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***
In the tumuli
With the deepest sleep
Sleep, my brethren,
Forever...
-DZIVIA-
Norns spinning - fates binding
Gods crying - wolves howling
Ravens shouting - giants sleeping
-WARDRUNA-
***
He runs through the woods. The foliage is dense, so when he stumbles upon a ray of sunlight, his lids shut and he loses balance, making him press his back against a tree. Splinters fly near his face. He crouches and stays still for a few seconds before starting to run again. He can't see who's shooting at them, all he knows is that the bullets come from the position they're leaving behind. He can't see his fellow soldiers, but he does hear the yells, the orders and the constant firing of weapons. Every step he takes comes with the cracking of fallen branches and so does the enemy's.
So he keeps running, holding his rifle tightly.
He runs through the woods. His house is not far away. His sister is laughing, she's nowhere to be seen. Her laughter fills the air and brings warmth to the cold night. They run from tree to tree under the moonlight. The embers in the middle of the clearing casted a soft light over the witches sitting around the bonfire. He and his sister couldn't wait to be able to take part in the rituals. Every equinox they ran and hid behind the trees, waiting for the flames and the witches to rise and start the roundelay, singing along with the fire. If they were welcoming the spring, once the bonfire goes off, the coven would disperse into the woods, enticing the trees to wake up. If they were welcoming the winter, then, they’d sing the trees a lullaby and whisper see you soon.
So they'd run along with them. His sister would laugh, muffling the murmurs of the trees. They'd laugh too.
He runs through the woods, hides behind another tree and waits. He can hear the voices, muffled by the sounds of war. The trees whisper and cry because the soil that feeds them will be, once again, soaking with blood. He breathes in, then out and tries to clear his mind to find the right words to call them. He calls the thunder, the horned god and the death bringer for he needs to know where to aim.
So he stays still and mumbles while holding his rifle.
He breathes in, then out and watches as the embers shine from the insides of the woods. It's his first equinox in front of the bonfire and his hands are cold and wet, his body trembles with excitement. The coven awaits, he's the only boy among them. They mumble and keep their eyes closed, bidding farewell to the winter and welcoming the sun. The wood cracks and soon are devoured by the fire. He fears the flames might burn his face but stays still until a sudden pull makes him stand. His lips start mumbling again, they call, they chant. The words just keep flowing out of his mouth, he's not thinking. His body moves on its own will, guided by an invisible partner. The air is heavy and warm, filled by the fire's voice. When the bonfire goes back to be embers, there's another pull. He turns to face the woods and runs, calling the trees back to life.
So they sing their farewell to the winter and rejoice under the first sun rays.
He breathes in, then out. There's a hand over his, its fingers running up his arm. He breathes in, aims and fires. Thomas starts running again. The woods around his house weren't dense. And it wasn't uncommon for him and his sister to run behind a rabbit, jumping to avoid the roots and bending to not hit their heads against a branch, until they saw the fluffy tail disappearing down a hole. She laughed as he collapsed against a tree, his lungs burning.
--How will you protect me if you're such a weakling --she said, her sing-song voice full of mockery.
-- I will, you'll see.
They had the same conversation when he left for Frengcie, his uniform too big for him.
So he wishes to be able to go back to her arms.
He breathes in, then out and pushes himself away from the tree that was covering him. He starts running again. This time all he can hear is men shouting, instead of his sister's laughter. This time, he's the rabbit. He doesn't mind. He wants to stay alive.
So he runs and calls for them again.
He runs through the woods, holding his rifle to his chest, and repeats his call. The wind, the spark of life and the fire. He calls again. The wind howls and the men go silent. The earth growls under their feet and the panic runs among them. He sees them rising, dripping the blood they're made of, blood from those who died before them. Both sides retreat. The blood doesn't care who they are fighting for.
Their war was supposed to be the last.
***
The streets were empty. They walked at ease enjoying the relief of leaving the open behind. Thomas' section got lost while retreating and the name Dunkirk didn't have much meaning to them. Like him, the other boys hadn't been to Frengcie before and, in the end, without a map one of them had to buy a guidebook. They were lucky but a few days behind the rest. They knew the enemy wasn´t far behind, but they were sure they still had some advantage and had no idea of the battle taking place in the town since the day before.
They were six, and only he and another boy could use magic, which he found out to be quite useless during the war. Before joining the army, he had never trained to hurt or to detect enemies, an ability he would fully develop later. By the time he and what was left of his section reached Dunkirk he was just starting to understand how it worked. His ability with the rifle was at the same stage. As the other boys looked for water and cigarettes, Thomas got distracted by the leaflets. After reading one, he found a better use for them.
He had to pull his pants up quickly after hearing the first round of shots. It didn't matter if it was the werrie or the freng, they had to run for cover. Thomas was barely conscious of his teammates as he ran. He threw his rifle above a fence, jumped and climbed up the fence as well, when he turned to let himself fall on the other side he saw the mage falling, dead.
Once he was down he hid behind the wall to avoid being hit through the fence and tried to put his rifle to work, but his fingers betrayed him and so did his mind.
A new round of bullets made a hole in the fence. Thomas realized no one but the enemy was coming and jumped in fear, throwing his rifle to the ground. The splinters flew through the air as he was pulled to the end of the garden. He climbed the wall as the bullets failed to hit him. Just as he fell on the ground a hand pushed him against the wall, saving him from friendly fire.
--Brigcien, brigcien! --He yelled with his hands in the air. The freng soldiers put their weapons down and he runs to them. One freng wishes him a good trip with a bitter tone before firing his weapon. The spirits accompanying them made Thomas shiver.
He runs again, without turning his head back for he knows his teammates pushed him there and they deserve to rest. That's why minutes after arriving at the beach he helps to bury another brigs, thinking of the men he left behind, wishing them a safe travel to the other side. That was the only moment he had to think about something else besides surviving.
--Sleep, my brethren, forever.