The Rains of War: Excerpt from Chapter One!

Chapter One

Year 573, New World

Month One, First Season

March

I was beginning to worry about Miyanna.

Dirt and moisture matted her straight, black hair. A faint redness encircled her almond-shaped eyes. The chill in the air hung about us like a cloak, making her deep, chesty cough a concern.

The pace we had been forced to keep was agony for Miyanna’s weak joints. I’d expected more complaints, but all she’d really done was to fiddle with the sleeves of Papa’s old canvas jacket hanging down past her hands, when she wasn’t scratching at her jeans. I knew she was uncomfortable from so many hours in the saddle, but I thought it best to ride a bit further before stopping for supper. The route I’d mapped out was far more protracted, but better roads weren’t worth the risk. At least we’d not run into any flooding from the previous season.

Eros pulled to a stop, setting a hoof on a chunk of rock before choosing another spot. Rays of evening sun cut through the gloomy foreboding of clouds like shards of stained glass. I scanned the thick parapet of trees on each side as we trudged through mud left from last night’s drizzle, the sweet mixture of rain and sap prominent in the cold March air.

Finding a dry place to bed down and make a fire would prove difficult. Hopefully Miyanna would be able to make it to the Campbell Hills before needing to stop. The dry seclusion of one of their overhangs might also offer a fair amount of security.

Night would come all too soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Warmth floated around us as we nestled inside our makeshift burrow, bellies stuffed full from the brown hare I’d trapped. Our horses rested in silence near the mouth of the cave, just inside the dark blanket I’d hung to trap most of the heat and light from the fire, even though the night was fairly well lit with stars and a half moon. The rhythmic tribal dances of the shadows born of the small blaze soothed me.

Miyanna had stayed inside, occupied with her wee bag of polished rocks while I had gone out hunting. I was apprehensive about leaving her, but we’d nearly depleted what we'd brought with us, the need to travel light notwithstanding.

The floor, as it were, pressed against my back, but wasn’t altogether uncomfortable, at least compared to some of the places I’d slept before. Miyanna seemed to be doing fair enough with my sleeping pad stacked on hers for extra comfort.

We stretched out a bit more than arm’s length apart, yet stayed within range of the fire’s heat. I had just begun to doze off when Miyanna’s soft voice drew me back.

“Kyrie,” her voice was barely a whisper. “Am I different?”

My eyelids rebelled against the laborious task of opening, but finally complied. She was staring out into nowhere, deep in thought. “Why do you ask that?”

The corner of her mouth pulled back a bit. “Everything is hard for me.”

She looked over at me, so I smiled at her. “You are good at lots of things. Some things you’re even better at than I am.”

Her voice rasped when she giggled, a slight rattling in her chest. “Like singing?”

I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes. She laughed out loud, but then quickly sobered. “Sometimes I wish I could be with Mama and Papa. In Heaven.”

My chest tightened. “I’m glad you aren’t.”

“At least they’re together now.” Her hazel eyes flashed sparks of emerald in the firelight. For a brief moment it was as if the veil lifted.

I scooted my sleeping bag next to hers. “It’s getting colder, and the fire will die out soon.”

Her head popped up off her pillow. “It’s 18 degrees Celsius. I checked my thermometer whilst you were out, but didn’t bother your soldier maps.”

She’d been vigilant in monitoring the temperature since we set out, determined to contribute. “Thank you for remembering to check. Did you put your vitamins away after supper?”

“Yes. I heard Mama say that hundreds of years ago there was a medicine that would make DownSyn go all away.” Her sentence was punctuated with a cough.

I yawned, my eyes tearing. “What do you reckon?”

It was a moment or two before she answered. “I think I’m fine the way God made me.”

Her back felt warm and soft pressed against mine, snuggling as we did when we were children, the scent of Mama’s peppermint lotion strong on her skin.

“Mi?” I reached behind me, resting an elbow on top of her arm. “Do you remember the song Papa used to sing?”

She nodded, clearing her throat. A higher, huskier version of our father’s clear and perfect pitch echoed off the stone walls.

  

Hush-a-bye, baby,

The night winds are sighing,

Go to sleep, baby

The crickets are crying;

Sleep ‘til the dew

On the green grass is winking,

Sleep ‘til the morning sun,

Wakens you winking…

As she sang, I closed my eyes and found myself back home with Papa sitting by our beds, pipe in hand, his rich baritone voice guiding us to our dreams after one of his stories.

Warm in their wooly folds,

Lambskins are resting,

Soft in their swaying beds,

Birdies are nesting;

All through the night,

In your cradle lie dreaming,

‘Til the bright sun

Through the window comes streaming…

When she finished, the sweetest words I’d heard in a very long time reached out to me.

“Good night, Kyrie. I love you.”

© M.H. Mayfield. All rights reserved.