There was nothing else that the flying hulks could be other than Darroks. Gallean traders had spoken of tremendous monstrosities of the air, flying in the skies around Avalos to the west, which were being trained to serve some purpose of the Unifier’s. They had spoken with awe of the sheer vastness of the creatures. Some found them to be a simulacrum of dragons.
The incredible size being unquestionable, most were not altogether certain about the latter claim, as dragons had not been seen in the western lands for so many years. Yet Ayenwatha could not disagree that the beasts before him certainly evoked references to the winged legends.
Ayenwatha guided Arax upward resolutely, in the lead of the nearly thirty defenders that were streaking up from the village towards the bulky forms of the Darroks.
The warriors raced directly at the front of the Darroks, the beasts’ forms growing ever larger, with each passing second. Their hearts raced as they sped unhesitatingly towards a desperate battle.
There was no real hope of bringing the creatures down outright, which the warriors with Ayenwatha quickly discovered on their first approach. The thick, leathery hides of the Darroks could easily turn simple arrows aside, and their vulnerable spots, such as the eyes, were provided with armored protection.
The creatures were also not alone, nor were they following their own mind. A great carriage of timber planks and poles, forming a platform surface and railed sides, was lashed to each of the creatures, extending from the base of their necks down to the middle of their backs.
Crews of about twenty figures moved about on the surface of the carriages. Most were tending to the ongoing assault, while a couple of them were occupied in guiding the winged juggernauts via a special harnessing utilizing exceptionally long reins.
The enemy figures labored relentlessly upon the beasts’ backs, jettisoning a cascade of larger rocks off of the sides of the beasts, sending them hurling down towards the village far below. As the defenders neared the gigantic forms, Ayenwatha was caught by a sudden surprise.
He recognized that the many enemy fighters serving as the attendant crews were not human. Only a few of the village warriors would have recognized them as Trogens, and even then only from tales and stories. Ayenwatha was one of the few that had heard of the dog-men from the east, huge brutes that were implacable, ferocious warriors.
Muscled and dexterous, the Trogens cried out boldly to each other. Many shouted defiantly at the approaching defenders, as an alarm was raised amongst them. A kind of respite was gained for the village, as the Trogens turned their attentions towards preparing to meet the onrushing defenders.
Ayenwatha discovered that the great Darroks were able to breathe short jets of fire. The ability was unveiled to all of the defending tribal warriors, when one of them strayed too close towards the immediate front of one of the beasts, and barely avoided getting engulfed in the tight column of flame that blasted from the creature’s huge mouth.
The creature then swung its head about, trying to find the evasive warrior. The Trogens controlling the beast worked its reins aggressively, working to keep the suddenly-distracted creature moving steadily onward.
Ayenwatha recognized the great danger presented by the fire breath of the winged giants, and swiftly warned his warriors to keep clear of the beasts’ heads.
It was not a very hard challenge, as the slow moving beasts could not readily adapt to the sudden changes in direction that the substantially smaller Bregas were able to undertake. A loud outcry then rang out among the Trogens on the backs of the Darroks, a fierce roar erupting to meet the impact of the daring assault.
To Ayenwatha’s immense relief, there were no sky steeds, such as Harraks, escorting the Darroks. Yet their enemies were not devoid of a considerable means of defense.
Several Trogens hastily retrieved great bows, each more than the height of a man. They notched arrows fletched with long, black feathers, laboring diligently to train their sights upon the Onan warriors. At the moment, there were few archers fully ready to engage in the fray, as many of the Trogens among the Darroks were still hustling to snatch up weapons. Ayenwatha’s warriors would be allowed a small measure of time to try and disrupt or cripple the assaults on their village.
Ayenwatha espied one enemy archer, who had an arrow at the ready and was marking its mental target upon one of the tribal warriors. The Trogen was assiduously focusing its eyes upon the unaware warrior, who was about to fly alongside the Darrok just above the carriage level.
Quickly balancing himself, Ayenwatha set an arrow to his own bow and instantly let the arrow fly towards the Trogen archer.
The shot was loosed just in the right moment. Had he waited even a fraction of a moment later, it would have been too late.
As it was, the bestial archer suddenly jerked about as Ayenwatha’s deadly missile found its target. It twisted in the act of its own shot, the arrow going wildly astray of its intended target. Its bow fell from its hands, as it crumpled down to the surface of the carriage.
More shouts of alarm emerged from the felled Trogen’s nearby companions. All of the Trogens were readying their weapons, as they endeavored to repel the warriors with Ayenwatha.
The other Onan warriors then let their first volley of arrows streak towards the companions of the slain Trogen.
Several of the tribal warriors’ arrows burrowed into the flesh of their intended marks. In just one pass over the Trogens, a great majority of the enemy warriors on the first Darrok were casualties. They were either wounded too badly to continue fighting, or had been slain outright by deadly accurate shafts.
Only a few survived unharmed. The Onan warriors had effectively taken one beast out of the fight. Ayenwatha could see the one remaining Trogen with the reins working feverishly to steer the creature away. The winged behemoth now represented little threat to any village within the landscape below.
The Onan warriors’ rapid flight carried them far over and beyond the Darrok. Ayenwatha abruptly gripped the reins of his steed, and brought it sharply upwards. The loose formation of Bregas followed him, emulating his movements as he curled about in a wide arc for an attack upon the next Darrok.
The Darrok that they left behind seemed to recognize the damage done to the crew on its back, and loosed a spiteful, blistering breath of fire after them. The creature was far too slow, and its outburst well too short to be of any danger to Ayenwatha’s warriors.
Steadying their steeds in Ayenwatha’s wake, the tribal formation leveled itself out as it began to gain speed. At Ayenwatha’s lead, the warriors swiftly notched more arrows for a pass at one of the remaining Darroks. The one that Ayenwatha had selected lumbered through the air just a few hundred feet away, a full crew upon its back.
The Trogen warriors on the Darrok were much more prepared for the defenders’ approach. There was deadly exchange of arrow fire as the two groups closed within killing range of each other. Ayenwatha and the tribal warriors let loose their barrage, almost at the exact time that the Trogens let fly with their own.
The arrows of the tribal warriors raked the exposed surface of the timber carriage. Once again, the arrows of the warriors of the Five Realms found several targets, but the enemy missiles claimed their own number of victims among the sky riders and their steeds.
With wretched cries and shrieks, a few stricken Bregas plummeted down towards the ground, hundreds of feet below, carrying their ill-fated riders towards certain, gruesome deaths.
A couple of other warriors toppled over, slouching lifeless in the saddles or falling off. Riderless Bregas, left to their own discretion, flew away from the conflict, without any direction or authority to guide them.
Ayenwatha’s warriors had still reduced the number of fighters on the second Darrok by about a third, but had suffered their first blows, losing several of their own warriors. They had also suffered another casualty in that the advantage of surprise no longer belonged to them.
The main formation of Bregas with Ayenwatha continued on past the Darrok, and started to turn again in a wide arc so that they could circle back and make another pass. Ayenwatha knew that the Trogens would be braced again for them, but they had to carry the battle relentlessly to the enemy while the villagers on the ground struggled to escape the vicinity of the imperiled village.
As with the first Darrok that they had attacked, Ayenwatha noticed that no stones were falling. The Trogen crew was strictly readying for defense against the tribal warriors.
While he was relieved that they had severely impeded the assault, he also knew what it meant for his small band of warriors. There was little mistaking the situation facing them. With less than thirty warriors remaining, they would not be able to sustain many more passes. A battle of attrition would not be in their favor.
He kept his mind calm, as he thought rapidly of other courses of action. His mind raced through various possibilities as the formation completed its curve and came about to begin another sweep towards the Darrok.
He eyed the harnessing required to secure the high-sided, wooden platform for the occupants on the back of the Darroks. The Trogens were not tethered by any manner of ties or restraint to the platform itself.
If those manning the Darroks were cast overboard from their airborne vessel, there would be no possible rescue for them. Hundreds of feet of empty air and solid ground would seal their fates well enough.
“Stay clear. Shoot arrows at the beast ahead,” Ayenwatha cried out to the nearest of his warriors, gesturing forcefully as he spoke. “Keep your steeds to this side. Sky Arrow… follow me! Keep close!”
The warrior to his right nodded in understanding, and gripped the reins of his steed tightly as he watched for Ayenwatha to take the lead. Ayenwatha then guided Arax off sharply, heading downward to the left. With great skill, he guided the steed tightly as they looped back up towards the Darrok, coming about to fly directly underneath the immense creature.
His years of experience and relationship with Arax enabled the difficult maneuver with a smooth grace of form. Sky Arrow followed skillfully enough, keeping his steed close to the war sachem, as he also made it safely to the underbelly of the Darrok.
The Trogens scrambled frantically to fire more arrows at them as they executed the difficult maneuver. Ayenwatha heard the whizzing sound of an arrow as it passed within just a foot of his right ear. He kept his mind steeled, even as his heart skipped a beat in his chest.
Once underneath the creature, Ayenwatha and Sky Arrow were effectively sheltered from attack by the Trogen archers. Silently uttering a brief prayer of thanks to the One Spirit for the incredibly good fortune, Ayenwatha guided Arax down to the middle of the creature’s body. He brought Arax to match the speed of the large beast over them, as Ayenwatha looked upward to study the harnessing. His eyes followed the course of the great leather straps and cords that cross-crossed the creature’s body, soon identifying the more crucial concentrations and bindings.
“Sky Arrow, use your axe. Hack the ropes! The ones coming together at the center!” Ayenwatha yelled, making a chopping motion as he pointed out the network of strapping above.
He guided his Brega up closer, while withdrawing his short-hafted war axe from where it was tucked in his belt. Keeping his steed level was difficult enough, as the Darrok bobbed in the movements of its own flight, but he knew that there was a chance to get within close enough range to make his attempt.
It was not difficult for Arax to match the speed of the Darrok. The Brega was able to coast in a smooth glide for several moments, before beginning to lose speed and needing to spur itself forward again. As the stretches of gliding provided the most steadiness, Ayenwatha patiently awaited the beginning of one such span in order to attempt his idea. The Brega went through a couple more cycles, passing close to the desired target as Ayenwatha carefully gauged his range and aim.
After one such cycle, Arax flapped its wings strongly, and then evened out its flight into a glide that carried it right along the central underbelly of the Darrok. Ayenwatha saw his opportunity, as he came within striking range and was conveyed right along what he believed to be a critical juncture in the harness system of the Darrok.
Leaning back, he hacked powerfully at the thick cords and intertwined ropes that passed through one large, iron ring. Several more vigorous, steady blows began the arduous and dangerous task.
Sky Arrow, understanding Ayenwatha’s intent, set to work on another concentration of cording set a short distance behind.
The axes quickly cleaved through the taut cords and ropes. The work was disrupted somewhat as the bulk of the Darrok rocked up and down in flight, a few times coming precariously close to smacking into the Bregas and their riders.
Despite several pauses to regain position, and to duck some near impacts with the Darroks themselves, the two warriors were able to keep close and levy a number of solid, successful strikes upon the harness system.
The two warriors took great caution not to strike the Darrok directly, for the beast could easily send Arax and Sky Arrow’s steed spinning out of control with an intentional drop in altitude. Ayenwatha was not certain that the beast was incapable of maneuvering its massive, clawed legs to scrape at its underbelly. He could only hope that the creatures were not trained for sudden drops.
Progress continued, but at an uncomfortably slow pace. Ayenwatha nudged Arax whenever they started to fall back a little, and subtly reined the steed in when they were in danger of flying past his target area. Over time, the effort built into a somewhat steady rhythm.
It was a painstaking process for both Sky Arrow and for Ayenwatha, but they continued forward resolutely, maintaining their full focus. At long last, most of the thick, tight straps around the ring that Ayenwatha worked upon had been severed at their underside crossroads. A few robust strikes later, the last few snapped apart with a jolt, as their great tension was suddenly released.
The Darrok must have felt the effect, for the creature suddenly reached one of its deadly, enormous claws back towards Ayenwatha. The huge appendage moved straight towards Ayenwatha and the Brega, as if it was swatting at a mere insect.
In consistency with the creature’s lumbering movement, the mammoth claw approached slowly enough for Ayenwatha to react. Arax needed little prodding, having noticed the threatening movement as well, and the two of them banked downward in a near freefall.
The danger of the Darrok’s claw swipe was quickly past, but the distance that they had covered in the freefall had brought them within sight of the maddened Trogens on the Darrok’s back. The Trogens had also felt the jolt of the harness straps being cut. They knew their tremendous vulnerability, and fear clearly dwelled amongst them. Ayenwatha could hear it within their frantic shouts to each other, watching them clutch at the side rails as they tried to look over the sides.
When Ayenwatha was on the underside of the Darrok, they were impotent. Now that he was in plain view, they moved with alacrity.
A barrage of arrows was loosed towards Ayenwatha and the Brega, most going awry amid the Trogens’ hurried, frenzied rush to fire. A searing pain erupted suddenly in the back of his shoulder as one arrow lodged itself into muscle and struck bone.
Arax roared and jerked suddenly. Ayenwatha’s heart leaped in that perilous moment, as his life wholly depended on his steed’s ability to maintain flight. He had no way of telling where the arrow had struck his steed, and prayed desperately that it was not a fatal hit. He looked around wildly, before finally espying the arrow shaft sticking out of Arax’s rear haunch.
Though unsteady, the creature was well-trained and had a natural instinct for self-preservation. It regained control, securing a steady pattern of flight despite the fiery pain that undoubtedly raced through it.
The Trogens above were distracted from their attentions on him, as another outcry rose amongst them. Many fell over as another massive jolt occurred along the platform. Ayenwatha saw that Sky Arrow had succeeded at his end, and was just about to dive away from the Darrok.
Sky Arrow did not have the good fortune of Ayenwatha.
Ayenwatha cried out in helpless frustration as the huge claw of the Darrok swiped and batted Sky Arrow and his steed with full impact, casting them far away from the beast. Their shattered bodies tumbled lifelessly downward.
Ayenwatha cried out in anger, as he watched his friend’s body plummet towards the land below. Bitterly, with tears welling in his eyes, he guided Arax towards safety. The Brega was injured and unfit for any more fighting that night, no matter what Ayenwatha might have been willing to do.
He threw a quick glance over his right shoulder, wincing at the biting pain that throbbed within his left. The Darrok was unmistakably altering its course of flight. The Trogens were well aware of their own peril, and likely they were heading away to find some emergency expanse of ground where the Trogens could attend to the repair of the harnessing.
Each moment carried the Trogens within a delicate, precarious position. A little imbalance and the Trogens’ fate would be a long plunge through the sky. It was clear that they were not interested in such a foolhardy risk, and had chosen to fight another day.
Ayenwatha closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and uttering two silent prayers. From the wellspring of his gleaming eyes, a couple of tears streaked down his cheeks. He was not ashamed, as the tears were born of loyalty and friendship.
The first prayer was one of thanksgiving for the plan having worked to disrupt the Darrok’s attack. The other was for Sky Arrow and his spirit, that he would find his way to the realm of He Who Holds the Sky, the great One Spirit, a place of radiant skies and bounteous hunting.
He had led Sky Arrow forth, bringing the young warrior with him in the counterattack on the Darroks. In the thick of the battle, he had selected the Onan warrior for the dangerous strike at the Darrok’s harnessing. Never was there a greater weight of burden than when his leadership had directly resulted in the death of another. Ayenwatha hoped that Sky Arrow was even now being embraced by their ancestors, and that he was being welcomed into bountiful forests whose illumination required no sun.
“Till the day we hunt again,” Ayenwatha whispered, glancing towards the stars above.
Wiping his eyes, he looked around for the other Darroks, to see what had befallen the defenders and the attackers. There were three others moving away in a tight formation, following the Darrok that had suffered the heavy damage to its carriage harness.
Ayenwatha made the best appraisal that he could. The Trogens had taken many losses, had witnessed the vulnerabilities exploited by Ayenwatha and Sky Arrow, and were clearly not in a position to sustain the attack. Ayenwatha felt an instant sense of relief despite his personal sadness, knowing that the assault upon the village was over for the time being.
With a throbbing pain in his shoulder, and now feeling the warm blood trickling down his back, he guided his wounded sky steed back towards the village. It was distressing to take in the sight of all the wreckage as he flew in, but there were no good places to land in the immediate areas surrounding the village’s hill. Numbly, he eyed the scattered flames that still licked at the night, guiding Arax towards a patch of open ground. Shortly after Arax had alighted upon the ground, several other surviving warriors set down within the remains of the village, the fighting now over.
On foot, Ayenwatha guided Arax and the others through the village. He ignored the arrow protruding from his body, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, not wanting to look towards the broken bodies and shattered remains of the buildings riddling the village grounds. The fires still burning in different sections of the village were not a threat. They were already beginning to die down, having expended their fury as timber was turned to ash.
Once out of the front gate, they carefully started down the slope. Arax exhibited a slight limp, and the hardy sky steed whined with the biting pain that it felt from its wound, aggravated further while walking on the ground and supporting its body weight with its legs. Ayenwatha paused a couple of times and spoke soothingly to the beleaguered creature, the arrow shaft still embedded in its blood-matted haunches.
Nearing the base of the hill, a number of villagers came out from the trees and hastened towards the warriors. Their eyes were laden with sorrow and fear, the burden growing even heavier as they noticed the absence of many warriors who had not returned.
Villagers trained in healing arts, including those of the Healing Societies, were immediately summoned to help injured warriors and steeds alike. They guided those who had suffered significant wounds to open spaces amid the trees. Ayenwatha and Arax were helped over to a space in between the prominent roots of an ancient oak tree.
In moments, the arrows in Ayenwatha and Arax were taken out. Ayenwatha was dizzy with the intense flash of pain that he incurred, but he kept his body under control. His steed thrashed madly about, knocking over a couple of villagers that were laboring to restrain the beast. At a few soothing words from Ayenwatha, spoken through gritted teeth, Arax calmed down enough to be led away to where the rest of the sky steeds were being tended. The wounds were then dressed in a makeshift manner, as there was little access to either material or sacred healing herbs.
Litters were hastily fashioned for a couple of the warriors that were very badly injured. The two warriors would likely require the full rituals of the masked Healers, those of the Healing Societies who wore the sacred masks carved from living trees. Ayenwatha and the others were soon relieved to learn that most of the sacred masks in the village had been salvaged, and that most of the members of the Healing Society had survived.
Ayenwatha lay to one side, his wounded shoulder kept off of the ground. He quietly endured the moans of the injured warriors close by, wishing that he could not hear the sounds that brought him more pain than his physical wound.
It had been all that he could bear to suffer the horrid shriek emitted by Arax, when the beloved steed’s arrow had been pulled out. His ears now conveyed without mercy the incessant sounds of crying and lament pouring from his fellow villagers. His heart grew heavy, along with a deadening fatigue that slowly enveloped his body. It took all of his concentration just to confer with the warriors that began to visit him, or to bring him new information.
The word of the extent of the attack and subsequent battle in the sky slowly reached his ears, as he finally rolled over to lie upon his stomach.
Of over thirty courageous riders that had gone into the skies to the defense of the village, only eleven had returned. A couple of riderless Bregas had found their own way back, though the rest of the missing steeds were presumed dead or strayed. The Darroks had indeed been diverted and stymied, but it had been a very costly defense.
The village had taken incredible damage, with nearly every structure absorbing an irreparable amount of destruction. Longhouses had been smashed into so many bits of wood, far past any hope of repair.
The number of killed and wounded villagers, most stemming from the initial onslaught of the unexpected attack, was extensive. Not a single survivor had escaped the devastation without having lost a member of their family, a friend, or a child.
As the various dire tidings continued to stream in, Ayenwatha tried to make some sense of the dreary situation. His understanding of it brought to bear a sobering notion.
With the first shadow of the Darroks falling upon the village, and the first large stone to crash into the village’s midst, the people of the Five Realms found themselves in a full state of war with the Unifier. Ayenwatha could not deny that his first thoughts were melancholy, if not devoid of hope. He could not see how the tribes could defend their realm against a power that commanded such hellishly fearsome weapons of war.
The war would likely become one of attrition, a struggle that would be impossible to sustain for the tribes, which had never been great in numbers. The losses suffered in just one melee had been devastating to the village’s sky steeds and warriors.
Their losses could not be replaced, while the Unifier could draw upon the warriors of many rulers and lands.
It was inconceivable to think of rebuilding, as the villagers could not begin to think of any reconstruction when winged titans could manifest at any moment to reduce a village to splinters in such an incredibly short span of time. Nonetheless, the fight would have to be fought, come whatever may. It would be an existential battle, waged against annihilation or capitulation.
Ayenwatha clenched his teeth as a spasm of pain wracked him, prompting him to shift his body a little.
The handful of sky warriors had indeed been successful in driving off the attackers. They had also been able to limit the casualties to far below what they would have been had the enemy been allowed free reign in the skies above the village. Once the village had been destroyed, the enemy could well have searched out the villagers as they fled and tried to regroup away from the hill, levying even more carnage and death.
While it was true that a great number of the enemy Trogens had been slain, all of the huge flying beasts that they had arrived on would be returning to their camps alive. The Darroks would soon be outfitted with mended carriages, fresh supplies, and rested warriors to ride them. It was also likely that new precautions would be taken, bearing in mind the approach that Ayenwatha and Sky Arrow had used to render the one Darrok’s harnessing unstable.
What was certain was that the next time a force of Darroks came there would be little to nothing that could stop them from raining a torrent of destruction down upon all of the forest villages.
Ayenwatha had also not forgotten that just beyond the western borders of the Five Realms’ lands, large columns of enemy warriors had been arriving and assembling. His own war parties had shadowed such formations, and he knew that they were not just a demonstration of force meant to intimidate. The Unifier’s emissaries had been unequivocal when the Grand Council had rejected the demand to submit to Avanor’s insatiable ruler. The Five Realms were declared hostile enemies of the Unifier, and all those in His burgeoning alliance.
Ayenwatha was under no illusions. The forces massing on the western borders of the tribal lands would soon be invading the territory of the Five Realms, joining their strength to the attacks from the skies.
Ayenwatha knew that he would have to approach the village elders about the only option available to them: the evacuation of all of the villages, and a retreat into the eastern region of their lands.
The villages were very vulnerable to the horrifying new method unveiled by the Unifier. Situated on the cleared summits of hills, they were exposed. The unanticipated attack at night was coldly brilliant, as the enemy knew that the village population would be gathered almost entirely within the palisades. Fires within the village perimeter had probably been used as beacons for the enemy to hone in on the village from the air. There was little question that as long as the enemy had the use of the titanic Darroks, the villages were little more than death traps.
Though there was no denying the realities, it was a tremendously difficult burden to embrace. The land, for a member of one of the tribes, was an intimate part of who they were, interwoven with their very identity. It was what they had always known, an enduring gift of the One Spirit that had always bestowed the means of life to their people for so many generations. The notion of being uprooted in their own lands was unthinkable to any villager, much less a great war sachem.
Circumstances had become mercilessly cruel, and that which would have otherwise been thought unacceptable was now the only viable course of action. There was no other choice, Ayenwatha ruefully acknowledged. If they were to stay in their villages, they would be easy targets for an enemy that would inevitably gain mastery of undefended skies, while simultaneously assaulting the tribes with their many thousands upon the ground.
Ayenwatha had never felt more despondent in his life.
“Ayenwatha,” interrupted a low, steady voice.
Ayenwatha slowly looked up, to see the familiar and quite welcome form of Deganawida standing near to him. Ayenwatha gingerly rotated back to brace himself on his strong side, the effort tedious with the weariness that continued to sap his energy.
The village headman and Grand Council sachem looked a little older to Ayenwatha’s eyes, his luminous, dark eyes gazing down upon the injured war sachem. Behind the taut expression on the Deganawida’s face, Ayenwatha knew that the man was sharing his agony, undoubtedly to an even greater degree.
Despite the physical and mental pains that he was struggling with, a spark of joy nonetheless had leaped up within him at the recognition that Deganawida had survived the terrible raid. A soothing breeze of relief washed all over him, allowing Ayenwatha a brief respite from the withering heat of the inner and outer agonies that he was suffering.
“You fought well… so very well, against all odds and hope,” Deganawida continued after a moment, the unwavering tone of his voice hinting at the substantial inner strength present in the venerable sachem. “You fought so very bravely, for us all. Others have told me how you drove the great sky beasts off, and how you and Sky Arrow disabled one in the face of incredible risk.”
No small amount of pride effused the words of the great sachem, though Ayenwatha was not in a condition to take any joy from accolades. “It was what we had to do. But they will return, and we lost two of every three that went up to face them,” Ayenwatha replied, in a low, heavy voice, not wishing anyone else to hear the biting pessimism that was rife within him.
“And you must already know that none of the other villages are safe… and that no tribe is safe… and that no man, woman, or child can remain within a village site. You also know of the army that masses to enter our lands, which they certainly will, and very soon indeed,” Deganawida replied firmly, the look in his eye conveying that he understood Ayenwatha fully.
Ayenwatha nodded, not entirely surprised to hear such candid words from the old sachem. Deganawida had never been one to waste time trying to sweeten a bitter truth. Ayenwatha knew right then that the old sachem would agree with him about what had to be done.
“It must be done… the villages must be abandoned,” Deganawida stated, confirming Ayenwatha’s thoughts, as if he had spoken them aloud. Deganawida then spoke in a lowered, compassionate tone, like that of a father giving the wisdom of a hard lesson learned to a suffering son. “Remember… though it is a very cruel time, and though your heart may become all too heavy in the trial to come… it is the people that are the land, and the land that is in the people. That is the wisdom you must hold fast to within your mind, and in your heart.
… The people are the land. They are the tribes. They are the Five Realms. Do not forget these truths. As long as you know this, you and yours will never be lost, even if we have to keeping moving as we seek new refuges within our own lands.”
The old sachem held Ayenwatha’s gaze, seeming to drive the sentiments deep into his being by the sheer force of his will. Deganawida’s face had softened into an affectionate smile, his eyes echoing the sadness that Ayenwatha was being tormented by.
The sounds of many hurried footsteps preceded the arrival of a couple of young tribal warriors, both of whom had a look of resolve ingrained on their faces.
They held some thin leather thongs, strung with shells, each thong itself tied to a rough, rectangular piece of wood. Coming to a full stop, they looked expectantly towards Deganawida, who eyed the combinations of shell-strung thongs with attached wood sticks with a look that brooked a hint of relief.
“We were able to enter your quarters from the side, great sachem. The entrances to your longhouse have been completely destroyed… but much of your chamber was left intact,” one of the warriors announced. “We found these with little trouble.”
“A small bit of good fortune in this darkness. Two notches on each
… and make haste,” Deganawida then instructed them. “And tell the sachems of each village to move all their people out of their villages and into the forest immediately, without delay. That must be done now. Tell them everything of what has happened here. Spare no detail, no matter how terrible. They must understand what they face, and your account of it may mean all the difference in gaining their cooperation. They must gain the wisdom to empty their villages, before they make their way here two days from now.”
Ayenwatha knew that Deganawida’s words were no understatement. Unlike rulers in Gallea, Deganawida could not command others outright. He could only urge consensus, and employ persuasion to reach it.
The warriors nodded dutifully, before turning and breaking into a run. Their forms were quickly swallowed up in the darkness, leaving the other two alone again.
“Change has been forced upon us, and we cannot go back,” Ayenwatha reflected ruefully.
“Change to the world, perhaps… but not within us, Ayenwatha,” Deganawida corrected him, giving a small smile of encouragement to the vigorous warrior. “It is why we will bend no knee to this Unifier. It is why we will fight.”
“How can we hope to fight? I lost many of my best warriors this very night,” Ayenwatha lamented, concentrating hard not to let his voice choke with the emotion abruptly welling up in him.
His thoughts drifted back to Sky Arrow, and the others that he had seen falling to terrible deaths. As if accenting his feelings, his wounded shoulder continued to throb with a dull pain.
“Our people will find a way. The sons of the World Mother will continue their war, as they have through all time. What may come of their fight is not for us to say, though we know that the Dark Brother has his hand in this time of peril. Remember, the fire dragon helped the World Mother. Perhaps we will find our own fire dragon, in days to come,” Deganawida said.
The words brought Ayenwatha back to the many times he had heard the stories told regarding their treasured heritage when he was just a boy. They had impressed many things upon his young heart, not the least of which was that the path of good, honorable men and women often led through periods of great turmoil.
“Then we must not lose heart. There will be no fire dragon if we do,” he replied after a few moments, seeing the sliver of light that Deganawida was focused upon.
“That is what I am saying to you, Ayenwatha,” Deganawida confirmed gently.
The old man lowered himself down to one knee. For having lived so many years, the old man still exhibited supple movements. Deganawida raised his right hand, which Ayenwatha now noticed was balled into a tight fist. Slowly, he opened his fingers to reveal a dark patch of ash lying within his palm.
“You must keep your strength. Your mind. And your body,” Deganawida said softly, as he blew the ashes in his palm.
The small cloud of ash covered Ayenwatha’s face, and he reflexively flinched and shut his eyes.
It felt as if a blast of hot, searing wind coursed over his skin, as the ashes settled along his body. As he opened his eyes once again, he felt the tiredness seeping swiftly out of him. The throbbing pain in his shoulder rapidly ebbed, until the last dull aches were completely gone.
For a long moment Ayenwatha was silent, in a state of bewilderment at the sudden shifts in his body. Gingerly, and methodically, he moved his left arm, and felt no sign of discomfort from the shoulder area. It was as if he had never been injured. His whole body felt as if he was fully rested, abounding with energy. Ayenwatha drew himself up into a cross-legged, sitting position, and looked up in wonder at Deganawida.
“Did you think that you knew everything about me?” the old sachem said, smiling, in a brief moment of mirth. “When you are younger, you feel as if you have all answers. When older, you realize how few answers you do have. Maybe I still have a few surprises left, even for the likes of you, my bold young friend.”
Ayenwatha smiled warmly back at Deganawida, his spirits buoyed up by the radiant presence of the seemingly tireless old man.
The elder women of the village had selected Deganawida to be the village’s headman many years ago, at an age most uncommon for assuming the highest position of influence in the village.
Ayenwatha had known Deganawida as the village’s leader ever since he was a young boy. It was said that Deganawida had come to the village not long before Ayenwatha was born, having been discovered by a war party. He had been wandering about the woodlands in a disheveled state, without memory of where he had come from, or what had happened to him. The war party had brought Deganawida back to be adopted by the village.
Whatever his origins were, and whatever trauma he had been through, his wisdom was soon demonstrated to be far beyond his years. His kindness and generosity shined forth in the years that followed, and all within the village were bettered by his presence among them.
It was almost a foregone conclusion when he was appointed as the headman of the village. The wise clan matrons, who alone held the authority to remove a headman, had never once called his guidance of their village into question.
Wise in council, and unsurpassed in compassion, Deganawida’s reputation had spread quickly among the villages and tribes. Soon, a great number of village headmen and other sachems found themselves deferring to his sagacity, and he had risen to become the most influential and respected man among the Onan.
When the Onan sachem holding the most prominent seat on the Grand Council had gone from the world to the abode of the One Spirit and the heaven lands, the clan matrons, after having conducted all condolence rites, had appointed Deganawida to the exalted position.
His judicious nature and keen insight stood forth at the unified council that took in all five tribes. Known well among the Onan, he soon became beloved by the other tribal sachems. The ascension brought greater honor to Ayenwatha’s tribe. A generous spirit prevailed, as there was no envy or jealousy among the other sachems for the tremendous regard given to Deganawida.
Some even saw a great symbolic meaning in his unexpected discovery and eventual presence among the Onan, leading to his specific placement on the first seat of the Grand Council.
The Onan tribe occupied the central position among the five tribes, and the oral traditions spoke of how the Keepers of the Sacred Fire had been at the heart of the original formation of the Five Realms. To have a remarkably sagacious leader such as Deganawida emerge to assume the place established by the very individual that had brought the Great Law, and formed the first Grand Council, was seen by many as a clear sign of favor by the One Spirit. A strong sense of harmony and common purpose had permeated the five tribes with the guidance of Deganawida and other likeminded sachems.
Ayenwatha’s own ascent to become a war sachem of his village occurred within that shining period, something that never left his expressions of gratitude when honoring the One Spirit. Deganawida’s guidance and tutelage had contributed so very much to the person that Ayenwatha now was, the man that the village had embraced and trusted to be their most respected war sachem.
With Deganawida’s thoughtful guidance, trade had increased with Gallea, Midragard, and others. Even warfare diminished almost to a stop, as hostile tribes were driven back well beyond the northern region of the Five Realms’ forestlands. Other tribes that had formerly held enmity towards the Five Realms were embraced in a new spirit of friendship. Witches immersed in dark arts, and similarly evil shamans, had been uprooted.
The elimination of the poisons and threats to their people had allowed the five tribes to focus on cultivating the bounty of their life and culture. The harvests had gone well, hunting was more bountiful than ever, and fur pelts were taken in abundance. Prosperity had never been better among the woodland peoples, and for once they felt as if they had at least a little control over their destinies. A true golden age had emerged for their people, one that had been bought with much sacrifice, resolve, hard work, and wisdom.
Ayenwatha never would have thought that such a wondrous age could be brought to such a horrific end, in just one night. That very evening, everything had seemed to come crashing down, like the large, deadly stones that had ripped through their buildings and indiscriminately slain their people.
What had taken so long, and been so painstaking, to build, could crumble overnight, a sorrowful but undeniable lesson that Ayenwatha was only now learning.
It was then that he fully understood and appreciated what the elders meant when they spoke of life being so fragile and precious. Now, in the midst of the awful turn of events, Ayenwatha marveled at the great strength of demeanor exhibited in the old man before him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as he absorbed the bit of wisdom to his mind, promising himself to remember it always. He took a deep breath, and looked back up to Deganawida.
“I never said I have claimed to know everything,” Ayenwatha replied, allowing himself a small smile. “I am not surprised that there is more to know.”
“You have always been wise beyond your years,” Deganawida said fondly. “You will need every bit of that wisdom in the coming days. For now, we need to get as much as we can out of the village, and see that we find a good place for our people to establish an encampment.”
Ayenwatha rose up to his feet, feeling limber and strong. “Then I will get started now,” he replied resolutely.
He took a step by Deganawida, affectionately patting the great sachem upon his upper arm.