An End, a New Beginning by chrissystriped

An End, a New Beginning

You stifle a scream when the earth starts to shake. Not the gentle swaying you are used to from living close to the mountain of fire, but a rumbling and heaving that makes stones fall from the ceiling. Some of the little ones start to cry when a lamp falls down and shatters on the floor.

You gasp when it suddenly is as if a weight were lifted off you. You feel clear-minded like never before in your live and at the same time a terrible emptiness yawns open inside you. He is gone — the presence of your king, your God, who has always watched you, compelled you, is gone.

You pull your son — how relieved you are that he is still too small to go to war — against you, feeling his arms wrap around your neck. Your heart is racing in fear, cold sweat making you shiver. The enemy has won. You can’t say it out loud, that would be counted as disloyal and get you in trouble, but you feel it. Feel it in the shaking of the earth, in the very taste of the air — in the emptiness inside your mind. They’ve killed the King and they’ll kill you, too.

You know the enemies hate you, they won’t only kill your soldiers — your brothers and sisters, mates, friends —, but the mothers and children, too.

“We need to be prepared”, you say, standing up, resting your son on your hip. “We need to get further down, maybe they won’t find us.”

The other women with small children, who’ve stayed inside the mountain, nod. You quickly line up the children who are old enough to walk, making sure none are lost or left behind as you walk quickly down the tunnels that will lead you further into the depth of the earth.

The air becomes stifling, down here the circulation is bad, and the still shaking earth makes more stones break loose, but you hurry on, your pace fuelled by the fear of being caught by the cruel humans. The children are strangely silent, maybe they feel their mothers’ fear. You find a cave whose entrance is almost obscured by fallen stones and usher the little ones in, following behind.

“We should extinguish the lamps”, someone says and it is done.

You sit in the pitch dark, you know not how long, your son always close beside you. You make sure he drinks, eats. Sometimes you hear steps, light flickering through the gap on top of the stone heap and you tense, collectively holding your breath, praying to you know not who, now that your King is gone, that none of the little ones starts to cry.

Your rations start to run out.

“We can’t stay here.”

You haven’t heard sounds from the other side of the rock pile for a while.

A scout is chosen, the time until she comes back seeming endless.

“They’ve left”, she tells you, when she finally does, lowering a bag with hastily scavenged rations — the humans don’t like your food, not even the ones who follow the King. “There’s a large guard at the Gate, but the city is empty — what’s left of it.” There are tears in the scouts eyes. “We need to leave.”

“Where will we go”, someone says.

“East”, you answer. “I was there once on campaign. There are wide plains, lots of animals to hunt. And many of the men there follow our King.”

“Are we sure the enemy won?”, someone asks. “Are we sure… He won’t make us pay if we run?”

You look at each other, afraid to admit what you all can feel in your minds.

“He’s defeated”, someone finally whispers, you cannot make out who.

“I will dare it”, you say.

You are all armed, you knew it might come to a last stand. You hope you won’t have to fight with your son clinging to you.

“Let’s wait for night. They don’t see that well at night.”

There are some more dissenting voices, but in the end a consent is reached. You scavenge for more provisions for the journey, then wait.

Chance is kind to you for once and it is a cloudy night, no moon, no stars, perfect for you.

You cross the mountains by a narrow path the enemy hasn't found, then strike east. As the wind ruffles through your hair, you finally realise you are free. There’s a life ahead of you. No more fighting for the goals of someone else. You all can raise your children, together.

You cannot quite bring yourself to be happy about the victory of the enemy — so many of your people dead —  but maybe, just maybe, it will turn into something good for you and your son.