by Julian Cheek
“Huh?” he exclaimed, opening his bleary eyes. Rather than the familiar surroundings of the café, he was greeted by the coldness of a timber post, strung to another and another as far as his eyes could see. The thrumming, if anything, was getting louder and he noticed that the dust around him was oscillating slightly at the vibrations being caused. Where am I? he thought.
“You are here,” came the reply. “You slept, but now you must wake up. Great danger is coming!”
“Babu! What are you doing here?” Sam started to rouse himself from his cramped position.
“I live here!” Babu replied. “Wake up. Danger is at our door!” Babu scampered off to another corner, climbing up the wooden posts to get a better vantage point from which to study what was causing the vibrations from outside.
“You mean I am still here?” Sam said with confusion. “I fell asleep and woke up in the same place?” Now he was confused, and a little scared. For the first time, he had fallen asleep and NOT woken up back in his reality. “Well this is bloody novel!” he exclaimed to himself. He opened his eyes. Pania was still sleeping next to him, her tousled hair and arms folded over her face, showing she was still deep in sleep. Pugs, her ferret, was standing next to Babu, staring off into the mist beyond.
Sam got up and looked back into the village to see ordered chaos already occurring in the dim early morning light. A misty veil swam over the village square and here and there, flickering torches hurried between houses, voices at a low pitch, men and animals all moving around, assembling themselves into groups.
There was a commotion from the bottom of the steps and Ma-aka suddenly appeared, his eyes and face already streaked with dirt, a wicked looking spear held tightly in his hand.
“Sam!” he called. “I have found you. I thought at first you had disappeared again to the world you come from. I am relieved you have stayed. Come.” Starting to rouse Pania, who was not ready to wake up, struggling and moaning under her breath to be left alone. “Pania. Wake up. You must leave this place and get to Marika. Quickly now, child. GO!” And with that, he pulled Pania up and ushered her off down the steps, her sleepy face starting to turn to one of fright as she looked back to Sam for reassurance.
“Pania, do what Ma-aka says,” Sam said quickly. “We need to see what is going on. Go quickly and I will come and get you as soon as I am able.”
Pania disappeared down the stairs, Pugs in close pursuit, and Ma-aka turned to Sam with eyes black as the night.
“Sam,” he began, looking first at him and then through the slitted opening in front of them. “Get up quickly. If you have anything to offer us in this time of need, then we have no time for formalities. Use what you have and stand with us. If not, go with Pania and hide with Marika. We will defend this place to our best abilities.”
“What are you on about?” replied Sam. “What can I offer and what on earth is going on?”
“Look for yourself.” And with that, Ma-aka turned his gaze fully to what was happening outside.
Sam followed his gaze, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes. The thrumming and shaking had, by now, become much clearer, and voices, chanting and jeering were starting to make some sense in amongst the cacophony from without. What he saw, froze the blood in his veins as he recognised that, once again, his dream had taken a turn for the worst.
Outside, the early morning light was being filtered by the misty banks he was becoming accustomed to. Here and there, particularly around the space where the bridge was yesterday, and then disappearing off into the forest beyond, a clearer space was evident and Sam recognised that the mist bank had, as before, not reclaimed the space where he had walked earlier. Strange! flashed through his sub-consciousness. The throbbing and noises were coming from the forest beyond, but, now that he was concentrating, he realised that the noise was not coming from just one area, but seemed to encompass the entire stretch of his vision. A rhythmic pounding of what sounded like drums, reverberated through the trees and now, the unmistakeable sound of men’s voices could be heard, chanting with a deep, dangerous, cadence. It was a chant that, without doubt, was bringing destruction to the village of Watamka.
“What is happening?” he asked Ma-aka, looking quickly to one side to observe what he was doing. “It would appear that the enemy has crept up to us under cover of night, and intends to attack,” Ma-aka responded simply.
Sam gulped down a dryness and looked back into the mist bank.
At first, he saw nothing change. The mist shrouded the trees such that their form appeared only vaguely from the shelter of this veil. Soon, however, he started to see one, then another then another, then scores of flickering torches weave their way in between the trunks of the trees moving towards them. Darkened forms started to materialise at the base of the torches as they moved with singular intent from the shelter of the forest. Slowly, line upon line of forms resembling stick figures in the mist, their silhouettes forming cut-out shapes, stretched away as far as Sam could see. The mist moving around them like water in a river, the torches burning the air around them with wet spittle of flickering flames.
A large, dangerous looking army of men stood now in front of the walls of Watamka and the sounding of the deep battle drums reverberated in loud percussion, waking all around to witness what was to come next.
The Bjarke had finally come to Watamka, and death was on their hearts as surely as night followed day.
Sam sensed the hairs on his arms and neck rise in fear and his breathing rapidly increased. Babu was crouched on top of the palisade fencing, his tongue flicking in and out and the scales on his back, erect and stiff. His body was snaking in sinuous fashion as he attempted to look at the crowd in front of him from multiple viewpoints within his small frame. Ma-aka was crouched next to him, staring through the slit, his spear resting beside him, his arm flexing in readiness for whatever was to come.
With a final flourish, the drum sounds reached a crescendo and then stopped. With it, the voices and chanting of the men. Silence reigned all around, save the flickering, spluttering sound of the multitude of torches. Directly in front of the draw bridge, which was now firmly locked and retracted, a single form stepped out from the line of “stick figures” and made its way slowly forward, the arms held aloft. One holding a flickering torch, the other a mean looking double-headed axe.
“Watamka!” shouted the form, deep in tone and strength. “You see who is here before you. We are not here to talk, we are here to take and to destroy!” The men around raised a loud chant of glee at this, silenced shortly afterwards by the man. One of the villagers stood up from behind the walls of the ramparts and shot an arrow towards him. It flew harmlessly past and the crowd below laughed at the folly. “Word has reached our men that ‘The One’ cowers in your midst. Whether he is there or not makes no difference to us. Whether you stay protected behind this excuse for a wall like children hiding behind their mother’s skirts, or you come and face us like the vermin you are, the outcome remains the same. You will not see another night and this village will follow all the others and be a burning heap before the sun hits the trees. We are the Bjarke and we take no prisoners. I am Otaktay, ‘He who kills many’, and I am here to feast on your blood. Flee while you can, little children, flee, flee, for here, you will find no mercy, only death. My men are hungry for revenge and the blood of Napayshni cries out to us for release. This day, he will be released. Open up your doors, for today, the Bjarke have come to visit.” And with that, the man bent his arms back and uttered the loudest war cry Sam had ever heard. As one, the army before him, ran screaming towards the ramparts, their war cries and ululations rippling through the early mist.
The battle for Watamka had begun in earnest.
The men within the ramparts were not ready to give up without a fight. With a single command from Ma-aka, who stood up and waved his spear once, twice, to the ground, the men who had assembled along the battlement of the palisade walls stood up and, aiming down the sights of the arrows notched into
their bows let loose a barrage of black, whistling death.
The satisfying thunk of arrow through flesh and the cries of some of the enemy caused the men to cheer, but only for a moment, as they saw that most of the horde below them, had swiftly lifted up their hide shields over their heads as the arrows came flying, which gave them protection from above.
For their part, the enemy looked well rehearsed to the casual eye. Whilst some of the men shot their own arrows snaking up and over the parapets, causing most to duck for protection, others, under the security of this storm, aimed their own at certain places along the wall, and let their arrows fly. Some were attached to sturdy rope, which, on the arrows embedding themselves into the wood, became links down to the army, allowing them to start to clamber up this quick link to gain access to the top ramparts. Others, were coated in bitumen and burned brightly as they flew towards other sections of the wall, in particular, the sturdy drawbridge and its surroundings. Here, as they sunk into the wood work, the fires and bitumen were flung onto the wood where some fires started to light up the vertical spars.
Loud cries of the men below encouraging others to continue were mingled with those less fortunate, who met their fate early that morning, falling to their faces with angry barbs protruding from their bodies. Still, the numbers of the men below were vast, and as one man fell here, another three came and took his place, all with one common goal; to bring this inconsequential village before them to rack and ruin, and to kill all who stood in their way.
Sam was aware of some of the Padme flying off their perches around the battlements, or flying out from the base of the village to run, full speed into the marauders in front of them. They brought swift justice to many who stood in their way. But some fell, and as they did, those to whom they were bound within the village walls, collapsed where they stood, death overcoming them in macabre fashion. “Be aware!” shouted Ma-aka. “Keep your Padme close for now. It makes no sense seeing them perish and you alongside them at this stage. Hold them.” Suddenly, one, then another, then all the remaining Padme who had run into battle turned back to rejoin their kindred people, the men and women recalling their charges with mind melding efficiency. Babu remained close to Sam, concentrating his attention towards the leader of this pack of men, Otaktay. He stood to one side for now, observing his men create the right battle movements. Moving people here, commanding others to assist elsewhere. His main guard keeping a tight cordon around him, protecting their leader from any harm.
A ladder slammed into the wall near to where Sam stood. He was shocked that impending danger suddenly had appeared so tangibly close to him. Ma-aka, with one quick cry, ordered the men to attack the ladders, pushing a few off the walls, the ladders and the men climbing them, slamming into the ground below with sickening thuds. Still more ladders came to join the first, and soon, ladders, fires and ropes were criss-crossed over the structure of the palisades, fires burning fiercely now in many places and the cries of the exuberant were mixed with those of the weak and the dying, on both sides of the wooden barrier.
“Protect the Keep!” screamed Ma-aka to some of the men below. “Strengthen the Gatehouse and reinforce the drawbridge. Quickly men. The Bjarke are gaining.”
“Sam,” he said, turning to him, “If you can recall anything, do it now. Do it now or we are lost as Otaktay, that worm, predicted.” Sam, for all that was exploding around him, felt like he was trying to react whilst stuck in a vat of glue. Every movement seemed to be taken in slow-motion and his arms and legs seemed to be moving in extreme sluggish fashion. He was at a complete loss as to what he was expected to do and he started to panic, as he had done at the bridge to Rudhjanda, fearing for that thin sounding “thunk” and yet another barb pushing out of his chest as he fell to the ground.
Sam made his way, with Ma-aka and Babu, down towards the village square. Ma-aka disappeared to a fire that was now raging out of control in one of the store houses within the walls of the palisade. Sam felt he had no choice other than to run towards the drawbridge, there to offer whatever help he could bring to the men who were sweating and swearing as they simultaneously tried to shoot at the enemy whilst dodging a few arrows that flew by and trying to extinguish the flames that were licking around the spars of the drawbridge with fierce determination.
“Babu,” he summoned within himself, “if those men even appear to be gaining the upper hand, you go and do what you do best. You go and kill them and send every last one of them to hell for me!”
Babu, without a second glance, shot off towards the walls, sneaking through one of the arrow loops, his tail the last thing Sam saw, before he disappeared from view, his fate now in the lap of the gods, wherever they were camped out right now!
All around, Sam heard the cries of the men as they called and sent instructions to each other. The air was filled with the cawing and screeching of various birds of prey as they sought to bring assistance from the air, advising and moving their human partners to areas of weakness. He had no time now to be afraid. Instead, with grim determination, he stood side to side with the men and women of Watamka and waited for the drawbridge to collapse.
It was only a matter of time before the creaking in the wood became a constant din and finally, with a mighty crack, the central spar gave way and the rest of the drawbridge folded in on itself slowly, like a pack of cards. As soon as the opening had been forged, a brace of arrows flew into the opening, pinning a number of the villagers where they stood. Their shocked cries at being hit, quickly cut off as more black barbs followed the first wave, flying and sticking into the unfortunate men like pins in a cushion.
Those to either side, ducked behind the side walls of the gatehouse and peered out from time to time, sending their own arrows out through the opening, hoping to hit anything coming their way. Above them, other men were busy aiming through the arrow loops at the approaching horde sending arrow after arrow into the throng.
More than once, Sam heard one or the other scream at him to do something, anything, but Sam stayed mute, not able to summon any of the supposed powers he was supposed to have in this world. Even interlocking his fingers as he had done before, offered no spark of lightning. He felt useless in himself and instead, looked around to find a bow with which he could at least try to fend for himself and perhaps knock out a few of the Bjarke before they got too close.
Outside, the cheer at seeing the drawbridge crumble, echoed around the army and a new spearhead-formed echelon of men gathered together and started running in earnest towards the breach in the wall, their war cries loud in their chests and their axes and swords whirling over their heads as they advanced. As the men started to collect together into a large swarm, bloodied, dirty, crazy with blood lust, the constriction also created a concentrated zone into which the village men all started to aim and fire. For a while, it appeared as if the tide was being stemmed as man after man fell out of the swarm, pierced through with the shafts of quivering death, sent their way by the brave villagers. It was only a matter of time before sheer numbers started to outweigh the remaining arrow shafts available to the men around the opening, and the Spearhead moved ever closer to the river’s edge and the now gaping entranceway.
Babu shot off, leaping and clearing the river in one bound, his eyes fixed on the leader’s position now set behind the wedge of marauders stampeding towards the opening. His aim went straight through the tip of the spear and, as at Ōmakere, the furry of his passing terrified the men, who faltered as this blur shot into and through them like a red hot knife. Men fell where they stood and Babu disappeared into the throng, ripping, slashing and maiming as many as entered his field of vision, his principle aim, to get to the main group and kill Otaktay.
Suddenly, from behind them, Sam heard the cry of despair and fear as the marauders breached yet another area to the rear. Looking back, Sam saw the first of the men cresting the top of the palisade and gaining a strategic foothold on the battlements. Their arms swinging their axes and swords in a blur and their hea
vily muscular bodies, slick with sweat and blood.
Ahead, the main thrust of men swarmed over and past the disturbance, which was Babu. Sheer numbers overwhelmed the position even though more and more of the Padme darted off to enter the fray with Babu. They left their comrades to die or fight. For them, the prize lay ahead of them and they were eager to get their hands on it.
The remaining villagers started to retreat back towards the heart of their square as more and more Bjarke poured into the various breaches in the palisade walls and the villagers were slaughtered where they stood. He heard the keen wailing of women and children as they abandoned hope and gave in to fear, waiting for the end to take them. Of Ma-aka and Pania, there was no sign. All he did know was that Pania was last seen heading towards the Keep to one side of the square to stay with Marika. He hoped she was safe.
“Sam!” A cry from one of the women, pinned to the ground by an evil looking shaft, “Where are you?” her eyes quickly losing their sight as her life escaped, spilling out onto the hard floor around her. Sam had no answer for her, only fear and confusion and a desire to get “the hell out of Dodge” and wake up in some nice bed somewhere, away from all this chaos. Babu had disappeared into the enemy and who knew if he was still alive? Sam had tried to communicate with him, but only silence greeted his calling. He feared the worst and started to lose faith in his surroundings and the abilities of this place to stay the welcoming safe place it had been when he first arrived. Men and women around him tried in vain to stop the marauders advancing, but soon, the remaining villagers were forced to stop. Their tiredness and demands to drop their weapons, forcing first one, then others to give up, dejection and fear etched across their faces as they started to look around them at the carnage that had been their village a few short hours ago, now already a burning hulk of destruction and sadness.
