Aftermath

Travesty.

It was the only word her mind could formulate to describe the scene before her. The view from her hill was a travesty of everything that had ever been good. It was not right. It was as if the world had been abused and was screaming of the dreadful wrongs that had been done to it. As Rhye looked out, her eyes fell upon thousands of bodies piled atop one another and laying carelessly across the field, as though someone had just finished undressing and had strewn his clothes across the floor. The battlefield seemed like a vast and horrible tomb, with mangled carcasses that stretched all the way to the horizon. In some places, the corpses were in neat rows where the forces had held ranks, and in others, they were scattered with no apparent order. But war had no order. Fanciful people liked to say it did, liked to brag about their orderly battle plans, but in reality, once you were actually in the battle, it all was chaos. The only purpose of the orderly plans was slaughter.

 

The village to Rhye’s left had been decimated. Not a single thatched roof could be seen. She remembered hours ago having seen smoke from almost every chimney, and having heard the high-pitched voices of convivial children scampering playfully outside their homes. There had been little girls in cotton dresses and boys wearing the most comical hats she had ever seen, hats with buttons on their sides! The town had smelt of fresh hay, and of animals and dinners and smoke, and the smell of upcoming rain. She vaguely remembered walking through the little village and seeing through open doors women going about their daily duties, patiently knitting, cooking, or cleaning while humming various lively tunes. One woman had been fussing over her knitting. The ordeal stressed her out enough so that she stood up from her rocker and threw the “good-for-nothing rubbish” on the floor in a huff.

Rhye only hoped the people had evacuated. The injustice of it was incomprehensible"that desolation was made to preside over people who had done nothing noticeable in life other than raise their children and their crops, and once in a while make a fuss over their knitting. People who had taken great care to remain entirely detached from the brutal and complex world should not have had to suffer so horribly from it. But the reality was atrocious. She only hoped they had had time to escape it. She would have Gareth scour the town later for bodies. No, she should have him do it now, only she could not peel her eyes from the aftermath of the battle. She knew she was trying to drill every detail into her mind so as to never forget. In any case, most likely the sturdy captain already had men searching for survivors.

In front of her, the poppy field was desolate. Not a single golden flower still stood; not one stretched out its slender neck and flaunted its golden mane in the breeze. The rain sprinkled lightly from above, as if the grey sky was trying to hold back tears. The earlier fog had entirely disappeared, and in its place the world seemed a thousand times clearer. The battlefield seemed a thousand times clearer. From the hill, the air was fresh and crisp, but Rhye knew that it was not nearly as clean below. She did not have to smell the rank stench of decaying bodies; she could see it. Hopefully the rain would wash it away.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She did not need to look to see who it was; only Gareth Winters could have stood so steadily and had such a firm hand in such a devastating time.

He said nothing, and neither did she, for there was nothing she could think of to say that would not offend the mood. Even crying just then would have seemed an understatement to the morbid horrors. It seemed inappropriate to try to comfort the other as well. She did not want to be comforted anyways; she wanted to mourn, and never forget. The feeling was similar to that of a woman with a recently passed husband; it would be entirely wrong to comfort her by telling her to forget about her sorrows. She wants to grieve, she wants to feel her pain and endure it, because her husband deserves it and because she wants to remember. Rhye couldn’t think of any other way to explain it. Hopefully the rain would wash the awful stench away, but it could never wash away the picture etched forever in her mind’s eye.

A black carcon tumbled down into the battlefield and into the mass of bodies, piercing the silenced world with a deafening screech. It lingered for a moment, and then streaked upwards back into the sky, carrying a dangling object in its large beak. 

She felt Gareth’s hand tighten on her shoulder. Another shrieking carcon fell out of the sky amidst the bodies. It too withdrew back into the cover of the cloudy sky with something hanging from its beak. Another carcon dropped from the sky. And then another. Soon there were near fifty carcon striding about the field like warriors inspecting their conquest, and more pouring out of the sky as if they had been dropped. They fell like the rain.

Rhye had known they would come. Carcon always did, when they knew there was a feast to be had. In immense numbers, they would fall from the sky and tear pieces from dead, dying, or even wounded men. They were big enough to kill a wounded man, though not big enough to carry an entire one away, which made them even more frightful. They had to tear a man apart to take him back to their nest to eat.

That was the reason the army had not cleared the field of the bodies. The carcon did a fine job on their own. Most assuredly though, Gareth had scoured the field for any who were still alive, even slightly. No man should be left to that pain.

“I wish we could bury them.” said Gareth, disturbing the quiet. A stone being dropped into a still pool. She was not sure how to respond other than to remain silent.

Suddenly she felt rather uncomfortable, standing there next to the man. She felt a warm tingling feeling shiver through her body. He still had not moved his hand from her shoulder. In fact, she hadn’t noticed, but it was up against her back now. Was he trying to keep her from falling? She very well could have come close to fainting at the moment. Still, it was a thoroughly strange feeling to have him so close to her. She could not deny that she welcomed it. His strength and his steady hands felt remarkably comforting, especially given the circumstances. However, it also seemed inappropriate for her to be thinking of anything other than the current events.

She ignored his hand for the time being. She needed to say something, to keep her from thinking any further. Opening her mouth to speak was harder than she thought it would be.

“There are too many.” she managed at last, “You could never bury them all.”

She felt his hand go tense on her back again, though nothing else about him appeared to change. At last he took a deep breath.

“Of course.” he said, “But I always wish that.”

“They are dead, Gareth. You cannot help them by burying them. Remember the saying, ‘Leave the dead to bury their own.’”

The man said nothing.

Rhye knew how he felt. Each of those men laying out there dead on the field had a family. What do you tell them when they ask you in between tears how their son died? Did their brother receive a proper burial? Will her husband’s body be sent back to her? How do you tell little kids with bulging eyes that their daddy will never come home, and that his body was left splayed across the battlefield to be torn apart and eaten by scavenging birds?

And how many men had died today? The death count was above the thousands, not including the

villagers. The villagers . . .

“Did you search the village?” she asked Gareth pensively, afraid of his answer.

His hand slid from her back and he turned to face her. He scratched his grizzled beard. His expression was grim.

“Nobody lives. There was not enough time.”

“The people . . .” began Rhye.

“I know.” he said.

She shook her head in disbelief. “This is a horrible war.”

Gareth nodded.

“It’s perfectly cruel is what it is.” she went on. Her sorrow was beginning to be replaced by anger. “We have to kill them, all of them, every single Eller? that ever set foot on this world. And the bloody Destroyer? too for that matter.”

“Rhye.” Gareth took a soft hold of her arm.

“That would be justice.” she continued, “Their revolting bodies can be strewn across some other perfectly good poppy field, and the bloody carcon can eat their bloody"“

“Rhye, you’re trembling.”

Rhye stopped her rant at the sound of his voice. She was trembling; he was right. In anger, was it? She rarely let herself get this angry, and she hardly cursed as much as she just had. It must have been a combination of indignation and the fact that she hadn’t slept in two nights.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “I suppose I am.”

She could not say anything more. He was looking down at her, with intent and concerned grey eyes that seemed trying to search her soul. She held his gaze for it was impossible not to. He had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They were gentle and deep and firm and weathered, and there was a royalty to them that went far beyond being wealthy or owning land. Time stopped when she looked into those eyes. The world stopped. It was as if a vacuum had come and sucked everything away, leaving nothing but barren calm.

She looked away guiltily though painfully. There were more critical matters at hand than a man’s eyes. Turning to face the field, she folded her hands behind her back in a patient fashion.

There was a long moment of silence before Gareth spoke.

He turned with her to face the field, and rested his hand gently against her back again. “Good.” was what he said, and that was all. There was a mixture of anger and respect to his tone. The world needed indignation; it needed people who had not been numbed to its wounds. It did not need angry mobs, but it did need people who cared enough to do something. There were too many who lived with hearts of stone, who killed and slaughtered as if it were as normal as eating breakfast. She felt that numbness more and more often of late. It was hard not to; the more you did a thing, the more nonchalant you became about it. Things like this however"this mass butchering of men, women, and children"reminded her that she was still human. May the day never come when she could look upon a similar happening and not be moved. 

The sun came up. It peeked over the distant hills just enough to splash the world with pinks and golds and oranges. The rain retreated at the sight of it.

The two of them stood there, two comrades underneath a waxing morning. There was a familiarity between them. As the saying went, “A friend in a time of trouble becomes more dear to you than a friend you’ve had your entire life in times of peace.” However, there was formality as well, a king and queen standing side by side in regality, silently accepting their loss. The loss would remain, but as the stench and the filth of the dead faded with the rain, the sun in all its glory and magnificence climbed into the sky. It pushed itself up with all its strength over the hills and thrust its beaming golden head into the faded blue backdrop. Something was born in that moment, as Rhye stood there with Gareth and watched the world wake up from a tormented night. Something staggeringly beautiful and fulfilling. A lesson. That despite the horrors of the world, as long as people fought against them, the sun would always come up in the morning. It was consistent. The sun was consistent, and it was comforting. Just like Gareth Winters, she realized.

She laid her head on his shoulder.

She could never make the world perfect, in the same way Gareth Winters could never bury all those men on the battlefield. The task was too large.

But that did not mean she could not do something.

Dawn flickered and enveloped the world, and Gareth draped his cloak over Rhye’s shoulders.

Author's Note

Again, NOT chapter one, and nothing I've written I'm sure I am going to keep. I'm kinda just writing on ideas rather than facts set in stone . . . if that makes any sense.
Thanks for checking it out anyways!

Reviews

[Tai Ryens]

Long? Not at all, haha, it was quite perfect length for a story with your detail. I loved the images it splashed onto my mind, amazing details and saddened faces. Would love it if you continue, but I understand if you don't. These are merely idea's and not anything you're serious on. Keep up the hard work!

[The Scholar]

I glad you enjoyed it! Hmm....I don't really have a summary written out of the book, and it's kind of a complex plot.
But I can let you know that these characters aren't the main ones, so their story is only a side one.
Sorry I don't have a summary!
But perhaps I'll have to write one out now, and if I do get around to it, I will definitely share it with you.
Again, sorry. :(

[Aeternal Oceanfire]

I enjoyed this. Is there a summary I could read about the plot of this book.

[The Scholar]

Ahhh Sorry it's so long!