by Doug Kelly
As he approached the moonlight and almost entered it, something suddenly flew toward him and he heard a whirling sound pass over his head, followed immediately by a sharp tap against a tree behind him. He had seen a flash in the night just as some object had crossed the streak of moonlight that rendered it visible for an instant, like a shooting star. At the same moment, the horse, which he had pressed to go faster, put its hoof into a rut or a hole, stumbled, and flung Aton so far forward that he only saved himself from being thrown off by clinging to the thick mane on his horse’s neck.
The event happened in the blink of an eye, but he had recognized the sound of a throwing club, which had missed his head, but hit a tree behind him. The horse’s stumble had saved him. The club would have struck his head or chest if the horse had not gone nearly to its knees. For the best aim, the cannibal had planned his ambush so that he could see his prey in the moonlight. Recovering itself, the well-trained horse recognized the danger to its rider, started forward at full speed, and raced regardless of ruts along the road. The animal had almost thrown Aton out of the saddle again when it fled so quickly. Aton had hardly gotten back into the saddle when the horse bolted away. His mount must have carried him close to the offender, but he saw nothing while galloping away. A second club did not follow. If the attacker had accomplices, they had different weapons, so Aton leaned forward and braced himself for a flint-tipped arrow to pierce his back.
He was quite a distance from the spot before he realized the serious danger from which he had escaped. All he had was a small dagger. Therefore, if the club had struck him, even if the wound had not been fatal, he could not have resisted the attack. It was too late, the ambush was over, and all he could do now was ride home. Dreading every moment that the horse might throw him, he pushed on as fast as the horse would go. There was no pursuit as he left the cypress trees and entered a roof of dense kudzu covering the canopy of green oak leaves, so he slacked the reins. It was necessary to do so here because the hooves of preceding horses had pocked the damp ground into mud. It was darker, because of the thick blanket of kudzu throughout the high tree branches.
As he passed, birds rose with loud flapping wings from their roosts, and occasionally he saw the glowing red eyes of the black cats of the swamp, as a stray beam of moonlight reflected from them while they silently hunted. He gladly recognized the change from trees to bushes when he rode out from under the thick blanket of vines that covered the tree branches and obscured the moonlight. He knew that he was close to his clan’s walled enclosure. He heard finches singing in the night and remembered a nearby patch of thistle that they swarmed around to eat its seed. Gradually, he increased the horse’s pace. It knew that home was near and responded willingly to his heel strikes.
There, the dirt road was much broader and in better condition, but he knew that at one particular spot, which he was familiar with in the daylight, the road was marshy. Because of the mud, the horse went to the side, almost brushing against a willow bush that was jutting into his path. Something struck the horse; Aton thought it was a willow branch. The horse jumped like a startled buck, and sprinted along the road. With one foot out of the stirrup, Aton almost fell. After recovering from the jolt, he attempted to rein the horse in, but pulling the bit had no effect. The animal was beside itself with terror, and raced recklessly until they reached the barrier of his clan’s stronghold. The guards had closed the gate, and they were asleep. He dismounted and shouted to demand entry.
A guard soon appeared, spear in hand and carrying a lantern. Recognizing Aton’s voice and the unusual tone of panic that accompanied it, he ran to the gate. Just inside the gate were the embers of a fire in the center of a ring of stones. Around the fire ring was a temporary camp of servants who had been to their village’s spring festival, and had returned before nightfall. Hearing the noise, some of them woke from a drunken slumber and came to him. When one of them immediately exclaimed and asked if something had wounded Aton, he replied that he was not hurt, but looking at his foot where the man pointed, he saw that blood covered it. Upon closer examination, there was no cut or any type of visible wound. Strangely, he was not hurt. The guard called for Aton, and showed him a long deep scratch on the side of his horse, from which the blood was dripping.
It was a scratch made by something sharp. Without hesitation, they all suspected it was from a swamp man’s attack, most likely from the poisoned edge of a knife. The cannibal had heard Aton’s approach, hid in the willow bush, and as the horse passed, lunged with the knife, but miscalculated the speed at which the horse was going. Instead of piercing Aton’s thigh, the weapon fell onto the horse, and the fiend had dragged the blade along the animal’s flank. The steed trembled as they touched it.
A servant stumbled toward Aton, half-asleep and half-drunk, but fully aware of the effects of the poison that was killing the horse. “Pardon me, but I’ve seen what that poison does. If you don’t want your horse to suffer, you need to put it out of its misery, swiftly.”
“I…don’t have my bow because—,” Aton said, trying to explain recent events, before the servant interrupted, forgetting the etiquette of his lower class.
“But sir, the forest at night was no place to travel unarmed.” He took a step closer to Aton and saw the drained expression on his face. “Are you in trouble, sir? Master Briand came back in a rush and said nothing as he passed.” He edged closer to Aton, the odor of cheap ale on the servant’s breath was repulsive as it escaped past his rotten teeth. He whispered a question with his foul breath, “Fighting over women with Briand? He’ll forget about it by morning, don’t you worry about that.”
“No, something terrible has happened. My father…or Briand… is anyone awake? I need to speak with them.”
“They’re all asleep.”
After realizing that the trouble was something other than a quarrel over women, the servant took a step back and came to his senses. Remembering etiquette and his station in life, he moved closer to his friends who were sleeping beside the smoky remains of the fire, and decided to stop talking.
The swamp man’s knife, the one he could use to either assassinate an enemy or kill his prey in the marshes, was poisoned. It was a lingering poison, and took part of a day to produce its effect; but there was no remedy, and many who had escaped from the cowardly strike had crawled to the road only to die in torture. There was no denying what the servant had proposed. The only thing that they could do was to put the poor beast out of its misery. While the reality of the dire situation settled on their tired minds, a guard brought a bucket of water, from which the poor creature drank fervently. Aton could not kill his horse. He could not slay the loyal animal that had carried him so long and had saved him twice that very night, and was now going to die after reaching the safety of his clan. Beside himself with sadness, he would not agree to put the horse out of its misery.
All awake now, the servants assembled around Aton, and he ordered that they cleanse the scratch while he tried to think of any possible remedy. He gave strict orders that they could not kill the lame animal, and then ran into his house. With trembling hands, he flipped through his books, hoping that among them, there might be something of value, but there was nothing, or in his excitement, he overlooked it. Remembering that Briand was a great expert on horses, Aton went into his room and tried to wake him, but he could not rouse his cousin. Weary from the long ride, Briand had not yet slept off the effects of the feast.
Aton left him and hurried back. Weary as he was, he waited beside the horse until the birds began to sing and the morning sun broke above the horizon. Still, it had not shown any severe symptoms except twitching limbs and a constant thirst that water could not quench. Suddenly it fell, and the old servant warned them all to stand away, because it would bite and kick anything that was near. The servant, old and experienced with the hazards of the forest, saw the effects of the poison fulfill his warning. The horse rolled, kicked, and bit at everything within reach. Seeing this agony, Aton could not
tolerate it. He went inside to retrieve a bow, and strung it, but he could not nock the arrow to the string because his hands began to shake violently. He motioned to the servants who had gathered around, and one of them thrust his sharp spear into the horse, behind its shoulder and through its heart and lungs.
Just as the horse convulsed from the spear tip, a club came whirling through the air, hitting the man with the lance directly on the head. His legs collapsed underneath him, and he hit the ground just as the horse also went limp. In the haste and confusion of the early morning hours, the guards had left the gate wide open and unattended after Aton’s arrival. In the darkness, a cannibal had followed Aton and had taken the opportunity to attack when they least expected it, while a weapon, the spear, had been deeply plunged into the dying animal, rendering it difficult to retrieve for a quick counter offensive. The barefoot savage had already fled for the woods by the time Aton and the guards realized what just happened. Rather than chase the cannibal and risk running blindly into a trap, they shut the gate.
The head guard was kneeling by the supine body, trying to feel for a heartbeat on his friend’s still chest. The guard looked up and said, “He’s dead.”
Now there would have to be two burials. Aton blamed himself for both. With extreme fatigue and profound sadness, Aton returned to his room. As the sun rose and the beams of light entered through the open window, he could not help but think that every bit of bad luck was against him. Although he was not superstitious, his fatigued mind was illogical. At that moment, he considered remaining there to fight instead of fleeing from Olar’s revenge. He wondered briefly if he would also have to fight for his family’s lives. He did not want to jeopardize his loved ones, so he thought he might be able to explain the events to Olar, to tell him that Lanzo was a traitor and murderer, but a father seeking vengeance was more bloodthirsty than rational. There could be no good outcome, no matter what he might do. Overwhelmed with desperate thoughts, he went unconscious and slept until noon.
Upon going outside, unrefreshed and still weary, he found that they had already buried his horse and left a mound of black dirt above the grave. He quickly thought of last night’s events and the image of a grave made him wonder if his continued presence would bring the same fate to his family. He reconsidered staying to fight because of the wrath that might fall onto his clan. Aton went to the house and summoned his father, mother, and Briand, to explain last night’s events. For only the second time in his life, Aton saw a tear cross his father’s cheek. He was either sad or disappointed. Aton did not know which, because the only thing Davin offered for the conversation was a head that slowly shook as he looked away from his son and out the window, into the green wilderness that would soon envelop his only child.
CHAPTER TWELVE
To escape Olar’s vengeance, Aton decided to carry out his plan immediately, to journey away with his boat. Without thinking another moment, without further examination of the various sides of the problem, he went to his room fully determined to cross the lake by escaping in the vessel. When he threw open the shutters, a deep breath of fresh air and the light of the bright spring morning filled him with optimism. Although his heart still ached for Esina, there was space for a joyous sensation that leaving would lift the curse he had brought upon his loved ones, and there would be hope for avoiding bloodshed in his family. He bent his will in one direction, away from here, far away.
When he had dressed in clothes suitable for his escape, he took his hunting bow and some other possessions he would need for the journey and went to the main room of the house. His father had already gone out to the gardens. While he was making a fast breakfast, Briand came in, and seeing the bow, all of the arrows, and the other supplies, understood that the time was now. Briand immediately said that he would accompany him to the bay and help him depart. His cousin went out to get horses from the stable. They had plenty of riding horses and it was not difficult to get Aton a replacement for his old favorite.
Briand insisted on taking all of the supplies, which were rather awkward to carry, so that Aton had nothing to burden himself with except his favorite hunting bow and the arrows. The servants had already taken dried food to the boat on a previous occasion. Aton’s bow was short and had extremely recurved limbs, which had enabled him to sneak stealthily through the bushes and undergrowth of the forest on numerous occasions. The type of bow he had used for competition was much longer, more cumbersome in the woods, and therefore not practical for a man on the run. Briand was surprised that Aton did not first go to the gardens and say goodbye to his father, or at least knock on his mother's door to do the same. Briand said nothing, knowing Aton's proud and occasionally hard temper. Without a word, Aton left his house. Once he cracked the family circle, even if imperceptibly, it could take years, if it was even possible, for it to be reformed. Often enough under these types of circumstances, the family members never met again, at least not in the same manner as before the sacred bond of family had been broken.
Aton rode through the front gate, and did not even look behind himself. Without one word of farewell to the clan, without a final glance, Aton rode into the forest. Neither he nor Briand thought of the events that might happen before they met again, if they ever did. That would be redundant because they had already done so too many times before this fateful day. They both understood how cruel a world it actually was, and the unknown part of their world, where Aton was headed, would not be an exception to that morbid rule. They each silently realized that they might not ever meet again. There was not much conversation on their journey to the bay.
The three serfs, still there guarding the boat, were glad to see the men approach, and were soon relieved from their lonely watch. Aton put the provisions onboard, and fastened his favorite bow upright to the mast for safety. The shore was protected by the tree canopy, and perfectly calm. After simply shaking hands with Briand, Aton pushed his boat into the creek that flowed into the lake. He launched the vessel with ease. He rowed it away from the bay until he arrived where the southwest breeze, coming over the forest, touched and rippled the water.
Then, after hoisting the sail, he grasped the tiller, and took his seat. He had decided to sail eastward with the light wind, not for any specific reason, but because that was where the sun rose, representing hope and new beginnings to him. His boat was well adapted for tacking into the wind, but he had not designed it for drifting with a breeze, which was what he was now doing. From that location, he only had to keep the boat in front of the wind. Although the breeze was light, the sail was large in comparison to the boat, and it slipped from the shore faster than he had first imagined the bulky craft could do. His voyage had begun.
Briand, unable to get to the mouth of the bay because of the undergrowth and the swampy soil, had remained gazing in the direction the boat had taken, absorbed in thought, and then he turned to go home when he could no longer see Aton sailing across the water. He had watched Aton leave, expecting at least a final wave goodbye before he disappeared, but it never came. The serfs, understanding that they were no longer required, gathered their things together and were quickly on their way home. Briand, while holding Aton's horse by the reins, had already ridden that way, but he stopped and waited until the three servants overtook him. He gave them Aton’s horse and went home ahead of them.
As Aton steered from the little bay outwards into the big lake, the ripples rolling before the wind gradually enlarged into wavelets; these again increased with a short passage of time. He had purposely not looked back until now, in case they might think he regretted leaving, and in his heart, desired to return. Feeling that he had really begun, he glanced behind himself. He could see no one when he looked back, because Briand and the servants were already on their way home. While he sailed into the unknown, Aton regretted that he had not given a final wave to Briand. He had forgotten that the spot where they had launched the boat was at the end of an inlet, and as he sailed away, the shore of the lake shut off the view of the cree
k.
Aton felt that he was completely alone after parting from the shore, and utterly separated from all his old associations. He was fast passing not only out and away on the water, but also out and away into the unknown future. His spirit no longer hesitated; he was really at the beginning of his long contemplated voyage. His natural strength of mind returned. The weakness and irresolution, the hesitation, left him. His perseverance solidified, and he thought of nothing else. He had escaped, and in doing so, hoped that he had prevented the effect of Olar’s rage from reaching his clan and family.
The southwest breeze, waxing and waning across the lake with the predictable rhythm of a sleeping giant’s breath, with alternating rise and fall, now drove him along rapidly until the water bubbled under the prow. The breeze came over his right shoulder and cooled his cheek under the noon sun in the cloudless sky. He could no longer distinguish the shape of the trees on shore. All the individual branches had blended into one great forest, stretching as far as he could see. On his left there was a chain of islands, some covered with trees and some only with shrubs, while others were so low and flat that the waves in stormy weather could almost roll over them, enveloping them swiftly, like a blinking eye.
Five seagulls flew over his boat. Their appearance cautioned him because their presence, when found inland, usually preceded strong storms. A low sandstone cliff, wooded to its ridge, stood against the sky. Trees concealed the rocky terrain, which according to old clan legends, a great earthquake had thrust upward from the flat land that had surrounded it, changing it into a rough landscape. Some stories around campfires also said that this great earthquake shook the tall and proud buildings of the Americans to the ground, and brought their ancient civilization to the beginning of its ruin. Clansmen, or any other division of people, had no idea how much their terrain had changed after the apocalyptic asteroid’s impact.