by Tod Langley
12
Shuru Kaithep
Kristian was not prepared for what waited above. The tunnel exit stood on a small rise overlooking what had once been a beautiful village. There was a large clearing nestled within a forest of massive trees.
The village might once have been impressive. Perhaps, fifty homes made of wood and stone had neatly filled the clearing. In the center of the village, a pavilion stood on top of a small rise. Two white stone columns supported a third from which a decorated bronze symbol hung. Simplistic, yet beautiful, the Atlunam villagers had once gathered here. Scorch marks scarred it now. Smoke rose from the ashes of several burned out homes around the small town. Carts and wagons lay overturned. Debris covered everything.
The bodies of the villagers, their escort’s families and friends, littered the ground.
From where Kristian, stood he could see more than a hundred Atlunam, their ghastly wounds shouting at him over the distance that separated them. More than the villagers’ bodies filled the clearing. Their livestock had died with them. Kristian and Mikhal stood there dumbfounded. All around them the Atlunam escort sank to the ground in shock. None of them wanted to go into the village to find the remains of their loved ones.
Only Maurin seemed ready to act. He ran down the hill, tears streaking his face. Arriving at the first body, he started reaching for bandages and medicines from the pack he carried.
“No,” Maurin moaned. “This isn’t right. This isn’t right!” He stepped from one body to the next checking each for signs of life. Maurin stopped at the body of a small girl and paused. Her wounds were so horrible that Maurin could not keep from retching at the sight of her torn body. He walked away from the scene, sobbing. Kristian watched him continue through the village hoping to find someone still alive.
“This is likely the work of the Holtsmen,” Cairn said. Kristian sighed, not knowing what to say. The young king stood there, silent, looking from one ruined home to the next.
One by one, the hunters stood and walked down toward their homes to find their families. Hin’cabo shouted from the top of the hill. Facing to the west, his voice full of emotion, he screamed, “Pre ul maut’i, Holt khrubai! Hin’cabo ub Jurai, maut’i khrubai!”
“What … what did he say?” Kristian asked Cairn in a hushed voice.
Cairn continued scanning the forest for signs of danger as he answered him, “Pray for death, Holtsmen. I am the Hunter, Hin’cabo, and I will kill you.”
The hunters worked without a word, gathering their loved ones’ remains. Kristian, Mikhal, and Maurin watched from a fallen log close to a river on the far side of the village. The more they watched the Atlunam the more puzzled they became.
“We want to help,” Kristian insisted. “We want to show our respect and help them with this burden.”
“Hin’cabo will refuse. It is the responsibility of each Atlunam to care for his own dead and it must be done before the first night. That is their custom,” Cairn replied evenly. Their rescuers had shut away all emotions as they walked through their village picking up the bodies of their families and friends. Quietly, they collected everything including the debris. Kristian saw Hin’cabo take a young female body, and then two elderly bodies, into one of the less damaged homes. He made several trips back into the house carrying broken possessions that he neatly arranged around the bodies of his loved ones.
Kristian could not help but watch as the hunter gathered keepsakes from amid the ruin of his home. His hands shook and his breathing was ragged, but Hin’cabo pulled strength from his anger and continued. When he was finished, the Hunter of Shuru Kaithep knelt in the doorway and faced his loved ones. Hin’cabo bowed his head and started praying and humming a soft melody.
“The song seems familiar to me,” Cairn told Kristian, “I think it’s a song about love and family.” Hin’cabo swayed slightly from side to side, repeating the tune over and over again.
One of the weapons lying in the dirt drew Kristian’s attention. “By the looks of that broken sword,” he told the others, “whatever happened here did not take them by complete surprise.”
The brutality of whoever did this disgusted Kristian.
Perhaps Ferral isn’t the only evil man in the world, Kristian thought.
“How can anyone murder innocent children, regardless of their cause?” Mikhal asked.
Cairn replied, “Tragedies like this have happened before. Atrocities are committed by both sides.” He shook his head to keep the Erandians from speaking. “Don’t try to understand it. These people are different. Their cultures are ancient and so is their hatred for each other.”
Kristian sat on the log shaking his head in disbelief. So much life wasted, he thought.
“I’ve forgotten what life was like before all this happened,” Kristian declared as the hunters started taking long, wooden poles toward the edge of the forest. The poles had markings covering their highly polished surfaces. Bits of cloth, tied around the ends, floated gently in the late afternoon breeze. Kristian surmised they were markers letting others know what had happened here.
Mikhal nodded in agreement taking a step toward the Atlunam procession. Kristian thought that the site of the massacre affected Mikhal more than him or Maurin. He thought Mikhal felt a special connection to these people, but Kristian did not understand why. Mikhal studied everything the hunters had done on the way to their village, and even attempted to emulate their movements. When Mikhal came up out of the tunnel, his reaction had echoed those of the Atlunam.
Kristian tried to break Mikhal’s silence. “I can’t understand why they hide their emotions. They have lost everything, and yet, they carry out their tasks without saying anything or even weeping.”
“They are very passionate people,” Mikhal snapped back. “They choose not to show emotion now because there are more important things to be done first. Look at what they’re doing. They’re turning the entire village … their homes … into a graveyard.”
He stood frozen, silent and attentive, watching the Atlunam hunters finish their sad work. “This place will forever stand as a monument to the loved ones they have lost. And we don’t have the right to question their actions.” Mikhal started to leave, but Kristian stopped him.
“Mikhal, I’m sorry.” Mikhal hesitated, nodding briefly, before trying once more to leave. Kristian stopped him again. “We have to talk.” The urgency in his voice turned Mikhal around.
Kristian gathered his courage and spoke what had been on his mind for a long time. “You have been acting strange for some time. I understand why you avoid me, but you’ve changed.”
Kristian paused a moment before going on. “I know we’re not friends. I’ve made terrible mistakes. It would be hard for anyone to accept me, especially you. But I’m trying … I hope to someday earn your trust.” Kristian rubbed his arms, nervous, trying to find the right words to continue. “I guess what I am trying to say is that if you need to talk I would listen.”
Mikhal did not look at him. He lowered his head and remained silent, his body swaying back and forth between Kristian and the Atlunam. He nodded to his king and then turned and walked away.
Maurin, too far away to hear the conversation, nonetheless understood the exchange. After Mikhal left, he approached Kristian. “I don’t know him well. Maybe he’s still trying to recover from the wounds he suffered on the plains.” Kristian shook his head, disagreeing.
“No, Maurin. Mikhal has suffered many injuries, but the pain he feels now is in his head, or heart. He is haunted by something.”
Maurin nodded. “We’ve all seen terrible things. I’ll never forget this place or what I’ve seen. It’s a wonder we’re not all haunted.”
“I agree, but somehow, everything we have seen affects Mikhal differently. The pain is deeper, closer. Anyway, that’s only what I think, and my opinion is of little worth.”
Maurin hesitated, unsure if he should ask anything else. “Why don’t the two of you get along?”
> Kristian frowned. He did not want to tell Maurin what he had done, but the king felt the healer had to know who he followed. Kristian sat Maurin down on the log next to him and described, in vivid detail, every mistake he had made as the arrogant Prince of Erand, as well as the terrible price the Duellrians, and his own escort of cavaliers, had paid to protect him.
“My pride and arrogance cost thousands of men their lives. Mikhal hates me for what happened to his comrades, but he remains dutiful. He has vowed to protect me because he believes the only way to get revenge is to see Ferral destroyed.”
“It’s hard to imagine you as anything other than what I have always seen. You have been brave, honest, and sympathetic to others. Why else would you have warned my village of the Belarnians?” Maurin stammered out his words, trying to reassure Kristian.
Kristian stood to stretch. He checked on the progress of the hunters while thinking about his response. He had no way of knowing if Maurin was right. Am I truly trying to warn people or do I just want their help for my own quest against Ferral? How long will it be before I make amends for my actions?
Will I ever be forgiven? Kristian asked himself. Will I ever be able to forgive myself? Kristian realized he could hate himself forever if it became the driving force that made him better. If that’s what it takes for Mikhal to accept me, then that is what I will do to become a better man, Kristian acknowledged.
It seemed more important than ever to win Mikhal over. Kristian could think of no one that was a more competent, professional soldier. No one deserved a better life than the man that served his country and king regardless of his own feelings. Kristian also realized that no one disliked him more than Mikhal.
Cairn’s sudden appearance interrupted his thoughts. The man is too quiet, Kristian cursed. He seems to just appear out of thin air.
Cairn nodded in his usual manner of greeting, but Kristian knew the man was waiting to hear what was on his mind.
“Well, Cairn, what do you think we should do now? I’m not sure that the hunters will take us anywhere else. And I don’t know how to get to where their king is … or whatever he is called.”
“The Atlunam have a king, though I doubt you would ever be allowed to see him, especially after this incident. They will become even more remote, but we have more immediate concerns.” Kristian and Maurin looked at him in question. “It’s obvious that Hin’cabo and his men blame the Holtsmen for this massacre.”
Maurin spoke out. “Didn’t you say earlier that they heard about a patrol in the area?”
Cairn nodded, continuing, “Yes, but I no longer think they’re responsible.”
“What makes you think that? Who else hates them enough to do this?” Kristian asked.
“I don’t know, but the Holtsmen would approach from their strongholds to the west. Their access to the village, if they ever succeeded in scouting it out, would have been across the river.”
Cairn pointed out the waterway that separated the village and the clearing from the western portions of the Great Forest. “There is only one bridge, and it is always guarded by hunters. I inspected it just now and found no signs of recent use, and the embankments are very steep. It is a long fall into the water below. So, whoever attacked Shuru Kaithep had to come another way. The Holtsmen would never be able to get enough men on the far side of the river before they were spotted by a patrol. I checked the surrounding forests and found numerous tracks to the north. There are a few pieces of armor and cloth, a couple of broken weapons, enough to determine who caused this.”
Kristian saw, for the first time, what Cairn was holding out in his hand. It was a piece of black armor with a small splash of red upon it.
“I think I know who it was.” A sudden rush of panic flooded Kristian’s senses. He looked around the edges of the forest, almost expecting Ferral’s creatures to rush out at him.
Will I never escape them? Kristian complained.
“Holt patu ul waila! Holt patu ul waila!” One of the hunters came running across the bridge from the far side with his bow in hand. Hin’cabo ran to meet him near the center of the village. The hunter had obviously been scouting out the opposite side of the river and pointed back in that direction. Hin’cabo gave orders for his men to assemble. They donned leather armor and short curved swords, as well as those lethal bows they all carried. Hin’cabo directed them toward the bridge where they took up positions hidden among the trees near the bank.
Mikhal ran over to where Kristian and Cairn stood. “What’s happening?” Mikhal asked.
Cairn pulled his slender sword free and said, “I think the Holtsmen found us a day too late.” He moved behind another tree waiting to see what would happen next. Cursing their constant bad luck, Kristian and Mikhal also pulled out swords and crouched behind a log.
Maurin reacted slower. “This is truly a mad world. How can people be so ruthless? How can people hate each other so much?” Maurin asked.
Kristian looked back at Maurin, giving him an admonishing look. He motioned for Maurin to get down and be quiet, then looked back toward Hin’cabo just in time to see the hunter draw his bow and let an arrow loose. The missile streaked past the bridge to the far side faster than Kristian could track. In the distance, he could hear a sickening thud, signaling Hin’cabo’s deadly accuracy. A muffled groan followed after.
“Pre ul maut’i, Holt Krubai!” Hin’cabo shouted fiercely as he pulled out another arrow. Shouts and curses answered him from the trees on the other side of the bridge. The hunters raised clenched fists in salute to their leader, glad to have begun repaying their enemy for what they had done to their loved ones.
Kristian could not see anything on the far side of the river. Those on the other side must already know how capable the Atlunam were with their bows. No one dared rush the bridge.
A voice suddenly shouted back from the other side. “Khlat atlub! Dang lukt harba!” The language was as new and different to Kristian as the sing-song words of the Atlunam. Whereas, the words of the hunters seemed like a beautiful, rhythmic song, the words of the Holtsmen sounded sharp and guttural. The man’s gruff voice continued on in its broken manner completing a long declaration.
Hin’cabo shook his head adamantly. He replied by sending another arrow across the bridge. The man on the other side cursed loudly, “Atlub dashamn!”
A long shout by many more voices broke out from the other side. Kristian jumped back from his crouched position as hundreds of armored men ran out from behind the trees on the opposite side of the river; they rushed the bridge. He had never imagined that there would be so many of them. Kristian began to sweat, fearing that there would be no way to stop them from crossing over the river.
Hin’cabo’s men did not let them get very far. Those that reached the bridge fell, slender Atlunam arrows sticking out between the gaps in their armor. A constant rain of arrows forced the Holtsmen to abandon their charge. Cursing, they limped back to the cover of the trees.
Mikhal stood, excited by the initial victory of the Atlunam. He raised his sword high cheering them on, waving his blade around and shouting loudly. Hin’cabo and his men also shouted. Kristian did not know what they said, but they sounded like insults. He forced himself to look over the log to see what would happen next but nothing did. The Holtsmen likely were regrouping after their losses. Kristian looked back to the bridge and saw a dozen men crumpled on the ground. Not a single one had set foot on the bridge leading into Shuru Kaithep.
Kristian saw Cairn move over next to Hin’cabo. He wanted to go over to them and find out what was happening but decided to wait. He had not seen any of the Holtsmen armed with bows, but it was not worth risking. Kristian knew that Cairn was trying to explain what had truly happened to the village. Hin’cabo shook his head in obvious disagreement.
Whatever Cairn was trying to say to the hunter was not convincing enough to get him to change his mind. In sudden anger, the hunter raised his hand and pointed toward the east. Cairn stood
a little straighter and finally shrugged. He calmly walked away from the Atlunam and headed to where Kristian still knelt behind the fallen tree.
“He is too angry to listen. The hatred between these people is immense, and Hin’cabo and his men will not leave this place until all of their enemies are dead.” Cairn looked over at the hunters in regret.
“If the Holtsmen were not the one’s responsible for the massacre of these villagers …” Kristian started.
“It doesn’t matter, now. There is only one reason the Holtsmen would be this deep in the forest to begin with. They were looking for the village themselves. The Atlunam know this. The hunters will not let them leave the forest alive … if they can help it.”
Mikhal looked across the river and saw nothing that would give away signs of the invaders. “How many are there?”
Cairn shrugged. “I know little of the Ten Holts. Whenever the Atlunam talk of a battle they speak of the ferocity of their enemy. Regardless of how many there are on the other side, I wager that there will be much bloodshed on both sides before the end of the day.”
Kristian’s panic would not subside. He had a nagging feeling that made him shudder. “What if it’s the army of dead?” he asked. “What if the Belarnians are still in the area?”
Everyone’s response to Kristian’s question was different.
Mikhal looked at the ground and sighed deeply. He had faced many Belarnians, both the living and the dead. They had killed all of his friends, and Mikhal had vowed to destroy Ferral and his dark army. Kristian knew that fighting them would give Mikhal a chance to ease some of his pain, but he also feared his comrade’s haunting memories would eventually tear him apart.
Maurin had only recently encountered Belarnians, but the healer had already begun to understand their ruthlessness.
Cairn’s reaction completely took Kristian by surprise. By the gleam in Cairn’s eyes and the half smile on his lips, Cairn seemed to relish a chance to engage Ferral’s Deathmarch Army. Kristian knew that Cairn did not believe their account of what had happened during the battle at the gates of Belarna. He very much wanted Cairn to believe the story but not at the price of being surrounded by the creatures again.
Cairn responded first, “Hin’cabo and his men will not leave. They will not guide us any further regardless of the results of their fight with the Holtsmen. If they win and kill them, they will continue west killing any of their enemies they find. If they die … well, death is what they truly seek.”
Maurin asked in desperation, “Are we trapped here?” They all looked to Cairn for advice.
Cairn saw their looks and fidgeted, uncomfortable with the amount of attention he was receiving. Finally, he shrugged.
“I could probably lead us out of here, but what would we do then? I don’t know the way from here to the Atlunam capital. I would likely lead us all right into the Belarnian army.”
Kristian replied. “I thought that you wanted to see these creatures for yourself?”
Cairn shook his head trying to determine his own position on the issue. “Only on my terms; I like to choose when and where I fight and fighting my way through thousands of Belarnians, especially those as fierce as you claim, would not be my first choice.” Kristian was not so sure about that statement, but he chuckled at the comment, anyway.
Kristian thought that staying together was a good idea. Whatever happened, facing it with these three men made him glad.
Nothing happened after the Holtsmen first charged. They remained on the other side of the stream cursing the Atlunam hunters. Their numbers certainly dwindled, however. Every time one of them stood out from behind a tree or tried to move to a better position, a hunter’s arrow would find its target and another one of the dark figures on the opposite side of the water would fall, groaning.
Then Hin’cabo’s situation worsened. They were running short of arrows and their enemy knew this. Soon, they would make another charge under the cover of growing darkness, and the Atlunam would not be able to hold them back.
Kristian saw the determined look in the hunter’s eyes. Sadly, he knew how they felt and what they planned to do. The cavaliers had the same look in their eyes as they had made the decision to defend the hilltop. As thousands of the dead moved closer and closer to their line of defense, the cavaliers knew they would all die. They also knew that the sacrifice was necessary to ensure the safety of their prince. Their belief, at that moment and while facing certain death, was that the only way to ensure the safety of their kingdom and their loved ones was by giving up their lives so that Kristian might survive to fight again.
The anguish Kristian had felt so many times in the past month welled up within him. Why had they believed so strongly in him? He had completely failed them, and their lives were forfeit because of his mistakes. Despite that, they still made the sacrifice, perhaps hoping he would someday be the man they all needed. The young king shook his head in grief remembering every foolish mistake he had made.
“Father,” Kristian pledged quietly, “I swear to become the son you always wanted me to be. And Allisia, I have not forgotten you. I will find you.” Looking around him and assessing his current situation, Kristian smiled at the irony of it all. “If I ever get out of this mess.”