The Emergence of the Enemy

When an invasion wrecks the land of Vergara, Berin must flee with his companion Glavino and liberate his stolen family.

Awaken, oh peace, in these lands;

The sword is resheathed.

Aleutian has returned home,

And fear has ceased.

 

 

The Emergence of the Enemy

“Glavino, wake up!” shook Berin, leaning down and squeezing the man by his broadened shoulders.

Glavino reached out his hand. He pushed Berin’s arm away, mumbling in another tongue.

“I cannot find my wife or children,” Berin said as he placed both knees beside Glavino on the rug.

“What, here?” said Glavino. He half-opened his eyes, cocooned in the musky blanket, rubbing it with his callous hands.

“Yes! They must have arisen and gone outside, maybe down to the stream,” Berin said as he rose from his crouching position. He left the front of the house and found the firelight. Fumbling in the darkness, he found the tubular object he needed and lit the candle, the wick sparking the moment it contacted the firelight.

“I come with you,’ Glavino whispered. ‘Sleep not come tonight.”

“I shall reclaim my coat.”

“There one for me?”

“Juolo has some.”

“Fit me?”

“Perhaps not.”

“I will wear. Is too cold.”

“Bring the blanket.”

As they were about to exit via the doorway, Berin paused. He noticed Juolo’s beaded necklace.

“What are these?” Glavino asked when he saw Berin bending over.

“They are part of Juolo’s necklace, the one I gave her on our union night.”

Glavino bent to collect the beads, fingering each one carefully between his adunai forefinger and thumb before holding them in the cusp of his hand. Berin remembered his unusual use of the hand, forbidden in Vergara unless it involved something unhygienic. Glavino was known not to follow the social norm, though. That is why Berin doted after the man, why he put up with his antics.

“How did they end up here?” Berin muttered, as Glavino handed the beads to him. He placed them in his pocket and tied the string around his belt.

“Let us go.”

“Wait,” Berin said, clasping Glavino by the blanket until the blanket slipped off the large man. Glavino paused mid-step. Placing it on the ground, Berin peered through the tiny window towards the first rays before sunrise. The fragrance of the yinalo plants wrinkled Berin’s nose. That only occurred when the plants were touched. A shadow shifted past the soft light.

“Juolo?”

The shadow stopped, not responding to Berin’s call. Berin looked at Glavino. His brow deepened, the muscles tensing. Glavino tapped his hip with his adunai. His beat quickened, like chattering teeth caught in the dead of winter. Berin gulped, wondering whether to call out again. Something told him not to; perhaps it was his heart, the organ reverberating off the walls of his rib cage. Without thinking he wiped inside his armpit, noticing the sludge accumulating in spite of the cool air. One drop slid like a tear until it reached the bend in his elbow. He failed to feel the second drop; it followed the watery course set out by the first.

A loud crash sounded! It was the door breaking from its wooden hinges. Figures covered in red barged their way through the doorframe, swords at the ready. Berin noticed at once the golden leopard emblazoned on their armoury. It was the Bacana, the army of Keturah they were named, and they were not here to make peace.

There is no back doorway, Berin thought. The drop of sweat left his elbow, followed by the other.

This is my final morning.

One of the soldiers, dressed in beet-red, stepped forward, and snarled a phrase in his native tongue. His comrades boomed with laughter.

The soldier now spoke in Vergaran, so the two men could understand.

“Turn around! Lay yourself on the table,” he pointed.

Berin at once obeyed, forgetting Glavino needed some assistance in any new situation. Instead of following the orders, Glavino stepped forward, his adunai still beating against his hip.

“Name is Glavino. What is your name?”

The soldier stepped close to Glavino and slapped him across the face, sending his body sprawling across the table. Glavino’s adunai landed over Berin, knocking the candle to the floor and snuffing out the wicker flame. The reverberation through the table replicated Berin’s heart. Fortunately it was made of oken wood, otherwise they would have been on the floor in broken, splintered pieces.

“Be quiet, Glavino,” whispered Berin. Berin remembered the rumours he had heard sweeping through the countryside. The word that spread was the Keturah army of King Labar, and of his mother Abimael, were planning some military exercises. This was definitely confirmation of that rumour.

He was worried for his family, sure, but right at this moment the only way to know the whereabouts of Juolo, Erinu and Rini was to remain with a beating heart, a working mind, a living soul. If Glavino kept quiet, their chances of survival increased.

Why attack Vergara? This is a simple land, of grape growers and fruit producers. We sell to our compatriots on both sides of the Chingola Sea. Is this a one-off raid? Are the Keturah women not veracious enough, and the men have to cross the mountains to fulfil their pleasures?

Berin shuddered at this last thought, trying to focus elsewhere. It centred on a sharp pain in his indinai hand. He took a quick glance; his thumb was bleeding. Next to the rich-red thumb rested Juolo’s knife.

That is not where it usually is. Juolo would be furious. My forgetfulness last night might prove useful.

Berin gripped the handle of the knife. He breathed a grunt as he shielded the blade under his forearm. One soldier clasped his adunai hand on Berin’s adunai forearm. As he reached for the other forearm, Berin swung his arm blindly, the knife primed to slice something, anything.

“I must have cut his neck,” thought Berin as the soldier, releasing his hold on Berin, emitted a blood-curdling scream. Berin swiftly thanked the gods for giving him strength in both arms as he reached and took hold of the soldier’s sheathed sword. He released the sword from its abode. Cutting and slashing violently, his wife and children’s faces flashing in his mind like violent flames, Berin’s unpredictability confused the other soldiers, whom should have waited patiently for an opening in Berin’s lack of defence. Instead, one swift move saw the head warrior receive a deep shave to the top of his head. A second move saw the sword enter and remain embedded in the neck of another. As ruby-red blood, almost the colour of their armour, poured like molten lava onto the ground, Berin grabbed Glavino’s adunai. The sweat made him slip; he grasped again, Glavino clutching at the same moment. The man was shaking, rocking back and forth uncontrollably.

“Glavino, we must depart from here! There may be more soldiers!”

Glavino nodded his head in a slow bob, unable to remove his eyes from the three bodies. He let go at the same time his mouth opened, no sound emitting. Berin grasped his hand again, and pulled him in the direction of the doorway. Glavino stepped, or more stumbled over the mess. As they neared the doorway, one of the soldiers grabbed for his ankle. Glavino screamed, as did the soldier, cursing in his mother tongue. Berin mustered the strength to pull Glavino free of the grip of the dying soldier. They stumbled over the door, lying where Glavino’s makeshift bed was, and out the doorway, landing face first on the dust past the front step. The taste was not pleasant, like the granulated seeds from the junik fruit.

Berin sprung to his feet and looked into the dawn. Three figures ran towards them, their swords gleaming in the slight twinkling of rays. Berin turned and was about to pick Glavino to his feet, but the gods must have given the simpleton enough of a mind.

“I am coming!”

They turned and ran around the house, down the hill in the direction of the stream where Berin earlier cleaned Juolo’s knife and the other dishes. Darting through the trees, the two remained on the western side of them. Surely the shadows would hide them, Berin wondered. Glavino remained one step behind, although it was clear who was the better runner. They paused, only literans away from the stream.

“Which way?” panted Glavino.

“This way,’ said Berin, pointing away from the direction they were moving. ‘I know somewhere to hide, where my children hid the other vero.” It was a cave with the tiniest of entrances, and from the outside looked like a large rock. Berin at first had scolded his children for entering into it for fear of the unknown. Now he was grateful.

He led Glavino in the direction of the cave. Their run, perpendicular to the incline, was difficult to manage when not all ground obstacles could be seen.

“Let us cross the stony path.”

“Good idea. They cannot follow our tracks.”

Berin ignored the sharp pain of the stones on his bare feet. He heard Glavino’s brief hisses as he followed behind.

“You are doing well,” encouraged Berin.

“We must get away,” said Glavino. Berin half smiled.

What is humorous about that comment?

Berin wondered and refocused on his footsteps, avoiding the bitter thorns that covered the ground.

As they neared the cave, Berin snatched leaves off a tree, laying them behind their trail.

“Now, where is the cave?”

“Caves? I hate caves!”

“Well, my children called it a cave. It is more like an enclosed hollow in a large rock.”

“I do not like its sound.”

“Well, you will have to like it. We cannot run for much longer.”

“Is it dark in there?”

“I suppose so.”

“I hate the dark.”

“What about the dark of the night?”

“I hate the night as well.”

Berin fingers bent and grew stiff. His whole adunai arm shook.

“Be quiet. Do you want to die?”

Glavino shook his head.

“Then help me find this cave.”

The two men felt around the rocks. There were five of them, almost identical, especially in the long shadows of the nearby trees. Berin felt the underside of one, its smooth surface sliding past his fingers. At the next rock, he could hear Glavino’s fingernails scratch the underbelly of the rock. His fingers bent and stiffened again.

 At the third rock, Berin felt under the rock.

“I have found it!” he heard from Glavino at the fourth.

“Quiet!’ Berin looked about. The only noise could be heard was the tweets from the gerina coupled with the squawks from the poinita. ‘Inside.”

They slowly but steadily slipped inside the cave, waiting silently.

“How long we stay here?”

“As long as it takes to…” but Berin knew not. He would wait out in the near darkness until he knew for sure it was safe to continue. Berin knew not the hour.

“Sleep, Glavino.”

“I cannot.” His voice quivered like the strings on a jevrio after being strummed. The tapping against his hip began again.

Berin first sat closest to the entrance to the rock cavity, though he switched with Glavino.

“Thank you,” whispered the large man. From the rear of the alcove, the light lessened to the point where Berin could not see past his elbow. Glavino was out of sight, too, though the man’s breathing could be heard. Back in the alcove, the smell of urine reached into his nostrils. Perhaps this was an animal’s lair, their hideaway from predators. He felt the soft earth next to him, hoping no living creature would bite. After some time, his body stiffened. Adjusting to ease the buildup in his legs, he brushed the rock behind him with the back of his head. Its smooth surface allowed his own body to glide across and he nearly fell. Throwing out his arm, he steadied himself.

“Are you…” started Glavino.

“Fine,” he jolted. Berin righted himself and leaned against the back wall.

I have to drain fluids, he thought. There was no way. He would have to cross his legs and hope for the best.

“You afraid of the dark?” queried Glavino.

“No, not since I was a child.”

“I have always been. Bad things in the dark.”

“You have to think of nice things. That stops you thinking about the bad things.”

“Like.”

“Quiet. We must be silent as the bwenta bird.”

 

In what seemed like ages, Berin and Glavino sat or lay there. The silence hung like wintry fog across a valley.

“I wish we could leave,” said Glavino finally. Berin agreed. When would they know for sure it would be safe?

“Perhaps we shall wait until the night returns.”

“Long time away, that is!”

“I know, but we cannot take any risks.”

“Too late.”

“How do you mean?”

“Berin took a risk when, when you killed them.”

A quake shuddered through Berin, starting at the ankle where it grounded against the earth, to the edge of his neck.

“I had to,” said Berin, his voice sounding distant from himself.

“Yes. But if they catch us, we are dead.”

Berin knew he was right. They would not last if they were caught.

“Go to sleep, Glavino.”

Glavino muttered something. Berin did not care to know the phrase. He preferred the silence, though it caused the tension to double. Perhaps he preferred it so he could be alone in his thoughts. He closed his eyes, remembering the previous night.

I want to be gazing at the galaxies with you, my loves.

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

I admire your obviously vast imagination Stephen. You're a skilled writer, much better than I, so my opinion seems rather precocious. The only thing I would suggest would be to go back through and sift out any unnecessary detail. :)