A Search for Bliss

by Charles Franklin

  Lieutenant Mann whirled and sliced through the man’s wrist as he brought his sword down. Hand and weapon fell to the ground, and Lieutenant Mann opened his gut with a back-handed slash.

  The ringing of steel slowed and Arik searched the scene. Saetos bodies lay scattered in pools of blood, one with its head nearby. The man whose horse fell on him lay dead, gawking at the cloudless sky.

  The few remaining Saetos appeared to take note of their new odds and fled.

  “Where’s the leader?” Arik asked.

  “He’s gone,” one of the men answered.

  Arik pounded a fist down on his thigh. He refused to believe the Saetos man’s words. The girl could still be alive. “Did we lose anyone?”

  “Darris Long,” Lieutenant Mann gestured to a dead guardsman on the ground near the edge of the thicket. “And Sam Hawes, back at the river.”

  Two guardians of the city, dead. These were not nameless men from old stories. Arik knew them and their families. He had dined at their tables. Now he was responsible for their deaths.

  He fished a rag from his saddlebag, cleaned his blade and slammed it into its scabbard. “Get Darris’ body. We’ll go back for Sam and take them home. I won’t leave them out here.”

  “And the girl?” Lieutenant Mann asked.

  “We’ll come back. We have to.”

  A distant cry interrupted. That of a child.

  Arik wheeled around and strained to hear which direction it came from. “Where there’s a child, there’s likely a camp,” he said.

  “And more Saetos.” Lieutenant Mann rode closer and removed his helmet. He pushed the brown, sweat-soaked hair from his eyes.

  “Maybe the girl, too.” Arik started back up the draw and into the thicket. “Let’s check it out. We’ll come back for Darris.”

  He followed the child’s cries up the hillside and through the dense brush. The weeping grew closer and closer until Arik rode into a clearing midway up the draw. A thatched lean-to sat on a flat piece of hillside across the way with a burned-out fire nearby.

  “Mama!” the little one’s voice came from inside the lean-to. The shelter’s flap was tied back to reveal a set of feet belonging to someone lying inside.

  Arik scanned the area. A clay pot and two plates sat near the fire and a few small, carved wooden men stood facing off in the dirt. “Lieutenant Mann, you and the others search the trees.”

  The men did as ordered. Arik slid from his saddle and drew his sword, then crept toward the lean-to. He surveyed the campsite again as he inched closer, wary of another trap.

  “Mama!” the child cried louder.

  Inside, a woman lay sleeping. Sweat drenched her black hair. She wore a dress made from animal hide, and a deep red rash spread across her bare arms and face. The Sickness.

  Beside her, the little one sat on his knees, rocking back and forth. He looked to be around two or three years old, and the same black hair covered his head. A loin cloth served as his only clothing.

  The little boy sobbed and pressed a finger to the rash on his mother’s arm. He closed his eyes a moment. As he opened them, he pulled his finger away and stared at his mother, as if he expected her to magically awaken. She did not.

  Arik sheathed his blade and ducked his head inside. The smell of death surrounded him.

  No fear came from the little one when he noticed Arik. He continued to whimper and pressed his finger to his mother’s skin again.

  “Mama sick!” the boy cried harder and threw himself across his mother. “Mama ... wake up!”

  “All clear.” Lieutenant Mann crouched behind Arik. “Poor little guy. The Sickness shows no bias.”

  Arik touched the mother’s foot. She burned with fever. “No. It does not.”

  He’d been around the sick enough to know that she had only a few hours left. The boy would be motherless—or an orphan if his father had been killed in the fight.

  “What now?” Lieutenant Mann asked. “Do we leave him out here alone?”

  Arik stood and started for his horse. The child’s wail grew louder with each step he took. The ring of the little one’s cry brought on a new wave of guilt to mix in with his rage and anguish. “Yes,” he said. “His people will find him.” He grasped his saddle horn and shoved a foot into the stirrup.

  Before he could mount, Lieutenant Mann’s heavy steps approached from behind. “We can’t do that! Please, Sir Arik. Don’t abandon him!”

  Arik slipped his foot from the stirrup and let it fall to the ground. “They steal from us. We do not steal from them. Let them take care of their children. We’d be giving them a reason to storm the city!”

  It was more than enough that two men died because of his impulse. He refused to be the cause of a massacre. This child was of the enemy. He could not be helped.

  “Sir Arik,” Lieutenant Mann said, “This isn’t what we do. We don’t leave children to starve or be eaten by wolves. We protect the weak ... remember?”

  He paused. Yes, he remembered. The first day he donned armor as a new guardsman, far before he was knighted, Thomas Hutchens had shared with him what was expected: We protect those who cannot protect themselves.

  The child stood outside the lean-to. Tears washed down his dirty cheeks, and he let out an ear-piercing cry. Every rib was visible on his malnourished body.

  Arik huffed a frustrated sigh. He started to climb into the saddle again, but his eyes found the words branded into his leather bracer: Be true. Be just. Be you.

  Curse Thomas. He should be there to tell them what to do. Instead, he left them to learn on their own, and to live with their choices—right or wrong.

  All these impossible tasks. Find Bliss. Replace Thomas. And now, another one. Kidnap a Saetos child. That’s surely how the savages would see it.

  “All right. Let’s hope this doesn’t come back to bite us.” Arik mounted his stallion. “Bring him here. And get his mother, too. We’ll take her back and try to give her comfort for as long as she has left.”

  Lieutenant Mann brought the little boy to Arik and handed him up. He weighed next to nothing and stank like he had never seen a bath.

  The boy whimpered as a guard carried his mother from the lean-to, her arms hanging limp. He reached a tiny hand out to her. “Mama ...”

  “Let’s get our dead and head home!” Arik rode back down toward where Darris and the dead Saetos lay. He sat the little one on his lap, behind the saddle horn.

  Arik had failed that day. The girl was still lost, inching closer to death the longer those monsters had her. He would come back. Soon. Once the child, his mother, and the guards’ bodies were back in the city, he would continue the search.

  The boy leaned his head back against Arik’s chest plate and let out a sob.

  “Now, now, little guy,” Arik smoothed the boy’s mangled hair back. “You’re gonna be okay.”

  He’d thought his heart was hardened toward these barbarians in the hills, but a child was just a child. The poor boy had done no wrong. Would Thomas have taken him back to the city?

  Yes. Yes, he would have.

  “Do you have a name?” Arik asked.

  The boy babbled something incomprehensible and Arik decided it was a “no,” so he thought hard about what a good name for a young man would be. He remembered a tale Felicia once told him about a knight who had served the city decades before. One who—despite his small stature—fought and defeated the greatest Saetos warrior of their time.

  “Anthony.”

  The little one looked up at Arik with a crooked smile and a sniffle.

  “It’s settled, then.” Arik held Anthony against him as his horse stumbled through some loose rocks. “You’re gonna be all right, Anthony. Uncle Arik will take care of you.”

  While the men gathered the bodies of Darris and Sam, Arik considered the words Thomas had branded into his bracer.

  Be true. Be just. Be you.

  He knew the definition of true. And he knew what just meant. But he was still learning who he w
as.

  Arik was someone who protected the weak. Who would not leave a child to die. And maybe ... one day ... he could be a leader.

  “Well, little Anthony. Let’s find you a home.”

  Dear Reader,

  A Search for Bliss marks the beginning of the series The Anistemi. Though this short story is but a few pages long, it opens the stage for a fascinating set of longer stories. I hope you’ll continue to follow Arik and a cast of other characters that I’m excited to introduce you to!

  At my website, please sign up for updates on the release of individual books of The Anistemi. That’s http://www.charlesfranklinauthor.com

  Thank you for reading, and thank you for just being you. I pray that you grow daily in your own search for Bliss and that you continue to draw closer to Jesus. Until next time!

  -Charles

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It was such a joy to write this short story and to dive into the world of The Anistemi. As much fun as it was, it was still the result of teamwork, and I’ll do my best to show my gratitude.

  To my wife, Jennifer—Thank you for your patience and understanding as I pursue my passion. Your support and encouragement has given me the confidence to drive on, especially on those days where I doubted myself.

  To my children, Chandler, Alyson, and Bella—When God gave me you, he blessed me beyond anything I could have asked for, or will ever deserve. You make me so proud. I am, and will forever be, your biggest fan.

  To J.J. Johnson and Mandy Fender—First, thank you for being good friends. I’m so blessed to know you both and follow in your journeys as you honor God with your written words. Second, thank you for critiquing this story and helping to make it what it has become. You two are awesome!

  To Phyllis Wheeler—This story would have remained in eternal ugliness had it not been for your editing. Thank you for not only fixing my errors, but for teaching me along the way; and for pushing me to make it just a little bit better when I thought it was finished. You’re pretty awesome!

  To my Savior Jesus Christ—Thank you for calling to me twenty-nine years ago; and for giving me a love for telling stories that honor You. I love You.