The Battle
David O'Cuilleain
Copyright © David O'Cuilleain 2011
Smashwords Edition
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*****
The Battle
Driving rain stung his face and clung to his long dark hair as he fought his way against the wind, up the grassy hillside. Darkness enclosed him as if he was the only living person on this land. He longed for the sight of home in the valley on the other side of this natural barrier. The village he had lived in his entire life. It had been a hard life but still he remained settled in the place of his birth. As he neared the summit he felt a deep unease creep into his stomach. His muscles tightened even more than they already were from the long hike. His mouth and throat dried. The last few steps became a nightmare as the ground grew steeper. He gripped at the long wet grass and rocks as he made his way slowly forward. At last he made the brow of the hill standing on the large rock shaking his head to sweep the rain from his long hair. His large ragged hand gripped the handle of his razor sharp sword firmly as he gave a massive roar of anger and fear. He gazed down into the valley at the village that lay below. Thick choking, deadly smoke rose and reddish gold flames leap high as the houses burned with raging fire. The villagers were full of fear screaming, running, looking for what little safety they could find in the fearful darkness of the night. He screamed again. This time with more anger than fear and began to descend the steep hill, half walking, half falling as he slid on the rain soaked hillside. He descended quickly and was almost at the foot of the hill. Smoke was drifting with the wind and stinging his eyes as he moved purposefully forward. Screams and cries rose from the villagers as he rounded the gable end of the first house, his sword at the ready. A large man lunged at him but he was dealt with quickly with a sweep of the sword.
She rose from the bed panic streaming through her. Her head pounded and hands shock as she heard the screams from outside the small window. She could hear the sound of roaring fire as it ravaged the roof just feet above her head. Quickly she plucked her small, sleeping son from his tiny bed and crashed through the front door. The little boy screamed in terror at being suddenly pulled from his bed. His mother held him firmly cradling him into her and pulled his blanket tightly around the child. The glare of the fires blinded her for several seconds as her eyes grew accustomed to the brightness. As she began to focus, she screamed as a heavily built stranger ran towards her. He gave an evil grin, his black broken teeth showing behind his thin lips. She cried with fear seeing the glinting sword that he swung above his head. She closed her eyes waiting for her demise. Seconds past before she heard the sound of metal against bone and the scream of pain and fear. There was a wet thud at her feet. As she opened her eyes slowly she gazed at the bloodied man, now dead at her feet. She turned her head to see the back of her brother entering the darkness.
Other equally large men followed and fell in a similar way. At last more of his own men arrived from behind the burning buildings all returning, as he had from a day hunting, with swords and shields at the ready. They made their way through the village. Some of the enemy fought hard others gave little resistance and fled like frightened children. The none warriors of the village rushed from the river with canvas buckets overflowing with water in an attempt to extinguish the flames that tore through the small houses and sheds. He drove his sword hard into one of the enemy and watched as he fell into the rivers of mud. Blood mingled with the flowing waters and settled in pools throughout the village. The enemy had turned now, in fear for their lives, and ran through the small fields towards the forests chased by the raging villagers. Some of the men fell, slipping on the mud that lay underfoot. These where quickly dealt with as swords where driven into their bodies.
She still felt fear not knowing if more of the men remained in the village waiting to kill at the slightest opportunity. From nowhere a young man put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her towards one of the undamaged houses. Faint light shone from the small windows making her feel better. She allowed slight hope of safety to enter her body. As she entered, still guided by the young dark haired man, she saw other mothers holding their frightened children. The elderly people of the village also sat with looks of fear.
Still the enemy ran with fear on their faces, pursued all the way. The man from the hill had little energy feeling drained from his long day hunting and yet he battled on in an attempt to kill the last of the cowards that had attacked their almost undefended village. They soon approached the coast, waves crashing high onto the shore. The enemy waded into the water some falling into the clutches of the warriors. Three small boats dipped and dived as the waves washed under them. The first of the men climbed into the boats haling the ancor. The wet rope slipping through their hands cutting deeply as the villagers approached, falling through the breaking waves, unable to reach their enemy. They watched with rage as the small boats moved slowly away, the men rowing fiercely against the swell. One of the warriors yelled with anger throwing his sword towards the last of the boats. The sword, swinging through the air struck one of the men across the shoulder cutting deeply into his flesh. The man fell silently to the bottom of the boat. The Warriors watched as the boats merged with the darkness of the night. Slowly they turned towards home, or at least what was left of the village.
It seemed like a life time but at last her son settled into a deep sleep once again. Still she could hear the shouts from the villagers fighting the raging fires some entered the small house at intervals relaying messages as each fire was finally extinguished. She lay her head on the blanket that lay on the hard stone floor and drifted into an broken sleep.
Fear at what they would find filled the men as they walked through the darkness in silence. They had made this journey many times, their way was so natural to them. No maps existed and none where needed. The sky began to lighten to the east and the rain eased at last and stopped as they followed the track. Their eyes were now fixed on the smoke rising into the clouds. Villagers sat in groups some still threw water onto the last of the flames. Bodies lay in the thick mud, some their own, some enemy. The men made there way to the centre of the village looking all the time at the ruins that were once homes. The day dawned bright but it gave no pleasure to the villagers as they scanned the desolate dwellings. Some of the houses damaged, some, now no more than blackened piles of stone. They moved bodies from the mud and buried their loved ones the best they could. The enemy men were taken to the edge of the forest and buried with no ceremony. The Villagers all know what needed to be done, women watched as the men gathered wood, stone and clay. Building work started that very day. The first day of a new beginning. No joy was felt as they took back their home.
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