The Chronicles: Notomol Ch. 02

NOTOMOL Chapter 2

It probably wasn't doing Motekin much good, dragging him by the collar. It was also leaving an unmistakeable track in the rain-slick grass, like the trail of a giant slug. In the morning light, when many more of the Izumyrians had arrived, they might send a few men to investigate.

But this was neither the time nor the place to examine the extent of his injuries. It was too dark to see anything. He'd live - or he wouldn't. But if we stayed there, we would all die - that's how it seemed to me.

Notomol stopped, for a moment. He looked me in the eye.

- "Are you alright with this?" he asked.

I knew what he meant. "We can't turn the fight around." I said. Not with long knives against shields and swords.

We chose to save our new friend.

That was why Notomol and I lifted Motekin to his feet, and then my partner threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The clerk probably wasn't all that heavy, but I'm sure that he was no bag of feathers, either. I couldn't have carried him. The best pace Notomol could manage was a steady walk.

Even then, he had to put Motekin down every so often. I volunteered to trade places. Notomol let me try, but I could only manage a hundred yards before I had to stop.

- "Go back to the camp." said Notomol. "If there are any ponies remaining, that would make it easier to move our friend. We need food, too. And more arrows. You could also collect your gear, and Motekin's."

- "What about yours?"

- "A blanket and an old shirt. But I suppose we could use a few blankets."

- "You want me to run ahead? You're going to follow me?"

- "No - I'll go around the hill, to the south. Remember the place where Tumay took the three of us, that day?"

I nodded. "Is that where we'll stay?"

- "No. It's still too close to the camp. We don't want to be found there - it'll be safer in the forest, a little further on."

With another nod, I trotted away.

Notomol had the more difficult task: carrying Motekin would be hard work, protracted over a long period of time. He probably wouldn't risk putting him down, though, for fear that he wouldn't be able to pick him up again.

I supposed that I could best help him by doing as he'd asked. I ran back to our camp.

It was immediately apparent that I wasn't the first one back. The ponies were all gone, and the food stores had been ransacked.

I salvaged what I could. There was more than I could carry - considering that I had both my bow and quiver, and Notomol's, and that I had more things to collect. My blanket. Notomol's. Motekin's blanket, along with his pack, even though it contained nothing useful: an oilskin packet, some parchment, several quills and a jar of ink.

I also took a few more blankets which weren't properly ours - but I wasn't sure that their owners would be coming back to collect them.

***

Notomol staggered into the little clearing, with Motekin still across his shoulder.

He obviously needed a short rest. Not for long - we were both afraid that if we stopped too long, he wouldn't be able to get going again. I gave him a drink, but he waved away the food I offered.

- "Just need a breather." he said.

We used that time to take a closer look at our friend. I couldn't see much, but the wound seemed to be just above his hip. There was quite a bit of blood. He was still alive, though - for now.

Notomol took an old shirt out of his blanket roll, and placed it against Motekin's wound. Then he used the blanket to tie around Motekin's body and hold the shirt in place.

I offered my own blanket as a pad for his shoulder, and together we placed Motekin onto it once again. He grimaced as he stood up, lifting our friend's dead weight.

- "Can you manage?" I asked.

- "We'll be alright."

The rain had eased off. It was still dark, though, and the footing was treacherous - slick grass and muddy patches were bad enough, but if Notomol stepped into a groundhog hole, we'd be done. One fall, and I didn't know if he'd be able to get up again.

On the positive side, he wasn't planning to carry Motekin for leagues. There was a large enough forest just south of the Guardsmen's camp. The Izumyrians would have no reason to go there.

I found a spot inside the tree line before Notomol's strength gave out.

***

I might have been young - and small - but I wasn't a complete fool. I let Notomol sleep. Meanwhile, I did a little scouting, by the light of day, and quickly found a better spot for us to camp - closer to fresh water, and less likely to be discovered.

Only then did I wake my partner. I insisted that I could carry Motekin that far, and led the way.

Motekin's wound was ugly. The Izumyrian's spear had shredded the flesh just above his hip bone. Whether that bone was broken, or merely scraped, we couldn't tell.

Notomol helped me to set him down. We wrapped the extra blankets around Motekin, to keep him warm.

- "D'you think we're safe enough here?" I asked.

- "Yes. The Izumyrians will spend several days bringing troops across the river. They won't be searching the woods for stragglers like us."

- "What do you think happened to Captain Tumay? And the others?"

Notomol told me the truth; that is, the truth as he saw it. I didn't think that he was wrong, though. Tumay had deluded himself into believing that the Guardsmen under his command were an elite force. Then he threw us against real crack troops.

Dubek might have had a chance, one on one against an Izumyrian soldier. Motekin had no such hope. Neither did Imre or Terasol Nelkan.

As far as Notomol was concerned, the majority of our fellow Guardsmen were dead - or refugees, like us.

- "Should we try to find them?"

- "We can't leave Motekin." he said. "Saving his life may not be the greatest thing we could be doing - but I can't think of a better one right now."

***

"Kolasovets!"

I hurried over, in response to Notomol's call. He'd been tending to Motekin's wound.

Our friend was awake. His eyes were open. Motekin saw me. Then his eyes turned back to Notomol.

- "I thought ... I thought I was dead." he said. "You saved me. Didn't you?"

- "You're safe."

- "No ... I mean ... I saw what you did. You saved my life."

- "We got you out of there. Kolasovets and I."

- "Mmm ..." Motekin closed his eyes. I thought he'd fallen asleep, until he spoke again. "What happened to Heras Koymil?"

- "Captain Tumay sent him to warn the Voivode." said Notomol.

- "Imre? Terasol Nelkan? Dubek?"

Motekin was asking about people he knew, from Hvad town. I told him what I'd seen. As far as I knew, Imre and Terasol Nelkan were dead. Dubek was probably dead, too - the last I'd seen of him, he was being swept away by the swift current of the Grey river.

Motekin was weak. He might have been feverish, or even delusional. He spoke quite clearly, though. His eyes were on Notomol the whole time.

- "I saw you." he whispered. "You were magnificent."

***

Journal Entry #6, Summer 937

My wounds are not healing quickly, nor painlessly. But they are not so serious as we first believed. Kolasovets, I think, would have recommended headlong flight, had I not been immobilized. Notomol, though, would have remained, regardless of my condition. His calm composure has done much to soothe Kolasovets' frayed nerves.

I am trying to forget the horrific events of a few nights ago. I feel a sense of shame, to a certain degree, that I so wronged Imre and others. They bravely gave their lives to prevent the enemy crossing. I hope that I may avoid such hasty judgments in future.

My recollections of what happened after the fight at the ferry are spotty, at best. Notomol must have carried me, and tended to my wound. Because of me, we have been immobilized. Notomol and Kolasovets take it in turns to go and seek information; both have seen large numbers of Izumyrians on the move.

They have not seen any of our fellow Guardsmen.

***

I was foraging for food on the edge of the forest when I caught the glint of sun on steel. Without any hurried movements or excessive haste, I retreated into the shelter of the trees.

They were Izumyrian cavalry. Their horses were massive, compared to our little Hvadi ponies. The riders wore rounded helmets with wide cheek-pieces. Most wore a studded leather jerkin, with chain mail covering their shoulders and upper arms.

They carried small round shields, and spears, but I could also see sword scabbards on their hips. Every man had greaves on their lower legs, and high boots.

Three or four - whom I took to be officers - wore scale mail armour, and had horse hair crests attached to their helmets.

There were almost a hundred of them.

When they had passed, I returned to my friends.

Notomol was fletching an arrow, tightly wrapping the feathers with a piece of sinew. Motekin was sitting up, with his back to the bole of a tree. He too had a feather in his hand, as he dipped the quill into his bottle of ink.

There was more colour in his face now - a good sign. I wasn't sure when he would be ready to move. We weren't going to get very far until he was able to walk on his own.

I thought of Captain Tumay again. He'd told Notomol that leadership meant standing in the front line of battle, with a shield and a sword. I had come to a different conclusion: leadership was finding a safe place to camp, close to water, food and firewood.

It wasn't about being the best warrior, or the best fighter. It was giving Motekin and me reason to believe that Notomol could keep us safe, and that he knew what he was doing. Motekin was completely out of his element, and I was far from home, with the Izumyrian army between me and the places I knew.

Notomol was our lifeline.

***

We let Motekin rest and recover for another day. I cut down a sapling, and fashioned a walking stick for him to lean on. Notomol and I carried everything except Motekin's little pack, with his writing implements.

He managed about three leagues[1].

I found a spot to camp, and Notomol carried him the last 200 yards.

He hadn't strained himself, or re-opened his wound, but Motekin's strength and stamina were still severely impaired. We had to let him rest for all of the following day.

We spotted a column of smoke, off to the northwest.

- "Forest fire?"

- "I don't think so." said Notomol. That was precisely the direction we were headed.

Motekin was able to walk almost four leagues the next day.

- "I can go further." he said.

- "I believe you. But this is a good place to stop for the night."

Early the next morning, we let Motekin sleep. Notomol wanted to explore a bit. He suspected that the fire - or the column of smoke, at least - had been somewhere near here. I insisted on accompanying him. I was curious, too.

We could smell the place, before we saw it. The wind carried the odour of burnt wood - and something worse - straight to us.

We crossed a gentle rise, and saw it.

It was a little hamlet. Six houses, two small barns, a woodshed. All of the buildings were black and grey now, and several were still smoking. Even the grass was blackened. Here and there were prone bodies, charred and blackened, just like the buildings.

I retched. My stomach heaved, and I threw up.

Notomol didn't comment. He simply waited until I recovered. Then we walked forward, into what had only recently been a thriving little community. The first body we came to was that of a small child - a boy. His skull had been crushed by a sword, or an axe.

The next body was a woman's. Her skirts had been thrown up, so that her legs were bare. She'd obviously been raped, before someone slit her throat and left her to burn as the grass caught fire.

The first home we passed was a charnel house. There was a body lying in the doorway, and two more inside. I had to fight back the urge to vomit again.

- "Who are you?" said a man's voice.

We both turned. Fortunately, neither of us reached for a weapon.

There were two men with drawn bows, aiming arrows directly at us.

- "My name is Notomol. This is Kolasovets."

- "What are you doing here?" said one of them. He was the shorter of the two, with dirty blonde hair, a lazy eye, and a curious way of cutting his hair. One side of his head was shaved, exposing one ear - and that ear had been ... cut? It was as if someone had sliced his earlobe in two.

- "We're Guardsmen. We fought at the ferry, and were retreating with a wounded comrade. We saw the smoke the other day, and came to investigate."

I couldn't help asking: "What - what happened here?"

- "This is Dusova. Our home. My brother and I were hunting, in the woods, when we saw the smoke. They were gone by the time we could get back."

- "Izumyrians?"

- "Yes." He lowered his bow. "Would you like to see?"

They led us behind one of the burnt houses. There was a row of freshly-dug graves.

"This is our father. Mother. Our little sister. She was to be married this summer. This is Cirola's ... my brother's wife."

Cirola, the taller man, had straight blonde hair, a scruffy beard, and only a handful of teeth. Four in the top of his mouth, from what I could see, and maybe six or seven in the bottom.

- "I'm sorry." I said.

- "Their son." said Cirola's brother, indicating another, smaller grave. "Just turned three. This one is our aunt."

- "Do you have any more shovels?" asked Notomol. "We'll help you bury the others."

The shorter man turned his good eye on us. He seemed to be measuring us, even as he considered my partner's offer.

- "Thank you." he said.

***

Cinna (the shorter brother) and Cirola had lost everyone they knew: their entire family, and all of the people they'd grown up and lived with for their whole lives. Everyone they loved was dead; every woman they'd ever known had been raped and murdered.

Twenty-nine souls had lived in Dusova before the Izumyrians came. We helped to bury twenty-seven of them. We worked through the night, and into the next morning.

I had no words to express my sympathy for them. I held it back as long as I could, but eventually, I just couldn't anymore - I cried. No one remarked on my tears. They weren't about to mock me.

When the last corpse had been interred, the brothers didn't seem to know what to do with themselves. Cinna and Cirola had no food, either. We invited them to follow us to our campsite.

Motekin was awake and alert. I fed the brothers, and then tried to find the words to explain to Motekin what we'd seen.

He was shocked. Stunned, really. Then he reached for his oilskin packet, and drew out his writing implements.

- "With your permission ..." he said. "I'd like to record what happened. So that the memory won't be lost. People ... need to know about this. Can you tell me their names?"

Cinna nodded, and sat down next to Motekin.

Notomol joined them. He just wanted to listen, I think, but he couldn't help asking the question that had been on his mind all day.

- "Cinna - what happened to your ear?"

Cinna reached up and touched his earlobe.

- "That's the first warning for poaching."

- "Poaching?"

- "A new law. The Ban declared that all forests in Pitve - and all of the game within - belong to him. Anyone who wants to hunt in them needs the Ban's permission. If you hunt without permission ... that's poaching."

- "They cut your ear for that?"

- "Could've been worse." said Cinna. "Second offence, you lose two fingers. Third time, it's the whole hand."

I was seething. The Ban of Pitve should have been defending Dusova. And if the Ban of Yeseriya tried to bring in any new 'poaching' laws, I'd be tempted to put an arrow in his eye. If we couldn't hunt and trap, how could we support ourselves?

But that was nothing, compared to what the brothers had been through. My thoughts kept returning to what I'd seen in Dusova.

Sending Motekin to the Guards was wrong. Making me go, at age 15, was wrong, too. But the evil perpetrated on Dusova was wrongness of a much higher degree. Beyond wrong. It was evil. I struggled with those ideas, wrestled with my own thoughts ... and then reached my own conclusions.

Late that night, when our fire was almost done, we were still awake. We could just barely see each other, thanks to the glow of the embers. Cinna finally asked the question that was on his mind.

- "Where are you headed, you three?"

I hadn't really thought about it. Follow Notomol, look after Motekin ... I wasn't thinking about anything past that.

Notomol had.

- "I was going to go home." he admitted. "Motekin, as you can see, isn't fit enough to go into battle again."

"The simple truth is ... I don't want to rejoin the Guardsmen. I'm not prepared to follow orders again, or to serve any man who doesn't value our lives any higher than a copper coin. That includes Captain Tumay, if he still lives, my Hospodar, Kolasovets' Hospodar, the Ban of Stonje - and now the Ban of Pitve, if he thinks that he owns the forests. I'm not willing to die for any of them."

"And from what we've heard, I don't believe that the Voivode is any better. That's why I was going to find a safe place for Motekin, and then go home, to look after my mother and my sister."

- "You were going home?" said Cinna. "But not any more?"

- "No." he said. "Not after ... Dusova. Not after ..."

- "What will you do, then?"

- "I'm going to fight Izumyrians."

Cinna didn't reply immediately. He was staring into the embers of our fire.

"I don't know where, exactly." said Notomol. "Or even how. I do know that I won't be standing in the front rank, with a shield and sword."

"I still have to find a safe haven for Motekin. And perhaps a way home for Kolasovets."

- "I'm not going home." I said. "I'm going with you."

- "You don't have to -"

- "I saw Dusova, too." I said. "I don't want that to happen anywhere else. I'll fight with you."

Motekin didn't say anything. He was already asleep.

- "You mind if we tag along?" asked Cinna.

- "For as long as you like." said Notomol.

***

I'd spoken impulsively. But I had no doubts about what I'd said.

The Izumyrians should not have invaded Hvad. That was wrong. I'd done my part to oppose them: at least one of their soldiers was dead, or seriously wounded, by my hand.

But what did it mean to me if they fought the Duke? Would an Izumyrian baron be any worse than the Hospodar who'd selected me to be a Guardsman, knowing full well that I was three years underage? And what of the Hospodar who'd chosen Notomol, a widow's only son? I didn't think they had Hospodars in Hvad town, but some over-bred idiot had decided that it made sense to send Motekin to do military service to prevent his daughter from talking to him.

There was absolutely no reason for us to die fighting for the likes of them. That was what I told myself.

That was before Dusova.

I couldn't un-see what I seen. There was no way I was ever going to forget that. Those dead people had to be avenged.

The enemy were everywhere, on the level ground. That next day, we saw several hundred foot-soldiers, with their spears and rectangular shields. These weren't the men who'd destroyed Dusova - but any army that tolerates murderers, rapists and arsonists in its ranks deserves whatever happens to it. That was what I told myself.

They didn't discriminate when they slaughtered everyone in Dusova. I wasn't going to exonerate these men just because they hadn't been present for that atrocity.

We steered clear of them, just to be safe. Motekin could hobble along, but he still wasn't aware to what extent the rest of us were slowing our pace so that he could keep up. To give him his due, he was doing his best, doggedly sticking to it.