Avarice Secret Unquiet Ch 11

Triumph, Loss, and Hatred    The verdant green shoots were the most wonderful thing to appear before Stephan's eyes. He bent downward, leaning heavily on his staff, and brushed his hand across the velveteen field. The emerging new grains were soft as they bent under his gentle caress, only to rise again like a regiment of green soldiers, and the elderly man smiled with deep satisfaction.

"Thank you Lord, thank you for healing the land, and bringing us your grace." He rose and cast about him, truly there was much to be grateful for. He meandered down the side of the field, smiling and waving to his neighbors.

The sickness will pass, the earth will mend, and God will provide.

For the first time in many months, Stephan felt optimism and true hope.

The apple orchard lie dormant. The skeletal trees branches almost interlocking, down the well-ordered rows. The elderly man examined the branches carefully. Swollen buds, a hint of life. Order would return anew. Humans had not killed the world. Life was good and Stephan was grateful, he leaned on his cane and took a long look at the beautiful land he had the fortune to call home.

"Sir, Sir!" came a voice far to his periphery.

He turned to see John his assistant, waving his straw hat to draw his attention at the end of the orchard row. It appeared as though he had been running and was somewhat winded.

"You are wanted Sir, back at the house, there are visitors from the wastes."

The white-haired leader was somewhat taken aback by the announcement, perhaps he had misheard. His hearing was not as good as it had once been. Cane in hand he turned to make his way down the orchard rows back towards his home.

As he entered the arbor that nestled close to his front door, he could see the fine green traces of the first swelling grape buds and he smiled.

Yes, life was good, now to see what all this fuss was about?

There was an excited crowd already assembled in the parlor, guardsmen, farmhands, craftsmen, and servants. All pressing about the three ragged men who had arrived from the outside. The elderly leader pushed forward, his stick tapping a staccato on the terracotta tiles. The three visitors sat, they almost looked bewildered, the dust of days on them and their faces a mask of hungry and thirsty desperation. They were clad in rags and undernourished. As Stephan entered, their haunted eyes looked to him, one of the men stood, and through the grime and the dust recognition dawned.

"Son!" was all the elderly man said, the two men embraced as silent tears flowed. Anna who had just entered joined the embrace, the little family held one another for long moments. "Oh my son, we had but given you up for dead."

Stephan took a step back from his son to gaze upon his gaunt form. Anna was weeping with joy, clutching at her husband's sleeve for support. Stephan was almost overcome by emotion, he had hoped fervently for this moment, yet he felt it may never come. With effort, he then spoke to his people. "Everyone please, these men need rest. There will be time for their story after they have rested and eaten."

The elderly man waved the onlookers away, urging the household staff to make provision for the new arrivals and to send for the physician.

*****

Renard had slept only a few hours, but at the next rising of the sun, he was already awake, driven by the anxious desire to impart his terrible news to his parents. It felt good to wear clean garments again, the rigors of his captivity and the desperate march across the desert to reach home had taken a stark toll on his body. He looked into the tall standing floor mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. He hardly knew the man he saw there, gaunt, with dark shadows under his eyes. His old clothes were ill-fitting and hung on his frame shapeless. However, he was home, though in many ways this would not be a happy homecoming.

The kitchen was warm, almost overly so, with the ever-burning cast iron stove that dominated the space, and delicious scents of breakfast food permeated his nostrils. Bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread. This was a pleasantness he had always remembered even in his darkest moments, and to be here today felt comforting. "Good morning," he said, greeting the kitchen staff as he passed them by, they smiled at him and replied with friendly greetings of their own.

Through the kitchen and into the large vaulted dining hall Renard went, and as he had guessed his Father and Mother were both seated at the highly polished table. On his entrance, they both stood. His mother embraced him for long moments. Renard noted his father's difficulty rising from his place at the table, and his increasing reliance on his cane for support. It hurt and frightened him to see his parents aging, and even worse to return with such terrible news.

"Sit, please Sit", he said to his father, the three of them taking their places at the end of the very long table.

A breakfast spread was brought and laid before the trio. Oatmeal with honey, ham, bacon, and eggs, and perfectly browned toast with butter.

"You must tell us all that has happened."

Renard nodded at his Father's words. He hardly knew where to begin. So he started slowly, revealing the easy stuff, working his way toward what he really meant to impart.

"The two men who arrived with me are my companions Carlos and Darius. I take it they are still resting and the physician said they were well?" He took a sip of the rich full cream milk in the brown, glazed, pottery mug before him, it tasted divine after life without.

Stephan nodded in affirmation, his dark eyes never leaving his son's haggard countenance.     "We were all held captive, the conditions were bad. Carlos has been captive for a very long time, some years, Darius was recently taken in a raid." Renard continued.

"At the fort?" Stephan questioned.

"No Father, in the mercenaries settlement to the north. Unfortunately the double cross we enacted didn't quite go to plan, Bennett and a core of his followers survived, but they were much depleted."

Stephan issued forth a troubled sigh. "Do you think they will now move to attack us also?"

Renard shook his head, "I cannot say for certain, but Bennett had enough troubles of his own, there was after the defeat lots of infighting, and they number now very few."

"Well that is something at least we should be thankful for. So then my boy how did you escape?"

"If it was not for the brave actions of Lissa..."

"Lissa Bateman? Arnold's daughter?" His mother interjected.

"Yes Mother, she still lives. She laced the men's food allowing us to escape, I don't know how she did it, but we all owe our lives to her."

"So she is still there, with the savages?

Renard nodded, his face a mask of calm that he did not feel."

"What about the other girls?" Stephan asked.

Renard shifted uneasily in his tall backed chair, wanting to skirt the worst of the news he knew he must soon share. Bravely he continued, taking another gulp of milk to fuel his resolve.

"Kate and Sarah are gravely ill, I fear they have little time if they do not get medical care very soon."

Anna put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of horror but did not speak. The repast that sat before them was untouched, going cold.

Stephan sighed in frustration, lifting his head to lock eyes with his son. "And your sister?"

There it had been said, and he must reply. Yet he had not the words. Renard shifted in his chair and looked away from his father's probing stare, averting his gaze to the tabletop. The action gave him the resolve to vocalize the terrible news he must impart. How to tell them, he again fumbled beginning to speak woodenly.

"Frances...she..." He choked on the sentence. "I failed." His voice quavered. "I... I..." Uncharacteristically he was crying, he tried to regain his composure, wiping the wet tears away with his shirtsleeve. There was a rustle of a long dress from somewhere behind them, and a servant who had walked in on the intensely personal moment, embarrassed at the intrusion, had turned to exit the room hurriedly.

Renard put his hands over his face, his mother had risen and was comforting her son.

"It's all right Son," she said quietly, holding him as he vented his anguish. "You don't have to tell us more, we understand."

Stephan did not wish to cause his son any more undue grief, they could speak again later when he felt more composed. Renard's response had told him all he needed to know.

*****

Carlos woke and stretched his lean frame on the bed lazily like a big cat. He looked about the rustic surroundings for a long while. The knotted wood on the ceilings, the hanging lights burdened with rings of homemade, white candles. This cozy room was built into the side of the home, it was long and completely lined in wood, and to one side many rectangular windows ran with a wide view of the fields and orchards beyond. It was peaceful here.

There was a wood heater on the opposite wall, and the fire danced behind the mica glass, giving off a pleasant warmth. He was shocked a little that he had not even registered the servant's intrusion to fuel it as he had slept. Years of wakefulness and watchful care had been his lot, he was surprised he had let go so quickly.

He was undecided if the bed was comfortable or not, he was very unused to sleeping in this fashion. Perhaps it was too soft he thought, his body sinking down further into the mattress made of straw and feathers. He again put off the inevitable rising. Pulling the blankets up over his head, and closed his eyes to think.

To his keen ears honed by the need for constant preparedness, the sounds of the house carried. Pots being placed on the stove, the murmur of voices speaking of everyday things. A dog barked, not the sound of warning of an intruder, but of playfulness. Could he exist in this ordered world? Even his distant upbringing had been more chaotic than this, the crime, the drugs, the streets.

After years in captivity, he was unsure just what he would do now he had found his freedom, but as he again pulled back the covers and looked outside he knew this would not be it. He could no more see himself as a farmer, or belonging to this pathetic little militia than he could being shackled to a cruel master.

Though he would be fed and physically very comfortable in this community; this was just slavery to him of a different nature. Chained by the seasons and the expectations of others. Those who had never suffered what he had lived through. Carlos had seen much and knew he could never settle here. He would rest a while, restore his strength, and then he would inform the others he planned to leave, he intended to go south. There had to be something of worth there after all the passing years. Perhaps he could join a private army in one of the reforming cities, or join a larger more powerful band of men who would accept him for his prowess?

*****

Gareth, Dwayne, and Jormugar had traveled the best part of three weeks and sighted not a soul. The northern regions had become a place of desertion, first the extreme heat, then the cold, contorting and withering all but the hardiest of life. The return pace had been slower than Gareth had wished, but it was apparent that the horses were becoming exhausted. All the warheads must reach the valley. So they had rested more, and walked slower, skirting about the worst terrain to spare the flagging animals.

Dwayne had not been his carefree self since he had witnessed the terrible, invisible death claim Warren. It was not that he felt any pity for the man, he was after all only a slave, and weak besides. The clan had always carried him. Weak reeds like Warren perished all the time. No, it was not that, Dwayne had to confess he feared what they transported in a way he had not feared anything since he was a child.

He constantly walked ahead of the canisters, scouting the terrain up front. Those last few tortured moments of Warren's life were indelibly etched into his mind, they replayed like a bad film reel. Dwayne could not clear the vision from his mind. Those events had even begun to morph into terrible dreams. Ones he woke from with a start. Dwayne wanted to be nowhere near these weapons of insidious death. Ruing the day they had been found.

The lithe young man had gone quite far ahead. He paused to stand quietly at the crest of the dune, leaning on the arch of his bow. The day was patchy sunlight. The desert vista before him was startling in its savage beauty. The varied textures of sand and rock, the colors, bright where the sunlight strafed, brooding where the shadows hung. He could see for miles, across the tops of the dunes, even to his simple mind this was breathtaking. He looked down in avoidance of the thorny box bush, the plants reminded him of portrayals of Jesus's crown of thorns. The vaguest hint of vibrant green. Dwayne peered closer to see small waxy leaves emerging, he smiled away his troubled thoughts, this indeed was a good sign.

*****

That evening they had finally reached the oasis. The plant life there had made a great recovery in a short span of time. There were still healthy cattle and horses milling about the pond taking an evening drink. Dwayne shot one of the smaller bovines for dinner and spent the remainder of the daylight dressing the beast. It was a deliberate move on his behalf, as he wanted nothing to do with handling those warheads.

The tired horses were unloaded very carefully by Jormugar and Gareth and released to hopefully recuperate. They would take fresh pack animals tomorrow, perhaps a cow or two if things were looking fortuitous.

The beef was very welcome, a young animal, and a choice cut. Jormugar tore at the rare, succulent flesh hungrily. Things were going well despite his recent slip-up. He still sometimes felt twinges of lingering illness, he was most unsure why, but just as soon as the mysterious biliousness would arrive it departed, or Jormugar got busy and he ignored it. The bounty hunter and slave spotter reasoned this was all just a short fall sideways, and possibly hardly a fall at all. Though he regretted the loss of his dog greatly. It seemed he was fitting in nicely, though he hadn't built enough trust yet to be returned his weapons, he had been treated well and as an equal in all other matters.

"We probably won't get there tomorrow, but definitely the day after." Gareth announced, chewing a mouth full of food as he looked at Jormugar levelly through the haze of the hot burning fire.

Jormugar nodded and took some more meat. He was already thinking of money. Once he could grasp the position of this war band, and view its strengths or weaknesses he would slip away. He was sure Master Jacques would be very pleased with his latest reconnaissance to the north. Though initially a loss, perhaps his misfortune could be greatly redeemed?

Dwayne was quiet. He filled his belly and lay down. It would be good to be home again, and good to rally the clan with their victory, but at what price?

The hardened Gareth was jubilant. Just two easy days from home. He had done what his leader had asked and returned with the fabled spoils. Life would continue to get better for him, he was headed upward, and he could feel it. His slave girl would taste sweet, as would his newly cemented rank in the clan.

*****

Though the weather had turned and it was less bitter than it had been. Bennett's dwindling clan had not placed a man up top on steady watch for some weeks. No human life had been detected in the vicinity of the valley for a very long time. Mostly the threat that had dogged the men had dissipated. The archer had only been one woman, and surely she had been captured and met a well-deserved demise?

The hour was still fairly early, and most of the men free of duties chose to sleep the cool mornings out. Preferring to stay up late into the night to tell stories and drink by the fire until almost dawn. Will, however, had been up and about early feeling restless at the lack of a woman in his furs. All the good females were taken. He had gone for a brief walk about the valley basin and noted movement at the head of the valley path. A single man making an agile descent. He put his hand up to his eyes and strained better to see. The familiar black mop of hair, white of bone adornments. It was Dwayne. Will was torn, he longed to approach the returning man and learn the news first. Yet he felt a duty to report the return to his superior. Duty prevailing he turned to seek Bennett, who he found still in his furs, his captive sleeping beside him.

"Dwayne is returned." Will relayed quietly to Bennett's keen interest.

The big man at once dragged himself from his warm repose and pulled on his heavy hide jacket, the metal on it made an almost musical sound. The others had overheard Will's announcement. The warriors along with Nathan, and the other slaves who had the freedom to wander behind at a respectful distance assembled to await Dwayne's news.

Bennett stood tall out front of his people, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded and scratched leathers, a black and metal-clad pillar of strength. Scintillant ice chip eyes never left Dwayne's advancing form. Though jubilant Dwayne cowered before his leader, head lowered. He had always been afraid of this man and with good reason. He wished Gareth would have chosen to present the initial report, however better this than to wait topside with the frightening payloads.

"We have had success Sir." Dwayne spoke to the scuffed toes of his leader's boots, his posture one of careful humility. "We located the silo, and we have secured some of its weapons. There are many more should we wish to return, hundreds!" Dwayne trembled as he witnessed the look of cruel triumph cross his leader's square-jawed visage. The other warriors muttered excitedly in the background.

"This is very good news," Bennett said more to himself than anyone about him in the expectant throng.

"We managed to transport eight of the heavy armaments Sir. We thought it best if I report, and then you can decide how we store and secure them Sir?"

"Good. I wish to hear all of this discovery. I will have the strongest men go topside and we will bring them down. Bennett looked behind him to his warriors and pointed his black-gloved fingers to Sven first predictably, and then at Will. The rest of his tribe were not deemed fit, nor trustworthy enough to transport the valuable prizes.

Lucy stood quietly to one side of the excited gathering, fly away, mousy brown hair carried aloft by the breeze that often blew from the head of the valley. The woman's exterior was one of calmness, however inside she was in churning turmoil. So much so that she felt sick. The middle-aged woman was hearing and seeing the returned man before her, and yet it was as though she were distant, trapped in some kind of a bubble. Unable to act out nor ask the one question that was burning to be uttered.

Today her fears would be answered, she knew that. She kept gazing up toward the head of the narrow pathway longing to see her love again. Fingers calloused from hard work, torn nails rubbing her bottom lip as she nervously peered into the distance. She shook her mousy mane, now interspersed with the occasional shot of gray, and semi-smiled to no one but herself. Lucy had been so very sure Warren had just told stories, but today here was the proof that what her beloved had claimed was very real. Lucy's heart swelled with pride. Warren, the savior to the clan, she could hardly believe it.

Sven started up the path, unsure what to make of it all. Was this a boon to the clan? Perhaps this discovery would assuage at least for the time the bitter divisions and the discontentment that had plagued them all. If his leader was more content would his own family feel safer, and his own position in the tribe be less precarious? He sincerely hoped so.