Morning Diamond

A New Hope

With so much loss, Clad soon found himself the head of his own clan of emotionally and physically scarred nomads.

After months of traveling, and hiding from Leishmann’s army, Clad looked out over a familiar terrain bordered by a massive forest. His excitement grew. They had passed several small townships in the previous weeks, all untouched by Leishmann’s villainous attacks, but none able to offer more refuge than a short stay and a few crates of supplies to see them on their way. Clad felt relief at the prospect that his Uncle’s people, deep in the woodlands of Cardison, had not felt the pain and suffering his own had endured. He hoped this could be the place to settle. He planned to leave his people tucked in the safety of a nearby glen while he sought permission to build and settle on his Uncle’s land.

Clad, Arianna, and Marcel rose early to seek out his Uncle’s settlement, their hearts full of optimism. Clad scoped out several options within the safety of the forest that would suit his plans as they went. When they stepped through the trees into his uncle’s meadow two days later, his breath caught. They knew instantly their dreams of settling were crushed. Leishmann’s trademark of death welcomed them.

Many cabins stood half burnt; bodies cluttered the ground. The smell of rotting flesh clung to the air. Clad moved through the destruction, sickened by the death surrounding him. Dried blood stained the ground. Tears filled his eyes and once again he looked into the pasty faces of his kinfolk. “They were tortured!” Clad stated, attempting to control his rage and the bile rising within him. Men, women, and children lay tied to stakes their bodies displaying the suffering they endured before merciful death relieved their pain.

Clad cringed. “They used rat torture.” He looked away unable to stomach the site of the rats eating their way free from the glass box lying across the corpse of an elderly man.

“The breaking wheel!” Marcel added. Clad felt sick the moment he turned. A woman’s back was torn to shreds and she remained tied to the wagon wheel that had ripped her apart. He lost his lunch.

“Clad!” Arianna’s weak voice had him pushing his queasiness aside and rushing to her side. He cradled her head against his chest attempting to shelter her from the gory sight before them. He closed his own eyes and tried to shake the image from his mind. How he wished he could have saved his wife from the remains of the poor soul forced to endure the brutality of ‘Hanged, Drawn, and quartered.’

Clad opened his eyes and made himself look at the repulsive remains surrounding him. Leishmann had used many different forms of cruelty here. The remains of those exposed to various types of ‘Rope torture’ caught his eye. He winced. ‘The Rack’ and ‘The Tongue Tearer’ had been used as well.

The bodies seemed to be in different stages of decay. Clad wondered how many days the villagers had been forced to watch their loved ones anguish before Leishmann grew tired of his game and left them all to rot in the forest. “Stay here, I’ll look around,” Clad ordered. He kissed Arianna’s cheek softly before taking a deep breath and moving closer to the victims.

He walked slowly towards a young woman stretched against two long poles, her head bent towards the small body at her feet. Clad lifted her head and peered into the unresponsive eyes of his Aunt. Her face was stained with long-dried tears mixed with soot. Arianna followed. She took the infant into her arms and wrapped the babe in her shawl. “They bashed his head in and made her watch,” She whispered, unable to fathom such evil. Clad angrily pulled his knife and with one emotional jerk cut the ropes to break their hold on the woman. He caught the lifeless body and gently lowered her to the ground.

Clad looked at his wife’s sorrowful eyes and took the babe. He tucked the child gently into the mother’s arms and turned to his wife, unable to tell her the woman’s identity.

“Why would they do this?” Arianna asked. Clad pulled her to him, shaking his head. Over her shoulder he watched Marcel limp through the bodies searching, he knew, for her daughter. Her shoulders slumped when she spotted a familiar face stretched out between stakes. She turned toward Clad and shook her head. Clad felt a bitter pain stab deep within him. If Marcel’s son in law lay staked to the ground he feared they would find her daughter among the dead as well.

“You best be checking the rest of the village,” Marcel stated numbly as she stepped forward and took Arianna’s hand. The two women exchanged a pained look before turning to prepare the dead for the too familiar funeral. Clad watched them move to cut ropes and loosen the holds binding the dead. He took a deep breath before turning his back on them.

“I’ll find her.” He stated. He did not turn to see the tears that filled Marcel’s eyes nor the hopeless look on her face, though he knew both would be present in her expression. Clad rubbed the back of his neck, wiping away beads of sweat and walked into the first wood cabin.

These homes differed from what he was used to. Raised in Nymac, his home had been made of tall grass, mud, and thin timber. Eating utensils were made of fire roasted clay and tightly woven baskets. Furniture was rare. This small cabin, with its wood-carved bowls and furniture, would have impressed him under different circumstances.

He inspected the red splatters on the walls and dead bodies lying in dried puddles of blood until the smell of their rot made him sick. He was forced to flee the home and seek the fresh air--if you could call the scent of burnt wood and death fresh. He took a breath and turned to the next home.

After exiting the seventh hut Clad despaired of finding anyone alive. He sighed, rubbing his hand across his brow. “Are you okay?” Arianna called, concerned by the paleness in his cheeks. She took a few steps towards him, but he waved her off.

“I’m doing fine, Love,” He responded, attempting to look convincing. She nodded, but the uncertainty in her eyes said she did not believe him. He sent her a weak smile before turning to enter another cabin. He felt pride in his young wife. She was strong. After the initial shock of the village, she had raised herself up and assisted Marcel in preparing the dead in the short funeral they would provide before burning the bodies and leaving to rejoin their small group of travelers.

It was with that thought in his mind as he entered the next hut and paused, shocked. An abundance of ancient objects used for holy rituals and potions lay on tables and cupboards. Nothing looked disturbed.

“Marcel, please come,” He called out as he looked around the cottage, examining individual items closely. Both Marcel and Arianna entered the hut within moments of his call. Marcel paused, then slowly began picking up the items and turning each one gently in her hands.

“Was there a witch in the village?” Arianna asked curiously, lifting a small bundle of roots from a small table to examine them.

“One,” Clad replied, watching Marcel closely. She lifted a small necklace with a wooden pendant and examined it closely. A slight, sad smile played at her lips as she recognized the symbols etched into the locket.

“We must take whatever we can carry with us,” She said gesturing to the articles. “Arianna, wear this, love.” She walked to the younger woman and slipped the necklace over Arianna’s head. Letting it settle around her neck. “It will keep you alive, so long as you wear it.” Arianna looked at the beautifully carved wood. Delicate swirls and miniature syllables danced before her. She studied each delicate flower and twist, awed by its elegance. Her finger slowly smoothed over the wood. She breathed with pleasure at the magnificence of having such fine jewelry hanging about her neck.

“Thank you,” She breathed. Marcel nodded and turned to Clad. “Go, keep looking. There must be something here. Leishmann tortured these people for a reason. We need to find out why.” Without another word Marcel began collecting articles, placing them in piles while Arianna looked for a sack to carry them in.

Clad watched them work for a moment, regretting the choice to leave the others behind. Many hands would have been useful in gathering belongings and preparing the people for the Fire Burial. He left the women to continue his search, this time with renewed purpose kindled by the odd treatment of the Witch’s dwelling.

The house was untouched. Everything sat undisturbed. Even the full bed was perfectly made as well as the half carved cradle sitting in the corner. Why would Leishmann leave that one hut intact when every other had been torn apart? And where was Marcel’s daughter? Her body had yet to be found, but the husband’s body lay tied to the stakes outside. Clad had expected to find the woman dead in their cabin, but it was their home he had just left. A new fear had him pausing in his footsteps. Did the unfinished cradle mean Marcel’s daughter was with child? He was more determined now to find Marcel’s family and discover the purpose of Leishmann's bizarre behavior in this village.

In the following huts more bodies lay on stained wooden floors. Many were beaten, others sliced through, and several had arrows protruding from their bodies. Clad hardened himself, anger boiling inside him. He had witnessed Leishmann's handiwork before, but nothing to this degree. In the past most bodies were burnt within their homes leaving only the bodies left outside to care for, but here…Why had Leishmann not set all the buildings ablaze as he had in every other village he’d destroyed?

When he entered the last hut he was emotionally exhausted and all hope of finding Marcel’s family or anything of great importance no longer existed.

He stepped onto the threshold and stopped to digest what he was looking at. Contents from cupboards and drawers were thrown around the room. Anything large enough to hold anything of value was smashed and discarded. Cushions were ripped open and their stuffing scattered around the room. Every item of furniture was turned over, cut apart, or crushed to pieces. It was evident Leishmann had left no corner unsearched.

Leishmann’s army never took the time to comb through the villager’s belongings this thoroughly. “What were they looking for?” Clad asked to himself.

“He wanted the book!” A weakened voice responded. Alerted by hope, Clad looked around, trying to locate the man who spoke. In front of him lay at least half a dozen motionless bodies. He entered the hut and began examining them. “Over here,” The coarse voice called. Clad followed it to an old man lying under an upturned table. He lifted the table with little effort and in his haste sent it clattering across the room. He bent to examine the man’s many injuries, but his attentions were brushed away.

With a weakened, harsh voice he explained, “I gave them the sleeping potion and hid them.” Clad stared at the old man, confused.

The man was already half-dragging himself towards a blood stained rug and attempted to push it aside. Clad immediately knelt and flipped the edge aside to see what the man searched for; though there was nothing but floorboards beneath. Before he had a chance to wonder, Clad saw the man’s strength give out and threw out a hand to catch the elderly gentleman before his head made contact with the unforgiving floor.

The man’s eyes rotated for a few seconds before he blinked and refocused on Clad. Again he pushed Clad away and reached out to pull at a loose board on the floor. Clad watched the man’s struggle for only a moment before he hurried to take over. He removed four of the large floorboards before enough light filtered into the darkness to reveal its contents. His eyes widened. His head snapped up to lock eyes with the panting man who was smiling weakly at the sleeping babes.

A feminine gasp pulled Clad’s attention to the doorway. Arianna's eyes were locked on the small bundles and brimming with tears. The old man looked at her, his eyes pleading, “Take them, Miss. Care for them. One day they’ll be the protectors of the chosen one.” He coughed from the effort of speaking. “Do not allow anybody to know who they are!” The last of his words came in a pained, desperate whisper. Arianna stepped forward and peered down at the two identical faces.

Both toddlers—about two years with heads full of fiery red curls—slept peacefully. In an instant she loved them. She bent to lift a small boy into her arms and looked into her husband’s eyes, tears filling her own. He gently ran a finger over the child’s soft cheek. She smiled. He had not seen her gentle smile in so long it pulled at the constant ache in his chest. He looked at the babe in her arms and then the one still slumbering in the hole. Here was life, here was hope. Husband and wife silently committed themselves to the two small children. Clad lifted the other boy and returned his wife’s gentle smile. In that moment of distraction, neither husband nor wife noticed the old man slip away into an eternal slumber.

Clad burned the old man with the rest of the villagers and took the children back to his camp. Among some of the belongings taken from the village was an old book of spells and prophesies found hidden in the compartment with the boys.

The book warned of the destruction that would come upon their villages, of an evil overtaking the world, but it also allowed reason to hope—'a child with hair of pure white who is raised in a land outside of time will save the world from whence she came’.

***

Clad shook his head, clearing his mind of the painful memories. He needed to concentrate on Arianna, not the past. Although, the past was very much a part of the future.