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.
//////////////////////
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.
////////////////////
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?
/////////////////////
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.
////////////////////////
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.
////////////////////
“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.”
