There were large, still lumps on the ground ahead. He caught his breath. Bodies.
“Who are they, the fallen?” he mumbled to no one.
Still. A death-covered stillness. The chaos had already come, leaving devastation and death in its wake.
His hands began to tremble, and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He didn’t want to look, but he had to.
As the woods thinned, his face responded to the glow and heat the lick of fire. He could see it was reduced based on some evidence gained with a few glances. He willed himself to stop shaking and pursed his lips. Cautiously he stepped over the brush and gained purchase on the ground beyond the tree line.
He tried to remain silent as he approached the closest dead body, his head swiveling around as he looked for trouble, for Mysra. Once he found no one was near enough to stop him, he closed in and found that the large mass wasn’t a WynSprign. No. No, it was much too large. It was the corpse of a Mysra—dangerously close to the forest where the WynSprigns had travelled to safety. He breathed out, finally. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.
The Mysra, even in his death, held a scowl. Stoutwyn frowned down at him. The Mysra’s mission—to track them, perhaps—had been upset.
He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and his heart stopped. But he turned his gaze upward from where he crouched to see a tall, thin WynSprign, limping.
Freck! It was Freck was walking slowly, with a lost gaze and a bloodied sword dangling from his hand. Black blood.
“H—H—Hey! Freck!” Stoutwyn yelled jogging toward him. “Freck, my boy, I’m so pleased to see you. Tell me now, what’s happened!”
Freck blinked hard, waking from his death-filled thoughts, and looked down at Stoutwyn. Tears had once slid down the young WynSprign’s soot-covered face, leaving it striped. At the sight of Stoutwyn, Freck slumped to the ground and took in a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes welled and his face crinkled.
Stoutwyn felt a pain in his gut. He hurried to lower himself to sit next to the young warrior.
“Mr. Stout”—his mouth opened once or twice; saliva strands glistened from the roof of his mouth—"I-I killed.” He breathed deeply and began to sob softly, then uttered a hoarse cry. His back slouched, allowing his shoulders to curve over at his heaving sobs.
Stoutwyn gulped at the lump returning to its place at the back of his throat. He hadn’t had to have this conversation in years. He remembered the first time he had to kill on the battlefield, and he tried his best. He spoke slowly, with a calm tone despite his inward chaos. “Freck, in life we are all given choice. There are times when that choice is taken advantage of.” He glanced to the lifeless Mysra, so close to the tree line and continued. “Some—like that Mysra there—choose to put you in the position where it is a choice to end you, or you end him. You won that choice, my boy. Why? To save yourself. To save the lives of those you love. To save innocent helpless WynSprigns – that’s why we serve.”
Stoutwyn met Freck’s welling gaze.
“Choosing to take another’s life to save your own,” Stoutwyn continued, “well that is a terrible place to be, but you didn’t choose to be in that place.” He paused. His voice remained gentle. “Tell me, what would have happened if you had let him continue?”
“He said he was going to track our people down,” Freck answered, “and that there were more WynSprigns hidden. Someone had to—"
“Exactly.” He paused considering, “Freck, you prevented him from moving beyond those trees.” He pointed to the woods. “Why, you saved even me.”
Freck nodded silently, and held his downcast face with dried-blood-crusted hands.
“Your grandfather? —"
Freck raised his streaming eyes to Stoutwyn. The young man’s full hair shifted as he shook his head slowly.
Stoutwyn’s heart ached. He pursed his lips and nodded slowly in answer, managing to fight back the raging cry that rose in his tight throat. His dear friend. “He would have been proud.” He managed. “As I am.”
After a few moments of silence, Stoutwyn needed to know the rest and pressed on: “Freck, now my boy, I need you to tell me, what of the Mysra? Where did they go—what happened with them?” His eyes were soft on Freck’s.
“Well, we killed them.”
Freck’s face clouded, and Stoutwyn saw the cogs of his mind trying to turn, trying for rational thought. The slow waking movement, from having been stunned.
“I think some got away, but most, almost all, died,” Freck managed.
“Were any . . . Were any WynSprigns taken away?” Stoutwyn was afraid of the answer.
Freck shook his head—no.
With a sigh of relief, Stoutwyn placed a hand over his chest. “All right, my boy,” he breathed, “Right. It’s going to be all right.”
A rumble of thunder grumbled in the distance.
Stoutwyn’s eyebrows raised. He’s come.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Unlikely victory seen
Mist and smoky haze lingered after the fires died down, and the smoldering heat still crawled over the charred homes and trees. A wisp of white air, blanketed, rolling across blackened roofs and branches. The soil was saturated with blood and gore. There was so much destruction, so much death.
But they lived.
Felena, braced against a tree, lurched to vomit, her braid tumbling to the side of her head. Freck spotted her and darted near, his face washed with concern.
She tried to stop the urge to heave by muffling her mouth with the back of her filthy hand. “Go!” She ordered the warrior, yet he continued toward her anyway. She hated this. All of it—the smell of blood and ash, death, and Freck’s once-proud eyes staring at her with pity – it was mostly that. She hated him looking at her like that. And—and then there was Stefin. Oh, Father Odan, Stefin, her heart hurt. It was just too much. She felt her insides roil again.
“I—I heard you. I just”—he started.
She lurched to vomit at the thought of him. Dead. The thought of what would never be.
“I wanted to see that you were all right,” Freck said foolishly.
Of course, I’m not all right. She had just been through battle and was retching at the atrocities she’d witnessed, the killing she’d done, the ache in her heart- “Freck, just GO!” She spat out the remnants of vomit, and her blue watery glare on him was filled with anger. He’s exasperating.
He looked defeated, helpless. It was as if she had slapped him in the face. He tightened his lips and nodded and obediently turned from her. He slowly headed to join the group that had already gathered at Lanico’s house, just around the bend from there.
Felina turned back to the tree she braced her hand against. She felt guilty but mostly embarrassed. Her stomach had been emptied enough, so there was no more twisting. She wiped her forearm over her mouth and sniffed hard. Sighing through the bitter taste in her mouth, she stood straight to regain resolve—she’d have to join the others as well. She knew that forward movement was needed-was all that could be done. She’d go help with the next steps that had to be taken. She was a warrior, and she took that seriously. She brushed her feelings aside—brushed Stefin’s death aside—and followed Freck’s direction, but at a distance.
The large group were covered with blood and mud, their clothing reduced to tattered, soot-covered rags. It seemed that all the survivors had gathered, and she was the only one just trickling in after them.
Everyone’s focus was on Lanico and his mysterious warrior friend, Treva. She had green hair. Green, like a deep emerald—or what Felena imagined an emerald’s shade to be. Treva was a small, muscled warrior who looked as if she’d seen suffering and war before. Her face was like carved stone, somber but beautiful. Felena knew the stories of the first female WynSprign Knight. The Emerald Knight. It seemed she had been forgotten by everyone else here, but not by Felena.
Treva’s gaze at the crowd was confident, regal almost. She stood proudly next to the General Pr
ince.
“But this is only the beginning,” Lanico warned. Our brother and sister WynSprigns are still toiling as slaves. The rumors were true.” He looked to Treva next to him and added, “She was there . . . was a slave . . .” His voice broke off. And now she stood stoically at his side. He swallowed emotion away, looked back at the crowd, and continued: “I propose we head out, regroup and descend upon the castle.” No one spoke, no one nodded. Lanico looked around for assent, but the beaten group blankly stared at him, and some looked to the ground.
“Lan”—Stoutwyn, next to him, interjected in a soft voice Lanico bent to hear—"I think this group isn’t quite ready for another battle yet. These aren’t trained Soldiers of old, not like—not like us.”
Lanico darted his gaze back to the crowd—and Felena knew they looked pitiful. Their eyes were still fixed on the haunting images that they’d witnessed. These weren’t hardened warriors, not really. They were villagers who had defended their families, themselves.
Lanico gave a somber nod.
However, he caught the light of a few eyes in the crowd, those of young ones who seemed interested—like Felena.
A spark glinted in his eye.
He continued to speak, but now with confidence and hope rising: “I realize what I suggest is a heavy burden to consider. The reward, taking back the kingdom, would not only ensure that the slavery of our people ends, but also allow for opportunities. Once on the throne, I would be in need of Soldiers, Knights, a new army.” He cleared his throat. “There would be a new place for you in the Odana Kingdom, a new place. New lands. A new life.”
A generation of would-be warriors, those who had long heard the tales of his adventures, blinked in wonderment. The prospect of leaving the Great Mist realm was terrifying, yet awe-inspiring.
A spark started in Felena, too, and she saw it in Freck—stirring energy at the thought of becoming an actual Odana Knight. A royal Soldier, like his grandfather used to be. We can do this. She knew he wanted to wield a sword and protect his people, especially now. Especially since there must be others across the lands that need help—their people needed help. There was nothing here, hiding in the Great Mist, that would offer them such a chance. They’d travel, train, and serve a bigger purpose.
She grasped Freck’s hand and they looked at Lanico with the same wonder-filled eyes.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Pushing onward to claim the kingdom
Stoutwyn had returned to the deep woods where the rest of the WynSprigns were staying and met an anxious Murah, who cried at seeing him all soot-covered. He gathered them all and explained to the crowd his findings. Many gasped at the details and trembled with emotion. Some wanted to know who had died. Stoutwyn didn’t provide answers, for he didn’t yet know who had perished. Guesses or false information would prove helpful to no one. With some brightening, however, he encouraged them that General Prince Lanico himself had come in and assisted in wiping out the Mysra, and that the group that attended the meeting with Lanico was quite large, suggesting that perhaps the death toll was limited.
“Now,” he sighed, “we have to travel back home and rebuild. Regain and restore our battered home.” That, he understood, that was his new purpose.
No matter how much information he had tried to provide, nothing prepared them for the reality that they’d face at home.
As the they walked into the village, they heard the sharp sound of digging, of metal cleaving the earth. The smell of smoke haunted. In the village the ground they walked on had been torn up by long wheel ruts, deep holes, and blood-stained puddles in the thick mud. The upheaval of the earth was a sign of the struggle, the fighting, and of the dying that had taken place here.
The arriving WynSprigns gasped at their surroundings, at the living warriors. They wept at the news of the dead. The dead warriors they knew, now being prepared for burial.
The village was mostly silent, little conversation took place. The warriors were lost in thought and grief as they covered the remaining bodies with the loosened soil, their eyes swollen red from smoke and from weeping. They had worked without end to bury WynSprign and Mysra alike, not far from the dense forest, being careful to place death markers on the WynSprigns’ graves.
Shrieks and cries broke the silence as loved ones reunited and shared news of the loved ones that had died. It was a time of mixed emotions. Of happy tears and of sorrow-laden tears, for the reunited and for the departed.
Tarn’s wife spotted him before he noticed her. She cried out his name, her voice was of both desperation and relief. Bewildered at that call he looked desperately for her face, for her pregnant belly, and halted in his tracks. The sight of her, of the bundle she held, brought him to his knees. His mouth hung
in a silent scream. He had killed for her, for them. With uneven strides, she came in closer and knelt on the ground, embracing him. His baby, a perfect boy, swaddled between.
Stoutwyn and Murah walked slowly to their home, in a quiet march away from the smell of smoke. Or could it be the senses were dulled?
Murah held her breath as they came closer to what had been their happy abode, not sure what to expect. Stoutwyn had not checked on it when he was here before—it hadn’t been his highest priority at the time.
There was the large tree. And as they rounded it toward the front of the house, she sighed in warm tears and relief. Their home was spared. She heaved a sob of happiness through her balled fist. Stoutwyn took her hand and held it. She turned slowly and took him into her arms.
“Home at last, my blossom,” he whispered.
✽✽✽
Lanico and Treva set out for Horse’s Clearing, Stoutwyn alongside them and recruits Felena and Freck in tow. Other warriors, ones with concerned parents kept them from joining Lanico – at least for now. Freck and Felena didn’t have much to stay for though. Freck’s sporting sibblings had families of their own and Felena’s family was sparce, not as close to her.
They didn’t have to track their way back to the clearing, for it was an obvious route the heavy Mysra feet had taken. Tame horses had been tied to a row of trees just at the tree line, and there were many, too many for their needs.
They did not bring many belongings. Unbeknownst to Lanico, Freck had previously raided his home for maps and documents about the Odana and secreted these away in his own bags. He determined that Lanico and Treva knew these lands well, but he and Felena didn’t. The young warrior had taken time to remember details of the faraway lands. He wanted to ensure a back-up plan in the event there was ever a separation-though he didn’t think spending time away with only Felena would be bad either.
It was hard to tell how many Mysra had survived, but there were many horses and wagons left behind.
Stoutwyn had seen the group this far and suggested the people of the Great Mist keep a few horses, to allow for travel, and free the rest. They’d once again know the Yellow Vast as their wide homelands. The horses grunted and neighed slightly as their ties were loosed.
The four parted ways with Stoutwyn there. It was a difficult goodbye but only temporary. Stoutwyn would be in charge of the Great Mist now, a lord of the area for the time being. He’d see to the rebuilding and the resettling of the village until Lanico reclaimed his throne. Once that took place, Stoutwyn would return to the Odana Kingdom with any WynSprigns who wanted to follow. By then, he will have fulfilled his purpose. Stoutwyn had never voiced his desire to return, but he confided in Freck that it had been something that had burned within him for many long years.
Lanico and Freck shared one horse and Treva and Felena the other until they traveled the short distance to retrieve Lanico and Treva’s two original horses, Aspirium and LaCriox. These two horses still had been equipped with their belongings. Then, they had four horses between them.
Lanico explained his determination to make it back to his mother’s home quickly but reasoned that they’d need to take it slower than he’d like. They had two young warriors, and all of them had been exhau
sted physically and emotionally from battle.
After Lanico and Treva shared basic riding instructions with Freck and Felena, Lanico announced his travel plans: “First stop will be the Yellow Vast brook, for watering and rest for both us and the horses.” Freck smiled to himself, being somewhat familiar with these locations based on his quick study of the maps he’d pilfered. “Then,” Lanico continued, “we’ll stay the night at Gray Rock. I’m certain any Mysra warriors will have headed out to the Odana by then. Then we’ll head through the remainder of the Yellow Vast and onto Greta’s.”
“And then,” Treva added with a cat’s wide grin, “on to the Battle for the Kingdom—for your throne, my Prince.”
Freck caught Felena’s eye with the excitement they now shared with their Prince—their King.
Lanico loosed a low laugh. “No. For our throne . . . my Emerald Queen.”
✽✽✽
Acknowledgements
It would have been impossible for me to have made it this far through the writing, editing, self-publishing, and emotional processes without the help support from many others. I was humbled, thankful, and most fortunate to find that help came in numerous forms, from: kind words of encouragement, education, and the personal experience of others. I am most grateful to each and every single one of you.
Mrs. Cindy Rinaman Marsch my editor, my educator, my mentor. You took a chance on me. Since day one you remained committed to helping me grow. It has been a humbling process for me, but you always made my ideas feel welcome. You’ve encouraged me and inspired me in a way that no other was able to. You’ve dealt with my inconsistencies, my changes, and my seemingly endless questions. You’ve nudged me forward with this since the beginning and have stayed beside me the whole time. Thank you from the deepest part of me. How could I ever thank you enough? The truth is, I cannot. Thank you. I hope we may continue to work together on other projects.
The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana Page 32
