The Flight: Part 2

>> Friday, February 13, 2009

Here's the second part:


PART TWO: THE DANGER

After dropping off the horses by their watering trough, I walk to Drodon's tent, to await my next command. After pausing at the doorway, he yells to me, “Enter!” And I go in. “Ah, Sharne,” he says to me, “You're back. What in heavens took you so long? And have you seen my man Rolan?” I clear my throat before speaking, and now tell him, “Yes, sir, I am sorry it took so long. We took a longer route so that the enemy could not find the camp.”
“We?” Drodon asks.
“Yes, sir. We.” I say, “Rolan assisted me. We had to cut through the forest.” Drodon seems about to ask me a question, but someone barges in. At first I barely recognize him, but, it is my brother! Horath! He starts telling Drodon something, not paying the least of attention to me. I wish that I could speak to him, ask him where he and Solth are stationed, and so many other questions that I have, but Drodon waves me out of the tent, and I leave. After leaving the tent, though, I linger around, hoping that brother Horath will come out and I can talk to him. I haven't seen any of my family in nearly half a year, and the chances that I will ever get to see them again are almost zero. So, even though I know that I could, and perhaps should, be helping out around the camp and preparing for the battle that is upon us, but I can't help myself. I need to see my brother. Soon, he comes out of Drodon's tent, but without even glancing at me, walks away. I can't stand it. “Horath!” I call to him, running to catch up with his long strides. Now he looks at me, for the first time. I don't think he recognizes me. “Horath,” I explain to him, “It's me. Your sister. Sharne.” His face changed immediately.
“Sharne!” he says, his voice full of surprise, “Whatever are you doing here?” I start to explain my position in the army, but he grabs my elbow, and pulls me along with him until we are hidden behind a hut. Now he again asks the question, and I answer. Now it is my turn for a question. “Where are you and Solth stationed?” I ask hurriedly. He looks at me for a second, before answering, “I am in the 4th division. Solth... haven't you heard, Sharne? He is no longer with this army. He deserted. Ran back home. Pappi disowned him.” I am shocked. My brother, a coward? My brother, who I had looked up to all these days, afraid to fight in the same army I, a weaker and younger being, am fighting in? How could he? How could he not stand up and fight for everyone and everything he loved? The Treka will kill him anyway. No one will be safe without this army. Does he not understand that? The weight of all my question towards him crushes me, and before I know what I am doing, I fling myself into Horath's arms. Like when we were younger, his arms envelop me, and, being kind, he allows me tears for a few minutes. But then he pulls me away and shakes my shoulders. “Yes. I feel the same way about our brother, Sharne,” he tells me, “But there is no time to despair. If you haven't noticed, war is upon us. Breathing down our neck. I must leave.” But no. He cannot leave yet. I have one more question. An important one. I try and find the words to say it properly. “Wait. Horath... I have a question... about out heritage.” He understands, and answers, “No, Sharne. You are the only in our family with the power of the Ithuri, besides Baba (he is our grandfather), of course. But she is too aged. You are one of our last hopes, Sharne. Do not let us down. Now, I must leave.” We say goodbye, and I am holding back the tears. This might be the last time I ever see any of my beloved family again. He leaves quickly, needing to be back at his station. And I should also. So I step out from our place of shade we had talked in, wipe my face hurriedly before anyone sees the tears of which only a couple had fallen, and remind myself to be strong. After this, I simply return to my tent, and sharpen the swords that have been dulled from use. In a couple minutes, I hear the horn of gathering for my group. Surprisingly, it is not a horn of war. But one used mainly in peace times, to gather troops together. I wonder why Drodon blows this one now? Even so, I drop my work and obey, running out to the meeting place. Almost all the men from my division are there, and our fearless leader stands tall in front of the crowd. He is talking already, and my ears struggle to catch the words. But my mind is elsewhere, it focuses on the danger outside the camp. Because it is near- nearer than it ever was before. So close, if someone even put a toe outside the safety of our camp, he- or she- would be slaughtered. So why doesn't Drodon realize this also? Maybe he does. Perhaps that is what his speech is about. So I strain my ears farther, and pick up on what he is saying. And I cannot believe them. He talks of defeat, like we haven't even fought yet. He says that he is proud of us, for coming this far, but if we have any sense we will not follow him into battle. He wishes his men a last goodbye, and tells us we should go home to our families, spend our last days in peace, instead of being slain on a battlefield. Not wanting to listen to this madness, since I certainly cannot understand it, I look around for the reactions of my fellow soldiers. Some of them seem perplexed, a select few are nodding their heads, but then they shake any thoughts of desertion away, but most of the men I see are plain angry. Rolan included. I see him clench his fists together, a sure sign that he will speak up soon. And speak up, he does. Jump up, actually. He rushes forwards and leaps onto the small platform where our used-to-be 'fearless leader' still stands. My friend, with the help of a guard, ushers him off and back into Drodon's tent. Now everyone else gasps, not quite sure what to think, or what to do. This is my chance. I spy Rolan leaving the tent, and run to grab his arm and drag him up onto the platform with me. He looks bewildered, even a little tired, but I ignore it, and begin to speak. “Fellow soldiers,” I shout out, beginning my short speech, “I am sure that our chief has confused you as much as me. Who knows why he said those terrible things? One reason that came to mind was that he wanted to make us angry. So we can fight harder. Because we all know he will fight the hardest of all! So what do you say? We are not deserters! We are brave! You are men, not boys! Stand up now, for your country, if we have no Drodon at the head or not. Because our chosen leader is not a deserter either, I am sure of it! Come now, citizens! Put your blades together, and FIGHT to the death!” With that last statement, I leave the crowd, Rolan still standing there, mouth wide open. Where I go, is to my tent, grabbing my blade and sharpening it one last time. I am not in the front lines, indeed, I am at the very back, which is the safest place for me. In the back I will have time to search out my biggest opponents, and take them down, all with the powers of my mind. The blade is simply for protection, if for some reason, I do not have the time to seek someone out. Which, in the heat of battle, can happen.

1 comment(s):

The Authors February 15, 2009 at 9:34 AM  

Need more....story...must have....more.....now!....



Alice

Post a Comment

 

One day at a time | Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial License | Dandy Dandilion Designed by Simply Fabulous Blogger Templates