by M. J. Evans
To the west, a massive entry was constructed. The artisans in the village couldn’t help but make it pretty, even though Carling kept stressing that it had to be utilitarian and strong. Thick planks of wood were held together with metal bands. But the wood planks had beautiful carvings of trees sculpted into them, and the bands were anything but plain! They curved across the wooden planks like vines on a wall. On either side of the doors, stone watch towers were built in which guards were to be stationed at all times.
None of this was easy, especially for the little Duende. By the end of each day, Duende, Faun and Centaur collapsed from fatigue.
—
Late in the summer when the air was especially moist and heavy, Carling searched among the Duende laboring on the corner watch towers until she found Shanta. The leader of the council was taking a much-needed break in the shade of the tower.
“Shanta, I need your advice about something,” said Carling.
Shanta frowned. “Since when do you need my advice about anything?”
Stung, Carling stepped back, her shoulders slumped. She bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering.
Shanta brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at Carling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m hot and tired…we’re all hot and tired, I know. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
Taking a deep breath, Carling said in a soft voice, “I understand. Don’t worry. We’re all just trying to do our best to keep the village safe.” She sat down in the shade next to the elder. “Shanta,” she said, “I have been thinking.”
Shanta nodded and waited.
“I would like to build a secret chamber under the government building in which we can hide the children and elderly if we should be attacked. Can you help me find the appropriate place?”
Shanta said nothing for several minutes, her eyes staring straight ahead as she thought about this new request. Finally, she turned and looked at Carling. “I know just the place.”
Shanta struggled to her feet, stretched, and pushed on her back with both hands. “I’m getting too old for this, I’m afraid.” She gave Carling a weak smile and started walking toward the government building.
The two of them entered through a side door and walked down a long, narrow hallway. Before reaching the expansive atrium, now emptied of all the injured Fauns, Shanta stopped. To their right was an intricately carved and gilded door. However, unlike all the tall doors that surrounded the atrium, this one was about half the height…just barely tall enough for a Duende to enter. The other unique feature was that it did not have a doorknob. Carling raised her eyebrows in wonder and asked, “What is this?”
“Watch.” Shanta pushed on a circular rosette right in the middle of the door. With a low scraping sound, the door slowly swung open. Shanta motioned for Carling to enter.
Once inside, Carling stopped, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. When her eyes could focus, she saw that she was in a tiny room that was no larger than an over-sized closet. The only light was coming from the hallway. “What is this room?” she asked Shanta.
“We started building this many years ago as a place to hide the village treasury. We never finished.”
“But how would we fit all the children and elderly in here?” Carling said. “It’s so tiny.”
“Ahhh, but this is not all there is to it. Look down.”
On the dimly lit floor, Carling could just make out a series of circles created on the floor from glass tiles. Each circle touched the next at the edges and formed a line leading to one side. The last circle seemed to disappear under the wall. “Press your foot on the last circle,” Shanta instructed.
Carling did as she was told. At first nothing happened. Then, very slowly, the wall moved to one side, revealing an opening that was too dark to see into.
Using a piece of flint and steel, Shanta lit a candle that was attached to the wall on one side of the opening. Immediately, a long staircase became visible. The steps descended downward. Shanta lifted the candle from its holder and the light bounced off the walls. Carling looked over at the elder, who motioned for her to go ahead. Carling led the way down the staircase.
The bottom of the stairs opened into an enormous underground cavern. The walls and ceiling were rough-hewn stone, the floor only slightly smoother. The large room was bare and quite cold. But to Carling, it was flawless.
She walked to the center of the cavern, extended her arms, and twirled around. “It’s perfect. Simply perfect,” she said. “Let’s get some supplies down here…blankets, water, some food and medicines.”
—
By the time the leaves on the trees around the village of Duenton were bright red and gold, the fortress surrounding the village was done. Carling led the villagers in gathering crops and storing food items for the approaching winter.
By the time the first tiny flakes of snow floated softly to the ground, the fortress walls were straight and strong, the gate secure, and food was in the store houses. Carling looked around, hands on hips, and smiled. Then her smile changed to a frown. She turned to Higson. “Any progress with your family?”
Higson lowered his chin and shook his head. “No. They still refuse to leave their home.”
Chapter 37
The Enemy Strikes
Carling was awakened by the sound of voices from the street below her window. Since the fortress walls had been completed, she had lived in a little room over the town bakery. It was warm and cozy, and every morning she could smell the delicious aroma of baking bread that wafted up to her room from the ovens below. But not this morning, and its absence was ominous.
Carling got out of bed and ran to the little leaded-glass window set in the dormer. She looked out onto the village roofs, which were dusted with a fresh layer of snow that had fallen during the night. The gray clouds were gone now and the pink sky promised a beautiful clear day, but the beauty ended with nature as Carling’s eyes moved down to the street.
Below her, villagers were gathering in the town square. Their flailing arms and shouts told Carling that something was terribly wrong. She turned back into the room. The silver breastplate, with the green Stone of Mercy sparkling brightly, waited on the chair next to her bed. She discarded her night dress and put the breastplate on over a thick undershirt. The silver metal felt both cold and welcoming at the same time. She put on yesterday’s tunic over the breastplate and a warm cloak to top it off. She dashed out the door and down the narrow back stairs that opened into the bakery. As the lack of the customary delicious aroma told her, no bread was baking in the large brick oven. In fact, the baker named Parkson and his family were nowhere to be seen. Carling felt her stomach twist and turn. She felt her hands start to sweat and shake. She knew something very bad was happening.
Leaving the bakery through the front door, Carling was assaulted by both the cold winter wind and the shouts of the villagers. “What is it? What’s going on?” she asked the first person she approached.
“We’re being attacked,” responded the villager. His face was red from cold and fear.
Dread filled Carling. She grabbed the villager by both shoulders. “Tell me more. What do you know?”
He turned and pointed toward the west. “See for yourself.”
Carling turned and looked in the direction to which he pointed. The early morning sky was scarred by tendrils of twisting black smoke. She let go of the Duende and dashed to the government building, hoping to find the council members there. Before she reached the long steps that led to the entrance, Higson was at her side.
“Carling, they’ve attacked the outlying homes…my parents….” He let the rest of the sentence dangle in the cold morning air.
Carling stopped and turned to Higson. “Who is it? Who is attacking us?”
“The Heilodius Centaurs.”
Carling set her jaw and dashed up the staircase, taking two and three steps at a time. Higson struggled to keep up. “Carling, I’ve got to go to my parents.”
Trying
to remain calm as she continued up the steps, Carling responded. “It’s too late for them, Higson.”
Higson stopped in the middle of the stairs. “What do you mean? Maybe they got away. Maybe they’re hiding. Maybe, if we just sent them some help, they’d be okay.”
Carling shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Higson. But our job is to protect the village.”
“You can’t just let my parents get killed!”
“They knew the risks when they chose to stay in their home.”
Higson stood for another moment, staring at her with his mouth wide open. Then his eyes narrowed and he said in a low voice. “Well, I’m not going to just stand by and let them be slaughtered by the Heilodius. I’m going to help them.” He turned and dashed back down the steps.
“Higson, come back. Don’t do this!” At that moment, Carling’s heart split in half. Part went with her friend, but the other part pulled her into the government building, where she knew the council would be gathering. The latter won the internal battle; she turned and opened the tall carved doors.
—
Once inside the chambers, Carling got a full report. One of the Fauns in the northwest watch-tower had reported the first sign of smoke coming from the forest visible in the early light of dawn. As he watched, several Centaurs, dressed in black, emerged from the forest that bordered the fortress walls. They began sending their arrows up and over the walls and into his tower. The Faun scrambled down the tower stairs and signaled the Duende soldiers on duty. Within minutes, the Duende were returning fire from the safety of the fortress. As far as they could tell, no Duende or Fauns were injured but, already, several Centaurs lay dead or dying outside the fortress walls.
As Carling was brought up to date, a Duende rushed into the room. “They are shooting flaming arrows at the fortress!”
The council members began shouting at once, arguing over which course of action to take. Carling stood up, tall and confident. “We do nothing. The fortress walls will be fine. Any flaming arrows that come over the wall will be put out. We must not panic as we continue returning fire as they expose themselves.”
The messenger bowed. “As you say, your majesty.” He turned and dashed back out of the room.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Then one council member stepped forward. “Your majesty? He called you ‘Your Majesty.’ Are we your subjects now?”
Carling turned and looked at the council member. Her eyes were soft and kind. A smile graced her face. “No. We are partners and companions. Together we must keep our village safe. Now, let’s get the children and the elderly into the hiding place.”
—
Carling, her skill with the bow and arrow proving to be extraordinary, joined the guards on the city wall. A large Heilodius Centaur galloped straight toward the city gate, a battle-ax in hand. Once he reached the thick plank doors, he began pounding, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. Carling nocked her arrow, aimed carefully at his ax-wielding arm, and let her arrow fly. With a scream of pain, the centaur dropped the ax, grabbed his arm, and whirled around on his haunches. He galloped away, heading straight for the safety of the forest. Soon, a second centaur approached, intent on finishing the job. Carling sent him running as well.
All morning, great mobs of Heilodius Centaurs galloped around and around the village, shooting arrows up and over the walls. The arrows rained down on the Duende, but nothing stopped the little people in their determination to defend their homes and lives. Shouts rose up on both sides of the wall as instructions were given by leaders. Fortunately, the confusion outside the village wall was not matched by the events inside. Within the village of Duenton, the Duende were orderly and confident, born of their extensive preparation.
By mid-day, the battle ended. The Heilodius Centaurs ceased charging around the village walls, convinced, at last, that they could not penetrate it…at least not with their bows and arrows. They gathered up those of their army who could still gallop and disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.
A great cheer went up from the Duende as they celebrated their victory.
Carling did not join in the celebration. Instead, she rushed to the city gates. “Has Higson returned? Have you seen Higson?” she asked each of the guards in the stone towers. Each shook their heads, a response that felt as though one of Carling’s own arrows had pierced her heart.
“Please open the gates. Let me out.”
“Miss Carling,” one of the guards protested, “that wouldn’t be safe. We can’t be sure all the Centaurs are gone.”
Carling folded her arms across her chest, raised her jaw and, with determination in her voice, said, “I must find Higson. Open the gates and let me pass.”
Reluctantly, the guards opened the gate just enough to let her slip through the gap, out of the safety of the village and into the unknown.
Chapter 38
Sorrow and Resolve
The minute the doors scraped along the cobblestone road and opened the slightest bit, Carling squeezed her slim body through the widening gap. Once outside, she stopped and looked from side to side at the carnage that lay all around her. Dead and dying Heilodius Centaurs littered the ground, lying in their own blood. She yelled up at the guard tower, “Get the healer out here at once. Some of these Centaurs are still alive. We might be able to save them.”
With that, Carling turned and worked her way between the bleeding bodies until she reached the forest. She intentionally avoided the narrow road that connected Duenton with the various outlying homesteads for fear there might still be Heilodius Centaurs in the area. As she entered the woods, the bodies thinned but the trees thickened. She worked her way toward the forest glen that she knew held Higson’s home. The sun had warmed the winter day only slightly as the battle had ensued. But here, in the forest, an icy chill surrounded her. The cold seemed to grip her and squeeze from all directions. She shivered as she ran, her breaths turning immediately to puffs of condensation that looked like dragon’s smoke. Inside, she felt like anything but a dragon. She felt small and weak. She bit her lip to keep from crying. She didn’t have time to cry right now.
As she neared the clearing, the crunching sound of her feet on the snow was drowned out by an odd noise weaving through the trees. She stopped for a moment to identify and locate the sound.
Digging. Yes, she was sure of it. Someone was digging and the sound was coming from her right. She changed her direction and dashed off again.
Soon she came upon a wall of scrub oak. Bare of leaves for the winter, the thick, tangled branches still formed a barrier. She peeked over and saw Higson. His back to her, he was unaware of her presence as he dug, sending wet snow and frozen dirt flying behind him. Beside him, lying motionless on the snow, were two bodies. Though they were wrapped in tattered and charred blankets, she knew instinctively who they were.
Carling worked her way back to the clearing to find their home, which was now a smoldering pile of timbers. Images of her own home from several months before filled her mind and a great guttural moan left her throat. But she didn’t have time to mourn right now. She pushed the pain back into its special hiding place in her heart and carried on.
She ran behind the house to find the toolshed, which was untouched by the flames that consumed the cottage. The door was ajar and Carling went into the dark, little structure. Between the axes and sickles she found a shovel. With her frozen hands, she grabbed hold of the shovel’s wooden handle, pulled the tool from the pile, and dashed back out the door.
She entered the makeshift cemetery without saying a word. Something about the setting and the situation was too sacred to disrupt with speech. A moment later, she stood beside Higson and began digging.
The ground beneath the snow was frozen and the work was much harder than she would have imagined had she thought that far, which she hadn’t. She used all her weight, little as it was, to jump on the shovel and peel bits of dirt out of the hole Higson had started. They worked in silence, lost in the
ir own sorrow.
By the time the hole was big enough to hold both of Higson’s parents’ bodies, the sun was setting and the temperature in the woods was bitterly cold. Carling didn’t notice, so concerned was she about Higson. Reverently, Higson set his mother’s and father’s bodies side by side in the grave.
Just as the last shovelful of dirt dropped with a dull thud on the mound, Higson fell to his knees. He began sobbing, his shoulders shaking violently. Carling stood behind him, not wanting to interfere with his grieving but wishing she could do something to soothe his pain?a pain she knew so well.
As he cried, the tree limbs overhead, heavy with snow, drooped as if in sympathy. One bough dropped its snow at the end of the mound, forming a frozen grave marker. Darkness gathered silently around them.
Once he could control his sobs and catch his breath, Higson turned his muddied and tear-stained face up and glared at Carling. From between clenched teeth he growled, “Why did we have to get involved in this?”
Carling felt like she was going to crumple to the ground and disappear. She wished she could. She reached down and cradled Higson’s face in her hands. “I don’t know,” she said, tears stinging her eyes as she thought of her own parents. “But there is one thing I do know and I know it to the center of my very being. There is no turning back…. There is no turning back, now.”
To be continued…
The Centaur Chronicles
Book 2
The Stone of Courage
About the Author
Award-winning author, M.J. Evans grew up in Lake Oswego, Oregon. Upon graduation from Oregon State University and marriage to her high school sweetheart, she spent five years teaching teenagers in high school and middle school. She retired from teaching to raise the couple’s five wonderful children.