameron asked, confused. He and Lewis slowly made their way across the sea of tents. “Who are they?”
“They are from your father,” Lewis said.
Cameron followed Lewis into his tent. Lewis’s tent was grander than Cameron’s, for no other reason than Lewis preferred it. Cameron had given up most of his worldly possessions when he chose his religion, and even in battle, he found that he needed very little. The only reason he could see to have such a large tent was this reason.
Inside Lewis’s tent, there was a very old man that Cameron thought he recognized. The man had long dreadlocks and a scar across his face. If Cameron didn’t know him, he was certain that he heard stories of this man.
“Cameron, this is David,” Lewis said. David turned to him and handed over a letter with Cameron’s father’s seal on it.
“My liege,” he said. “We are at your service, by way of your father.”
Cameron was about to ask why he spoke in the plural form, as he was the only one there. Instead, he opened the letter and scanned it quickly. His brow furrowed when he read it.
“Do you know what this says?” he asked Lewis.
He nodded. “David has informed me of some of the details. Your father has sent us a gift, from the gods themselves, in order to help win the war.”
“I see,” Cameron said. He didn’t want to blurt out that he thought it was rubbish. “Well, that’s very generous of him, but—”
“Your father has been very generous indeed,” David said. “My...protegee and I have traveled far and wide, and we believe that the gods themselves have put us in the path of your father.”
“And what does he want you to do, exactly?" Cameron asked. “Simply stand there and bring us luck?”
“Oh no,” David said. “We will do much more than that. There is much to reveal in the coming days, I promise you.”
Cameron finally realized where he knew this man from. He had seen him as a child, traveling the countryside and claiming to be full of magic. He didn’t think much of him then, and now, he simply thought it was a coincidence that their paths had crossed again.
He didn’t believe a word of what David was saying, of course. His father still worshipped the old gods, and while Cameron did not believe in them, he was always respectful to the beliefs of others. If his father wanted to say a prayer to the old gods, or sacrifice a lamb before battle, he really didn’t mind. However, sending him an old man who was supposed to cast a spell that would allow them to win the battle—and eventually, the war—seemed far-fetched, even with the best of intentions.
“We are grateful for Jacob’s gift,” Lewis said. “And for your presence.”
“We are?” Cameron asked.
David interrupted their conversation. “I take it that you are not aware of the prophecy?"
“What prophecy?" Cameron asked. “There is no prophecy in any religion I know that speaks of this battle or of us.”
“There is no written prophecy, it’s true,” David said. “But that does not mean one does not exist. I have had visions for many months of you two, standing just here. However, you are not standing here in the middle of the night, riddled with confusion. You are standing here, after battle, victorious, and about to be knighted by the king himself.”
“What king?” Cameron asked, suspiciously.
“The King of the Scots,” David said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Cameron raised an eyebrow at that.
“There is no King of the Scots,” he said. “That is the whole reason for this war. If your prophecy is true, then surely you can tell me who will sit on the Scottish throne?”
“Prophecies do not work like that,” David replied, with a soft smile. “They do not always reveal themselves at once. What I have seen is that I am to bring the prophecy to you, and let it play out.”
“Are you the prophecy then?” Cameron asked.
“No, of course not,” David said. “I am far too old and have sinned far too much. The gods have entrusted divine victory to one far more innocent than I.”
“Who?” Cameron asked, and David let out a low whistle.
Cameron heard the tent flaps rustle behind him and he turned around.
He wasn’t prepared for what he saw coming through the tent flap. He had to blink twice, because he thought he was hallucinating.
There, standing in front of them, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Even though he was certain that he would never marry, he sometimes saw an attractive quality in one. Sometimes, it was the sparkle in her eye, or sometimes it was a soft smile.
This woman, however, was more than any smile or sparkle. She had long silver hair, down to her waist, and green eyes that were large and deep. She had high cheekbones, and a lithe waist, as well as tiny breasts that curved slightly under her gown. She was slight in figure, and not very tall. She almost seemed timid, as she lingered by the tent flap. She kept her eyes down and waited to be summoned.
“This is Isla,” David said. “I believe, Lewis, you might have known her when you were both children.”
“Isla?” Lewis said. “My goodness, I haven’t seen you since you were four!”
Isla’s eyes flickered up to his.
“And you are not much older,” she said. “Although you seemed a giant then.”
Cameron's eyes darted between the two of them.
“You know each other?” he asked.
Lewis nodded. “Isla and I grew up not far apart,” he said. “I would see her in the village sometimes. We played together as children, but she never liked games. She liked to learn about plants and healing.”
“It seemed her childhood interest in healing was given by the gods, to be growing into something more powerful than you or I could have ever predicted,” David said. “Isla has magic like I have never seen before, and her presence will lead us to victory.”
Cameron did not know what to say. He had expected many different things when he came into Lewis’s tent, but this was certainly not one of them.
“And my father sent you?” he asked David, nodding.
“His seal is on the letter, is it not?” he said. “You nee
d not worry about feeding us with your rations or giving us a place to sleep. Your father has donated a great deal to our cause because he believes in it so much.”
“I see,” Cameron said. “He donated it? You do not charge a fee?”
“A fee?” David laughed out loud. “It would be wrong to charge a fee in order to do the work of the gods.”
“I see,” Cameron said, again. His eyes shifted between David and Isla. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but that did not mean he was going to give up all he believed in to follow her blindly into battle. “Lewis, may I speak to you a moment?”
“Of course,” Lewis said. “Excuse us.”
Cameron held the tent flap for his friend and the two of them ducked outside and walked a few paces away. The night air was chilly and Cameron wrapped his cloak more tightly around him as they spoke.
“Do you believe this?” he asked Lewis. Lewis took a long moment to answer.
“I do not think it matters what I believe,” he said. “Your father has sent them and we must obey.”
“I am not debating obeying my father,” Cameron replied. “We must do his bidding, for he is our liege. However, acting as if we believe this could indeed change the outcome of the battle? The men—”
“And if your father turns up and decides that we have been disobeying him, by treating this idea as rubbish?” Lewis asked. “What then?”
Cameron turned to face him. “Do you believe them, Lewis?”
Lewis took a deep breath. “There is something otherworldly about her,” he said. “There has always been. Growing up, people said she was a witch because she could heal any ailment with a flick of her wrist. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”
“Those things could be explained though,” Cameron replied. “There are herbs, and there are tricks that can be played on the eyes.”
“I do not know what to believe,” Lewis said. “But I am going to behave as if I do, until it is proven otherwise. And I suggest you do the same.”
“You know I cannot,” Cameron said. “To do so would be denying my own god.”
“Would it though?” Lewis asked. “Or would it be giving hope to men who are losing it?”