Morning Diamond

From the Ashes

Clad rushed down the hill and into the burnt remains, leaving Arianna and his men staring after him. Frantically he searched for survivors, but he soon realized he sought in vain. With despair waging a war with his emotions he forced himself to begin searching the dead for those he loved the most.

He neared a pile of ash and his chest began to burn with a pain so intense he gasped for air. He couldn’t bear to look, yet couldn’t force his eyes away from the familiar figure lying in front of a burnt hut. The man lay lifeless, his arm stretched out to the burnt shack before him. Clad fought against the tears, but they still sprung. He could well imagine the scene in front of him. Images played in his mind as though he had been here to witness it.

He pictured the man running across the village, attempting to reach the woman and infant inside. Their tortured screams echoed in the silence as Clad imagined the man’s desperation to remove the inhabitants from the burning walls. Several arrows to the back put an end to the man’s act of heroism. He had fallen only inches from his home. Clad looked at the blackened hand that lay in the burnt cinders.

“He’d almost made it,” He stated to himself and shifted his gaze to the two lumps hidden within the ashes. Mac and his family were a loss Clad would feel until his dying day. Unable to look at the bodies any longer he turned his attention to the center of the village.

Clad moved slowly through the charcoal feeling lost and alone. A strange numbness began to fill him, but a gripping dread stopped him from racing forward. He knew he needed to see with his own eyes, but could not bear the thought of looking into the lifeless faces of his own family.

He walked, one pained step at a time, towards his father’s home. He moved around a lifeless youth, focusing on one dreadful task at a time, until a familiar colored cloth caught his attention. It beckoned him forward until he stood over a small, still body. Choking on a sob, he sank to his knees.

Arianna found Clad after the others saw her safely down the hillside. His back faced her as he rocked back and forth, folded in on himself. She slowly approached him. “Clad?” She asked softly and placed a tender hand on his shoulder. He shifted and she gasped. Cradled on his shoulder, lay the small grey face of a child.

“She was only six years old,” his voice cracked. Arianna’s hands flew to her mouth to smother her cry of horror. She sank beside him. Her eyes never left the small face, smudged with soot and dried blood. Clad began rocking the little girl again. Minutes passed in silence. Finally, Arianna reached out and touched the child’s sandy hair with trembling fingers.

“I brought this material back from my last excursion.” His fingers rubbed the sage material, fingering the fine purple flowers embroidered into the hem. “She had begged me to take her with me on this trip. She was such an adventurous little sprout.” Clad looked into the petite face and shuddered. “This is my fault. I should have been here!” Tears fell from his eyes, washing spots of ash from the child’s innocent flesh. He fought with his raging emotions.

He remembered the day he had left. She had wept before him after he refused her request to take her on his new adventure. Wiping her tears, he'd promised to bring her back a fine gift. He thought of the wooden doll with the painted face and pale pink dress tucked safely in the hand cart. She would never get to play with it.

“You could not have stopped this. NO one could,” Arianna soothed, “You only would have joined them in death.” Her hand moved to his cheek. “Clad, this is not your fault.” He looked at her then, the sorrow in his eyes tearing her up inside.

“CLAD!” Mitch cried out urgently, breaking through the cloud of grief surrounding the young couple. “Come quickly, Tony found Marcel.” Clad took a deep breath and smoothed the girls hair off her forehead. He brushed his lips over her soft, cold cheek and laid her tenderly on the ground, away from the bloody deathbed he'd found her in. He stood and removed his jacket. Gently he covered the small body and drew in a deep breath.

He was unaware of how long he watched the small body, praying she would suddenly suck life back into her lungs. More than anything he wished she would stand, call his name out, run into his arms, and hold his neck as she had done since the day she was able to take her first steps.

Clad closed his eyes and fought against the image now sketched into his mind and attempted to picture the vibrant child as she had been. Her larger than life smile brightened the day and her eyes had danced with merriment and mischief. That was how he wanted to remember this child that he loved more than life. With a heavy sigh he stood and silently offered his wife a hand. Then, reluctantly, he turned his back on his baby sister.

Together they walked past the bloody bodies littering the ground. Arianna tried desperately not to look at their stone cold faces as they passed, but it was no use. The dead refused to be ignored and beckoned her to look into their hollow eyes. Clad’s hand tightened on hers, offering comfort and providing strength.

Across the village Clad saw Tony carrying a limp body in his arms. The woman’s embroidered under gown told the story of wisdom. The rough spun over dress, which loosely draped her like a large tent, clearly stated she was elderly. The green stained sash she wore made Arianna gasp. It was the sash of honor. Arianna knew in that moment the identity of the old woman.

Marcel. She was known to all in the land as the Great Witch of Danyon. She was highly respected and dearly cherished. Though Clad had told Arianna many things about the old witch he had failed to mention her by the honor she had been given. Many monarchs had changed their name to Marcel, but only one-this one- wore the sash of Sorchanna.

Her white hair was painted with dried blood and her arm hung limp, flapping in harmony with every step Tony made. Clad dropped Arianna’s hand and ran to assist the smaller chap in lowering the woman to the ground. “Arianna, stay back!” Clad ordered, but she could not force her feet to remain still. She closed the space between her and the trio in just a few steps.

Clad placed his head against the old woman’s chest, relieved to hear the faint heart beats and shallow breathing. The old witch barely lived.

Arianna looked at the swollen, shredded face and sucked in a quick breath. The old woman was unrecognizable as a human being. Clad heard his wife retch and turned in time to see her double over. He was on his feet in a flash. “Marcel Lives, although barely, bandage her and for the love of all things, clean her up,” He commanded his men as he caught his wife up in his arms. She slumped against him. “See if any of her potions remain. Especially look for her healing sauce. She will need its power.” Clad knew he was asking the impossible of his men- there was nothing left to find- but he could not bear the thought of allowing the witch to die.

Clad carried Arianna’s unconscious body to the safety of the nearby stream. “Sorchanna, mother of life, Goddess of Danyon, I beg you. Please let the old woman live,” he laid his wife on the soft grass, “and provide my wife with the strength to deal with all she has witnessed this day.” Clad appointed a man to guard Arianna and squared his shoulders. He looked upon his wife’s resting body before turning to reenter the ashes of his village.