Before the Battle

The sound of a thousand winds battered Fallon's ears as he hurtled toward the canyon far below. It was the battle cry of a hundred demons who tore at his jacket, breeches and shoulder bag. He thrust his chest forward, his legs and arms swept back from his torso to avoid being somersaulted by the rushing air.

The tree lined stream below him grew larger. He hoped the branches did not break his fall and cripple him for life. A warrior without worth. He felt a tug on his left foot, then out of the edge of his vision the face of the Faerie Queen. The wind rippled the skin on her face as she grimaced against the wind. She maneuvered below him, her arms outstretched to make her wing membrane into a taut sail. His chest touched her back and he felt the slowing of his descent. She shuddered as she took on more of his weight.

His weight and inexperience in body sailing made it difficult for her to maintain a stable profile. They rushed through the air above the trees but continued to fall. She abruptly rotated on her side and dumped him into the tree canopy.

The leaves whipped his face and the branches cracked beneath his weight. He was stunned and briefly lost consciousness. He awoke to tugging and scratching. By the time he came fully awake, a half dozen Faeries had freed the shoulder bag full of energy combs and flown away.

As he inventoried his limbs for damage, a familiar squawking pierced the muffled air around him. If he had been fully alert, he would have been terrified to meet such a foe without stone or sword as a weapon.

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The great head and curved beak of an Alsace bird. Must be a dream, he thought. When he was a child, his daddy taught him to open his mouth wide and caw like a young Alsace bird. The bird cued off the pink mouth and sound, daddy said. Fallon had practiced but was never attacked by one of the birds. Now he did it like he had practiced many years ago. At edge of his vision, three Alsace fledglings joined in the banshee chorus. The large parent bird cocked its head, peered at Fallon with its killing eye, looked at its young ones, then launched away from the tree. Its wings rustled the leaves as they beat the air.

Still in a daze he lowered himself to the ground. He hurt terribly, his clothes were torn but nothing was broken. He looked at the sky to take his bearing and set off toward camp. In the still air he heard the sound of voices ricochet off the canyon wall to his right. Drindl and Alpen? No. The language used by the Glade people. He was behind enemy lines with no weapons - more vulnerable than a maiden. He ducked below a nearby bush. He heard several footsteps in the stream ahead. Two voices. Maddening not to understand what they were saying. Had they seen him fall from the sky? He glanced down at movement in the shadows at his feet. He had picked the wrong bush for cover.

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Drindl and Alpen checked the warrior tent when they arrived at camp. The setting sun threw golden shadows on the tents. Many people milled about in the alleyways between tents, but there was no sign of Fallon. They strode to Sarten’s headquarters and asked the guard outside for news. The guard pointed them to the mess tent where the energy combs were being prepared. More guards. Alpen asked for the Faerie Queen. A guard motioned him inside but blocked Drindl from entering. Alpen held up a hand to quiet Drindl’s protest. “A minute.” Drindl sighed.

Several Faeries gorged on energy at a table near the tent wall. At a table in the center of the large tent the Faerie Queen supervised several soldiers who prepped the honeycomb morsels. The sight of Fallon’s shoulder bag lifted his spirits. He didn’t see his friend though.

“Fallon?” Alpen asked the Faerie Queen.  “The warrior you swooped out of the sky. Thank you,” he added with a respectful bow of his head. Although she was not a warrior, she had behaved like one.

“He fell off. I’m sorry. The Faeries say he died. They retrieved the energy. He didn’t die in vain.”

“They were sure?” Alpen asked. He felt a big hole inside.

“Eye test. No reaction.”

Alpen nodded. He felt a profound need to be alone, to absorb the news. He waved toward the energy on the table. “Dawn battle?” She nodded. He thanked her and turned to leave. As he neared the entrance of the tent, he saw the sated Faeries. For a short time, they would be too unsteady to fly. Unlike humans, a Faerie sickened and died if they did not consume energy for several weeks. He usually couldn’t tell one Faerie apart from the other, but he recognized the odd slant of a hair tuft that distinguished the Faerie that had led them to the cliff. When had the Faeries eaten last? They might have been anxious to retrieve Fallon’s shoulder bag. Did they really do a thorough check for life signs? 

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He shook off his doubts. False hope in battle caused a warrior to lose focus. Outside the tent, the shadows had deepened. He shook his head at Drindl’s questioning look. They hugged briefly then turned toward the tent. “Tomorrow many Glade warriors will pay for Fallon’s death,” Drindl struck his fist forward as though stabbing someone.

“Don’t let your anger keep you from sleep tonight,” Alpen warned. 

His sadness caused him to toss and turn that night. He yearned for the physical comfort of his wife. When he was awakened an hour before pre-dawn he was relieved that he had fallen asleep. He was half-dressed in the darkness when he heard Drindl’s snores. This was the younger man’s first campaign. He put his hand over Drindl’s mouth and nose, then ducked away as Drindl erupted awake, striking at his unknown assassin. The other men laughed. Most of them knew the routine.

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 The warriors formed two lines leading into the mess tent. Each received their energy allotment and a portion of a meat and grain battle gruel. Alpen held Drindl’s arm when he began to put the energy in his mouth. Some warriors complained of tiredness or a minor illness and asked for an extra allotment. Alpen explained to Drindl, “Some warriors think that extra energy will compensate for experience and valor. My mentor in my first campaign thought that. Extra does not give more. The more comes from here,” he touched his chest with a fist, “and here,” he touched his temple with a finger. 

Sarten climbed up on a table and the warriors turned to him. “Fallon, A brave warrior, gave his life for this.” With his piece of the energy honeycomb, he toasted Fallon, then put the sweet papery morsel in his mouth.

“Hear, hear, we will avenge brave Fallon,” the warriors chanted and stomped their feet three times. A lone Faerie stumbled out from under the table. Sarten roared his displeasure. Would he kick the energy drunk Faerie? Alpen worried. 

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“Rid me of this creature who steals a warrior’s share,” Sarten bellowed. A woman hurriedly scooped the bird sized Faerie into her skirt and the crowd parted to allow her to exit.

Alpen was relieved. Might be bad luck to kill a Faerie before battle. He let the morsel partially dissolve in his mouth first before swallowing, then he motioned for Drindl to do the same. He lifted the bowl of battle gruel to his lips and slurped. Drindl made a face when he tasted the gruel. “The gruel feeds your muscles not your tongue,” Alpen told him. They finished the gruel, then tossed the earthen bowls in a pile.

“Bantams forward,” Sarten called to the semi-circle of warriors. Alpen pushed Drindl forward. There were eighteen new warriors in the crowd out of the hundred fifty gathered in the tent. The crowd parted to let the bantams stand in a line. “Left leg behind you,” Sarten commanded. Each one bent his left leg and that ankle was lashed to the right leg of his neighbor. Hopping on one foot they were rounded into a circle. 

Sarten led the chant in a booming voice. “We are many who fight as one.” Three times they thundered the words as they stomped their feet. Then Sarten came forward and pushed lightly against one of the bantams in the circle. Others followed. The bantams had to sense the push as a unit and keep their straight leg bent at the knee to shift balance with their neighbor. Finally, the crowd of warriors came forward and pushed the bantams from all sides. They failed to keep their balance and fell in a heap of flailing arms. The crowd laughed. 

“We are many who fall as one,” Sarten’s voice boomed. The warriors repeated the chant while stomping their foot. They untied the bantam warriors and helped them stand up. Their tied legs had gone to sleep during the ritual.

“We are many who stand as one,” Sarten called out and the warriors joined in three times. The ceremony was over. The warriors filed out of the tent. 

Drindl limped slightly as they walked from the tent. “I can see. Dawn is coming,” he remarked.

“No. That’s your eyes. The energy is beginning to take effect,” Alpen replied. “Let’s hurry. We will begin the melding that will unite us all.”