Josiah

Josiah: “I let em under your care for a week and this is what yuh have to show,” Josiah said as he began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic. The cloth’s white tone accentuated his bronze muscular skin.

Isabrell: “Damn cunt. Should’ve never left er alone with em”. Isabrell was still wearing her smithing clothes. Sweat beads covered her face. The smell however was familiar to the green military tent.

Josiah: “Bring ‘em ere. Be careful,” Josiah said moving around the freshly cleared table.

Together they lifted Theus’s ridged body out of the wheelbarrow onto the table. His arms contorted together, and his good leg lifted towards his chest. The wound on his right leg had begun to bulge doubling the size of his foot.

Josiah: “You’ve done enough Isa. You can come back marow”.

Isabrell: “Take care of the lad,” she said meeting Josiah’s eyes. “You’re a good man”. She pressed her lips on his cheek and left the room.

A sudden flutter uprooted in Josiah’s chest. He had always admired Isabrell’s work ethic and all she’s done for Willowood. But time for romance was gone for him.

Josiah looked down at the table. Theus’s breath was choppy and held him in constant twitching and shuddering. Josiah couldn’t count the number of boys who had died on this table.

He began by cutting the boot off. It took longer than expected due to the congealed cloth pieces stuffed inside. Each strip he pulled looked like a foot-long leech filled to bursting.

The foot was bloated; puffed like a suckling pig. The wound was black and scabbed over on both ends. The light brown skin of Theus was barely visible behind the blood stains.

Josiah: “By the mother,” he cursed aloud.

He stood there. He tried to look at the same boy he had bumped into a week ago. The wounded deer on his surgery table looked nothing like him.

Josiah made a snap decision and found the saw. He knew what must be done.

Night passed. Josiah walked out of the surgery tent for the first time since Theus entered last night. The smell of blood and alcohol wafted from the tent flaps as he exited. Josiah’s tunic was covered in blood stains.

Around was a din of soldiers stirring from their tents. The village’s wooden walls arced behind the camp. All around were green tents and open fields. The morning dew and mud pounded Josiah’s senses. He had gotten too used to the same smells of surgery.

He walked towards a campfire he could smell ahead of him. A dozen bannermen crowded the warmth.

Soldier 1: “Ow’s the boy?” asked one of the men. He was older than the other boy soldiers. But not by much.

Josiah waited to respond. He grabbed a wooden bowl and ladled the morning grain slurry. Sitting down on a log draped in furs, he replied “He’ll live”.

The soldiers murmured and congratulated Josiah. He just sat with a blank stare, spooning up slop occasionally when he remembered to. Several soldiers passed a pipe around the circle. When it came to Josiah, they found he wasn’t going to continue passing. Nothing could be done of that.

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Breaking the creeping silence a soldier spoke, “Scout came in this morn. Black Cloud is a weeks march away”.

Soldier 5: “We’re lucky. Them savages are slow as a daft sheep.

The circle laughed. They tried to cling to any levity they could. Most were young and naïve.

Josiah: “The boys gotta better chance than us,” Josiah said before taking a long drag on the pipe. “Black Clouds got one of them Touched. They say he’s made of smoke. Men choke just lookin at em. Hagar the Haze they call em,” Josiah then blew smoke into the faces of the men. “We’re just another village on his warpath”.

The circle’s dull banter quieted. All eyes focused on Josiah.

Soldier 8: “That’s hogwash! Nobody believes in them tales”.

Soldier 12: “Me mum said the Baroness was a Touched. Said she could speak with the Willowmother erself… hogwash indeed”.

Soldier 1: “We have the Willowmother by our side men. Never forget that”.

The gossip of the Baroness continued. Josiah could care less. He nursed the pipe dry, not wavering a stare at the fire. His eyes took in the fire’s smoke, no matter the stinging pain, he did not cry.

Josiah’s day continued with training recruits, checking up on Theus, and general patrol of the village. He had been spending most of the days the same since Willowood got news of Black Clouds’ advances. Most of their informants were refugees from neighboring villages and hamlets. Poor souls Josiah thought as he ascended the stone tower of the Baroness. They deserved better.

Baroness Astrid: “You seem not afraid of this Black Cloud army?” said the Baroness. She knelt by a shrub, trimming it with a pair of shears.

Josiah: “Well, uh… Ma’am. No, I ain’t fraid of no army. But we should be. Them boys never seen a fight past target practice and sparing matches, let alone a siege. I’m fraid of the town”.

Josiah understood etiquette. But with Astrid, he had grown to know her lax rules on politeness. So, they spoke with no direct eye contact. Josiah stood with his hands mounted to the stone railing of the Baroness’s tower. It was one of the few buildings made from stone in Willowood. They were only one story above the town. But it was tall enough to have him enraptured with the sight. The Baroness knelt trimming her balcony garden. She lightly hummed whenever they held silence.

Baroness Astrid: “The Willowmother will protect us. She has always protected our town”. She tilted her head left and right to the tune of her hum.

Josiah: “I understand that ma’am. But will her protection be enough for Hagar,” he said looking down at her for the first time.

Baroness Astrid: “The Haze is only a name. His devotion to their damnable cloud god is nothing but a farce. Touched are a thing of past. My power left many years ago”. She then held her hand to her neck, meaning to touch something that wasn’t there.

Josiah looked away as she gestured. He remembered when she held the crown of the Willowmother. It sat mantled on her shoulders, a writhing arc of roots and leaves. Truly a magnificent show of power and devotion. Now the crown was but a faint memory.

Josiah: “Have we gotten word from Havenrun?” he said looking over his shoulder to the south.

Baroness Astrid: “No. I’ve sent messengers twice now. None have returned. I suspect they’ve either been captured or deserted to Havenrun”. The weight of their situation was lost on her. She kept humming and pruning leaves.

Josiah knew the answer. He couldn’t admit it to himself. He wanted so desperately for them to be saved. To have any protection at all.

Josiah: “We’ll all die,” he said looking at the village. He didn’t mean to say it out loud. But he could see all the people. Their lives. Their conversations in the streets. Their laugher. Their distress. He could see it all.

Josiah: “I understand now. You have no faith. You rely on the forest. You need to rely on the people. It’s us soldiers who protect our town. You have no faith in us”. He didn’t even look at her once. He just stared at the town.

Baroness Astrid: “My faith has kept the town alive. We would have all starved when my parents died”. She started to clip the bushes faster.

Josiah: “You’ll be returnen to em soon with that attitude. We might as well pack up and leave for Havenrun. Our people will be bettah off”. Josiah began pacing across the balcony; gesticulating with closed fists to accentuate his frustration.

Astrid stopped her clipping abruptly. She brushed a strand of orange hair out of her face and got up from the bush. She pointed the shears at Josiah maintaining a firm stare into his eyes.

Baroness Astrid: “Listen here you low-life foot soldier. I do my best for Willowood, as did my family before me. You best be getting to your duties now soldier. I have no more need of this meeting”.

Josiah: “No one will be there to dig your grave if you keep this up. We need to leave the town. We still have time”. Josiah opened his mouth to say more.

Astrid stood there, the shears shaking in her hand. He could see her fear. She was like a daughter to him he realized for the first time. “Good day ma’am,” he said nodding.

Josiah turned and walked down the tower. Followed by the echoes of his boots on stone.