by Candy Rae
“Brian asked,” Emily struggled to get the words out, “he wouldn’t let me help him.”
“I know,” said Tina, her voice trembling with emotion and loss, “but without Sofiya he couldn’t go on.”
“Even for me and Alexander he would not stay.”
Tina tried to find the right words. “At least you have a part of him with you,” she said at last, “and if your positions had been reversed, would you have wished to continue without Ilyei?”
Emily sat in the dust, unmoving.
“Wake up Emily,” urged Tina, “you are Holad, with a sworn duty to save lives. You don’t have the time to mourn, you must help the living, they need you.”
She thrust Emily’s medpac into her hands. Emily grasped hold of it with fumbling hands and some life came back into her eyes.
The gaze Emily set on Tara and Kolyei was all professionalism.
“If you and Daltei can stay with them? Kolyei is knocked out, nicks and grazes are all that’s the matter with him, concussion possible, Tara has broken bones, her bleeds are stabilised, we’ll have to wait until she and Kolyei can be moved before I can do more.”
“Of course.”
“Looks like I’m needed over there,” Emily said, pointing to a clump of injured vadelns.
“I’ll look after Tara,” Tina promised, “now go.”
Belatedly Emily remembered that Tina had spent a half-season on Holad training when she was sixteen. She and Daltei had realised that a medic’s life was suited to neither of them but at least she had learned the skills of simple doctoring. She could easily tend to those with the more superficial wounds, the non-life threatening, thus leaving Emily, Ilyei and the other fully-trained Holad free to tend the others.
“Be careful,” Tina advised as Emily left, the despondent Ilyei in tow, “there are injured Larg on the field.”
Soon Emily was too busy to think about Brian. There was an endless supply of injured to tend and, like the other Holad members, she worked, above all trying to stop the bleeding and counteracting the effects of shock.
As the area where she worked was clear of fallen Larg, it became an impromptu dressing station. Stretcher-bearer after stretcher-bearer carried their burden to her, in the case of the Lind wounded, two-wheeled carts had been assembled on to which the wounded were placed and taken for help.
Emily became aware of other Holad working beside her. Winston Randall’s grief-stricken face caught her eye. Where had he come from?
She bent over an injured rider and he knelt down beside her.
“I can feel the bleeding underneath,” Emily spoke in an undertone, “I don’t think there is much I can do for him. He has internal injuries, probably when he fell. The fighting was very rough here and his Lind is dead as well.”
“I don’t think he can feel his legs either,” said Winston, also in an undertone, “his spine is broken. Can you stay with him?”
Emily understood.
“Until the end?” she whispered.
Winston nodded with a sad smile.
Hilary and Gsnei appeared as if out of nowhere and she took command of the station, issuing orders and relieving Winston and Emily from that burden at least. It is safe to say that father and daughter-in-law were only distantly aware of her presence.
Hilary urged them to keep going until they were too tired to carry on. Then she ordered them to rest and popped a mild sedative into their kala to ensure that they did.
Emily woke in the morning to the remembered emptiness and turned to look at the occupant of the pallet by her side; Winston lay gazing into space.
He turned towards her.
“We have work to do,” she said.
“Not yet, Hilary has it under control.”
“Hilary? The diffident Hilary?”
“Amazing really, I didn’t think she had it in her. She is so quiet and self-effacing. I certainly wasn’t capable of taking charge. She told me about a bell ago that we won’t be needed ‘til later but that there’s a full surgical list scheduled.”
Emily took a deep breath.
“Have you seen?”
“Brian and Sofiya? Yes. I’m glad they didn’t suffer long and that you and Ilyei were there with them at the end.”
“There is to be another child.”
“Janice suspected as much.”
“I wanted Brian to stay with us, but he couldn’t, I realise that now.”
“You know, very few choose life if their Lind die and those few that do, well they are usually women with young children to bring up and I don’t think even they fully recover.”
Emily thought for a bit.
“I may come back home with you when this is all over,” she announced.
“Brian would have liked that. Have you seen Louis and Ustinya yet? He’s been given temporary command of the Seventh Ryzck, none of their officers survived.”
“How’s he getting on?” Some interest had crept back into Emily’s voice.
“He is upset about Brian but is coping. Brian and Sofiya would expect us to grieve but life does go on. You have your son to think of and all vadeln know that they might have to pay the ultimate sacrifice one day. Casualties are heavy this time round, especially amongst the home packs and the Tenth Ryzck. We are not alone in our grief, many have lost loved ones.”
He groaned as he sat up and fished around for his boots.
“Now daughter, if you have rested enough, I believe Hilary and the other Holad could do with some help.”
Emily looked at him, the pain behind her eyes obvious and, he reflected, they mirrored his own. Ilyei too looked dull, the habitual gleam in his eyes flat with loss. He, thought Winston, didn’t even have the solace of young of his own, all he had were memories of Sofiya.
: I miss Sofiya. I will always miss Sofiya :
Emily looked at Ilyei with affection and love. He too had lost his mate but at least they had each other.
: She would want us to carry on, find some happiness again, I will remember the good times, the way her tail twitched when she was amused, how her eyes gazed to mine when we alone, the way she looked when she and Brian said goodbye when they left the domta, her determination to fight well, to save those she loved from the Larg :
Tears flowed down Emily’s cheeks and Winston wrapped her in his arms.
: She did. They did :
Winston must have had an idea what they were saying to each other. He spoke, “and we should be proud of them both. I certainly am. They will rest together in fine company.”
“Their grave mound will be honoured for generations to come,” said a voice from the door. It was Hilary, arriving with the surgery list.
“Covered in dalina flowers,” said Emily, “they were Brian’s favourite.”
“We’ll plant hundreds,” promised Winston, “thousands even.”
Emily smiled, a sad smile and faint, but a smile for all that.
“We’d best get started,” she suggested; lifting her head high she strode with purpose out of the tent.
Winston was so proud of her at that moment that he thought he would burst.
* * * * *
It was dark when Tara woke from her drug-induced sleep.
She reached with her mind towards Kolyei and sensed only a painful tiredness. He had been drugged too and his sleeping thoughts were weird. She opened her eyes and recognised Peter sleeping beside her, his cloak gathered round him for warmth against the chilly dawn air.
He woke and raised a bruised and battered face to her.
“Peter?” she whispered. It hurt to talk.
“I’m here my love, safe and sound.”
Tara raised her left arm out towards him; the only limb that was not bandaged and comparatively unhurt. She groaned.
“Try not to move,” he advised taking her hand in his.
“It hurts.”
“And will for some time, but you will get better. Kolyei and Radya are both fine too. I can try and position you better so you can see him if you’d like.”
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“No need. I can sense him beside me.”
Then her eyes dilated with remembrance.
“Jim and Larya? The Larg?”
“The Larg are fleeing for their lives, the southern regiments too, the beachhead is almost deserted and Jim and Larya will recover in time, thanks to you and Kolyei.”
Tara relaxed.
“Now get some sleep.”
The four of them stayed there, an oasis of calm amongst the bustle that was the Holad dom.
Peter was gone when Tara next woke but Radya was there, her wounds remained stiff and sore. She was nestled against Kolyei. They were murmuring quietly together but, sensing Tara’s return to consciousness, Kolyei raised a weary head.
“I do not wish to move,” he said, “hurts.”
“Me neither.”
Radya wagged her tail.
“I glad to see you Tara,” she said, “get better now. Peter will come see you before we go.”
“Go where?”
“Larg are still in rtathlians. Those that can, go to hunt them before they kill again. Lindars Grandthlya and Bensvei have come to help. Tara not worry. Radya will keep Peter safe. When Larg dead and you are better we go home. War is over. We will live together and rear ltsctas.”
“Ltsctas?”
“I want many,” Radya warned, “Peter and you must have many too.”
* * * * *
The Holad Station was an area of purpose in the midst of death but the long rows of covered bodies was mute testimony to victory’s cost and the medics’ failure.
Tara’s injuries were not life threatening. Her flesh wounds would heal cleanly and fast. The broken bones would take longer. She had three cracked ribs; a dislocated collarbone, a crushed arm and both her legs were broken.
When Kolyei had learned of Tara’s injuries he was amazed at his life-mate’s courage. She must, he thought, have been in agony as she dragged herself over his body to place herself between him and the Larg, the love between them so strong that she had been able to ignore the agonising pain.
“If Kolyei had died I wouldn’t have wanted to live,” she informed Hilary, “I couldn’t allow that beast to destroy us, could I? If Kolyei had been able he would have done the same for me, it is part and parcel of being paired. Now, what of Jim and Larya?”
“They are alive.”
It was simple; Larya would not let Jim leave her.
She held on to him, to his mind, to his inner self. As she herself was recovering from injuries and needed to rest, her daughter Asya and also Matvei, Gsnei and even Radya took on the burden whilst she did. Jim was never alone.
No matter how much his fevered mind wandered, Jim always had an anchor, a constant reminder of how much he was loved and needed.
He developed wound fever and teetered in and out of consciousness. The medics and Holad healers doubted he would ever walk again, if he recovered at all.
Another patient was Vsei of the Avuzdel, who had risked all to warn the north that the Larg and regiments were embarking on their final sail to Vadath.
Vsei had managed in the heat of the battle to position himself to the left of the kohort he had infiltrated then had run, as fast as his paws could carry him towards the nearest Lindar broadcasting and baying his name and where his allegiance lay : I am Vsei. Avuzdel. I am Lind :
The front ryz had recognised him for what he was and let him through. He had then joined up with Fernei and the other Avuzdel and had fought until he dropped against his former Larg ‘comrades’.
There were many heroes, or ruzas resulting from that day, but his heroic acts of infiltration, warning and fighting were long remembered in the traditions and songs.
* * * * *
Francis sat staring at the casualty lists. He could hear the vibration in the air as many Lind mourned their own dead, a subliminal hum that reverberated inside his mind and the dying wasn’t over yet. The most seriously injured, despite the best efforts of the healers, continued to succumb to their wounds.
Word from the farmsteads in the west was also unsettling. The Larg that Bvdmaldr had sent to the west had attacked over six of them. There was little a single family could do to defend themselves when a Kranj or two of Larg appeared on their doorstep. One family had managed to save themselves by hiding in a nearby cave. Their wait for rescue had taken a terror-stricken three days.
Afanasei padded into the command tent and Francis raised a face bleary from lack of sleep.
“Any news?”
“Winston says Jim will be all right,” Afanasei replied, then hung his head, “but many others no. Tarmsei is gone.”
Francis shut his eyes in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was your son?”
“Yes,” was the sorrowful reply, Afanasei was a picture of absolute dejection, “I am proud of Tarmsei.”
“We all are,” said Francis, “he led the Lindar with courage.”
Francis changed the subject, more to cover his confusion about what to say than anything else, “it was a Larg idea, this war,” he began. “Aoalvaldr persuaded them it would be an easy victory.” The story was coming out now. A pawful of Larg had been taken prisoner.
“Jim saved us again,” said Afanasei, “and thank the Lai the convicts did not fight.”
“The convicts are getting older,” continued Francis, “Lord Regent Baker did not want to risk them. He made the arrangement I assume, their help to get rid of Pierre Duchesne and in return his help to get them into Vadath. It was a clever and well thought out plan. They nearly managed it too. You are right about Jim and Larya. It is their victory. We were lucky.”
“I not think luck had anything to do with it Susyc Francis,” was Afanasei’s measured comment.
“I want peace Afanasei, peace to bring up Laura and my children and Asya and Faddei’s ltsctas, with no threat of war in a country where I don’t have to lead an endless procession of youngsters into battle.”
“We will work on it,” Afanasei promised. “Fernei has ideas and so does Jim. The Larg will return home to lick their wounds.”
“Perhaps we can make a treaty with what is left of the convicts, persuade them that the Larg are the main threat to peace and not us.”
“Is a thought.”
“One that bears thinking about,” Francis replied.
* * * * *
Pierre Duchesne and his surviving men were jubilant. At last, they realised, they were free, free to make a new life.
Whatever doubts the Vadathians had had about their arrival were gone. They had watched them fight and die for the north. Willing northern hands tended their injuries and in their eyes the newcomers saw only acceptance and respect.
Perhaps a great deal of this change of heart came from the way the Lind treated them, accepting them as fellow warriors. Some had even, as Geraldine, Jsei and others had done during the Battle of the Alliance, made battlefield vadeln-pairings.
Amongst this select group was a surprised Michael Wallace, Pierre Duchesne’s old friend, who had come to the rescue of a Lind female of middling years of rtath Matvei’s Lindar during the fight at the ridge.
The story of their pairing was not dissimilar to that of the others.
Sorely pressed by not two but three Larg, she had fallen to her knees and was desperately trying to save herself.
Michael Wallace arrived like a knight in shining armour and yelling expletives, he brought his sword down on the neck of her largest attacker, almost severing it through so forceful was his thrust. Like lightening, the same sword cut the top off the head of the next. The third backed off, took one look at the dangerous and furious man and turned away to look for an easier target.
Time stood still. The turmoil of the battlefield eddied around them as Lind and saviour’s eyes met.
: Thank you :
When Valnrya thought about it afterwards, the words were a complete understatement of the emotive turmoil she was experiencing.
A solemn and proud Lind and one of the few females to actually com
mand a ryz and that for many seasons, Michael and Valnrya’s pairing was a surprise to everyone, as, never in the ten years since mankind had arrived on the planet, had Valnrya shown any inclination to an interest in humans at all.
Their minds clicked together and Michael felt deep within him what she was feeling.
The sound of battle hit them again and Michael’s incredulous joy was dissipated somewhat as the realisation of where he was came back. He pressed himself beside her.
“I think we’d better fight together from now on,” he shouted.
: I won’t argue with you. Now are you going to kill that Larg who is approaching or am I? :
: You keep him occupied and I’ll kill him :
: Wise decision :
Together they met the next wave of attackers; together they survived the day.
“Looks like you’ve lost your right-hand man,” said Francis, pointing to Michael and Valnrya.
“Perhaps not completely,” answered Pierre, “my guess is that they’ll go north to Valnrya’s pack. I think me, Briony and the boys might well end up heading in that general direction as well. Most of my people will remain around here in the lowlands but I think it best if I put as big a stretch of water and more between Sam Baker, me and mine as I can. He is a vindictive soul and will be after my guts, even more so now.”
“You’re probably right,” agreed Francis, “and I think you’ll find that your family has increased by one.”
Pierre looked his surprise.
“My Asya informs me that Jtanya is set on your eldest. If there is a vadeln-pairing predestined by the gods it’s that one, any fool can see that.”
“Predestined, the gods? Isn’t that a bit archaic?”
Francis shrugged. “Maybe,” was his laconic reply, “but I’m sure Asya’s right. She usually is.”
He regarded the ex-Lord of Duchesne, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Any regrets?”
Pierre shook his head.
“Giving up my title and my land and becoming a simple farmer? None at all. When all’s said and done a title’s an empty thing and the land, it was held for the King, not mine at all. It was to him I swore allegiance, not Sam Baker. Here, my children will grow up free, free to forge their lives in the manner they desire. If Jacques wants Jtanya and she him, well, that’s part of it.”
