by Fiona Tarr
'It is Jezebel and I sense another magician of the dark arts,’ Francesca was yelling over the horrid screams of the dying creatures. They were shapeless formless creatures one moment, then black and grey forms would materialise, with slitted eyes of yellow and green. As soon as the sword touched them, they evaporated into the darkness.
Francesca could do nothing to aid David; her gifts were useless in this place. The creatures were ferocious and there was an endless stream of them it seemed until only one remained. This one was different, a huge and scaled creature with two heads. Instead of the shapeless black form of the smaller beasts, this one shimmered in the darkness, the scales rippling and changing colour as the creature moved. Within one head the face of Jezebel could be seen, the other a balding man of aging years. The hands were taloned, the tail spiked along the top and bottom. Narayana laughed as he recognised the older man.
'Ah, we should have known you would be somewhere in the back of this plot. I did not realise the connection until now.’
'Narayana my old friend, I had no idea you would be here. Such a long time since we have crossed paths.' The manner was so casual and out of place in all of the turmoil.
'Not long enough.' Narayana’s manner was far from his usual jovial self.
Francesca looked at him with her eyes wide and questioning. Narayana simply shrugged, as if it were too long a story to explain.
The attack had been swift, the creature moving with uncanny speed. Francesca was lifted from her feet, talons wrapped around her neck, Jezebel’s avatar drooling onto her chest as Francesca’s face was squeezed up against the creatures face.
'This has been too long in the waiting,' Jezebel slurred through the fang filled mouth of the creature, as she squeezed the talons tighter.
David did not hesitate. The sword was hot and so very light in his hands as he cleaved the taloned arm from the body. Francesca dropped to the floor gasping for air, blood dripping from the wounds on her neck. She felt powerless in this place. This darkness was not a place where the spirit of light could reach. She fell backwards as the spiked tail came in search of her, and losing her balance, she slipped from the path.
David and the sword made short work of the spiked tail, cleaving it from the body of the creature. He realised Francesca was in danger but he turned to see Narayana facing off against the remaining head of the creature.
Narayana was usually a man of peace, but not today. This magician, Jezebel’s father, had been a mentor once, before politics and power had come between them. He was not without his own powers, yet in this place, they were not available to him; all his strength had been used to open the path to the Void.
David stepped between the little man and his enemy. ‘Get Francesca, quickly, I will handle this’.
Jezebel was now incapacitated, her arm and tail useless. Her screams were fading as her face disappeared from the creature, returning to the flesh. Narayana watched, the scene moving in slow motion as the creature’s head left its body. The face of the magician still contained within, eyes wide, mouth open and speechless. The Sword’s sun-like glow was gone instantly, back to what now seemed a dim, dull light. All was still, everyone motionless as the creature’s body folded to the ground, slowly disappearing from existence in a cloud of black smoke.
Narayana searched in the darkness, his mind carefully seeking out the spirit of Francesca, finding her still clinging to the edge of the path. He called David for help. Together they pulled her out of the blackness, like pulling a weight from a deep pond. Slowly the darkness released her as they all fell backwards onto the path once more.
David was breathless. Everyone had collapsed with exhaustion. 'I am guessing,’ he dragged in another breath, ‘no one saw that coming,’ another rasping breath, ‘in their visions?’
****
Jezebel wept, she could not recall the last time she had allowed tears to flow. Born an Egyptian princess she knew better than to allow her emotions to roam free. Now as she surveyed the scene before her she felt totally dark inside. She had left the Underworld, unable to assist her father any longer. She had stayed on the fringes of the enchantment, seeking to mend the creature somehow in order to re-join her father in the fight. Their communion had held and she could still feel his presence in their joining. Then, suddenly the feeling of him was ripped from her, as his spirit evaporated out of existence. She had felt his fear as he left her consciousness. Fear of failure, but more importantly, the fear of discovery. The Pharaoh, her uncle, knew nothing of their plans; it had been her father’s ambition all along. She was not serving her King. She had seen into her father’s spirit as he had left this realm, a spirit he had cleverly guarded from her all this time. Bathed in blood and tears, she lost all sense of time and reality. She called to Amun, ‘I am not evil, I am not evil,’ she repeated as she slipped into darkness.
Chapter 26
Jonathan was a fine archer, probably the best there was, Martinez thought as he watched him form up with his men in the front of the field. A long line of soldiers fanned out on both sides of the valley as far as the eye could see. The Philistines were big men, wearing armour and carrying shields. The Israeli men were smaller, nimble and lightly armoured. Archers rarely wore armour, however they each had a shield bearer to protect them as they fired their arrows and reloaded their bows. Martinez watched with pride as Jonathan ordered his men into line. He often wondered why he felt such pride for Jonathan. Yes he was his uncle, yet there were so many qualities his nephew possessed which Martinez found endearing. Martinez pulled himself back to his responsibilities. He needed to prepare his men for battle. With so many years in mercenary service, both he and Saul possessed a calm manner and employed careful planning. Yet somehow Martinez felt ill at ease. Today was different from his usual battle preparation. He felt a heavy sense of foreboding which even his visit from Francesca the night before could not abate.
He had been deep into his dreams, relaxed that he had set enough guards to ensure the camp’s safety and had prepared all he could for the coming battle. Francesca’s voice had whispered in his ear as if she were lying next to him in his bed, a thought which unsettled him even now, as he recalled the memory. She had spoken his name softly, drawing him to her with her wispy voice. It was like the words were being blown away by the wind. He realised she was with him in his dream. Her image began to form before his eyes, long dark hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, dressed in her usual riding garb of high boots and frilled shirt. She looked tired. She had talked of David, of how he was raising an army of his own. Martinez had explained to her where he was, what the next day would entail and there had been silence, an unspoken moment and then it was gone. He shook his head, thoughts for another day he told himself. Just then the trumpets sounded and he heard Saul call his men to the fray.
Saul sat his horse in the centre of the battlefield. He knew his council were sending him to his death, yet he was not afraid. If he died today it would not be because he did not try to win the battle. He could see Jonathan forming up with the archers, Martinez with his infantry. Saul had a hundred mounted soldiers with him and the remainder were on foot. The trumpet sounded and the enemy army moved forward in a long waving line across the green field below. Saul looked at the purple and white flowers which scattered as they were crushed under the advancing horde. A strange calm fell over him, as Jonathan ordered the first release of the arrows. They flew high in a black blur, thudding down into the Philistine ranks. Most fell on heavy shields, yet the screams of men could still be heard as some found their target. The archers’ quivers were empty, signalling time for the infantry to move forward. Martinez waited, the adrenalin beginning to make him fidget. He led the backup infantry; therefore he would have to play the waiting game. It was his role to watch for gaps in the formation and to move his soldiers in quickly to prevent the enemy from penetrating the defences. He could see Saul on the right flank, moving his mount into the centre. He started at a trot, pushing his horse into a canter as h
e forged forward. His tactic was simple. He would use his mounted soldiers to drive a wedge into the right flank, hoping to scatter the enemy line, to open up a gap for his foot soldiers to move into. It was risky! Opening the gap could work both ways. The Philistine soldiers could rally and push through the gap, as the mounted soldiers’ pace would carry them well behind enemy lines.
The archers fell back behind the leading foot soldiers. They would fill their quivers now and head for higher ground in the hopes of another chance to rain arrows down on the enemy. Their shield bearers had downed shields to join the foot soldiers and swell their ranks. Further use of the archers would have to be from a distance now. Martinez was anxious, so much depended on the enemy running, on them not having mounted troops and on many fine details. Battles of great numbers like this could rage on until dark with no clear winner being evident even then. It was a grisly business, to sit and watch as your fellow soldiers died around you. Martinez snatched his mind back to the present.
Saul’s troops were now at a full gallop and already the Philistines were looking uneasy, as if they would break as he had hoped they would. Just as the King reached the line, they opened up to greet him. With a practised manoeuvre, they swung the front line in. There would be no running today Martinez realised. The King was in the thick of the fighting now, the Philistines closed in around him, hoping to trap him. Martinez moved quickly, signalling the archers to send in a volley of arrows towards the mass of soldiers surrounding the King. The volley took out a large number of those who had not thought to raise their shields in the excitement of battle. The lull was only short, however it allowed Saul and his men to break clear. It was then that Martinez called his soldiers to him. They formed up in a square formation, a strategy the enemy would find extremely unfamiliar, a relic from another nation’s strategy of war.
Jonathan watched from the hill with his archers. He had seen the ploy of the Philistines unfolding, yet there was nothing he could do to protect his father. He had waited for Martinez to give the order, sending in a barrage of arrows to support the King’s escape. He continued to pepper the enemy now, as he saw Martinez preparing his men. He needed to give them time to run the distance from Martinez’s viewing point, right into the battle.
He admired these men, as only the fittest and strongest could manage this manoeuvre; to jog at a quick pace, holding shields up at the front, high above their heads to protect them from enemy archers was fatiguing work. Yet to still have stamina to fight when they reached the enemy was even tougher again. Strong, yet lean, these men were like his uncle, the best the Israeli army had to offer. Jonathan’s heart was racing now, his arrows all spent. It was up to Martinez to hold the line. The remainder of the foot soldiers were moving in to support him. The King was composing his forces again; a charge was obviously not going to be the answer today. Jonathan turned to give the order for his men to fall back to fill their quivers. It was then he saw the mercenaries crawling up over the hill behind them. They had been outflanked! There was no time! His men wore only a dagger at their belt. With their empty quivers they would pose little resistance, yet they were all there was. He called his men to him, ordering the alarm to be sounded. His first officer pulled a horn from his belt. The call came out loud and clear, yet Jonathan knew by the time reinforcements arrived it would be too late for them all. He pulled his dagger from his belt, his men bravely following. What a waste of talented archers this would be, was his last thought as a burly, smelly and toothless mercenary snuck through his defences with a long bladed double-edged sword.
****
Martinez sat in the surgeon's tent, bloodied bodies all around him. Jerim, David’s brother spoke softly to his assistants, pointing in various directions, ordering them about their work, while fervently trying to save the limb of the soldier at his table. Martinez was mildly impressed, having once thought the man useless; he now understood that all men possessed gifts to be unveiled. It was often in the most challenging times they would be revealed. The newest surgeon of the King’s army had gained a vicious introduction indeed. The battle had been won, barely, yet there had been no rejoicing in it. There had been no consoling Saul. Martinez felt his pain; in truth there would be no consoling him either. The march back to Jerusalem would be slow. Men were still being tended to in the hopes they could make the trip and survive yet he knew many wounded would fall along the way. Martinez entertained thoughts of trying to contact Francesca, but in truth, he did not really believe he could. It was a little over a week since the battle. His sleep had been restless. At first he thought it a dream. Then he had realised he could see Francesca before him. She held his hand just for a moment.
****
'You look so tired Martinez. I could feel your pain. What has happened?' she asked, a frown between her dark brown eyes. It was then Martinez realised they were not alone. Standing with her was a little man in robes of orange and next to him stood David.
'How is it you come to me in my dreams, all of you together?' He looked at them puzzled.
'This is not a dream Martinez we are walking the Shadowlands, the Void between worlds, to get to you more quickly. Narayana says the sword is needed and we must reach you as soon as possible.'
'I do not understand, the Void? The Sword?'
'We will explain when we get there. We have very little time. Narayana’s powers are fading. What has happened Martinez? Is the King well? You must stay alert, Jezebel is hunting us all'
He looked into her anxious eyes, then to David, who appeared many years older than Martinez remembered him.
'Jonathan is dead.' There was a long silence. 'Killed by mercenaries who crept up behind us during the battle. We had no idea they were there. I take the blame.’ The words had spilled out, followed by another silence. 'It will not bring him back. The King,’ Martinez was struggling to stay composed. 'He is beyond grief.’ He dropped his head and Francesca held his shoulder. He could not cry. He felt only numbness. As he looked up he saw the concern in her eyes, then the shock in David’s. He had forgotten in his grief, that David would feel his own pain at the news of Jonathan's death.
‘I cannot believe it! How can Jonathon be dead? I should have been there!’
'You cannot come back here now David. The King will not receive you. His mood had been so buoyant before the battle I had almost thought you could return. Now!' He said no more, his shoulders sagged, his eyes downcast, lost in thought.
'We will not bring David back into the city until the time is right; however that time is fast approaching.’ Francesca tried to assure him, as they faded from sight.
David stumbled out of the tunnel of the Void, into the bright daylight. It seemed out of place against his mood; the fragrance of the forest, the blue sky and shining sun, while inside, he felt cold and dark. Jonathan had been like a brother to him. He could feel the pain within him, as if his heart were going to explode inside his chest.
‘I am so sorry David. Jonathan was truly a beautiful soul.’ Francesca was kneeling before him, her hand on his knee.
‘He is in a better place, yes.’ Narayana patted him on the back.
David’s mind was reeling. This war needed to stop! Too many people, good people were dying for no good reason.
‘It is time. How far from Jerusalem are we? Where are we?’ David scanned his surroundings. Now was not the time of mourning. It was the time for change.
****
The days had passed as if Saul had been in a dream. He could feel nothing, not pain, not sadness, only emptiness. Alone in his tent now, having just moments before, spoken what would be his last words to his brother Martinez, his general, his envoy, his friend. Martinez had no idea he had always been Saul’s hero. His own wife had even loved him, this he knew. Yes, Derai had loved him, as any dutifull wife should love her husband. Yet she had loved Martinez deeply, eternally. He understood why. He had resented it many times, yet he understood. Now with Derai and Jonathan both gone, it was time to let his reign go. He had never wante
d it; it had been thrust upon him, ordained as they had said, ordained by God. Well God had a cruel sense of humour, he thought to himself. His Crown had brought him nothing but heartache. He had been the cause of Derai’s death, having thrown all caution aside in his lust for Jezebel. Well, his time was done. He owed God nothing, as God had shown him no loyalty. If God wanted David to have his crown, then now he would have it. Let it ruin David as it has ruined him.
****
Martinez had slept again after Francesca had left him; a deep dreamless sleep. He had called an early break to the camp. Now wagons were being loaded and tents packed away. It was then he heard the screams, the sound of which would stay with him forever. Bartholomew was at his side in a moment as they both made their way to the King’s pavilion, swords drawn. The white face of the manservant told them what to expect before they set foot inside. The King’s dais was covered in blood, his own blood, congealed from the cold night air. Martinez was suddenly calm, the scene before him was not an attack, it was the King’s own doing. He knelt down next to Saul and gently removed the knife from his hand. He had always known his brother was brave. Some would say to take your own life would be a coward’s way, yet as he looked about the dais, it was obvious that Saul had needed a great deal of courage to take his life this way. His death had not been swift, yet it would have been painful, his anger and frustration unleashed on himself. Bartholomew cleared the room, as Martinez bowed his head and finally let the tears flow which had been held since Derai had died.
Epilogue
Martinez sat quietly as he read the King’s letter. His long-time friend and protégé was calling him back into service. It had been some years now, since David had taken the reign over Israel. He had marched right into the city of Jerusalem, past the monument of Saul and on into the palace, the legendary sword glowing in his hand. His crown had been handed to him without question.
