[FN] The Old Man
An old man limped through the waist-high weeds to the safety of the tree line. Drying blood caked the remains of his right trouser from at least a dozen cuts. His lungs stung from smoke and exertion. The man collapsed just beyond the dark shadow line. The smell of earth and moss filled his nose as he deeply inhaled. Ringing still filled his ears as he lay on the soft ground.
The attack was swift. As the early morning fog rose from the river bordering the village, several low ships slid past any watchers. Like a flood they poured over the shallow bank into the heart of the settlement, the main push rushing straight to the longhouse.
The old man dragged himself slowly to a wide tree, wincing as he sat against its trunk.
The market was quickly overrun, massive fur-clad men flipping tables, grabbing purses, and putting to the axe any opposition. The man's own stall sat on the north edge of the square, providing him precious time needed to run to the temple bells. When the alarm rang out over the village, three men charged toward him.
He peeled off his overshirt, tearing his sleeves into strips to dress his numerous wounds. The flow of blood was nearly stopped but he would need to find an apothecary soon to stave off the rot. His hand trembled from pain and age.
In his day, he was a warrior, a true warrior, knighted by His Majesty of Harsheld for his prowess against the armies of the western Isles. None had been his match in sword or pick. His day had long since passed.
He provided little resistance as the men dragged him through the streets to the longhouse, casting him into the mass of crying women and screaming children.
He felt his side, cringing as he applied pressure to his two broken ribs.
When each purse had been plundered and the gold leaf plaque torn from the village high seat, the men exited, boarding the doors. From a high window flew an arrow tipped with a small clay container. It struck the far wall flinging flaming liquid about the hall. The thatched roof quickly caught sending cinders falling on the heads of the condemned. The two high windows provided airflow enough to stoke the flames ever higher and hotter. Smoke snaked into every eye and lung.
The old man coughed violently against his tree. He wiped the sweat and tears from his eyes and leaned back against the hard bark. Despite the silence and stillness about him, the man could still hear the screams.
He tried to get them out. He tried to save as many as he could. There were too many. The raiders had crammed everyone into one hall and in the fiery panic everyone ran around trampling each other and preventing any coordinated escape. The old man was repeatedly knocked to the ground and had to crawl his way to the back of the hall. The fire had burned here the longest and he had hoped a weak spot would emerge. The wall was half collapsed when he rose to his feet and felt the cool air from outside. He turned back toward the crowd and shouted, calling them toward the treacherous exit. They did not hear. They did not listen. He ran toward the throng, but the flame had caused too much damage, and the structure began to collapse. He was struck by a falling timber and sent into the cobblestone floor.
The old man rubbed his beard feeling his throbbing jaw. A breeze gently blew into the trees from the fields and the coast far beyond.
For a time, he sat. As the ringing of his ears fell quiet, he listened to the waving leaves and the drone of small insects. As his nose recovered and shook the smoky smell, the dense scent of moss and damp wood took its place. The forest embraced him, and he drifted into a pained sleep.
Men formed from the mist, giants of condensed cloud bearing axes of ice and swords of flame. Each massive step shook the ground, sending the man running to the square. Graves stood all around him, many young, topped with dark fresh dirt. Some were ancient with crumbling stones marking their residents. Between two familiar markers the man made his stand. The foe approached with overwhelming force. Buildings fell and crumbled, the earth beneath them giving way to vast chasms. Cracks webbed out all around and he was falling, falling, ever deeper into the darkness. The darkness grew a face, the face of a young girl. The girl was familiar but foreign with features unseen in these lands. She smiled and ran her finger softly across his forehead. "Return to me" sang the girl and the man rose toward the firelight above, pulled with an unseen hand.
The man opened his eyes in the soft green light of the sun through leaves. Soreness gripped tightly to every muscle and joint. Aches tore up his leg and from his stiff side. The shade at least provided some comfort to the old man.
He sat enjoying the diffused light and the warmth of the soil beneath his scarred hands. When his strength was finally built up enough, the man shakily rose to his feet. The ringing quickly returned and bright light flooded the man's vision. Bark met his face with violent force.
He came to on the soft mossy dirt staring up at the vibrant green of the canopy. He grunted as he rolled over to raise himself back up. This time he hugged a small tree to aid his stability.
When the light and ringing came, he held tight and waited out the waves. Slowly his vision returned and the ringing subsided, bringing back the soft chitter of birds high above. He took a step, pain shooting up from his bandaged leg. He stood for a time building up courage for his next step. This time the pain decreased slightly, numbed from the previous. The cycle repeated from tree to tree until the pain became unbearable and the man found a nook in the hollow of an oak. He sat trembling from the strain, hunger and thirst adding to the choir of pain. A troubled sleep took him.
A wall of fire stood high before a young knight. Flaming men ran out hurling long spears of light in high arcs across the field birthing new flowering flames where they struck. The knight raised his sword and an army in shining plate crested the hill behind him. The armor reflected the flames, painting the earth in a sea of orange light. The men marched in unison carrying flowing banners and singing the song of war. The proud knight raised a cry of triumph riding before his men. Yet, as the army marched toward the flame, their armor began to rust and fall away revealing charred corpses. More spears flew from the flames striking the soldiers and spreading new fire throughout the field consuming all. The knight turned his horse toward his falling men, but his horse caught fire and turned to ash beneath him, launching him into the charred, thorny ground. The man rose to his knees watching the flames grow higher, ever higher.
As he watched his own armor once bright as day faded and aged. A wave of decay spread from the ground up the knight's armor until he dissolved into nothing. From the nothing emerged a face. The girl placed her hand on the man's charred body, pressing her fingertips deeply into the flesh. "Soon."
The man woke, sharp pain radiating from his chest. He gulped at the air and rolled onto his side as pain filled his being.
The pain subsided long after, leaving the man shivering on the ground, overtaken by his other pains. Birds chattered overhead. When their songs subsided and the chirping of frogs and crickets filled the darkening dusk the man rose to his knees. He did not have the energy to rise so he crawled across the forest floor. The man's eyes adjusted slowly to the dark and every now and then he was blinded by pain. Still, he pushed on.
The thin moon set not long after the sun, contributing to the darkness and making it hard to find good handholds and avoid obstacles. He felt his way across many roots, stones, and shrubs. One he felt had small, clustered berries which he ate quickly, thoroughly scraping his hands in hopes of finding more of the delicacy. If they were poisonous, he could find a remedy quicker than finding alternate relief to the hunger consuming him.
The man crawled one hand after the other, pained leg then not, for unknowable time. The sounds of the night grew louder around him with mammoth frogs seemingly just out of reach and the hooting of night owls above his head. The soft rumble of a stream to his right caused the old man to change course. His legs became too numb to use so he pulled himself from root to root with trembling hands.
When at last he reached the brook, he dove his head in, tears blending with the cool water. He drank his fill and rolled onto his back laughing and crying and laughing again. Fireflies buzzed around him. The bright insects shone like stars dancing around him, forming patterns and constellations, and falling to the ground in great crashes sending flames and stony debris across the battlefield. A scared boy rode a startled pony away from the front line to the lord's tent. He clutched an urgent letter tightly determined it would reach its destination. Still, more flaming projectiles flew. The horse jumped a deep crater landing hard on the far side but keeping its stride. Green flags waved ahead of him. Suddenly the boy was thrown from his saddle landing face first in a grasping thistle. Vines grabbed the boy, thorns like teeth pulling him deeper into its jaws. The boy saw his pony, already consumed by thorns, flies, and flames, and he wept. More fiery stones struck the ground filling the air with grey dust and ash. Out of the haze came a knight in armor of pure white slashing at the vines and freeing the shaking boy. The knight knelt down and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Slowly they reached toward their ornate helm and raised the visor revealing only an inky darkness. From the darkness came a girl, emerging from the void and embracing the boy. Darkness swirled around the haze until the whole world was darkness, the arms of the girl, and her gentle face. They flew up into the air so high the stars appeared. She released the boy, sitting beside him and watching the bright lights from so far swirling and dancing around them. She looked at him, placing a hand on his. "I'll be waiting."
The man blinked, staring into the woods and watching the fireflies dancing around him.
When the morning sun lit the forest, the old man found himself near the edge of the woods. He quickly decided walking was not an option, so he crawled along the brook. Through a field he crawled, drinking from the stream whenever he thirsted and lying in the sun's warmth when he tired. Around dusk he came across a road lined with red imperial stone. He sat on the side and slept waiting for a passerby to find him.
When he awoke it was as if seeing through another's eyes watching his shivering beaten body being lifted into a wagon. He was taken to a village nurse miles away. For the next week she changed his bandages and administered balms and salves to ease his pains and prevent the rot.
Once the old man could again walk, she escorted him around the village, showing him the market with its fresh fish and harvest fruits, and the green where shepherds grazed their flocks. He enjoyed these walks, meeting the townsfolk and swapping old tales with his new companion. After many months the man would walk the streets unaided, taking in the smells and colors of the town and surrounding countryside. The seasons came and went with the green leaves turning to bright oranges and reds then falling to come once more.
One evening the old man walked back to the nurse's home near the town's edge. The sun had just set, and the fireflies emerged from their daily slumbers, lighting up the quiet night. As he walked down the drive, he saw the door open. Lit from within stood the old nurse waving him closer.
He limped forward toward his young wife and daughter calling him home from the war.
He trudged along toward the loving arms of his mother.
He climbed the steps, reaching a hand to the young girl.
She took it, smiling and walking him gently inside.
“Welcome.”
The old man smiled.