Chosen (25 page)

In one swift motion, his arm came up, throwing the knife at the man's exposed chest. It buried itself to the hilt. The man's blue eyes widened, a drop of spittle falling from his open mouth. He gave a gurgling growl as he staggered forward, hatchet tumbling from his hand. He fell to his knees, trying to pull the blade from his chest.

The General whirled as he heard screaming. Two more Cowboys were coming for him, their eyes filled with manic hate. One carried two long knives. The other held a weapon made of deer antlers,
sharpened to glossy points. The General noted absently that most of the points were covered with a crimson coating of fresh blood.

General Smith faced his two opponents. He took a few deep, steadying breaths, icy-blue eyes hard. He glided toward the man with the two knives, black blade raised high. The second man moved to take the General, antler weapon held in his right hand, ready to stab the General in back the moment he turned to face the man with two knives.

Ted roared and swung his weapon quickly at the man with the knives, blade moving in a blur of flashing strokes, pushing the man back step by step. He whirled and kicked the man's legs out from under him. Two Knives fell hard.

Ted felt a sharp pain in his back and spun, blade flashing in the sun. The blow took the man's arm off at the elbow. The antler weapon, now lying useless in the dirt, shone with fresh blood, his blood. The injured man tried to run, blood flowing from his ruined arm. The General buried his blade in the man's back, severing his spine.

General Smith heard the man with the blades approaching. He tried to pull his own blade from the dead man's back, but it was stuck fast. He turned to face Two Knives, weaponless.

Suddenly a flash of silver appeared in the man's throat. Blood flooded his leather tunic. As he fell forward, the General spotted Valery, her arm still extended, a second knife in her left hand, and more yet stuck in a belt around her waist. Her expression was unreadable. She spun and ran off.

He walked up to the man he had killed and clenched his teeth as he wrenched his blade from the man's back. The General noticed a large nick in the metal.
This will have to be repaired.
He walked toward the edge of town, where the fighting had been heaviest. Just then, the bell clanged the all clear. It was over.

Smoke and ash filled the air, as did the screams and moans of the injured and dying. The enemy that remained were quickly dispatched. The Sawbones and a couple dozen from the encampment were seeing to the worst of the wounded. Several horses ran by, eyes wild, frothing at the mouth, being chased down by some of the older boys in the camp. The Jhinn could always use more horses. He
wondered what happened to his own mount and went to head for the bunkhouse. A sharp pain stopped him. .He put his hand to the small of his back and it came away wet with blood.

“You should have the Sawbones see to that, sir.”

Tess Golden, blonde hair in disarray, stood behind the General, her brow furrowed with concern. She was covered in blood, dirt, and soot from the fires.

“Sawbones has worse to contend with just now, Lieutenant. I will have one of the girls clean and dress the wound.”

“Find Lieutenant Marshall, then report to me,” Ted said before she could argue.

Tess nodded and walked away, soon disappearing in the swirling smoke from the still burning buildings.

True to his word, General Smith found a girl who had some skill with a needle and thread. She followed him back to the bunkhouse. She washed the wound with boiling water. The General bit down on a piece of leather to stifle his screams of pain, though the heat of the water did not bother him as much as the stitching. The needle was meant for sewing clothing. But it did the job just fine on skin, as long as one did not mind a rather large scar. The girl placed a soft piece of cloth over the wound, tying it in place with a large piece of linen wrapped around the General's waist.

“You wait here, General, and I will bring you something to eat.” Though the girl was young, she had the attitude of most women in the encampment; when they gave an order, they did so in a tone that clearly stated that they would be obeyed.
Girls must take this skill in while still at the breast.
The girl turned and made her way to the hearth at the rear of the bunkhouse. She had a kettle of stew boiling over a roaring fire. The other hearth and stove were not lit. The weather was turning warmer with the promise of spring and it was not necessary to keep fires burning in both hearths.

Tess Golden returned to the bunkhouse just as General Smith finished his stew and hard biscuit. “We lost fifty in the battle, sir. The Sawbones is sure the number will rise as the worst of the wounded succumb to their injuries. Forty eight of the Jhinn and two Protectors.”

God, please don't let those be any of the Chosen!

“What about our food stores?” he asked, wincing as he put his shirt back on.

“We lost one grain silo and one seed barn. Considering the numbers of other buildings they burned, we are lucky that was all we lost.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, Lieutenant. It was you, and the other Protectors that kept the enemy from doing more damage.”

Tess snorted in derision. “More like it was one speedy young man out by the river! If he hadn't been there, the enemy would have been among us before we even knew they were here.” She shook her head. “The Protectors can't take the credit for this win, sir. The boy saved us.”

That statement is so typical of the Protectors.
No matter the praise they received, they always brushed it aside. Like the young man who had sounded the first alarm, or the Jhinn who had lent a hand during the fighting, or the quick thinking of the General. They never took credit for the sacrifices and the hard work.
This is the attitude the hosen need if they are to work with each other to fight the Mekans.
Ted knew they would do what needs to be done, and they would do it not for the glory, or the praise, but because there was no one else to do it.

The loss of the seed barn would hurt the Jhinn come planting time. There were several seed barns scattered throughout the encampment and were often on someone's property, looking like an ordinary barn. There was nothing to indicate that there was anything special about it. If the enemy ever managed to burn more than one seed barn or grain silo, the people of the encampment would be hurting come the spring planting.

“Did they manage to steal anything?”

“Three supply wagons and several horses. With all of the wounded and confusion, we don't know if anyone was kidnapped.” Tess shook her head, knowing what being taken captive would mean for the Jhinn.

Ted nodded. There had not been a raid to date where at least one person hadn't been taken prisoner. The enemy stole people as readily as they stole food and supplies.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Get yourself something to eat, and then continue the clean-up.”

General Smith walked out of the front door of the bunkhouse and made his way to the fence surrounding the corral. There were several Protectors chopping wood, drawing water from the well, washing clothes and hanging them to dry on lines strung between two cottonwoods. He could dimly hear the ring of the hammer from the smithy across the thoroughfare. The corral was full of horses, mostly those belonging to the Protectors, but a few once belonging to the enemy. Ted spotted No Name eating some hay near the fence.

“So you let me fall to the ground, and leave me there to defend myself against two foes, and now I find you here eating dinner as if nothing happened?” He gave his little mare a stern look.

No Name fixed him with a placid, liquid brown stare. She shook her head and whickered before setting her attention back to her dinner.

“I can't get under your skin, can I?” Ted reached through the wooden fence to give her a scratch. He couldn't blame her for cutting and running when things got tough.

Ted was exhausted but needed to see for himself the state of affairs in the camp. He needed to be visible, infallible, unhurt. The men did not need to know their General was injured and tired.
Most of them are tired and hurt as I.
His presence would give the people of the encampment reassurance.

There were still a few buildings smoldering, trails of smoke winding up through the late afternoon sky. The breeze barely stirred up the ashes, blowing them across the dirt. The townfolk had formed assembly lines from the burning structures to the nearest wells, handing buckets of water from one to another, trying to douse the flames. Most of the fires were too large and burned in spite of the water being hurled at them. Families stood near the charred remnants of their homes, not knowing what else to do. They wished to look through the embers and salvage what they could but the ruins were too hot yet. Soot and dirt covered their faces, save for the tracks the tears made on their cheeks. He stopped at each family he came to, offering condolences and the aid of himself and the Protectors for whatever they needed.
Mistress Annie will be busy.
Ted
could think of nothing he wanted more than a nice hot bath. His clothing was stiff from all of the blood, grime, and sweat that had dried on them. Every muscle ached. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. The wound on his back throbbed with every step.

I will get some herbs from the Sawbones for the pain.
He plodded along the thoroughfare, heading east toward the river. Several inquiries of the townfolk had indicated his two Lieutenants, Mark Vincent and Brad Phillips, were at the river. As he approached, he smelled the stench of the burning bodies. The corpses of the enemies had been piled together and lit with torches. The bodies of the fallen Jhinn would be buried in the boneyard, just behind the church. The burning of corpses was only saved for the enemy. The Jhinn believed that being buried was the only way that a person's soul would be with their Lord and Savior in Heaven. The souls of those not buried were doomed to wander, lost and alone, never getting to see the other side, or to be reunited with loved ones who have passed on.

General Smith saw the smoke from the pile of bodies as he approached the river. It rose into the afternoon air, twining around the limbs of the trees, full of new spring buds. 2
^nd
Lieutenants Mark Vincent and Brad Phillips were giving orders to begin cutting down more trees to be used for the rebuilding.

“We sent Tess to the bunkhouse to get some shut-eye,” said Mark.

Ted spoke with his Lieutenants at length. “Have the displaced families found shelter?”

“Yes, General. They will stay with others in the camp until their homes are rebuilt,” Mark answered.

“Has anyone turned up missing?” His earlier conversation with Tess Golden had gotten his hopes up. Brad shattered those hopes.

“Yes. The Monroe family.”

That means eight missing, six of them children.
The General felt sick. The eldest girl, Lauralee, had done some cooking and mending for the Protectors. She had been a lively young woman, plump and pretty, with thick auburn curls and brown eyes like a doe's.

For the thousandth time, Forka wished to get rid of the threat of the enemy once and for all. The good kind people of the Jhinn deserved to live in peace and security, to raise their children in a safe
place. He had lain awake many a night, forming and rejecting plans to eliminate the Horde and the Cowboys. He knew if the leaders were killed, the rest of the enemy would be easy pickings. The enemy numbers were too great for an all out attack. He could not ask the good people of the encampment to take up arms. They would do so in defense of their homes and families, but they were not hardened soldiers, like his Protectors. It took discipline to stand on the front lines of a battle, looking the enemy in the face, waiting for the moment when two weapons would meet in attack. To defend one's home and hearth, all it took was desperation.

“Sir, everything is under control here. Maybe you should go see the Sawbones and have him take a look at your wound.” Mark pointed to the General's back, where fresh blood could be seen seeping through his shirt.

“And you may want to see Mistress Annie about a bath.” Brad stepped back from General Smith, nose wrinkling in mock disgust. He had just lit a cigarette and it dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth.

“A bath is definitely in order.” Mark Vincent's mouth quirked at the corners as he suppressed a grin.

“Oh, leave off, both of you!” The General retorted. “The two of you aren't exactly smelling like roses.”

Mark and Brad laughed. They were both in as bad a shape as their General, covered in blood, sweat, grime, and soot.

“Sir, the Sawbones is that way,” Brad said, his arm out, pointing east.

Ted fixed the man with an icy stare before moving slowly back toward the thoroughfare, being careful not to wince as he took a step. The sun set as the General limped to the Sawbones' office, the air growing chill. Though the days were warm and comfortable, the nights were still cold. As he approached, the moans and occasional screams surrounded him. Makeshift pallets set up outside near large bonfires held people not in dire need of the attentions of the Sawbones. Kettles of hot water boiled over fires, as did metal pots full of concoctions to make poultices. Any townfolk who had even the slightest knowledge of medicine bustled about the stopgap hospital, lending a hand, bringing hot water, cotton and soft
leather for use as bandages. They made tinctures of willow bark, marigold, and mistletoe to help reduce the pain and reduce the risk of infection. To help ease the passing of those beyond medical aid, a drink was made from poppies. The townfolk called it the white sleep.

General Smith spoke softly to the injured as he made his way into the building. Tallow candles had been lit to stave off the darkness. Mark Halliwell was treating the worst injuries. His raven locks were tied back by a leather cord, his face pale and ravaged by the work of caring for the injured and dying after the battle. His grey eyes were lost in dark circles, giving him the look of the walking dead.

The General made to leave.
I cannot bother him with a little stab wound.