by M. K. Adams
Lyvanne’s face flushed red. She could see the severity behind Kwah’s eyes. “I… I had to help,” she tried to argue. “Sorry.”
Kwah placed a hand on his hip and sighed. “Don’t be. It seems like the two of you have saved our friends life,” he said, gesturing back to Turiel who was still sat on the grass. “But unfortunately, we have lost many more friends, and our night doesn’t end here.”
The survivors spent the next two hours regrouping and tending to the wounded. But the work began in earnest shortly after, as the sun began to cast its rays out over the horizon in the distance, filling the cloudless sky with a blood red haze.
The woods had been ravaged during the battle, and the bodies of their fallen friends were littered throughout. Less than half of their people had survived the battle, and of those who survived another half of them had been declared too badly injured to be of any real use in the clean-up efforts.
“Turiel, Jocelyn… you two stay here with the others. Neither of our are in any shape to help in the woods,” Kwah said as he gathered those able bodies who could help. “You too, Lyvanne. Stay with them.”
Lyvanne shook her head. “I’m coming, I can help.”
Kwah looked down at her, and she made sure not to break her eyes away from his gaze. “Very well, come with me.”
When she first broke back through the treeline with the others, she found that the woods had emptied of all living animals or people. The fires were well on their way to dying, the smoke weak and dissipated, no longer filling the lungs of all who entered. It wasn’t until they reached the site which had once been their camp did Lyvanne really see the impact of what had happened. Although she had seen the body of the old Hemeti whom they had rescued on the North Road, his body had been largely untouched by battle.
The same couldn’t be said about some of the other bodies that they found: soldiers from both sides of the battle who had lost limbs, their entrails spread outwards from their bodies and the signs of carnivorous insects already crawling out of the ground to claim the aftermath of the bloodshed.
The dozen of them who were capable did what they could to gather up the bodies of their friends. It was a dirty job, and Lyvanne was largely relegated to the gathering of supplies and any other material that might be of use in the days and weeks to come.
All in al,l there wasn’t much left for her to gather. Making her way through what was left of the camp she tried to salvage what she could. What the battle hadn’t crushed, the fire had claimed. Leaving little other than a few stores of food, the weapons of the fallen and what she could find in the Annex. The structure of the Annex itself had collapsed, the wood turned into charcoal. As she rummaged through the ash her fingers brushed the top of a small stone box. Cleaning away the rest of the dirt and ash surrounding the box, she unlodged it from the floor and brought it to Kwah.
“Thank you,” Kwah said as she passed the box into his hands. “We’re lucky this survived.”
“What is it?”
Kwah fiddled with a small stone mechanism on the top of the box. Lyvanne heard a subtle clicking noise and the box swung open. Inside it was filled with parchments and what appeared to be rolled up maps. “This is where we kept all the locations and details of other branches of The Spring. If this had been destroyed we would have had quite the time trying to reconnect.”
Everything only grew worse as the group worked their way through the camp and out into the woods on the other side of the clearing. It was evident that this was where the bulk of the battle had taken place. There were bodies strewn everywhere, lifeless husks from both sides who had fallen among the leaves as their blood stained the nature around them. Lyvanne saw Hemeti hung over wooden barricades and fallen trees which had been used to slow the enemy’s advances; men in the colours of the king who had been victimised by pitfalls, their bodies impaled on the wooden spikes hidden below. But worst of all were the bodies of the king’s soldiers whose remains Lyvanne couldn’t explain with reasonable thought. Their armour appeared torn apart from within, and there was little left of their actual bodies except for the immediate splatter of blood and gore that surrounded the ruined armour plating.
Her stomach did summersaults and her breath caught in her throat. She’d never seen anything like it before and her imagination ran wild with what weapon The Spring could have used to cause such an effect. It didn’t take her long before she realised what and who the real cause behind the scene would be, and her heart sank as she finally realised just why Turiel had appeared pained back on the outskirts.
“Do not dwell on what has happened,” Kwah said walking up beside her as she stared down at the scene of a massacre. “And do not pity Turiel for what he has done. It was his decision to make, and without his actions none of us would be here to tell our story.”
Lyvanne wanted to avert her eyes, to move elsewhere and help relocate the bodies of their friends, but she couldn’t bring herself to pry her eyes away. “I used to think magic was like a toy, that it was used to bring joy and mystery into the world…” Lyvanne waved a hand at the scene before her. “I didn’t ever think it could be used like this.”
“I dare say for someone so young you’ve had a bad experience of magic,” Kwah replied. “But yes, I don’t know how it was used in ages past, but to be born with it in the world as we know it today is only a burden. One that I must say Turiel carries with great responsibility.”
The rest of the morning went slowly. The further into the woods and the closer towards the front line of the battle they worked the more bodies of their friends they found. Tublik had been found by the wooden palisades, his body pierced in multiple locations around his chest. The bodies of three enemy soldiers collapsed around him. Similarly they had found Shri’ook among a scattering of bodies off to the left of the battlefield.
“The left wing of our men fell early into the battle,” Kwah reminisced as they moved among the fallen. Their bodies appeared burned in totality, their skin peeling and any hair on their heads gone. “They did not deserve an end like this.”
“The enemy had a warlock too,” Lyvanne said as she held back the bile in her throat.
“Then we must thank the Goddess’ fortune that it was only the left wing who fell in such a manner.”
As the sun rose further into the sky, and far off animals crowed the arrival of the morning, The Spring found themselves ready to say their goodbyes to the fallen. They didn’t have the manpower to bury their friends and companions properly, so instead Kwah had taken the lead on the construction of a funeral pyre. Tyler and a handful of others had cleaned up the bodies as best they could and then they were placed on a large construction of wood and loose stones that served as their resting place.
The mood was utterly despondent as the flames licked the bodies of the fallen before rising high into the sky. Lyvanne watched as tears rolled down the face of Greyson, his brother Davidson one of the bodies laid across the pyre. To her left, Hemeti were saying a silent prayer for their fallen. The Hemeti man from the North Road whom she swore she recognised had survived the conflict and had joined hands with others nearby as they watched the spirits of their friends move on to the next world.
Oblib was stood on the other side of the pyre, but she could just about make him out through the flicker of the flames. His head was drooped, whilst the other Hemeti had closed their eyes in prayer, Oblib instead struggled to fight back the tears. He had been badly injured during the battle and like Jocelyn part of his clothing had been fashioned into a makeshift sling.
“We can’t stay here,” Kwah’s voice sounded out as the fire slowly began to die. “The king will be back and in greater number than before. We won’t survive another attack.”
Lyvanne cast her gaze over those around the fire. She was thankful for those who had survived, but what had at first been sorrow for those they had lost quickly turned into a different emotion entirely. As she watched the bodies of the dead burn under the morning sun her mind began to make accusati
ons. This isn’t my fault, she told herself, these people didn’t die because of her me. They had died because of the king. These people were young. They were optimists who wanted better for their lives and the lives of the people they loved, and they had been killed because of the king’s greed and paranoia. The anger swelled inside of her and she knew that without any doubt she had chosen and accepted the path that had been laid out before her. She would fight for the Rive.
Chapter 36
There were two dozen of them left alive following the battle, and all of them looked as though they had seen better days. The camp had been destroyed and the horses lost during the attack. So after having gathered all they could, and after saying their final goodbyes to the fallen, Kwah and Turiel gathered everyone together and as one they set off to the South.
Following fields which ran adjacent to a small road that forked off from the North Road the group made slow progress. Many were wounded, some with injuries that made it difficult for them to travel, but Kwah had insisted that they weren’t safe if they delayed any longer and that the need to resupply was too critical. The islander had grown into the role of leader Lyavnne noted as she watched him leading the way. His heroics on the battlefield being muttered around like campfire gossip as the gathering of young idealists made their way to a nearby village. Some of the injured had been given the luxury of travelling by horseback and the migration had begun.
Jocelyn had spent the time it had taken the able bodied to clear up and tend to the bodies of the dead informing Turiel of everything that had happened with the warlock. How Jocelyn had fought him and lost, but how Lyvanne and the timing of The Spring’s victory had caused the man to flee to save his own life. Turiel had been less than pleased. Not only over the fact that Jocelyn and Lyvanne had come back to the fighting, rather than fleeing to safety, but because they let the warlock go.
“He was too dangerous to let go!” Turiel had said as he walked alongside Lyvanne and Jocelyn through a field of tall grass and chirping insects.
“We had no choice,” Jocelyn replied calmly, trying to soothe Turiel’s temper so that they didn’t attract too many unwanted ears. “It was let him go or push him into defending himself and probably killing Lyvanne.”
Turiel furrowed his brows and rested his hands on his hips as he wrestled with the idea. For all his talk about training Lyvanne to defend herself against a warlock, she wasn’t sure that before last night he himself had ever faced off with one in such a manner.
Turiel had admitted to still being plagued by the pain that he had suffered during the battle, both as a result of his own actions and the actions of his adversary on the field. She noticed his hands shaking at times as they walked, but Turiel was always quick to hide the quirk away in his travelling cloak or the pockets of his tunic. His eyes darted along the horizon, as if afraid of being watched or attacked by some unseen foe.
“He isn’t well,” Lyvanne whispered to Jocelyn as the pair walked on ahead, choosing to give Turiel some space as they wound their way down the final stretches of countryside. Gentle columns of chimney smoke were rising into the sky a few miles away, and the small stone and wooden buildings of a village were steadily becoming clearer.
“I know, little one,” Jocelyn replied.
“Should we do something?” Lyvanne pressed.
“Not a lot we can do, at least not yet. Let him get some rest once we reach the village and then if it carries on we can try and help. Okay?” Jocelyn asked, looking down at Lyvanne who was walking by her side.
Lyvanne nodded, but in truth she wasn’t happy with just watching her friend be like this. A determination had grown within her since the battle and now anything other than a perfect solution felt insufficient.
The tall grassy fields of the countryside began to give way for tended and farmed meadows as the group reached the outskirts of the village. Rolling hills and untamed land gave way for flat farmland and cattle. It felt and looked like some of the places that Lyvanne had seen on their journey down from Astreya. Not the tropical forests or the arid lands surrounding the capital, but the small and peaceful villages that had dotted the riverbanks of the Anya.
As The Spring passed into the boundaries of the village looking like a platoon of soldiers returning home from the front lines of Tyberia, Lyvanne watched in awe as villagers didn’t just stand and watch. They instead rushed over and offered aid. Men and women, young and old alike all came rushing over, helping to carry supplies, weapons, the injured. Anywhere they could help, they did. Farmers stopped their work in the fields when they saw them arrive and came over to offer any help where it was needed.
“Thank you,” Kwah said repeatedly to every person who approached him. Even the Hemeti among them were being treated with dignity and in some cases admiration. It made her think of the way she had seen and heard the rich of Astreya talk about Hemeti, as though they had been born inferior even to the poor. Yet here, they were equals fighting for the same cause.
“Is it always like this?” Lyvanne whispered to Jocelyn as the pair were swarmed by a gaggle of young children who offered to carry the few belongings they had. Not wanting to part with her few belongings, and in particular the toy soldier Oh had given her long ago, Lyvanne politely declined their aid and ushered them on towards others.
Jocelyn smiled, the first full smile she’d seen since the battle. “Not always, but fighting for a cause that people like this can rally behind often leads to you making new friends.”
The reaction brought out a noticeable positive reaction from the crestfallen survivors of the night prior. Oblib who had been travelling towards the rear of the group was back to his usual jovial self as villagers with whom he was apparently well acquainted welcomed him. It was a reception unlike anything Lyvanne had seen in Astreya, a connection that simply wasn’t shared between the king’s men and the citizens he governed.
The Spring moved across from the fields and joined up with a small cobbled road which led down into the village proper. By now, they were less so being led by Kwah, and more by the rowdy villagers who had joined their numbers.
It surprised her how skinny so many of the villagers were. Some of the children had arms thinner than her own and the way they carried themselves made them appear more fragile than most.
“Are they okay?” Lyvanne asked Jocelyn as the group made their way into the village. More people continuously pouring out of small stone houses and wooden farm buildings as they spied the dishevelled survivors making their way towards a larger building which could be seen down towards the end of the road. Others watched through open shutters, or from the small fenced off gardens filled with decorative flowers that surrounded a number of the houses.
“These people don’t have much,” Jocelyn replied as a small child bumped into her side excitedly, causing her to wince as a wave of pain shot up her arm. “A lot of people, especially those living so far away from the cities don’t have much money, so they can’t afford much food. They grow what they can and they breed as much cattle as possible, but it’s hard. The king takes so much, for his armies, for his patrons. Not much is left after. I don’t know much about what this specific branch of The Spring have been doing day to day over the past few years, but judging by the way we’re being welcomed I’d imagine that they’ve played a large part in helping these people get by.”
Lyvanne took in everything that Jocelyn was saying. She found it bizarre that she’d ever doubted wanting to be a part of all of this. During her entire life she’d lived among the rich of Astreya, where every person just wanted what was best for themselves. The Spring were the first people she’d ever seen who actively worked towards making life better for others, and they were loved for it. Everything about it felt right, and she felt foolish for having doubted them.
The building they travelled to was larger than any Lyvanne had seen since leaving Astreya. It was three floors tall, carved from a beautiful grey stone and had wooden stables etched out of the side of one of the lower walls
. Hanging above a large pair of thick double doors was a swinging sign which read “The Cat and Dog” and had an ornate painting of the two animals to match. Several members of The Spring who had more severe injuries were rushed inside the tavern by locals and Kwah, who had already made his way inside after handing out some orders to the people nearest him. The orders were relayed back and the more able bodied survivors began to gather up the people carrying what supplies and belongings they had brought with them, and ushered them into the stables.
“Where are they going?” Lyvanne asked aloud.
“Shri’ook had a good relationship with the owner of this place,” It was Turiel who answered, appearing from behind Jocelyn and Lyvanne as everyone began to scrunch up as they approached the entrance. “There’s a small storage room hidden behind the stables. We store our more exotic items there in case any of the king’s men come calling whilst we’re here.”
Lyvanne looked on and sure enough, she realised that it had mostly been the weapons, spare armour and anything recovered from the wreckage of the Annex which had been taken away through the stables. “Come on, let’s get inside,” Turiel said, placing one arm around both Jocelyn and Lyvanne’s shoulders.
Passing through the double doors and into the tavern was like entering a different world. For the many taverns Lyvanne had walked past during her years growing up on the streets of Astreya, she had never once ventured inside. The room that greeted her was large, the ceiling high with three long wooden tables taking up most of the central area of the room. Along either wall running the length of the room were small wooden booths, made for more private conversations. At the end nearest the doors through which they had entered was a large hearth, and to their left at the other end was a large mahogany surface behind which Lyvanne saw all manner of drinks, glasse,s and large barrels.