Chapter 34
The storm roared into the valley, blanketing everything within miles. Its shrieking winds drove the snow in every direction, filling the valley with a chaotic mix of blinding white and biting gale. So ferocious was it that one was unable to see one's own feet beneath them. Meanwhile, plans for the anticipated battle were still being forged. Every contingency was considered until, finally, a strategy was developed. The clan had not seen battle for several years. But instead, had fought a few border skirmishes with the southern Stewarts, always testing others resolve and cunning. The snow was getting deep enough that a series of small caves could be dug. A candle would be used to heat each of them and undercover of the snow, this would begin immediately. The village would then be surrounded by these snowy outposts. After the storm had passed, all would appear normal. Even days later, as the powdery earth settled, the snow caves would still serve their purpose. However, he surmised that the snow was deep enough for an added layer of defense and narrow trenches were dug, connecting the snow caves into a defendable web, allowing men to move into various positions as the course of battle dictated. The villages flanks would be defended in a similar manner.
The day began with a deep blue sky and a biting chill in the air. The snow had settled enough that one could walk on it. Conditions were ripe for the early morning attack and as if on cue, the southern Stewarts swarmed through the tree line towards the village, their screaming voices echoing off the mountains. Mothers huddled with their children as the clan's warriors leaped up from beneath the snow, taking their enemy by surprise. The thatched roofs of their homes were heavily blanketed with snow, eliminating the possibility of an attack by fire. But, this did not alter the fury of the Stewarts attack, nor lessen the storm of steel against steel. But as long as the Stewarts could be held off, the clan would be safe. And like any battle, casualties were inevitable and death would visit more than a handful of courageous warriors.
During its planning, Aiden had asked to lead them into battle. His goal was to prevent any large-scale bloodshed, eliminating the enemy and explaining the event later. All he needed was a few moments to prepare himself. But, the chieftain denied his request. Leading the clan's warriors into battle was a responsibility that fell to him alone. And one does not gain battle experience by spending one's life in a monastery. Fighting for God is certainly a noble thing, but matching steel battle-hardened warriors is certainly a different kind of warfare altogether.
The two clans collided, screams and steel coming together in a chorus of chaos. Death hung over the battlefield like a cloud, waiting to strike those who would meet an untimely demise at the end of the blade. Aiden fought like a lion gone mad, only yards away from Ulad as both made their way to the front. Ulad's goal was to kill as many Stewarts as possible or die trying. Aiden, however, wanted to kill all of them and the idea of mercy had flown from his mind, replaced by the rage of battle. There was a slight pause as the second wave of attacking warriors launched itself from the trees. Some things happen so quickly as to escape the eye completely. And in the fury of the fight, Aiden had not noticed that Ulad had been brought down, the enemy standing over him with steel held high, preparing for the killing blow. In battle, the scream of attack and the scream of pain often sound alike. Out of concern for whom he had come to think of as a brother, Aiden glanced over toward Ulad. His eyes widened with shock at the sight playing out before him. Holding his sword low and to the left, he ran screaming towards the man and before the man could bring his sword down into Ulad's flesh, Aiden, with one deadly swing, cleaved his body across the midsection. The end of his blade sliced deep enough to scrape the bones of the spine. From the waist up, his body swung back like a hinge as his spine let out a short burst of pops and crackles, before folding back toward the blood-spattered snow as his lower half tilted and fell over like timber.
It all took place within a fraction of a heartbeat and in the wake of so much blood and horror, Aiden went to Ulad's side. He'd been badly wounded, with a number of his ribs on one side torn way, leaving part of a lung exposed to the cold winter air. It rose up and sank back as Ulad gasped for breath. Aiden looked into his eyes. Many times, the dying seem to know that death is creeping up on them, like a dark shadow drifting over them.
"I will get you back to the village," Aiden said.
His tone is both urgent and desperate as he tried to pick up Ulad's broken body. But, Ulad refused.
"Death is coming for me," he replied.
His voice was quickly fading, but his words were calm and carried the anticipation of death as well as his acceptance of it.
"You cannot save me."
These were his last words as death swept over him like an autumn breeze. His face became still. His body loosened its tension while his soul drifted off to an ethereal battlefield, where glory would be one time and again. Where no man is a relic, but reborn in the prime of life.
Fueled by rage and loss, Aiden flew into a state of insanity. Getting to his feet, he walked a few steps toward the continuing fray and planted his sword in the blood covered snow. From somewhere behind him, he heard the chieftain's voice demanding that he pick up his sword. But, the sounds of battle were quickly fading from his mind as Aiden prepared to launch a counterattack. Now with steel, but with the weapon he had been given to fight evil. In his mind, anything that threatened innocent lives was evil and subject to God's wrath. His reaction was immediate. He felt himself becoming engulfed, not simply with heat, but in a bright blue fire. It ignited with such fury that a wave was hurled out in every direction, accompanied by a loud dull thump. But unlike other occasions, the blue burst was selective. Guided by Aiden's protective instinct for the clan, each of the enemy became frozen with pain, moments before erupting in a blaze of fire and falling to ash in the snow.
Suddenly, there was no one to fight. The battle was over as all eyes turned to Aiden. Some in wonder. Others in fear. He heard the sound of snow crunching underfoot behind him as the chieftain approached. His clothes were heavily spattered with blood and his face bore a long open.
"Return to the village," he said.
There were many warriors remaining and they too made their way back. But as they approached the settlement, the chieftain's wife came running. Her eyes were glazed with fear and panic as she grabbed him by his tunic. Aiden's senses were still recovering and her words nearly escaped him. But, one word stood out to him. Kylee. The chieftain began running, his wife somewhere behind him. Driven by this urgency, Aiden quickly followed.
Upon returning, all three were stopped outside chieftain's home, where Kylee lay on her back, her small body impaled through the chest by an arrow. No doubt, fired by the bow of a Stewart. His wife fell into hysterical crying as the chieftain carefully picked up her near lifeless body. He had seen death many times and knew when it was about to arrive. He carried her inside and laid her down on a deerskin rug in front of the fire. Kylee was not his only child, but she was his only daughter. Her brother Kyrie sat near her head, gently stroking her hair. Even he could feel the cold veil of death slipping over her, allowing her soul to rise up and flicker away like a startled bird. Having witnessed what Aiden had done on the battlefield, the chieftain turned and glared at him sternly.
"I don't know what you are," he began. "But if God should will it, you will heal my daughter."
For the first time in his life, Aiden experienced true fear. He knew the time had come to explain what the chieftain had seen. But, he was afraid to tell him that his gift served only one purpose. "I'm sorry," Aiden replied.
His voice was soft and gentle. "It...there is nothing I can do."
The chieftain quickly became infuriated. "You are a man of God! You 'will' heal her!"
The chieftain's eyes welled up with tears as his rage became replaced by desperation.
"I am not a man who begs. But I am begging you. Please heal her. Please." Again, Aiden felt cheated. God had bestowed upon him the power to dispatch evil, even if it meant destroying whatever vessel housed it. But, he could not heal. More to the point, he could not heal this one child. During the battle, she had run outside looking for her father when a Stewart bowman fixed his eye on her. She was certainly no threat. Her death was pointless and the act of a coward. Killing for the sake and pleasure of killing. "I can offer a blessing," Aiden replied. "God will not allow me to do any more than that."
The chieftain glared at Aiden with resentment. He was not sure who to blame. God or Aiden. But God was not there, so it was Aiden who became the unwilling target of the chieftain's wrath. "Get out of my home," he demanded. Aiden knew the matter was far from over and realized the chieftain's anger was far from complete. But, there was one thing he was keenly aware of. He would not be staying with the clan for much longer.
Aiden stood in the middle of the road, in front of the chieftain's home. Minutes passed as hours while he waited, anticipating the chieftain's chaotic mix of rage and sorrow. His mind had, once again, become caught up in events at Sheffield. Since meeting the clan, he had finally been able to live a happy life. They had treated him as one of their own. Their children ran to him as readily as they would their own parents. He spent many hours carrying them on his back, drinking in their love and admiration. It was with the clan that his life had changed and he expected to grow old there and die amongst the people he had come to think of as family.
The door suddenly flung open as the chieftain charged out towards Aiden and raising a fist, struck him across the face, knocking him off his feet.
"A blessing!?" he screamed. "What use is a blessing when my daughter lies dead?!" Somehow, Aiden had a strong feeling that the chieftain's anger would peak, transforming itself into violence. He got back on his feet and stood, preparing what he hoped would be an understandable explanation.
"Throughout my life, the Abbot helped me to cultivate what God had given me," he said. "But, it has only a singular purpose. I cannot heal your daughter any more than the snow that covers the frozen ground. I am truly sorry."
The chieftain continued to glare at him. "And yet you use this to slay our attackers?" he began. "How evil were they? Do you assume that all of them were with the devil?"
Aiden struggled for an answer. "I acted to defend the clan!" he replied. "Without my actions, you would have been overrun. Your women and children taken for slaves! Or worse!"
The chieftain flew into a quiet rage and wrapped his hand around the grip of his sword. Seen this, Aiden gave him a stern warning.
"Chieftain, draw your blade you will surely not survive your first attack." Having seen him in battle, the chieftain knew Aiden was right. He also knew that he was a great asset to the clan and had not only proven himself in battle but demonstrated that with his gift, the clan would be invincible. But, his sense of logic had been drowned out by the depth of his grief.
"We will care for our dead," he began. "Do not involve yourself with your pretty words. The blessing of God means nothing here. But before we are done, you will leave. You will be provided with food and water. And so help me God, if I find you on my land again, I will cut out your heart."
He turned back, returning to his young daughter's body. Within minutes, he emerged carrying her in his arms. The arrow had been pulled from her chest in preparation for the pyre. His wife shortly followed, carrying with her a sack of food and a leather pouch of water. She shared her husband's deep resentment and anger, and with her face twisted by hate, threw the items to the ground at Aiden's feet. He thought how odd it was that with all the good he had done, he would be remembered for something he had no control over.
As he gathered up what had been strewn on the ground in front of him, one of the clan's warriors arrived with his horse. She had grown slightly fat from many days of pampering. He took the reins and as he began to walk away, the warrior put out a hand, stopping him in his tracks. His words to Aiden were brief and quiet.
"No man should have the power to raise the dead."
Aiden looked at him curiously.
"Thank you," he replied.
He was only slightly relieved that at least one of the clan understood.
"Good luck," he said. "May God guide your journey."
With these words, Aiden mounted his horse and prompting it to a cantor, started down the road that led out of the village. But as he stood at the edge of the village, he stopped and looked out at it one last time. The only busyness he saw now was the building of the funerary pyre. Many of the clan stood round, wailing over Kylee's loss, someone who was certainly too small to even pick up a sword. By the time Aiden passed the border of the village, he could smell the burning pyre, tinged with the odor of human flesh. Partnered with the anger that had so deeply impacted him, the smell would etch itself on his brain forever.