At last, convinced our preparations were complete, I dashed to the head of the column, where Nathaniel glared at the horizon, his outsized silhouette standing stark against the brightening sky.
I took a second, no more, for a quick embrace. We said not a word, but one thought resounded in my mind: No matter what happens, our love will survive.
A questioning glance from Caleb, and I nodded, little more than a tilt of the head. He raised his right arm and motioned us forward.
As we trod through the gloom, the dank morning air grew thick with the smell of wet moss, and the silence deepened, as if the forest was trying to reject this invasion of its territory.
My hearing became acute, catching the smallest of sounds—a bird awakening in the trees, a squirrel scampering through the brush in terror of our might—but there was something more. Though we left the players behind—no sense warning the deacons of our approach—a dull sound pounded in my ears like a distant drum. My heartbeat, most likely, or the echo of battles past. I shook my head to silence the sound, but it refused to go away.
We marched through fields of goldenrod growing high as a child’s shoulder, with butterflies flitting above them. None of the would-be soldiers noticed, all eyes focused on the road ahead. Was this how armies had marched into battle during the time of the darkness, in stealthy silence, staring into the distance but seeing only the void?
A hundred paces from the rock face that marked the entrance to the enemy encampment, a temple sentry high up in a tree spotted us. He blew two long notes into a ram’s horn.
Caleb gave a signal of his own, the screech of a hawk that rippled up and down the column. In response, his well-trained troops took off at a run.
From the far side, deacons awoke, but too late.
We quickly overpowered the sentries and surged into the camp.
Just as Miss Junia had described, our enemy had organized in parallel rows with a broad road in between. Our leaders shouted orders. The lead squads formed wedges, human arrows aimed at the heart of the first two camps, while the remaining squads surged forward. As we encountered subsequent sections, our troops divided again—the exact plan of attack drawn up the day before.
One by one the encampments fell, surrendering to overwhelming force. The enemy might have been better trained, but my people had right on their side, and passion prevailed.
My heart lightened as I glanced to my left and to my right.
Overwhelmed deacons had laid down their arms or lacked the time to fetch them. A scuffle here, the bloody swing of an axe there, but few injuries. Our victory seemed at hand.
Then, out of the morning mist, a nightmare appeared, one Miss Junia had failed to foretell.
From the rear of the camp, rows of deacons emerged marching shoulder to shoulder, some sort of elite force kept in reserve. These wore gold tunics beneath vests of chain mail, with metal helmets on their heads, appearing like the knights of Nathaniel’s legend. Much like the deacons who’d ambushed us, they’d painted their faces green and black, but in place of the usual weapons, they brandished before them staves.
Something was amiss. These were the elite, more disciplined and so well armored that our axes and knives would struggle to harm them. Why did their weapons seem less than those of the rest, nothing but flimsy staves with a blunt end, thick enough to stun but not much more? Had we caught them before they’d properly armed?
I hesitated, trying to understand.
Caleb had no doubt. He aligned the men in waves and signaled for them to charge, but before the two sides clashed, dusk seemed to turn to noon as flames flashed from the end of the staves, followed by a series of loud cracks and a pungent odor like spoiled eggs. Men screamed and several fell. When the smoke cleared, dozens of our comrades lay on the ground.
Faced with the unknown, our troops faltered, looking to their leaders for guidance amid whispers of temple magic.
The row of golden deacons surged forward, pounding their boots into the dirt and grunting with each step, but I focused on their hands as they fiddled with a latch at the back of the staves. In the gloom of pre-dawn, I recalled a similar image from the helper screens in the keep, weapons of war from the darkness.
I shouted to Caleb. “Turn them around and flee.”
He hesitated, then grasped my meaning and gave the order. Our men turned to run.
Another volley fired from the sticks, but with our troops in full retreat, most missed their mark.
While they prepared to fire again, our brave litter carriers raced about, gathering up the wounded under the veil of smoke. I helped one to his feet, a boy I hardly knew, and sent him on his way.
Time to flee myself, to regroup in the village behind the safety of the barricades.
But where is Nathaniel?
I closed my eyes and listened for his thoughts, my friend since birth.
Amid the muddle of shouts from the battle, I discerned a moan from my left, a plea weakly spoken. “Orah.”
I found Nathaniel crumpled on the ground, one arm raised, groping at the air with fingers moist with blood. A blotch of red seeped across his tunic, staining it two hands below his right breast. I grasped him by the elbow and tried to help him stand, but he stumbled back down.
“No good,” he said. “Save yourself.”
Suddenly, I was back in Little Pond on that morning so long ago. “Save yourself,” he’d said, but I refused to leave his side, and we’d marched in to face the stoning together.
I wouldn’t leave him now.
I handed him his stave, which had fallen by his side, and he used it to yank himself to kneeling. Then digging in my heels and arching my back, I tugged on his free arm with all my might.
Light give me strength.
He staggered to his feet, but wavered and slipped back to one knee, dropping his stave as he fell.
I bent low and urged him to try again.
His hand rose as if on its own, and reached out to caress my hair, but he stopped when he saw something over my shoulder. His eyes widened, and in their reflection, I caught a lone deacon approaching.
As our enemy edged toward us, gripping his knife with both hands and raising it above his shoulders preparing to strike, I held my ground, shielding Nathaniel’s body with mine. When the deacon continued to advance, I picked up the stave and aimed its point at his heart, though I had neither the training nor strength to cause him much harm. If he’d lunged at that instant, I was prepared to die.
The words slipped from my lips as if on their own. “I love you, Nathaniel.”
The deacon and I stared at each other, and after what seemed an eternity but was no more than a few seconds, he dropped the knife and showed his hands palms out.
I handed the stave back to Nathaniel, no longer weapon but crutch, and gaped at the man wide-eyed. “Why?”
“There’s one thing worse than death,” he said. “To lose who you are, to become more monster than man.”
Then he turned and walked away.
I startled to a heavy hand landing on my arm and spun around.
Not enemy but Caleb. He passed me his axe. “Take this and run. I’ll carry Nathaniel.”
He grasped Nathaniel’s wrist with a thick hand, and slid the other beneath his thigh. Then, in one powerful motion, he slung Nathaniel over his shoulders and whisked him away.
Chapter 18 – After the Battle
Our troops staggered back to Riverbend in a more somber mood. No one spoke, and our boot steps seemed muffled as if the smoke from the battle had dampened all sound. Far away, a crow cawed. Puffs of clouds drifted across the sky with the same indifference as before. A light breeze blew, rustling the leaves, and more than likely the earth itself kept rotating as the helpers in the keep once claimed. None of these cared about the tragedy that had transpired this day.
All of us—wounded and well—slogged along until we passed through the protection of the barricades. Ever diligent, I took time to station troops at the wall in case the deacons fol
lowed.
When I arrived at the village green, litters lay scattered across the lawn. The sun had cleared the treetops, bestowing its full power upon the mending machine, but its glare also highlighted the splotches of red staining the green grass. I started to count the wounded, but stopped. Too painful.
Some moaned in agony; others pressed their lips together and suffered in silence, as if in sympathy with those silenced forever.
I darted about, searching until I located Nathaniel, one of the silent ones staring at the sky. A healer had cut open his tunic and placed a clean bandage over his wound, with orders for him to press down to stanch the bleeding.
I checked the mending machine. Kara had just finished a healing, and her helpers were removing the patient from the slab.
I glanced back at Nathaniel as he tried to hide his pain, the blood still oozing from his chest. “I’ll tell Kara to take you next.”
He shook his head, wincing with the effort. “No. I can wait. Others need help more.”
I recalled him emerging from the dreamers’ cocoon, wondering if he’d return to the man I loved. How much harder to bear the suffering of one you love than to endure the pain yourself. How much greater the pain.
Minutes turned into hours as one wounded warrior after another entered the brightly lit tunnel. Most came out healed. Some with more serious injuries did not, and these the helpers covered with sheets and carried away.
Kara worked feverishly. Only when near collapse did she allow Devorah to take over.
The healers had laid out the litters in order of need, with the direst wounds first.
Nathaniel insisted he go last, that he could wait while those with more painful injuries went ahead, but his gritted teeth and pallid skin said otherwise.
As leaders, we should expect no special treatment, yet I hoped for Devorah to tire soon so a revived and more experienced Kara could treat Nathaniel.
At last his turn came. Devorah had been left to deal with the lesser wounds, and with only a few weeks of training, she’d done well, healing a half dozen, but the strain of the mending showed in her wan features.
“Can you do one more?” I said.
We both glanced at Kara, who lay prone on the lawn, still drained from her efforts.
Devorah nodded.
Four healers lifted Nathaniel onto the slab, and his long frame slid head first into the tunnel. The bright light flashed while I prayed.
When the mending finished, Devorah smiled weakly. “I did it. He’s healed.” Then she collapsed in my arms.
I led her to a bench by the gazebo and sat her down. “You did well for your first healing.”
She stared at me, her face drawn and with tears in her eyes. “The mending machine is a miracle with a mind of its own. It lets me see inside the body, gives me choices, and I direct the repair. I found a piece of metal that had pierced Nathaniel’s chest. It had cracked a rib and ripped the flesh inside. I used the synthesizer to dissolve the metal, rebuild the bone and mend the flesh within and without. He should be fine in a few days.”
Now my own tears flowed, and I embraced her. I held on, letting the sobs that racked her slight frame subside.
When we separated, her expression still bore a look of devastation.
“You must be tired,” I said. “The mending takes so much concentration, and here you’re newly trained.”
A cloud cleared away from the sun, letting a slanting beam fall upon us like a ray of hope. Devorah held up a hand to shield her eyes and gazed at something far off. “Tired, yes, but that’s not why I weep. Through the machine, I find rents in the tissue and cracks in the bones, but I also feel the wounded’s pain. That burden alone is hard enough, but unlike the fall that broke Zachariah’s arm, no accident caused this damage. These injuries were caused by those intending to do harm.” Her lower lip trembled, and she shook with rage. “The earth mother preached of sorrow in this world, but she never prepared me for such evil. If we are the stuff of stars, how can we act like beasts of the field?”
Without another word, she rose, staggered to where Kara lay, and helped her mentor to stand. The two embraced, sharing a moment few of us could comprehend.
I followed the litter bearers to the guest room in the rectory, where the healers placed Nathaniel on our bed. He rested there, weak as Zachariah had been, but with the anguish gone from his face.
I stayed by his side until his breathing settled into its normal rhythm and his eyes drifted closed. Time to go outside. The troops needed me to assure them all would be well. As a seeker of truth, I’d raise my chin and pretend to be strong. I’d willingly act the lie.
Before I reached the door, Nathanial called me back. I settled on the bed and leaned in to hear his mumbled words.
“How many... killed?”
“Twelve.” My voice cracked, and I paused to collect myself. “Twelve fathers and sons, twelve husbands and dear neighbors.”
He turned away and buried his face in the pillow. “How did we come to this?”
I wiped the sweat from his brow and brushed the hair from his eyes. “The earth mother claims we’ve been like this throughout history. People keep striving until their passions overflow into violence. How can we live with such sadness?”
He placed a hand behind my neck, pulled me close, and kissed me, but his words sent a shiver down my spine. “Though dark clouds gather, we’ll face this storm together, and one day, we’ll find a way to avenge.”
Then his eyelids drooped, and he slipped into sleep.
***
Once the pain had eased from Nathaniel’s features, I put on my leader’s mask and stepped outside to mingle with the troops. After an hour of urging them on, I’d pretended enough.
In the days before the battle, an excited Jacob had shown me his sketches of the Riverbend grist mill. He’d extolled the benefits of such a simple machine, but also commended the setting as a respite from making the tools of war. I thought now how I needed a respite as well, a place from a more innocent time.
I followed the path he’d described, the rush of the stream through the reeds guiding me on. At the mill, the splashing of water over the slats of the wheel triggered fond memories—strolling down a similar trail in Little Pond, swinging my arms through the waist-high heather and feeling their kiss on my hands, and having Nathaniel, unbowed and unscathed by my side.
I settled on a bench by the stream, pressed my eyes closed, and fought off the urge to cry.
As I sat there, a voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Jubal told me you headed this way,” Caleb said. “I’m glad Nathaniel is healed. I know how hard it is to watch the one you love suffer.”
The crunch of his boots on dried leaves stopped close enough that I heard his breathing. He waited, but I refused to open my eyes, preferring to wish the world away.
“You can’t ignore what happened,” he said. “The troops need you to lead, and we have little time.”
I opened my eyes and blinked at the sunlight glaring off the water as it splashed across the slats of the wheel. “I don’t want to lead anymore. I’m tired of causing pain to those who follow. Let someone else take their turn.”
“You should have thought of that before you started what your people call the great change.”
I turned to face him. “What would you have me do?”
“The enemy will come for us, but not today. The weapons they used to drive us off were too few, and next time, they won’t have surprise on their side. They’ll wait until they’re better armed, after the gray friars provide them with more powerful weapons. They won’t come tomorrow, because we still have numbers on our side, but maybe in the next week or two. No longer than that. When they come, more will be injured and more will die.”
I gritted my teeth, denying the truth he spoke, and stared back at the wheel, not to find answers there, but to seek the comfort of forgetfulness.
“Please, Orah, I’ve seen the depth of your courage before, ever since you confronted
me in the earth mother’s village. Don’t let that strength abandon you now. I can train the troops and give them orders, but with Nathaniel wounded, they look to you, the remaining seeker, for guidance.”
I fought off the mood. Nathaniel lay healing and I was alone. My people depended on me.
“What if we undo the harm we’ve done and retreat?” I said. “Let our troops go back to their homes, to their families and farms, to their spinning wheels and looms, to their blacksmith’s anvil or carpentry shop or whatever crafts they ply. Let them blend in with their neighbors. The vicars will be hard pressed to identify those who rebelled and those who did not.”
“Perhaps, but they’ll know me and my men, and you, Nathaniel and Thomas. They’ll know the escaped scholars and Lizbeth and the vicar of Bradford. They’ll know our friend, the prior, and Miss Junia. They’ll know Kara and Devorah, who will insist on staying to mend the injured, and Jacob and Zachariah, who’ll refuse to leave your side. I might escape with my men over the mountains and sail back to the safety of my native land, as my ancestors once fled the Temple of Light a thousand years ago, but the rest have no such choice. They’ll hunt them down, and you and Nathaniel foremost, no matter where you go.”
I shook my head, rejecting his words, and forced myself to focus on the slats of the wheel as they rose from the shadows and emerged into the sunlight.
Caleb grasped me by the shoulders and turned me until our eyes met. “We can’t fight them without better weapons. Your people have only one hope, and you know where that hope lies.”
I squinted at the stars dancing off the water and, as I stared, the setting transformed into a black cube with bits of lightning flashing inside.
The Light of Reason (The Seekers Book 3) Page 12