Arnon

by JL Rowan

  Janna.

  Arnon felt as if someone had twisted his heart, squeezing the very lifeblood from it. Janna was gone--truly gone. The weight of her absence settled upon him like a smothering cloak, taking his breath away. How, by the blessed holy Mother, would he ever be able to go on without her? And the children--

  He stumbled, tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. For the sake of his sanity, he closed himself off from the sorrow, both within and without, and focused instead on crossing the camp without tripping over anyone.

  The Ruling Council was meeting on the east side of the camp. Prior to the attack, the Council had been composed of twelve Guardians, but was now reduced in number to nine. The Council Guardians sat in a square, he noticed as they came into view, as if they were in their customary places around the Council Table.

  Of course, the Table's probably been destroyed like everything else. He paused a few arrow-lengths from them to bow, as was proper when they were in session. But Gaenbur's voice sounded in his mind before he could complete the ritual.

  The ceremony is not necessary, Arnon. Not now, and probably not for a while to come.

  Dara's voice followed hard on its heels. Thank you for coming so quickly, Arnon.

  "Of course." Arnon noticed that most of them still hadn't groomed the blood and dirt from their coats. "If I may ask--do we have word from the night watch? I haven't spoken to anyone."

  All was quiet last night, Gaenbur said. The queen's men did not approach the forest.

  Arnon breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. He had expected the forest to be a haven for them, but it was comforting to have confirmation all the same.

  We've asked you here for a reason. Dara said. We'd like you to oversee the operations of the camp. As you know, there is much to do.

  "Indeed," Arnon said. "But why me? Why not one of the Guardians?"

  Zedric fanned his tail against the ground in a soft, lazy pattern. You led the men bravely yesterday. They look up to you. Your name is on the lips of the women and children.

  "But--"

  Only a few priests survived yesterday's battle. They, and we Guardians, must spend time away from the camp in prayer and meditation to discover what Her will for us now is. Gaenbur shot Arnon a knowing look. You're a natural leader, Arnon, and we need someone competent to take care of the people while we are away.

  "You're leaving us?"

  Gaenbur lowered his great head in a gesture of assent. We must have solitude and silence.

  Arnon wasn't so sure about the Council's valuation of his leadership skills, but Dara was certainly correct in her assessment of the necessary work to be done. It would keep everyone busy. Perhaps as leader, he could work hard enough to erase the image of Janna from his mind, the image of her lifeless eyes...

  He shut his eyes against the memory. "Very well. How long will you be away?"

  Only a few days, I hope. I'm sure you will accomplish much in that time.

  Recognizing a dismissal, Arnon straightened to attention. "May your way be clear."

  And yours, the Council members replied in unison.

  He returned to his campfire, his mind orchestrating the tasks that must be done. Finding food and water were of the utmost importance. He would need to coordinate regular search and hunting parties. Camp was a scattered mess, he noted as he wound his way around makeshift shelters and campfires. It would have to be organized, with the sick and weakest of the members near the middle, and the able-bodied fighters and Guardians at the edges to protect them, should the queen decide to set aside her religious convictions and enter the forest to finish what she started.

  Spying a Guardian a little distance from him, he waved. "Sidra!"

  The enormous, black Guardian padded carefully through the camp to Arnon's side. While all Guardians were silver-eyed cats, Sidra's massive frame easily distinguished him from his fellows. Larger even than Gaenbur, his shoulder reached to Arnon's waist.

  Bright the morn, Arnon. The Council informed us that you were in charge of the camp while we are gone.

  "Yes. I know you leave soon, but I wanted to ask what you discovered scouting yesterday." He absently slapped at a biting fly. "We need to reorganize the camp, and I'd like to do it near a primary source of water if possible." He had a vague recollection from his childhood explorations of there being a river somewhere nearby, but it had been so long since he'd spent any time in the forest that he didn't trust his memories to guide him.

  A wise decision. There is a goodly-sized stream running east-west about four arrow-shots north of camp.

  "That would take us deeper into the forest."

  No small blessing, to be sure, although we would still need lookouts.

  "Of course." He added the formation of lookout parties to his mental list of tasks. "I hope to have a more organized camp established by sunfall." His eye caught the disordered heap of the wakening encampment. "That may be slightly ambitious, however."

  Don't underestimate them, Sidra said. They crave orderliness as much as you do. Given yesterday, I suspect that many of them will work like fiends to keep their grief at bay. In fact, those who are awake have already expressed their wish to do something other than sit around their campfires.

  Arnon could understand that desire only too well. "They won't have to wait for long." He could hardly accomplish his tasks alone. Delegation was the first order of business. He started for the nearest campfire, but a sudden thought made him pause and face the Guardian. "Did Dartha and the others find anyone alive in the villages?"

  One, Sidra said. A small boy, three years of age. When the fighting began, it seems he hid in the flour barrel. His parents and sister lay slain in the next room.

  "Blessed Lady." He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair and returned his attention to the situation at hand, lest he be drawn into the grief against which he and so many others were struggling. Little Jan had been nearly three years old. "Would you and the other Guardians mind informing the people that we will move camp soon? I'll wake those who are still asleep. The sooner we begin, the sooner we will be established."

  Of course. Consider it done. Sidra inclined his head. We shall meet again soon. Until then, may your way be clear.

  "And yours."

  * * * *

  Late afternoon had arrived by the time Arnon and his helpers had moved all the people to the stream. Now, at least, they would have enough water for drinking, as well as for cooking, cleaning, and bathing.

  Moving deeper into the forest meant that they had less light by which to work. Even in summertime, the afternoon sunlight that penetrated the thick evergreens was dim and shadowy. Arnon chose to set up an informal camp and send out hunting parties while there was still daylight. They could establish a more structured camp tomorrow.

  "We're low on arrows," said Martyn, leader of one of the parties, as he led his group out into the gathering darkness. "We'll try not to lose or waste any, but we may need to think of making more or building some traps to supplement our supply."

  "There's plenty of arrowwood around. We'll gather the straightest branches and work on replenishing the supply."

  Martyn returned a curt nod, and called out to his men, motioning them farther north into the forest. The other hunting parties headed in different directions. Arnon silently wished them luck and strode towards the river. There was precious little food, though the foraging parties had returned with a good supply of roots, nuts, berries, and mushrooms. Still, they had nearly nine hundred mouths to feed, and no livestock, flour, grains--

  He stopped short. They didn't have food, but he knew where to find it. He spun abruptly on his heel to find Faris, a member of his village, observing him with a curious expression.

  "You look like a man in deep thought."

  Arnon favored him with a smile. "You're exactly the man I wanted to see." Faris' house was next to his in the village, and Faris had lost both of his elderly parents in the attack, as well as his youngest child. "Come with me."
/>   "Oh?" Faris fell into step. "Why does this make me nervous?"

  "It should." What he had planned was risky, to say the least. He stopped in mid-stride. "I'm going back."

  "Back?"

  Arnon opened his mouth to explain, but understanding dawned in Faris' eyes.

  "Dear Lady, Arnon," he breathed. "You're going to our village!"

  "I am." He peered around to see if anyone might overhear them. Although everyone was busy with their own tasks, he lowered his voice to a near-murmur. "We need food supplies."

  Faris grabbed Arnon's arm, but kept his voice low and tight. "But the soldiers--they're stationed over the next hill!"

  "Can it hurt to look?" Arnon countered. "If soldiers are there, we won't leave the forest. But if not, we could get livestock, barrels of flour, dried fruits. Besides--" He clenched his jaw in an effort to control his emotions. "I will not leave Janna and the children to rot like discarded carcasses!"

  The hard, glittering look in Faris' eyes was all the answer Arnon needed.

  "Find the most prudent men still in the camp, ones unlikely to lose their heads should we see the soldiers," he ordered. The last thing they needed was to start another bloodbath. "Meet me on the southern edge of camp in half an hour."

  At the appointed time, nearly a dozen men arrived with Faris. Arnon recognized only a few of them, but noticed that each had come armed. He absently patted the sword at his side, and set off through the forest. They stopped about a quarter of an arrow-shot from the edge of the forest and knelt within the thorny underbrush, surveying Erenwest.

  A troop of soldiers swarmed throughout the village, carrying objects from the houses and leading livestock away.

  Breathing a curse beneath his breath, one of the men spat into the underbrush. "We're too late."

  Arnon felt his jaw clench and his pulse pound in his temples. We need that food more than they do!

  A rustling in the brush beside him made him look over to see Ramin raising his bow and pulling an arrow from his quiver. Before he could react, Faris snatched the bow from Ramin's hands with a hiss of disapproval. "Are you mad?"

  "They killed my wife and children," snarled Ramin.

  Faris shoved the bow into Ramin's chest. "They think we're dead, destroyed by the souls of their own deceased. Do we really want to reveal ourselves and take a chance they may set aside their fears of the forest and come after us? The women and children are scared enough as it is."

  Scared enough as it is. The phrase caught Arnon's mind and played with it for a moment, forming itself into an idea.

  "I think I know how we can get our food," he said, interrupting the murmured argument of the other men.

  They fell silent and stared at him.

  "Do you see them?" He jerked his chin in the direction of the soldiers.

  "Of course we see them," Ramin snapped. "Maybe you're the one who's going mad."

  "Shut up, Ramin," Faris said. "What are you thinking, Arnon?"

  "Look at their eyes," Arnon said, a ghost of a delighted smile haunting his lips. "They're terrified. Every time they look over here, you'd think they were going to wet themselves."

  "So?" one of the men asked.

  "Watch." Arnon lifted his head and sang out a few short, trilling notes that he'd used to call his hens together at feeding time. The acoustics of the clearing created an echo effect, making his voice sound as if it came from all around.

  Immediately, the soldiers nearest the forest stiffened and dropped what they carried. They drew their swords and faced the trees, open fear etched into their faces and postures.

  Faris grinned wolfishly and sent out his own call.

  The soldiers backed away, looking over their shoulders and calling to their fellow men-at-arms. Other soldiers gathered with the first few, and all stared intently at the forest.

  "My parents used to live in Corrin's realm," said one of the men. "I know their language." In a deep voice, he called out.

  The soldiers visibly shook, and one dropped to the earth in a faint.

  "What did you say?" Arnon asked.

  "I said, 'Welcome, brothers. We've been waiting for you.'"

  Faris snickered. Arnon bit down on the laughter that threatened to erupt from his chest.

  Even Ramin chuckled with the rest. "Well done, Sklar."

  Sklar grinned and called out once more. The soldiers dropped their weapons and ran.

  Sklar chuckled. "I told them we were coming for them."

  "Let's wait awhile." Arnon shifted his weight to his other knee. "They may return, and that one soldier will wake soon."

  It was not long before the lone soldier awakened. Seeing he was alone, he gave a startled yelp and fled after his retreating companions.

  "Wait a little longer," Arnon said, checking his men's enthusiasm. "Their superiors may come to investigate."

  When no one came by the time the sun had moved a handspan across the sky, he gestured for the men to emerge from the brush. "We need someone to stand watch."

  Sklar stepped forward. "I'll do it. I'm not from this village, and I can probably scare any curious onlookers away." He pointed to a stand of trees that jutted from the forest at the other end of Erenwest. "I'll hide in there and keep watch. I'll call out if I see anyone."

  Arnon clapped him on the shoulder with a grateful hand. "Thank you. We appreciate it."

  Sklar set off across the clearing at a brisk jog.

  "Now what?" Faris said.

  "Those of you who are from this village should go to your homes and--"

  Arnon's voice caught in his throat for a moment and he took a calming breath.

  "Take care of your families first, if necessary. Make sure you bury them in the forest. We can't draw attention to ourselves." An image of Janna and the children flashed before his eyes and he found himself blinking back tears. "The rest of you should take what supplies you can and bring them into the forest far enough to keep from being seen. We'll join you as soon as we can."

  There were somber, acknowledging nods from all present.

  "Very well," Arnon said. "Let's do this as quickly and quietly as possible."

  With purposeful strides, the men set about their tasks. Spying his small cottage, Arnon quelled the trembling in his limbs and started towards it.

  Lady above, give me strength.

  The door stood open and as he approached he could see the bodies of his wife and children lying as he had left them. His vision blurred and he felt the remnants of noonmeal rise in his throat.

  Gathering his courage, he entered the cottage and gazed upon them, but with a jaw-wrenching pain, he gritted his teeth against the lump in his throat. He could not lose control.

  Not now. Not yet.

  Arnon knelt and carefully lifted the body of his daughter in his arms and cradled her against his chest. Rising slowly, he stepped into the fading sunshine and made his way around the cottage to the back where he had dropped his shovel the morning of the attack.

  He navigated his way through the trees until he came to a small clearing. With exaggerated care and gentleness, he laid his daughter's body in the ferns. He returned for his wife and son, carrying them separately to the clearing. He laid Janna between the children, fighting hot tears at the sight of her mangled body. She had been so beautiful in life, and now--

  He brushed a strand of hair from her bloodied face. That it should come to this...that she and the children should be buried unshaven and unclothed in proper funeral vestments, without having received the Final Kiss from a priest. Surely the Lady would welcome them to Her Embrace, despite the lack of attention to proper funeral rites. At least the children would not be alone. Janna would be forever with them, watching over them in death as she had in life.

  Arnon reached for the shovel. His vision misted over as he stabbed it into the soft earth. There was a pressure in his throat and chest that would be repressed no longer. Harsh, wrenching sobs escaped from his lips as he dug. Tears blinded him to his task, but he refused to
pause in his work. Each stab of the shovel was a satisfying thrust of his sword into the bowels of those who had murdered his family.

  Spent from his exertions, Arnon finally halted his brutal attack of the earth. The grave he dug was knee-deep, and would have to suffice. It was a meager resting place, but he hadn't the luxury to dig a proper grave. Glancing up at the expanse of sky the clearing afforded, he noted that sunset was near. Setting aside his shovel, he carefully laid Janna's body in the grave. He positioned Parah and Jan on either side of her.

  "Someday," he whispered. Someday he would be reunited with Janna and the children, and their bodies would no longer bear the abuses of this life. The Book of Wisdom and Prophecies spoke of a place so peaceful and fair, Love itself came to life in its midst.

  Only last night, as he'd waited in line for his food, Arnon had overheard one of his neighbors reciting the passage about that fair and peaceful place. The words had stayed in the back of his mind. Were he to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that he wasn't certain of anything right now, but at the moment, this hope was all he had.

  He wanted to say more--needed to say more--but the path from his heart to his tongue was rough and tangled. Taking up his shovel, he completed his task.

  He returned to the cottage to gather supplies, but the queen's men had already stripped it bare of anything of value. Food, clothing, bedding--everything was gone. He had invested years of hard labor to purchase this tiny parcel of land and to build this cottage for his new bride.

  He'd been so proud when he brought Janna home for the first time. The sense of loss he now experienced stood out in stark comparison, stabbing him like a dull hunger pain. There was no point in remaining in this empty husk of a house, not when the others could surely use his assistance.

  He stood in the doorway and cast a final glance at his past. A small decoration on the far wall of the common room caught his eye. It was a handkerchief Janna had embroidered and which had won a prize at one of the festivals years ago. Taking it out of the frame, he caressed it lovingly. He folded the bit of cloth, tucked it into his pocket, and strode out of the cottage without a backward glance.