by K. J. Hargan
Chapter Twenty One
Celebrations and Funerals
Kellabald felt himself being carried. He gazed up at the azure blue sky of the late afternoon. The snow and clouds had cleared into a cold day, ready for winter. He could feel the blood oozing out of his body. He felt the blackness crowding in on his consciousness. He thought, let me see this, let me stay to see only this.
Crows scuttled across the sky. It would be a good day for them. The rocking of being carried off the battlefield sent Kellabald to sleep.
He woke with a start in the house in Tyny with physicians working quickly over his body. He was on his back, on a table. The worried voices sounded muffled. He turned his head and saw Arnwylf holding Wynnfrith, staring at him with large eyes, filled with fear.
Oh my loved ones, was all he thought before he slipped into unconsciousness again.
Out on the late afternoon battlefield, the last of the garonds fled for their lives. The human army wearily leaned on their swords. The battle for the Eastern Meadowland was over and the human army was victorious. But, no voice was yet raised in joyous sounds of triumph.
Women and children began to enter the meadow, looking for husbands, brothers and sons. Some were met with painful strains of happy relief. Other’s calls went unanswered.
Caerlund met up with Haerreth, who still had both arms bandaged from his serious wounding by Apghilis the day before.
“Has the Mattear Gram been retrieved?” Haerreth asked.
“It was last seen in the hands of the garond war general,” Caerlund said. “The garond forces were split. Some went north and some went south. The garonds heading south were split again by the Bairn River. It’s believed the ones that got around the river have headed for their base in Harvestley.”
“Have the garonds who ended up on the north side of the Bairn continued east?” Haerreth asked, as captains of the human army gathered.
“It is feared they have fled into the Weald,” a captain reported.
“They must not be allowed to build a base in our sacred wood,” a captain of the Weald said with anger.
“No garond will be allowed to remain anywhere in Wealdland,” Caerlund said with a snort, and the captains all added serious grunts of agreement.
“But the sun sword...” Haerreth said.
“It is more than just a sword,” Caerlund said with a reverent nod. “All know that now. Did you see Kellabald with that sword?”
“He moved just as Haergill in his finest days,” a captain from the Northern Kingdom of Man said with a wistful frown. “Before we began to fight nation to nation,” he finished with his eyes turned down in shame.
“Well, we are now united,” Haerreth said trying to lift spirits. “And we will remain that way.”
“Our enemy has made us strong,” Caerlund gravely agreed. “But we must retrieve that sword. It must not fall into the hands of the Lord of Lightning. I have seen channels of power associated with that sword. We must pray that the garond leader fled north, for that separation prevents him from putting the Mattear Gram into the clutches of Deifol Hroth.”
“We must immediately organize armies to pursue the broken factions of the garond army,” Haerreth said. “Every human army should include men from all nations.”
“A good idea,” Caerlund said. “Let us go to Tyny to see how our war general fares.” Caerlund, Haerreth, and the captains turned to stride towards Tyny.
Ronenth, with Frea, riding Ronenth’s horse, Quickly, pulled into Tyny. They dismounted and ran to Halldora who was holding Wynnfrith, who was racked with sobs.
“Where is Arnwylf?!” Frea cried.
“He is in with his father,” Halldora said. “Arnwylf is unharmed, but Kellabald may not live.”
“I could not watch,” Wynnfrith said, between sobs, as Halldora held her tighter.
Frea broke into sobs and pushed her face into Ronenth’s shoulder. Ronenth put his arm around her and held her.
Yulenth with Alrhett rode up, with Solienth riding behind. As soon as they stopped, Solienth fell from his horse, his leg soaked with blood. Yulenth and Alrhett leapt from Gladsir.
“You are seriously wounded,” Yulenth cried, pressing both hands on the wound. “Bring physicians!”
“Leave them for younger men,” Solienth said.
“Save your breath for insulting me later,” Yulenth said with a brave smile. Solienth laughed a weak laugh.
Alrhett fled to find a physician.
In the house in Tyny, the Archer and the elf flanked Arnwylf as he watched the physicians trying to save his father’s life.
“Perhaps we should step outside,” The Archer said to Arnwylf.
“As long as my father draws breath,” Arnwylf flatly said, “I will be by his side.”
“Then we will be beside you,” the elf said.
The Archer pulled the elf to a far corner of the house. “About our conversation before the battle,” the Archer struggled for words. “It’s not that I don’t have certain feelings for you...”
“What are you talking about?” The elf said with a blank face.
“I thought...” the Archer stammered.
“The broken heart of one elf matters little now,” the elf said without emotion. “The whole of Wealdland, if not the entire earth, may soon be destroyed.”
The Archer saw that there was no guile in the elf, and he solemnly nodded. “Just know,” the Archer added, “where you go, I go.”
“That is your decision,” the elf said with tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Then, she turned to stand next to Arnwylf to comfort him. The Archer also approached, but stayed back a step.
The physician turned to Arnwylf. “We have stopped the bleeding,” the physician said. “Now it is in the hands of Oann.” Then the physicians left to care for other wounded soldiers.
As night fell, funeral pyres lit up the meadowland. Brave human soldiers were given their honorable due as their families prayed and wept. And, mounds of dead garond soldiers burned in long leaping tongues of flame reaching up to the stars in the sky. Nunee shone bright and full. The Wanderer was smaller and farther than ever before, moving in its new, erratic path.
Joyous voices began to sing. Those left alive pledged new family bonds to those left without father or brother. The singing began to catch from family to family, as the human voices rang across the meadowland, solemnly grateful for those spared, and mournfully respecting those who gave their lives.
In the tent of Healfdene, the leaders of the human nations gathered. Healfdene and Haerreth of Reia hosted the Archer from Kipleth, Halldora of the Northern Kingdom of Man, Yulenth of Glaf, Alrhett of the Weald, Caerlund of the Madrun Hills, and the last elf of Lanis. Many captains and lords of the nations filled the tent.
“Tomorrow will be a day of hope for the Wealdland,” Healfdene said.
“Our enemy has sought to destroy us,” Halldora agreed, “by setting us against each other.”
“We have before us,” Alrhett said, “an unprecedented opportunity to forge alliances, stronger than ever before, between our nations.”
“First let us have a moment of silence for those who gave their lives this day,” Healfdene said. The assembled quietly contemplated the soldiers who gave their all on the field of battle.
Healfdene raised a goblet. “May their sacrifices be honored by us,” Healfdene reverently said, “by living lives of virtue, honesty, and integrity.”
“And may their children,” Haerreth quickly added, “be regarded as our very own children, without reservation.”
“Without reservation,” the group promised with upraised cups. Then they all drank a solemn promise.
“If there are still grievances,” Healfdene said, “then let them be spoken now, so that our pacts will be made without doubt or hesitation.”
The tent was silent.
“I know of one grievance to be addressed,” Halldora said clearing her throat. “The Kingdom of Man has done the worst against the Kingdom of the Glafs. Is there any
here who dispute it?”
The tent felt the weight of shame.
“The wars against the Glafs, whom we called the Ettonnes, was unjust, and led almost to their extinction,” Halldora said.
“Now, Halldora...” Yulenth began to protest.
But she held up her hand. “Yulenth,” Halldora said, “I may have lived for two years as your friend, but today I am the Queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man. I ask that you respond as the King of the Glafs, now king by right of birth.”
“Very well,” Yulenth said. “Then let me say, I do harbor ill will to the citizens of Man. Let us be honest. Very well. There are only three of us left, for what? An insult over whose capitol was more beautiful? A dispute over the boundary of a plowed field? Cross words exchanged between two strangers on a darkened street? I know not what was the impetus of our war, but we lost. I ask no reward or repayment. What is done is done. I do this as an example to all. Let your disputes fall as fruit grown rotten on the branch. Let them lie on the ground where they belong, and join the dust of the earth. Perhaps then new seeds of life and forgiveness can grow from this. Perhaps you will think how your people may be swept from the earth if you relentlessly pursue war. As one of the three Glafs left, I say, we take partial responsibility for the war with our neighbor to the north. I cannot say were the situation reversed I would be happy or sad. How can I know such an awful thing? I see more and more the shame the whole kingdom of Man feels. I know not how to forgive a whole people. But somehow I must try.”
All were moved by Yulenth’s words.
“Ask of me, Yulenth of Glaf,” Halldora said, “whatever you desire, I will grant it, even unto the whole of the kingdom.”
“Whatever I desire?” Yulenth quietly said. “What I desire? I desire to be back in Bittel with the gentle summer sunshine falling through the oak trees. I desire the good companionship of my wife and her friends, and my adopted grandson, still a child, proudly showing me the first fish he ever caught. Can you bring those days back to me? This is my greatest desire.”
“Give him the whole kingdom,” A captain of Man said, holding back tears.
“Would that I could give you those days again,” Halldora said. “I grant you all of the Northern Kingdom of Man you desire, but I fear your Glaf pride will keep you from taking any single thing,” she said with an emotional smile. “I can promise you, Yulenth, my friend of Bittel, we will try to bring back those days of peace and happiness. I promise this with all my heart.”
All in the tent were quiet, wishing for the days of peace gone by.
“Now let us swear truce and cooperation,” Healfdene said. “I think all the leaders of the nations should keep their stations and powers, but I hope we will all be eager to move as one when confronting the garond presence still left in our land.”
“There are rumors that we have seen but a portion of the army which still waits beyond Byland,” the Archer softly said. “But I swear, that my bow will not rest, nor my sword slumber, until every last one of those vermin is expelled from my sacred home.”
“And, I!” A captain shouted. “And, I!” The whole tent resounded.
“Well then,” Healfdene said with a sad happiness. “We need to organize what is left of our army, and discover where our enemy is and what strength remains with their numbers.”
“Getting that sword back ought to be first priority, I reckon,” Caerlund humbly said.
“I agree,” the elf added before Healfdene had time to protest.
“Then the forces sent out to find and deal with the garonds left in our home land,” Haerreth said, “should do so with finding the Mattear Gram foremost in their thoughts.”
“Let it be so,” Healfdene said, and the conference was concluded.
In the dark of night, in the house in Tyny, Kellabald woke to candlelight and the fearful faces of his wife and son.
“Husband!” Wynnfrith exclaimed.
“Wynnfrith,” Kellabald weakly said. “Son,” he said to Arnwylf, who was so choked with tears he couldn’t speak.
“Are the garonds driven from the eastern meadowland?” Kellabald softly asked.
“Your leadership has saved us all,” Wynnfrith said with a kiss.
“The sword!” Kellabald said and tried to rise, his bandages seeping blood.
“Rest, Kellabald,” Wynnfrith eased him down onto the bed. “The garond leader has the sun sword, but he won’t get far. His army is in tatters.”
“I will get the sword back for you,” Arnwylf said to his dying father, with determination in his eyes.
“My son,” Kellabald. “You have had to become an adult too soon. I apologize.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Arnwylf said through his tears.
“There are so many things I would tell you,” Kellabald said.
“You will live a long time to tell me all the things of your heart,” Arnwylf bravely said.
“My eyes grow darker with every passing moment,” Kellabald said holding Arnwylf’s hand. “Let us be honest with every word, for I fear I have few left to give you.” Kellabald shifted on the bed so he could look more directly at Arnwylf.
“First and most importantly,” Kellabald said to Arnwylf, “do not regret or spurn your responsibilities. They are the threads which sew your life together.”
“Father,” Arnwylf pleaded. But, Kellabald patted his hand and went on.
“I had many friends in Alfhich when I was a young man and you were but an infant. I would sometimes stay with them, and worry your poor mother. One day, Yulenth said to me, ‘Why do you steal such precious moments from yourself?’ I didn’t know what he was talking about. But the very next day, some of the lads from Alfhich came to take me fishing out on the Mere of Lanis. I would have been gone for days. Yulenth’s words were in my mind and I declined to go with them. The very next day, you caught your first fish, by yourself, in the stream that runs through Bittel. If I had gone with my friends I would have missed that. I would have missed seeing how proud you were in that moment. I would have missed you trying to wrestle that enormous fish from the water, the laughter and merriment when you brought it to your mother. I tell you son, that fish was the most delicious fish I ever ate. Know your responsibilities, son, and honor them. They are the threads that hold your life together.” Kellabald gently lay back on the bed.
Arnwylf buried his face in the bed, holding back his sobs with all his might.
“Wynnfrith,” Kellabald said, holding out his hand.
“Here I am, husband,” Wynnfrith said moving close, taking his hand.
“When I first saw you,” Kellabald smiled, “sixteen years old, brought by your fugitive mother to my little settlement, I knew I would fight the whole world for you. And I have.” They both softly cried on each other’s shoulders.
“Now wife,” Kellabald said, “I must go on before you.”
“No,” Wynnfrith said. “I will not let you go.”
“I am afraid, dear one,” he said, “you will not be able to prevent me.”
“Then I will follow you,” she said.
“Did you not hear anything I said to your son?” Kellabald gently said. “Those words were not only for him. You will have many things to do to help heal our land.” Kellabald coughed a little, and Wynnfrith held his shoulders as he caught his breath.
“Rest now,” Wynnfrith said. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“Clever woman,” Kellabald said. “If only you could trick me into waiting until tomorrow.”
Wynnfrith ran her fingers through Kellabald’s mop of blonde hair, and stared into his soft brown eyes. “Husband,” was all she could say before her tears caught her voice.
“Listen,” Kellabald said, “we have never spoken much of it, but between my lineage of Reia and your direct line to the throne of the Weald, our son unites two nations. You have heavy worries ahead of you. I just wish I could be there to help you.”
“You will be!” Wynnfrith cried. Kellabald patted Wynnfrith’s hand.
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“You will be confronted with political vipers,” Kellabald said. “We are all congenial brothers now, in happy victory, but the day after, all will seek your power, and you will be set upon on all sides.” Kellabald rose slightly to look more directly at Wynnfrith.
“When I discovered the nature of my father’s religion,” Kellabald said, “sacrificing children to the monster of Lake Hapaun, I knew I could no longer be his son. I couldn’t stand before the lords of Reia and lie for my father, nor could I tell the truth. You may face such awful decisions. I now know if I had to, I could have condemned my father. I would have told the truth. You may one day have to tell a truth you do not want to tell. In that moment, feel my strength standing beside you. Be fair and be honest, like our greatest leaders. Know that I love you and will be with you in spirit always.”
“My love will be with you, and you alone for all time and all ages,” Wynnfrith said through her sobs.
“My father,” was all Arnwylf could say.
“Let your light, be my last light,” Kellabald said staring at the faces of his wife and son. And, then he died.
Wynnfrith and Arnwylf cried by the body of Kellabald long into the night.
At last, the Archer and the elf entered. “We should take him to Bittel, for his funeral,” the elf quietly said.
“Let him rest there in his home,” the Archer added.
Wynnfrith could only nod her head.
Arnwylf fled into the cold night of the meadowland to cry his bitter tears alone, on the field where his father’s life was taken.