Chapter II:
The Vanishing of Futures
The Wedding
'The preparations are finished,' old Nonix said gladly. 'Stratix will be wed in three days, and our two families will be brought closer still.'
'That is good news indeed,' Abbat replied. 'I cannot tell you in words how happy this has made the people of Esluna. To know that your strong blood shall mingle with the mighty blood that is preserved in Giran's daughter is a great comfort to us all. The gods be praised.'
'The gods be praised,' Nonix answered according to their custom. He felt uneasy even as he said it, however. There were too many stories circulating about the god-hunters, and he did not think they should speak such things carelessly. He could not, however, say anything to Abbat, the village elder. He was probably the only person in Esluna that was older than he, and to criticize him in any way would be a dishonor.
'We have hired Janling and his sons to play the lute and flutes,' Nonix said. 'Ubrana is making a stew and her husband is roasting his largest hog.'
'Not Ebor!' Abbat protested, remembering the enormous pig with fondness.
'Well,' Nonix laughed, 'he has not raised him to marry his daughter!'
Abbat laughed, but there was definitely some sadness in his eyes. Abbat had been a butcher by trade before he was selected to be the village elder some twenty years ago. But as time went on he enjoyed killing and eating animals less and less.
'Yes,' Nonix said. 'This is an occasion worthy of Ebor! The garments we have borrowed from Ednat - or, rented I should rather say.' Ednat was probably the wealthiest man in Esluna. He was not unkind or stingy, but he would never lend out his garments without some recompense, even if it was only what little gold old Nonix could spare. 'The woodsmen have given us a great heap of dead wood for the bonfire dance, and there will even be something sweet to serve when all is finished.'
'Sweet?' Abbat said excitedly. There were only a few things that his old tongue still enjoyed. 'What do you have planned, you old fox?' Abbat asked excitedly.
'You shall see when you shall see, my old friend,' Nonix answered, shaking his finger playfully at his friend. 'Just be sure that your bony old fingers cling to life until the wedding, or I shall have to eat your portion.'
'I cannot allow you that pleasure,' Abbat laughed. 'If there will be honey-cakes or berry pies, then I will come whether there is life in my bones or not.' Both men laughed at the jest, and finally Abbat added, 'Truly, though, Nonix, we are all very happy to see this union. Ever since your dear son and his wife died we have mourned for your family, and it will be good to see your line established - and the joining of your kin to that of Giran!? Who could have thought that such a day would come?'
'Thank you, my friend,' Nonix said. 'Truly things have never looked better, either for my own family, or for Esluna.'
'The gods be praised,' old Abbat said joyfully.
'The gods be praised,' Nonix replied, this time sincerely.
Exercises
Stratix was now the headmaster of the Esluna Fighters, a small but well-trained group of armed warriors that served as guards and soldiers for the sake of their small village. In the days of Nonix they had defended the village from an army of Lupith that had crossed the Esse River to pillage and burn northern Sunlan. Esluna was located about ten leagues from the Talon mountains, in a place that the elves seldom visited. In all the wars that followed in the wake of the Great Sundering, they had thus far managed somehow to preserve their way of life and avoid the great motions of war that had swept away so many other peoples. They were, as far as their parentage was concerned, somewhat related to the Lupith, though outside of their ancestry they did not have any other connection to the people west of the Esse River.
Stratix now stood shirtless in the center of a small circle the bounds of which was marked by a length of rope tied to a number of sticks. He was facing a much younger man who wore a tattered white tunic. The young man's body was battered with welts and bruises. Both of them bore long wooden swords. The young man raised his sword an focused hard upon Stratix, unleashing a fury of blows at the older man. Stratix stepped back and with one strike knocked the sword from the youth's hand.
'Aagh!' the young man shouted, clutching his hand to his breast.
'You were looking at my sword again. Concentrate on my eyes, and from that fixed point you will be able to discern all the motions of my hand.'
The young man took up the sword again and fixed his gaze on Stratix' face. This time Stratix attacked first, but the young man dodged and blocked all of his attacks. After the fifth blow Stratix paused and stepped back. 'You see?' he said. The two men bowed at one another, the young man careful to keep his eyes on his opponent. The previous student received a harsh blow to the head when he stared at the ground instead of at his instructor. 'There is honor in Esluna,' Stratix explained, 'but not all of your enemies will follow such rules of conduct.'
When the fight was ended the two men stepped from the ring and another young man handed Stratix a white linen towel. He wiped his face and shoulders and then tossed it over the ring to dry. 'Your darling is here,' the man said.
Stratix seemed to brighten when he heard this news. 'Leai is here?' Stratix.
'Unless you have other darlings,' the man said coldly. 'Are we all done for the day?'
'Yes,' Stratix said. 'I don't think I can put the young men through any more training today. You can go ahead an clean up. And take down the ring as well; we will not need it again until next week.' He, of course, was making his own preparations for the wedding. One of his duties would be to make sure none of the unsightly devises of warfare were visible on the town's common field. A tent would be set up there, and the bonfire dance would take place after midnight. Leai hated warfare and hated even the sight of weapons. She knew that they had their place, and she was as proud as anyone that Stratix was as strong as he was, but she was a gentle soul by nature, and did not like the thought of men fighting one another. Her great affection for Stratix had come upon her suddenly one day when she witnessed this mighty man of the sword breaking up a fight between two enraged men. They would have killed one another, and Stratix risked his own life to bring a resolution to their conflict. He did not even draw his sword. When she saw what he had done she knew at once that he was the man she was going to marry.
He was a bit older than she, and he was all but promised to another woman at the time. But her father was influential enough to arrange a meeting, and she conducted herself with enough grace to draw his affections to herself.
Ten years ago a band of thieves had invaded Esluna and slain a number of their warriors, including Stratix' parents. Nonix and some of the older warriors drove them away, but the wound they inflicted upon the village had not yet healed. There were many young couples marrying now, and many babies being born. The marriage of the village's strongest warrior to one of the most important young maidens was like the cream atop the milk for the villagers, who saw it as a symbol of their return to prosperity.
'My darling,' Leai said as Stratix walked away from the training circle.
'You will make the men lose their respect for me,' he chided, taking one of her long brown curls into his fingers and brushing it behind her ear.
'Nonsense,' she said with a grin, 'when they learn who my father is, and how important a family you are connected to, they will be filled with awe and amazement.'
'You are a somewhat intimidating young woman,' he joked, putting his arm around her shoulders.
She brushed him off with a laugh. 'Not with those sweaty arms!' she protested. He settled for holding her hand instead as they walked away from the common field.
A few days later the wedding came and the people celebrated late into the night. Locked in the embrace of her beloved, Leai felt as though nothing in all the world was out of place. She pushed his strong arms aside for a moment and turned his love-filled eyes toward the north. 'Look!' she said excitedly. 'It is the fir
es for the bonfire dance!'
'Must we?' Stratix said, desire filling his eyes to overflowing.
'It is all a downhill journey from here, brave Stratix,' she laughed, 'there will come a day when you will long for a good bonfire dance.'
'Alright,' he gave in, 'if we must.'
'We must,' she said without any sign of doubt.
He kissed her once again and then turned to watch the villagers approaching with torches for the great bonfire. But the men carrying the torches were not villagers, and they had not come to light the fire.
They certainly had not come to dance.
The God-Hunters
At first Stratix thought that the screams were exclamations of delight and that the calls were cries of excitement. But there was something shrill in the voices that came down the wind toward their ears. And he saw several people lying upon the ground. It was not unthinkable that some might have become drunk and collapsed, but the disregard the torch-bearers had for the fallen was more than he could believe from his fellow villagers. He thought he saw one of the men step on the hands of a young woman.
The joy that filled him turned to fear in an instant, and as he felt the soft hand of his wife in his palm, trembling, the fear turned to resolve. 'Run!' he said in a soft voice, 'Run!' he shouted immediately after.
'What is happening?' she said, her voice trembling as the truth of the matter dawned upon her own mind as well.
'I do not know, but run!' Stratix commanded her. 'Get out of here! Flee to the river; wait for me near the rock bridge!'
'I won't leave-' she began to protest, but he cut her off.
'Now!'
In his voice there was such iron that she backed away in fear and then turned to run, her dark brown eyes filled with tears as she fled from the common field. Stratix watched for a moment as she vanished into the shadows, making her way to the river. He filled his lungs with air and rushed toward the approaching figures. By the time he reached them there were dozens of bodies on the ground, their white wedding garments stained red with blood. He saw old Abbat and his wife, staring blindly at the stars above, each with deep wounds staining their robes crimson. The young man he had trained that day also lay upon the grass, a short sword in his hand. Beside him lay the bodies of two strangers - he had managed at least to slay two of his attackers. Anger and fury rose up in Stratix' heart and he rushed forward grabbing a thick branch from the woodpile. In a flash he had struck one of the invaders across the face, scattering his broken teeth like rain. The man fell dead with a dull thud upon the grass. He bent down and took up the man's sword.
'Come at me, devils!' he shouted wrathfully. 'Come at me if you are mighty!'
Three men approached, each carrying a long bloodied sword. They seemed to be as angry as he was by the look in their eyes.
'What have they to be angry about?' Stratix asked himself, growing all the more furious. He leaped forward and cut one man's throat before any of them could act. He parried two of their attacks and them disarmed one of the men, cutting several fingers from his right hand. As the man clutched his wound Stratix finished off the other intruder.
The wounded man rose and fled, but Stratix threw the sword after him, its sharp point finding its mark in his back. He took up the other man's blade and cried out for more.
Stratix then fought his way across the field, slaying whomever withstood him until finally he came to the center of the field and saw a man mounted upon a horse with a spear in his hand. 'Why have you done this!?' Stratix shouted, looking around at all of the dead. 'Why!?
The man turned and looked at him, disgust coming over his face. 'What have we ever done to you? How have we wronged you?' Stratix demanded.
The man spat on the ground and heeled his horse to charge, saying nothing in answer to Stratix. He raised his spear and rode hard at Stratix.
Stratix moved aside and slashed, trying to cut the horse's front legs as it passed, but the rider turned aside and thrust the spear downward, piercing Stratix through the stomach.
'No!' he said as he fell to the ground. 'Leai!' he wept, clutching hopelessly at the spear as blackness took him.
As his vision faded he saw and nothing save for the dancing light of the fire as it burned, not the woodpile for the dance, but the village itself, seemingly for no reason whatsoever. 'Why?' he said weakly, passing into the dominion of Death.
The Remnant
Nonix awoke with a start, suddenly realizing that he could not move. Lying atop him were several cold dead bodies, some the bodies of god-hunters, others the bodies of his friends and neighbors. When he opened his eyes he saw the pale face of Abbat's grandson, a boy of only five, looking emptily at the bloodstained grass.
A face suddenly appeared over him and he saw a man throw a torch atop the pile of bodies before vanishing. In a moment the man returned with another torch, but this time as he went to toss it upon the dead, a hand with an iron grip took hold of him. He struggled and whimpered as Nonix pulled him close so that the fire burned his own brown beard.
Nonix summoned up all of his strength and pushed himself from the pile, allowing those who lay atop him to roll lifelessly to the grass. Still he held fast to the man's wrist. 'Help!' the man cried once. But before he could shout again the torch was thrust through his throat.
Another man stood nearby and took up his sword.
Nonix crossed his arms and waited for the other man to reach him. Before the man could strike, Nonix lifted his leg and kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to fold himself over in pain. The next blow came just as suddenly, and the man's neck was broken by a fierce blow from the old man's elbow.
Nonix took up the sword and looked around the field. It was early in the morning still; the sun had not yet appeared over the eastern mountains, though the effects of its bright light were already to be seen throughout the village - throughout what remained of the village at least. Every house was burned to ashes, and only a few structures remained standing. He saw nothing but crows, vultures and the bodies of the dead. There was a horse tied nearby, eyeing the carnage nervously. 'Hello friend,' Nonix said, wincing as his bruised body remembered the hard fight that had taken place last night. He had slain a number of the intruders; he remembered that much. But then everything went black in an instant. He must have been struck on the head, he thought. Instinctively he reached for his scalp, yelping when his finger touched the place where he had been hit.
He unburdened the horse of all the pouches and packs that it bore, quickly searching them for anything useful. Whoever these men were, they had not come with many provisions. They intended to be gone ere they required a meal. 'Morarta,' he said coldly. 'The god-hunters have come.'
He stripped the horse bare and leaped astride, riding the beast bareback toward the south, where he had seen many other villagers flee the night before. But as he rode he became more and more certain that not a soul of them had survived. 'This is what Lord Xanthur considers the best course.' He shook his head. He had seen the elf lord once, when his god-hunters had done much the same to another nearby village. But that village had been sacrificing their own children, and spoke of sacrificing an elf child for the winter feasts. They were dangerous enough to be dealt with in this manner. But what had the people of Esluna done? They had their customs and their traditions, to be sure, but they did not even have sacrifices or rites.
As Nonix made his way south he came to a muddy area, where the land became more difficult for the horse. He turned east and followed the river up toward the mountain where he knew there would be an easier place to cross. The only sound he heard was the caw of the birds on the field and the soft thud of the horse's hooves.
In a short time he passed into the East Forest and followed the river's winding course toward the hills. He continued in this way for about an hour before he finally came to the crossing. A great boulder had fallen onto the river in some ancient age of the world, and eventually the river cut a hole straight through the center of
the rock. But the surface of the rock was yet intact, and served as a bridge for careful feet. As he passed the babbling stream, however, he heard another noise added to the thump of hooves and the rushing water. He pulled hard on the horse's reins, slowing the creature to a stop. He dismounted and took his sword in hand. 'Who is there?' he asked.
He heard the sound again. It was the sound of a girl weeping. Beneath the stone, hidden among the the reeds and bushes, was Leai. Her white wedding dress was torn and soaked, and her cheeks were scratched and bloodied. Though he called out to her, she did not move or show any other sign that she had heard him. He stepped into the cold water and called out again, this time reaching his hand out toward her.
She looked up at last, and for a moment she did not recognize him, thinking he was one of the god-hunters.
'It is me, Nonix,' he told her. Come here, come,' he said in a gentle voice. With a shaking arm she reached out and let him guide her out of the stream. He wrapped his cloak around her and helped her mount the horse. As soon as she was atop the beast she slumped forward, her face frozen in agony as she continued to weep.
Nonix did not know how to ask her if she had seen his grandson. Her sorrow said she knew more than he, but still he could not believe that Stratix would have been among the slain. 'You are safe now,' he said to her.
She did not seem to hear him, and if she did she certainly didn't believe him.
'Let's get you warmed up at the very least,' he said quietly, glad that he had found someone else living. For a time thoughts of a desperate assault on Morarta had entered into his mind and he had been of a mind to pursue this course. Having another to care for gave him some small sense of meaning. 'Why should I, one of the oldest in Esluna, have lived in the place of the young men?' he thought bitterly. But he refused to show anything but courage and hopefulness when he spoke to Leai.
He did not want to return to the fields, but he knew that they could not just leave the village in that fallen state. The god-hunters had the right idea, of course, the bodies must be burned or disease could follow. If he did not know that it would mostly be peasants and the poverty stricken who would suffer from a plague, he would have let the bodies rot and let the wind carry their death-scent to every corner of that cursed land - to Morarta, where Xan's god-hunters kept their abode.
When he came to the center of the field he saw his grandson Stratix, no longer a mighty man, lying upon the ground with a spear through his belly. 'Come,' he said to the girl. He knew it would pain her greatly, but she could not avoid it, and he would need her help with the villagers. 'Come!' he said again, this time without any hint of gentleness. 'Say goodbye to your beloved.'
She stumbled off the horse and fell to her knees, crawling and weeping toward the body. Nonix took her by the arm and helped her walk to his side. He gently pulled the spear away and thrust it out of sight, allowing the body to lay flat. All over the grass he saw streaks of blood where the bodies of his enemies had been taken away from the common field to be brought back to Morarta. 'He made them pay for their crimes,' Nonix said, with a pride he knew to be futile.
Leai buried her face in her beloved's breast and wept long into the afternoon.