Truth: Makilien Trilogy - Book 1

  Sirion nodded and pointed off to the right. “Nirgon is over there. You can ask him where they should be taken. We’ll find you when we’re all ready to return to the palace.”

  They parted, and Makilien walked over to Nirgon who directed the men.

  “General.”

  He turned and smiled gladly. “Makilien, it gives me great joy to see you alive and well. What can I do for you?”

  “I would like to help out, but am not strong enough to help with the wounded. I noticed, though, there are many riderless horses on the battlefield, and if it would be helpful, I could bring them into the city.”

  Nirgon nodded. “That would indeed be helpful. We all hate to see them wandering around without direction, especially if they are wounded.”

  “Where should I take them?” Makilien asked.

  “Take them to the barracks stables. There should be men there now who can take care of them.”

  With a determined nod, Makilien turned to the battlefield. Loose horses roamed everywhere. She walked up to the nearest one and took its reins. After going back and forth between the battlefield and the stable a couple of times, she learned she could manage up to four horses at a time if they were calm and uninjured. The wounded and skittish, however, could only be taken one at a time.

  At first, Makilien kept count of how many she brought to the stable, but after she passed one-hundred, she gave up. She was sure at least another hundred still needed to be caught. It took hours to gather so many and was very taxing to her already drained body. Pain stabbed through the muscles in her arms and legs, and her wounds stung.

  But mental exhaustion overtook physical exhaustion. Makilien could block out the pain, but not the images of the battle and of the destruction everywhere she looked. It was difficult to believe she had lived through it.

  Sometime after midday, Makilien felt a little like the lost and skittish horses she tended to. At one end of the battlefield, she stumbled and could not regain her balance. When her arm hit the ground, her wound shot pain down into her fingertips and up through her shoulder. She bit her lip and sat up, holding her arm close to her body. Tears rushed to her eyes and leaked out through her eyelids when she squeezed them shut. But it took too much effort not to cry. She rested her head on her knees and let the tears fall freely.

  It felt good to cry. Some tears were in pain, some were joyful over their victory, some were in sadness over the loss of life, and some were out of great thankfulness that Elohim had protected her and her friends during the dark hours of the night.

  With each tear drained the last of Makilien’s energy. She didn’t know if she would be able to get back up, let alone continue to gather horses. After weeping for a time, she felt the welcome comfort of someone gently rub her back. Even through her chain-mail, it soothed her. Slowly, she looked up and met Halandor’s compassionate gaze. He understood the reason and the need for her tears. Without a word, he picked her up.

  Cradled in his arms, Makilien let go of her attempt to be strong and block out the pain and weariness. Giving in to her exhaustion, she rested her head on his shoulder. Catching a glimpse of Sirion and Loron comforted her, but everything after passed in a blur. When they reached the palace, Halandor took her up to her room and sat her down on the bed.

  Gently, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  Makilien nodded and gave a weak smile, but then grimaced at the pain it caused her wounded face.

  “Sirion has gone to find Vonawyn and let her know you are here,” Halandor said.

  While they waited, Halandor helped Makilien take off her vambraces. He carefully rolled up her sleeve to inspect her wounds.

  “You are bitten.”

  Makilien nodded again. “By a goblin while we were still on the wall.”

  When the door opened and Vonawyn rushed in, she was immensely thankful to see Makilien. Halandor left them, closing the door quietly, and Vonawyn helped Makilien out of her battle gear. Being rid of the chain-mail was a great relief.

  A tub was brought up to Makilien’s room, and while they waited for it to be filled, Vonawyn cleaned the wound to Makilien’s face.

  “This cut is deep,” Vonawyn said, “but I think it will be all right without stitches.”

  When the tub was almost full, Makilien got in. It was a little cool because it had been filled in haste; nonetheless, it was wonderful to wash away all the grime of battle. Vonawyn remained with her and they talked a little of the fight, but Makilien was too weary to relay much of it. She did not linger in the bath. All she wanted was to get into bed and sleep.

  Vonawyn helped her into her nightclothes and applied an ointment to her wounds. Afterward, she bandaged Makilien’s arm and her raw and blistered hands.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Vonawyn asked.

  Makilien shook her head, her stomach still unsettled.

  Understanding, Vonawyn guided her over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Makilien crawled in, sinking into the soft mattress.

  “Rest well,” Vonawyn whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Unlikely Hero

  The gentlest of breezes brushed the side of Makilien’s face. It was cool and refreshing, but carried with it a hint of smoke. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Sunshine lit up the opposite wall—morning sunlight. She wondered how long she’d been asleep but was in no hurry to rise.

  Makilien let her eyes slide closed again and breathed deeply. A bird chirped from the balcony railing and then flew away leaving the room quiet again. No threats, no urgency existed any longer to mar the days. She sighed contentedly. Ever since leaving home, war had loomed in the future, but now it had passed.

  After a few more quiet minutes, she sat up. Every muscle in her body ached, but it was a good ache. An ache that proved she’d fought hard, giving more than she thought she ever possessed, and won. But she knew it was not her own strength that had kept her alive against such a brutal force.

  Makilien got out of bed and walked to the balcony’s open doorway where she was bathed in sunlight. The warmth of it was almost like a gentle embrace. She closed her eyes, her heart lifted in joy. Thank You, Elohim, for protecting me from the horrors I saw in battle. You gave me faith, courage, and strength even though I resisted You for so long. She let out a deep sigh. Thank You for loving me.

  Makilien opened her eyes and gazed out toward the wall. She had a clear view of the battlefield from here. Men were busy at work. Much would have to be done to clear the battlefield of bodies and repair the wall and gate.

  Looking from the battlefield to the streets, she saw they too were busy. Many people were returning to their homes in the outer city.

  Makilien turned from the balcony and went to the wardrobe, finding a few new dresses. She picked out a sky-blue one with short sleeves. Summer was now well upon them, and the days were warm. After she was dressed, she walked over to the mirror and fixed her hair. She leaned a little closer to inspect the wound on her face. A four inch cut scarred her cheekbone, and the left side of her face was bruised. Glancing down at the white linen bandages around her elbow and both her hands made her thankful not to have suffered worse.

  Her stomach growled fiercely and felt like it was squeezing in on itself, protesting her decision not to eat before sleeping. She left her room and walked downstairs.

  The palace was quiet—a relaxing, restful kind of quiet—but voices came from the large sitting room. Stepping inside, she found the men sitting in the various couches and stuffed chairs, and Elmorhirian stood at a long table laid out with a banquet of food. Makilien’s mouth watered.

  “There she is,” Torick announced. “Our brave young warrior.”

  Makilien looked at him and smiled widely at his compliment even though it made her cut sting. “Now who’s a flatterer?”

  “Yeah, Torick,” Elmorhirian chimed in, sending Makilien a grin as he limped over to an empty chair with a full plate of food.

  Torick chuckled, holding his side a l
ittle as he did so.

  Makilien walked farther into the room and traded smiles with each of her friends.

  “Help yourself, Makilien.” Elandir motioned to the table. “Lord Darand had breakfast served here since everyone is coming and going.”

  Makilien went straight to the table. She filled a plate and took the empty seat beside Halandor.

  “How do you feel, Makilien?” Torick asked.

  “Very well, considering,” she answered. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Since yesterday afternoon,” Halandor told her.

  While she ate, Makilien listened to her friends recount their harrowing tales of the battle. Elandir and Elmorhirian were especially entertaining to listen to. Elandir had been among the archers firing at the trolls at the gate. When the creatures had gone on their rampage, Elandir hadn’t been able to get out of the way in time. He had been hit in the side by the end of one of the trolls’ clubs, but amazingly, he escaped without a single broken rib.

  Elmorhirian had been shot by a “pesky little goblin,” as he referred to it, which had been hiding behind the body of a dead horse. Torick’s side wound had come as a result of a Shaike as Makilien suspected. He had been fighting one of Zirtan’s men when the force of a Shaike’s blade cut right through his chain-mail. Hearing of all the close calls increased Makilien’s thankfulness that all her friends were alive.

  Others came and went as they talked. Makilien smiled when Eredan and Bornil joined them. Gilhir arrived a short time later. It was good to see they had survived the battle. With each person came more stories.

  Just as Makilien finished eating as much as her stomach would hold, all the lords walked in, followed by Darian and Nirgon. The six of them served themselves breakfast and sat with the others.

  “We found Zendon’s body this morning,” Nirgon announced.

  “So he was killed then,” Torick said.

  Nirgon nodded.

  “How?” Elmorhirian asked curiously.

  “It appears he bled to death, but from only a small wound to his right arm.”

  “I wonder who did it,” Darand pondered.

  “I don’t know,” Nirgon replied, “but whoever it was saved us all. I’m convinced Zendon’s death is the only reason they retreated. Had he survived, he would never have allowed it. He would have forced them to fight to the death, and we all would have been killed. They had the numbers at the end of the battle, but no firm leadership.”

  Makilien’s heart pounded in disbelief as she listened to the discussion. Had Zendon’s fatal wound been the one she dealt him when she’d attacked to save Halandor? It must have been. Nirgon’s remark replayed in her mind, Whoever it was saved us all. In an instant Makilien remembered what Meniah had told her about Elohim’s plans. Had He planned all along to use her to bring victory? She did not doubt His power, but felt she was the most unlikely person to accomplish such a thing. She looked at her lap, overwhelmed.

  Everyone agreed with Nirgon’s statement. Makilien bit her lip in uncertainty. She didn’t feel she had done anything incredible so was tempted not to mention her part, but keeping the truth from her friends didn’t feel right either.

  Finally, Makilien admitted quietly, “I think I may have done it.”

  Everyone’s eyes immediately fixed on her, and she went on, “I think I am the one who wounded Zendon.”

  Their eyes widened.

  “How?” Nirgon stammered. “When?”

  “Just before dawn yesterday. I came upon him suddenly on the battlefield and saw he was about to shoot someone. He’d drawn his bow on Halandor.” Makilien paused to look at him. “I had no time to think. I just reacted, hitting his arm with my sword to keep him from firing. After that, he hit me and knocked me unconscious.” She touched her cut lightly with her fingertips. “Then Sirion found me.”

  For a moment, everyone was speechless. Finally, Lord Darand exclaimed, “Makilien, your actions saved everyone. They saved Dolennar!”

  “But I didn’t mean to kill him. I only acted to save Halandor.”

  “Regardless of whether or not it was your intention to kill him, you acted heroically to save Halandor’s life, and in doing so brought our victory. You are a hero.”

  Makilien shook her head. “Everyone who fought, everyone who died, they are all heroes. Elohim brought the victory through me by His power. Not mine.” Before her friends could say anything, she went on, “I would like to keep this between us. The victory belongs to everyone.”

  Darand nodded understandingly. “All right, we will respect that decision. It is a noble one.”

  All agreed.

  “Not only is it a noble choice, but I believe a wise one,” Halandor added. “Though defeated, Zirtan still has men roaming Dolennar. If they were to find out who defeated their commander, they may seek revenge.”

  “You are right,” Darand said. “We will certainly keep this information to ourselves, for your safety, Makilien.”

  * * *

  Immense joy and relief surrounded the city, but a solemn mood tainted the celebration as many mourned the loss of loved ones. Adequate time was needed to grieve before their victory could be fully celebrated.

  Many long hours men toiled on the battlefield, carrying away the dead and piling the slain enemy into two large heaps. Four days after the battle, the process was finally finished and the ugly black mounds of enemy bodies were lit on fire. Though the thick, dark smoke that rose from them was blown to the east, fumes still drifted into the city. Most people stayed inside with their doors and windows closed tight. The stench wasn’t so bad at the palace, but even so, Makilien chose to take a walk outside the city, well away from where the fires burned.

  Leaving the palace, she came to the main gate and turned west. Just a short way from the city, she stopped on a rise and looked back. From here she could look out over the whole battlefield. Giant plumes of dark smoke rose high into the sky and hid the horizon. Though all the bodies and weapons had been removed, the battlefield was still dark—all the grass trampled and the ground stained. It would take rain and time to fully erase the signs of battle.

  Makilien continued on her way. She left the rise and walked down into the lush green meadow at the foot of the Irrin Mountains. It was the same meadow where she’d first been introduced to Meniah. The meadow seemed sad and lonely now. Summer flowers swayed back and forth, but there was no sound. Not even the bleating of sheep, which were still gathered inside the city.

  For a long time, she sat in silence, reflecting on the battle and the days she’d spent away from home. Curiously, before she rose to leave, warmth, like strong rays of sunshine, soothed her whole body. As she savored the feeling, there came a sudden flash. Makilien jumped up and spun around, putting her arms up to shield her eyes from the dazzling brilliance of the light. When it faded a little, she slowly lowered her arms and gasped.

  Standing in the midst of the light was Meniah, dressed no longer as a shepherd, but in pure white. Makilien’s heart hammered, and she was overcome by the same awe and fear she had felt at their first meeting, but much stronger this time. Heart racing, she dropped to her knees.

  The light intensified, surrounding her.

  “Don’t be afraid, Makilien.” The sound of Meniah’s voice was just as Makilien remembered—gentle and full of love and kindness. Peace filled Makilien and all fear faded. She looked up into Meniah’s shining face, and the feeling of joy at his presence was so intense, tears trickled from her eyes.

  “I thought . . . you died,” she stammered.

  “I did die. But death has no power over me.”

  Makilien hardly dared to breathe. “Are you . . . Elohim?”

  Meniah smiled. “I am His son.”

  Makilien trembled a little, overcome.

  “Rise, Makilien,” Meniah told her.

  But she hesitated. Her tears now came out of shame. “I rejected Elohim for so long. I’m not worthy to stand in your presence. I don’t deserve your love.”

  ??
?Makilien,” Meniah said gently. “A parent does not easily reject a child when they stray. Elohim’s love is far greater than any parent’s. You believed the truth. Elohim has taken your heart and made it new. You need not feel guilt any longer. Stand up.”

  Makilien’s shame melted away, and she got to her feet.

  “So you were there during the battle,” she realized. “I did not just imagine it.”

  Meniah shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I was with you from the moment you believed and will always be with you wherever you go.”

  Makilien felt incredible comfort in knowing that. Remembering the conversation they’d shared the night before Meniah had been killed, she asked, “Was it always Elohim’s plan to use me in battle even though I was so resistant to believing?”

  “Yes, it was. And there is much more for you to do, Makilien. The people of Reylaun have never heard the truth.”

  Makilien nodded firmly, filled with determination. “I will tell them.”

  “In doing this, you will face rejection and hardship, but don’t ever forget you will never be alone. Take courage in that always.”

  “I will.”

  Sensing Meniah would soon go, Makilien ached to hug him, but she hesitated. However, with a knowing smile, Meniah opened his arms to her. Makilien stepped into his loving embrace. After a moment, she stepped back. Meniah reached up and gently touched her healing cheek. The light surrounding him brightened, and Makilien had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, he was gone, but she knew he truly was still there with her.

  She reached up and touched her cheek. The wound was gone. Grinning, she remembered the meaning of her name. Touched by God.

  Filled with joy, Makilien ran back to the palace where she shared with her friends all that had just happened. Some were more surprised than others, but everyone shared her joy. The least surprised of everyone seemed to be Halandor. When they were alone, Makilien asked, “You knew it all along, didn’t you?”

  Halandor nodded, smiling. “Yes.”

  “How?”