Authors: Stephen Zimmer
A few warriors with bows and arrows already notched emerged from the foliage, as if they had formed out of the very trees and brush. The red and black painted faces fixated sternly upon Ayenwatha, and he knew that every arrow was trained on his body.
Ayenwatha would have almost felt pity for an enemy stumbling into such a reception. As with the group around Deganawida, the bows were lowered as the warriors recognized one of their tribal brethren.
“Ayenwatha!” one of the warriors called out quickly, recognizing him.
“Brega! I need a steed! I must take word from Deganawida onward! It cannot wait even a moment!” Ayenwatha declared loudly, looking towards the man that had spoken.
“Come with me,” the warrior answered.
The Onan warrior led Ayenwatha past the newly-emerged throng of warriors, and they angled downward, heading into a modest gully. Another small group of armed, vigilant warriors was gathered there. Just behind them was a loose assemblage of Brega, about twenty in number. He saw at once that the creatures were already saddled, which was a great relief.
“Which steed is the best on land? Who knows these steeds?” Ayenwatha called out, as they descended towards the Brega. He hoped that at least one of the warriors was more than a ward, and was a rider.
A little anxiety struck him, as he did not readily recognize any of the warriors within sight. Most were from different tribes, and any Onan gathered there were from villages farther removed from his own. The widespread chaos of the war was intermingling the tribes, though ironically the close cooperation among the members of different tribes reflected the ancient Wizard’s foundational idea that the Five Tribes were of one family.
After a moment, a warrior from just out of the edge of Ayenwatha’s sight strode into view, emerging from the shadows of a great oak tree. His eyes momentarily scanned the collection of Brega. Walking forward, he laid his hands on the reins of one of the creatures, and looked towards Ayenwatha.
The Brega was not the largest of the group, but well proportioned. The creature’s fur had a lustrous sheen, and there was an alert look in its eyes.
“Of these, Horizon is the best on land,” the warrior said to Ayenwatha, extending the reins. “I have been among these steeds, and know them well.”
“What is your name? That I might remember it,” Ayenwatha asked, as he reached to accept the proffered reins.
“Red Skies, of the Gayogohon, of the Beaver clan,” the warrior answered. He patted the neck of the Brega with obvious affection, a tell-tale detail that Ayenwatha’s eyes did not miss.
“This is the steed that you ride yourself,” Ayenwatha stated, as he realized the truth.
The warrior nodded somberly. “And the one that I know will bear you well.”
“The Young Brothers have brought me good fortune this day, Red Skies of the Beaver Clan,” Ayenwatha remarked, placing his hand on the warrior’s shoulder, as he moved to mount the creature.
Ayenwatha knew very well how a rider felt about a favorite steed, and the kind of trusting bond that grew between man and Brega in an uncertain environment such as the upper skies. A rider had no wings and was extremely vulnerable, fully dependent on the steed in the lofty, often turbulent heights of the air. The kind of relationship that was subsequently formed could never be taken lightly. Red Skies had shown Ayenwatha the sincerest form of trust.
Settling into place, Ayenwatha said in a low, grateful tone, “Know that what I do is of the greatest urgency. I take word from Deganawida, first Onan Sachem of the Grand Council. I thank you, Red Skies, and shall not forget this gift of trust! May we see each other soon, on a better day!”
Without further delay, he urged the creature forward. Ayenwatha guided the Brega away from the warriors and the others of its winged kind, heading eastward into the forest, and away from the battle.
The Brega stepped with excellent balance, and was clearly well-rested, judging from the explosive acceleration that occurred as Ayenwatha prompted the creature to go faster and faster. Ayenwatha inwardly commended Red Skies’ selection, comprehending immediately that the winged-beast moved as well, or better, than any land-based steed or forest creature could have.
The creature bounded through the forest with the confident command of body and dexterous agility of a deer. The trait was not commonly found among the Brega, as many ran in a very ungainly manner when pressed to sustain themselves at speed along the ground. It could only be imagined how graceful Horizon was when aloft, soaring in the air over the Five Realms, where the Brega were at their finest.
The forest rushed past Ayenwatha. He had to keep his wits focused to guide the Brega, though it was becoming readily apparent that the creature was harmonized with the signals given to it through the legs and reins of its rider.
The Brega navigated smoothly through the trees, crossing the uneven terrain at an exceptional speed. The sure-footed pace of the Brega allayed much of the trepidation that Ayenwatha would normally have had, at chancing the unpredictable hazards of forest ground. Even so, Ayenwatha could barely endure each moment that passed, wishing that he were already dispersing the warning and exhortation from Deganawida to the mass of tribal refugees.
A new, horrid notion began to tug at the back of his mind, adding to the weighty concerns plaguing him. The strange, foreign humans, Janus, Erika, Antonio, Kent, Mershad, Derek, and Logan, were quartered at Eirik’s homestead, which was not far from where the Shimmering River met the sea. If a mass of enemy ships had come up the Shimmering River, then they could easily have reached the small island. He could only hope that the longships had already come and taken them on to Midragard.
He wished that he knew their whereabouts or fate, but he also knew that he could not spare the time to find out. Ayenwatha could only worry about what had become of them. Yet neither could he lie to himself. Because the enemy had come up the river, if the foreigners had not yet departed for Midragard, then they were undoubtedly exposed to great danger.
Mercifully, the time passed quickly, as the Brega covered the last remaining distance to the main body of refugees. A number of alert warriors, watching over the perimeter of the rear areas, appeared at his approach.
Seeing the Onan war sachem upon a Brega, and recognizing his urgency, perplexed and anxious expressions emerged on several of their faces. Ayenwatha did not pause to satisfy their curiosity, heading onward without breaking his mount’s stride.
Fortunately, the masses of refugees had been brought to a halt for a sorely needed respite. Ayenwatha slowed the Brega to a trot as he made for the center of the sprawling, temporary encampment, which covered a broad expanse of hilly ground. Countless makeshift shelters were in evidence, thrown up hastily for cover by the tribal people.
The attentions of old men and women, children, several younger adults, and even a loose throng of barking dogs were drawn towards the incoming warrior astride the Brega. It was all a blur to Ayenwatha, as he arrived in the middle of the camp, a cleared out space where a few of the Grand Council sachems were sitting together.
All four of the older men gathered there stood up at his approach. Ayenwatha pulled the Brega to a halt, a few feet away from the elder Council members. Ayenwatha nodded towards them, in a gesture of respect.
“Ayenwatha, war sachem of the Onan, what matter brings you to us, in the midst of this terrible assault?” one of the men asked, another Onan Grand Council sachem named Skanawaadi, who was of the Turtle Clan. It was plain that there was no time for any formalities.
“A large enemy force has landed by river. They have taken the fleet of the Midragardans up the Shimmering River. These forces are coming from behind us, while the larger force presses their attack against our front,” Ayenwatha announced to the sachems.
Dismay clouded their faces further, with each troubling word from his lips.
“I have come by request of Deganawida. The people of our tribes are advised to head swiftly to the lands near the eastern cliffs. It is the only place that may yet be free from the enemy trap. We cannot go north, as we would be pushed into enemy lands. It is best to waste no time with this, for there is very little time for the warriors holding the invaders back. Our fighters, and those that help us, are heavily beset, even as I speak to you now.”
The four somber faces around him did not change in expression, and the men said nothing for several ponderous moments. Each moment seemed like a year, as Ayenwatha awaited their response.
“Then we must get the people moving … it is wise to do so immediately,” one of the four stated to Ayenwatha resolutely, a sharp-nosed sachem with leathery skin. Ayenwatha recognized him as Kanokareh, one of the Onondowa Grand Council sachems, a man that was well-respected amongst all the tribes.
Kanokareh looked to the other three sachems, who each nodded assent in turn, reaching a unified consensus without deliberation. Turning, Kanokareh gestured towards three warriors that were standing idly towards the edge of the cleared area. The warriors ran swiftly to him, and listened intently as he instructed them. Kanokareh dispatched the warriors to begin the process of spreading the word around the camp that preparations had to be made to leave immediately.
Unease was evident upon the warriors’ faces as they hurriedly moved off, to attend to their given task.
“How long do we have? Do you have any estimations?” questioned another of the four older sachems, one whom Ayenwatha did not recognize.
Ayenwatha shook his head. “No, I do not. Our war bands at the front lines of the fighting should be able to delay those who invaded from the west, but there is nothing to deter the forces that are coming up from behind. There are no warriors to spare. I would advise that everyone who can handle a weapon, or even hold one, be armed, for they may all need to use them.”
The admission came heavily to Ayenwatha’s heart, but he could not avoid the difficult truth. The forces available to him were stretched as thin as they could possibly be to oppose the main invasion force.
He had spoken truly to the sachem. Nobody could be spared, even if Ayenwatha understood that arming the refugees would ultimately prove futile, if even a modest force of trained enemy warriors descended upon them. It would be like Firakens among deer, and the result would inevitably be a tremendous slaughter.
The older man nodded with a grim expression, and Ayenwatha did not doubt that he understood the implications as well. Ayenwatha glanced around, and noticed that a pulsating energy was already rippling through the camp as the word carried by the warriors was disseminated rapidly. Agitated voices could be heard everywhere, some calling out with great urgency. People were working to collapse the makeshift tents and shelters, gathering together whatever belongings they could carry.
“I must return to my brothers at the front lines of the fighting. We will bleed for every moment that can be gained to give you. I hope to see all of you at the cliffs,” Ayenwatha stated, lowering his eyes and head towards the four sachems.
“May the One Spirit protect you,” Kanokareh replied in a low voice.
Tightening the reins, and tensing his thighs, he turned the Brega, and guided it away from the four sachems as he made his way back through the camp. He did not allow Horizon to accelerate beyond a trot, as the creature had been given such a short respite following the frenzied dash from the front lines. Ayenwatha desired to spare the noble creature a little exertion, by pursuing a more contained pace along the return path.
Yet once they had cleared the boundaries of the camp, the creature sprang forward lithely, as if it had not exerted itself at all that day. The return trip seemed to be much quicker than the initial journey, though Ayenwatha knew that they could not possibly have traveled faster.
The only plausible explanation was that he was now unburdened of his charges from Deganawida. He was relieved by the fact that he had accomplished the task of warning the masses of refugees, and had gained their acquiescence to Deganawida’s counsel. Each passing moment no longer felt like an eternity, even if his heart was still heavy.
The band of tribal warriors guarding the small group of Brega appeared visibly relieved at his swift reappearance, perhaps knowing the connotation. Dismounting, he patted Horizon on the neck, taking a moment to savor the exquisite steed, before turning to look for Red Skies.
He did not have far to look. Red Skies’s stoic face had taken on a little anxiety since Ayenwatha had departed. The relief in the man at the sight of his returned steed was obvious, another testament to the deep bond between rider and steed.
Red Skies approached Ayenwatha, and the war sachem handed the reins over to the tall warrior.
“Red Skies, I can find no words to say how special this Brega is,” Ayenwatha said approvingly.
The corners of the warrior’s lips turned up into a slight grin. “I thought that you would be satisfied with Horizon.”
Ayenwatha smiled, and patted Horizon on the back.
“May we fly together soon, during a day of peace,” Ayenwatha said to Red Skies, before giving Horizon a couple of last strokes on its neck, and turning away.
The warriors parted, as Ayenwatha moved through them.
“Be on alert! All of you! The fighting is not far from here!” Ayenwatha urged all within hearing, calling out over his shoulder, as he strode up the slope of the hill.
He continued around the hillside, carefully working his way back towards the area that had suffered the hail of arrows and bolts. The line of Midragardans was still in place, spanning the two rises. The ground before them was littered with bodies, both of enemies and allies. The air was eerily still, save for the faint sounds of battle drifting along the air currents from afar.
Ayenwatha paused for a moment, looking past the Midragardans, but could see nothing among the trees before them. The enemy had withdrawn, and he hoped that it proved that their supply of arrows and bolts was not inexhaustible. Again, he closed his eyes and offered up another silent prayer, one that contained thanksgiving and a plea for favor.