Battle of Nyeg Warl

by Rex Hazelton

  “What's that?” The words came out before she knew what she had done.

  Turning to look at the disheveled young woman, the man replied, “Why, that's a wildflower.”

  Startled by the fact that he could see her, the young woman inundated the man and his wife with questions that they patiently answered. In time, she noticed the little girl was nowhere to be seen.

  Perplexed by this, the young woman asked, “Has your daughter left?”

  Smiling warmly, the handsome man said, “No Muriel, she hasn't.”

  The impact these words dealt, staggered the young woman. Having the effect of breaking up a log jam, the words caused memories of her parents to come flooding back. Now crying, she fell into the man's familiar arms. “Oh Daddy, how I've missed you and Mommy!”

  Wrapping her arms around the two, Muriel's mother added, “We've missed you too, Sweetheart!”

  After a time, Muriel's mother stepped back and pulled a ring from her finger. “Here Sweetheart.” While placing the jewelry on Muriel's finger, she added, “Your father gave this to you on the day you were born, the greatest day in both of our lives.”

  Muriel wept as she looked at the beautiful gem resting upon her hand. “Thank you, Mommy! Thank you, Daddy! I love you both with all of my heart.”

  “Honey,” Muriel's father pulled her and his wife close, “we love you more than life itself!”

  Gazing into the ring's many-faceted face, Muriel watched it flicker to life. In time, rays of light shot out from the crystal that turned to a golden, now familiar, glow. Muriel wasn't surprised, when only a few moments later, she felt the ring gently vibrating on her finger. Then, to the young woman's consternation, she awoke and was, once again, alone. The vibrations, the tiny firefly emitted as it sat atop her finger, made her wonder about the dream. Was there any truth to what she saw? Or was it just one of those things, something random, a vision that didn't have any correlation to things real, a story built around a fragment of disjointed memory.

  Not yet trusting everything she had seen in the dream, she did latch on to one thing. “Muriel!” She looked at her hands, then her arms, legs and as much of her body as she could as if she were seeing herself for the first time. “That's the name my parents gave me.” Sighing, she got to her feet and stood as the gentle breeze of a new day blew upon her face.

  Chapter 13: Grour Blood

  The sun, though low on the horizon, was climbing into the morning sky. Beneath its watchful eye the firefly and the bedraggled woman, who was still mulling over the idea her name was indeed Muriel, continued their trek into the forest. To avoid detection, they shied away from any road or well-worn path. Instead, the tiny guide chose to pass over raw unforgiving land whose underbrush tore at Muriel's flesh.

  It was now a long time since the woman had eaten. Crazed with hunger, Muriel longed for the gray porridge and wilted vegetables Schmar provided his prisoners. Stumbling to the ground, she tore a succulent weed from the soil and began chewing on it until the plant's horrible bitterness made her spew it out of her mouth. Groaning in despair, she thought how ironic it would be to have escaped Schmar's clutches only to die of hunger. Weakened by her conditioned, Muriel's morbid laughter filled the air until the sight of smoke, rising above the trees growing on a distant hillside, drove her to silence. Remembering the cooking fires used to warm the insipid meals she had eaten in captivity, she was moved to find the smoke's source.

  After an arduous hike over hilly terrain, a stone cottage came into view. Hiding under the eaves of a nearby tree, Muriel impatiently spied on the dwelling. The aromas, wafting out of the stone cottage, were pulling on her, enticing her forward. But she didn't move, fearing those things she couldn't see, things the cottage's walls hid from sight.

  Finally, Muriel could no longer resist the urge to discover the source of the delicious scent. So, pulling the stone dagger from her belt, she crept over to the cottage's door. The firefly followed close behind. Peering inside, she saw two beds and a crib up against a rough stone wall. A heavy wooden table sat in the middle of the room. Bread and cheese lay on top, amidst several bowls and flasks. A large, black kettle- hanging above a flame busily feeding on a small pile of dead branches laying in the fireplace- beckoned to her.

  “Porridge!” Muriel whispered.

  Checking the room, again, making absolutely certain it was devoid of people, the desperate woman stepped into the cottage and went over to the fireplace. The aroma of robust grains, cooking above the lively fire, was more tantalizing than any she had ever known. Placing her dagger in her belt, she whirled about and grabbed a bowl from off the table and frantically filled it to the brim with hot sticky breakfast. Globs of the stuff fell to the floor as she rushed to the table and began devouring her fare.

  The porridge's almost unbearable heat didn't slow Muriel down one bit. Opening her mouth as wide as a hungry baby bird, she allowed air to mingle with the food to take the hot edge off the sumptuous cereal.

  After her assault on the porridge, Muriel cast her gaze upon the bread and cheese. Pulling on the small carving knife, sticking out of a modest pinwheel of cheese, she cut herself a large slice and began chomping carelessly on this as well. A chunk of bread, torn from a loaf as round as a cabbage, soon met the same fate as the cheese. All of this was washed down with a cool glass of water that had been resting on the table, next to the bread.

  With her strength returning, Muriel became more cautious. The firefly's agitated movements only added to her anxiety. Reaching for a nearby pouch, she quickly stuffed the remaining bread and cheese inside. In the process of removing the small carving knife from the cheese she was packing away, the front door swung open and a large redheaded man strode into the room.

  Leering down upon the disheveled trespasser, the big man exclaimed, “Burn it to ashes! What's this? …Why you little thief!” Carelessly swatting at the firefly, he added, “I'll tan your hide for stealing me family's breakfast.”

  Reaching down, he unbuckled his thick, leather belt. This movement terrified the grime-covered woman. It reminded her of those things she had endured at the hands of the beast. Pulling the small carving knife out of the cheese, the bedraggled woman cowered beside the table, hoping to use the wood as a buffer to ward off blows that would rain down upon her. Shaking like a scared rabbit, Muriel watched the large redheaded man folding the thick belt in his strong hands.

  No! No! No! She shouted in her mind. I'll die before I let another person lay a hand on me! The novel emotion of anger returned; her cowering posture quickly transformed into a crouch; she was now ready to strike out at the man.

  Startled by this metamorphosis, the man took a step backwards. “We're a little she-devil, are we?” After swatting at the firefly, frantically trying to distract the man, he shouted out the open door, “Maggy, quick! Come here! There's a strange woman in our home.”

  Before Muriel could decide what to do, a plump little woman rushed into the middle of the stand-off; a redheaded baby was held in her arms; a look of concern was etched across her face. “Who is she Doleman?”

  “I don't have the foggiest idea who the wretched girl is. But I know she's trying to steal me breakfast.”

  “Well let her have it you big oaf! Can't you see she's starving?” Turning to Muriel, Maggy tried to console her. “You're welcome to our food. Please, won't you join us for breakfast?”

  The plump little woman smiled as she moved over to the crib and laid her child down. But as she bent over her baby, her movements acted as a catalyst flushing out Muriel's memories of the offending beast hunching over his hapless victims. Horrifying cries, coming from those he harmed, filled her mind as pictures of Schmar furtively darted about in her brain.

  Nostrils flaring, her eyes burned like coals of fire as she tried to evaluate her situation. At that precise moment, the redheaded baby began crying. Its mother, still leaning over it, was trying to calm the infant down. Muriel misread the plump woman's actions, thinking she was hurting the child. H
er eyes darted back to the large redheaded man, who stood with the threatening belt held tightly in his hands. Panting, as her heart pounded in her chest, she figured these people were just like Schmar and his odious wife.

  Growling like a wild animal, Muriel lunged at the child's assailant, repeating her earlier attempt to exact revenge on the beast. Luckily, Dolemon anticipated her movements and jumped between the enraged woman and his wife. Muriel swung the little carving knife about in a frantic effort to strike her enemies. Finally, the thin blade stabbed into the man's forearm.

  “OWWWWW!” Doleman yelped like a dog struck by a rod.

  Ducking under the thick leather belt, arching past her head, Muriel sprang for the door as quick as a rabbit leaping out of a trap.

  In a moment's time, she was dashing through the greenwood, the tiny firefly joining in her flight. Passing through the forest's shadows, Muriel could hear the man swearing and shouting about how he'd make her pay for what she had done. None of this registered in her thinking. Her mind had locked onto one thought and one thought only. She had to run as fast and as far she could. The leather pouch, slapping against her back, gave her the comfort of knowing, she wouldn't have to take such risks again, at least, not in the near future.

  Muriel did not stop moving until night began falling upon the land. Seeking shelter in a thick patch of undergrowth, laying near a trickling stream of water, she took out the stolen bread and cheese and started eating her meal. Watching the fading rose-colored light, shining above the tree tops, she tried not to imagine what other evils were lurking in this warl of colors. Soon, the firefly came to rest on her finger, and its comforting golden glow sent Muriel back into the world of dreams where she, once again, spent the night walking with the black-haired man and his wife.

  Muriel, waking up at dawn's first light, continued her flight to who knows where.

  Later that morning, the firefly changed its strategy. Casting off caution, it left the safety of the wildwood and led her to a broad path cutting its way through the forest. Turning neither to the right or left of this rough road, the firefly pressed onward. After awhile, an odd feeling of familiarity welled up within Muriel. The emotion was so compelling, she actually thought she remembered certain parts of the trail: a dip in the road, an especially tall tree, a stream forded, or a hill encountered triggered this strange sensation. I've walked over this trail before, Muriel thought.

  Feeling she was on the verge of a great discovery, Muriel's senses sharpened so she wouldn't miss what she intuitively felt was coming. Finally, as she approached the top of a low-laying hill, she began feeling light-headed when familiar smells, shapes and colors started swirling about her. Seeing a stone chimney, poking up through the lush plant life carpeting the forest floor, Muriel eagerly plunged through the brush and into a clearing that ran up against the structure. Disappointment nearly hurled her to the ground, when she saw the chimney was the only part of the house still standing. She had expected to see a beautiful ivy-covered cottage. Instead, she found the burned-out skeleton of a building filled with the wild flora growing in the surrounding forest.

  Sadness, more intense than any she had experienced in Schmar's oppressive realm, permeated the air surrounding the ruins she knew had once been her home. Finding a child's silver spoon laying at the base of a fireplace, Muriel sat down on her haunches to examine her discovery.

  “This was my spoon,” Muriel declared out loud. An as the words passed through her lips, memories of this place came flooding back. The man she had met in her dreams was sitting at a table alongside his wife and their black-haired daughter. “Muriel, Sweetheart, you need to eat your vegetables.” The man's well chiseled features flashed a disarming smile as he admonished his precocious daughter.

  “But Daddy, they're green!” the girl exclaimed as she looked at the dreadful dish.

  “Honey, green vegetables are good for you,” her mother chimed in, an exasperated expression crossing her rich brown eyes.

  “All right Mommy,” the little girl was eager to share an idea she was having, “I'll eat green today if you'll make yellow tomorrow.”

  Muriel's mother relaxed and laughed before saying, “Good enough. Tomorrow we'll have eggs, cheese, and yellow squash.”

  Then the scene changed.

  Sitting on a homemade rocking chair, the handsome man was now holding his daughter on his lap. Contented with his loved ones' company, he was telling her stories about the coming age of Parm Warl, gently rocking back-and-forth as he spoke. The browned-eyed woman's smile seemed to dance when the light from the fireplace flickered upon her face. Sitting on a matching rocking chair of her own, she was busy knitting. Muriel's mother loved the prophecies describing Parm Warl. Her deepest wish was for her daughter to live long enough to see these fulfilled.

  Again, the scene changed.

  Muriel now saw the three sleeping in their beds. A pile of embers, glowing in the fireplace, cast an eerie light about the silent room. Then a noise was heard outside the window and the little girl woke up. Once the sound repeated itself, the child slipped out of her bed and scampered over to her father.

  “Daddy, wake up! Something's making noise outside and it's scaring me!”

  The man stretched and yawned as he responded to his daughter's request. Reaching out for his child, he drew her close to himself and the two remained motionless listening to the night.

  BOOM! The sound of a battering ram crashing into the cottage's stout door heralded the arrival of a pantheon of lurching memories: first, Muriel saw two of Schmar's river-children leaping over the broken door; next, a severed head lay at her feet, the monster's mouth moving like it was trying to tell her something; then, her mother and father were busy emptying the wood box; after this, she and her parents were running through a fog-cloaked warl while fires, eagerly licking at the cottage's heavy timbers, lit up the vaporous ground cover; the sounds of pursuit closed in on the fleeing family, and finally, the trunk of an old hollowed out tree wrapped itself around the little girl.

  “Muriel. Look at Daddy.” Lifting his daughter's hand, the black-haired man nodded at the exquisite jewel sitting upon her little finger. “Sweetheart, see this ring? Whenever you look at it, remember Mommy and I love you with all our hearts. Will you promise me you'll do that?”

  “Yes Daddy, I promise.”

  Then, after being kissed by her parents, Muriel watched the two most important people in her life disappear into the heavy ground fog. A lump, just like the one that had welled up in her tiny throat all those many winters ago, returned.

  The whole time the memories were replaying themselves, Muriel felt the same feelings she felt when she was young. No longer a grown woman, she was reduced to a frightened child, one who wished her parents hadn't left her. An overwhelming desire to scream swept over her. But just as she had done so long ago, she refused to disobey her father. He had told her to stay quite so the bad men wouldn't find her, and quite she would remain.

  With her eyes transfixed on the frightened little girl, she knew, in time, she would slip out of the tree trunk and go in search of the Grumkyn's home. And sure enough, the girl did leave her hiding place. Aware of the evil awaiting her, Muriel tried to warn the child not to leave the safety the tree's hollowed out trunk had provided her. But it was to no avail. The little girl's actions had already been written down, recorded in the archives of time, now past.

  Sitting in her burned-out home, Muriel was detached from everything else, save her memories, memories she wished she could turn off. But the pump had already been primed. Clutching the tiny silver spoon until her knuckles had turned white, Muriel watched the curtain rise on one last horrible scene, a scene she knew would end in tragedy.

  The child came upon a river just as twilight was setting in. This puzzled the little girl for she was certain her parents hadn't crossed a river on their previous trips to the Grumkyn's. Nevertheless, her need for water caused her to bend down to slake her thirst in the cool river. As she was kneeling, s
he heard a branch snapping behind her. Wheeling about, she saw a large buck approaching the riverbank for its evening drink, a small herd of does following its lead. But just before the great stag reached the water's edge, a loud splashing noise rose out of the river. Alarmed, the noble beast leapt off into the darkening greenwood, the does trailing behind. The last one, after slipping on a bed of pine needles carpeting the forest floor, broke into an all-out sprint, once it regained its balance. Fearing what might have scared the herd of deer, the little girl turned back around towards the river. Huge frightening figures, dark as night, those emerging from the water, snapped Muriel out of her trance.

  Tears flowed. Her fatigued body went limp with exhaustion. Finally freed from the terrifying memories, Muriel rose up on unsteady feet and moved off into the forest where she laid down to rest upon a bed of spongy green moss.

  Gazing back at her burned out home, Muriel caught sight of the well whose depths her father had braved to pull her out of the cold water, so long ago. As her eyes blinked away tears, she softly exclaimed, “Daddy, where did you and Mommy go? You said you'd return for me!”

  After a brief respite, the tiny firefly began darting impatiently before her face, as stubbornly as a noisome horsefly, and, like a horse, Muriel found herself swatting the thing away. Yet, her tiny guide remained undeterred and continued tormenting her until it had her full attention.

  Feeling put out by the firefly's persistent badgering, Muriel exclaimed, harshly, “What do you want, you little pest!?”

  Responding to the question, her tiny guide started moving away. Gathering her strength, Muriel stood and reluctantly followed the only friend she had in the whole warl. Passing the ashes where her childhood home once stood, she placed the silver spoon into her pouch and chased after the firefly.

  After a short march into the woods, Muriel stood beside an old hollowed out tree, the same one she had once hidden in, as a child. Pausing long enough to allow this fact to register in her mind, her luminous guide continued onward until it brought her to a small pond. Here it began brooding over the water's glassy surface, moving this way and that way like it were a dragonfly. The sounds made by a river's current could be heard filtering through the bulrushes growing on the far side of the pool of water. The pond's horseshoe shape gave evidence that, at one time, it had been connected to the river's main channel.