Josiah

Poor kid Josiah thought. He didn’t deserve any of this. Poor boy.

Josiah leaned the boy back on the log. He looked at him intently. It was Josiah’s fault the village fell. If only he had talked to the Baroness more.

Soldier: “Help,” croaked a voice just feet away.

Josiah held the bottle of spirits tight. It was half empty. He could sit here forever, watching the ash drift from the sky. It was beautiful. He took his last swig and got up.

Soldier: “Help,” repeated the same voice.

Josiah came to their aid. A boy, a little older than Theus, was lying in the mud. His face was covered in black soot. After every other word he cried he would hack up black bile. Josiah frowned as he approached.

Soldier: “Water. I need water,” he said. His eyes tried to look for Josiah approaching. Josiah could see his eyes were glazed over with smoke.

Josiah: “I’m ere boy. No more worries”. He sat next to the boy in the mud. Pulling his water bladder, he lifted his neck and gave him small sips.

The next minute was followed by constant choking and coughing. The water mixed with the soot covering his lungs and mouth.

Josiah tried his best to prevent the choking. He turned the boy over to aid him in throwing up the black sludge. The boy soldier died in Josiah’s arms.

He held him. Patting his back. He knew he was dead, but he wasn’t ready to admit it just yet.

Josiah: “Get it all out boy, your almost done,” he repeated patting the corpse’s back. “Just a few more coughs”.

He found solace in comforting the boy. Even though he was dead, he knew he had helped him.

He found the feeling similar to that night of years past.

He had held his daughter’s limp body close to his. She was wet and covered in blood. Her warmth from the womb was quickly drifting away. Her name was to be Soffi. What a pretty name it would have been. He and Evel had been waiting so long for Soffi. Evel’s body lay limp on the bloodstained bed, just like her daughter’s.

That night was imprinted in Josiah forever. It was the last night he was ever a husband. The last night he was ever a father.

Sitting there with the dead soldier. It reminded him of whom he lived for. Those who couldn’t make it.

He looked to the empty field to his right.

Without missing a second, Josiah got up. He scanned his surroundings. The village was covered in smoke, similar to the woods. The wooden walls sat piled on the ground in flames. Most of the houses were made of dirt and straw, they didn’t stand a chance against the flames.

Josiah looked at the Baroness’s tower. It being stone meant it wouldn’t burn. That however didn’t help against the catapult that rained fire onto Willowood last night. The stone tower had crumbled before a single Black Cloud soldier set foot at the wall.

Josiah found a pile of dirt next to the smoldering wall. There laid a shovel. It was covered in soot and nearly blended into the landscape. The excavation was meant to be part of a moat. They didn’t have time or manpower to finish the fortification.

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With the shovel tightly gripped in his hand, he made for the muddy field between the village and forest. In complete silence, he began digging. One hole. Then another, and another. Hours passed before he looked up from his digging. It was calming to him. It was something he could do to keep his mind empty.

Looking up for the first time in hours, he noticed several other soldiers with shovels. They were spaced apart to not interfere with his focus. He nodded to the dozen or so soldiers that covered the field. They nodded back and kept digging.

On walking back to the camp, Josiah saw more soldiers followed by several villagers. They had gathered carts and began to pile bodies. They all nodded at him solemnly. Without a word, he had rallied the village survivors to work.

Back at the soldiers camp outside the walls, he found the log where Theus had been.

Josiah: “He on a cart now?” Josiah asked a nearby soldier carrying a body.

Soldier: “No sir. Lad asked for a crutch and hobbled off to the wood,” he said nodding to the forest that had been raining ashes ever since it was burned down last night. “Lads been gone for a while now. Gods bless ‘em”.

Josiah shrugged and carried on with his mission.

Approaching the village was harder than expected. The flaming walls created barriers that were hard to cross. Eventually, he found an entrance that had been made by soldiers who covered the flames with mud.

There he followed the layout of the village and found the main road. The place was a mess. The smell of burnt hay and manure overpowered his nose. It was almost powerful enough to cover the smell of the burnt bodies. Almost.

Following the cobble, the road led Josiah to the tower. The tower used to be the beacon of Willowood. It had a large ground floor and the tower came from the south corner of the building holding two terraces. One to view the village, and another to view the forest.

Now the tower only had one terrace. The forest side had been destroyed by the flaming projectiles of the catapult.

Josiah remembered last night. The soldier’s hope had already been quenched when seeing the burning woods for the first time. Only to be followed by hellfire raining down on the village from siege weapons.

Josiah: “We didn’t stand a chance,” he muttered as he climbed the steps to the top of the terrace.

He reached the top of the tower. He saw her. Baroness Astrid hung from the wooden rafters of the tower. She swayed slightly. Her white gown was stained black at an angle from the ashes coming from the large hole in the wall.

Her face was still. No grief. No pain. Just still.

Josiah: “That’s no way to be seen Astrid,” Josiah said pushing upright the fallen chair underneath her.

He climbed up and cut her loose into his arms. They both sat on her perfectly made bed. He untied the noose from her neck.

Josiah: “Let’s get you to rest”. He patted her tightly braided hair.

He gathered a few of her things from the room and carried them along with her body down the tower.

After ten minutes of marching with her corpse, Josiah made it to the grave site. The soldiers had started carting bodies to the field.

He gathered all the villagers and soldiers that remained alive.

The group of only a few dozen followed Josiah to the first grave he dug hours ago.

There he rested Baroness Astrid’s body in the earth. He placed her walking staff in the grave with her. He and several other people surrounded the grave.

Josiah: “Any words?” he said breaking the calm silence.

No one replied.

They grabbed shovels and covered the body. Josiah grabbed one of the stone bricks from the rubble of the tower and placed it as a headstone. Atop the stone, he placed flowers from the baroness’s garden. Their colorful petals were muted from the ash.

The survivors stayed for a few minutes. But after that, they went to their graves and buried family members and friends.

Josiah sat on his knees looking at the grave. He wondered what happened to his girl’s grave. They had been buried so many years ago now. Where he used to live in Arth.

Josiah had been trying for hours now, but he just couldn't cry. He felt their pain. He felt their anguish. But he couldn’t cry. He had cried his last tear when his daughter died in his arms.

So he just sat at the Baroness’s grave.

He started to hear sniffling next to him. He looked over at the noise.

A tombstone floated beside him. It was curved at the top and flat at the bottom. It had a face made from engravings. Its eye recesses moved downward to look at the grave. It had spade hands that were attached to bone arms that floated close to its body. Above its head was a garland of bright flowers. It cried a subtle rattling noise. Petals fell from its garland as tears.

Josiah would have felt shocked. But he could feel little right now. He wished to cry.

The small spirit next to him cried. It cried for Josiah. He knew it was for him. His chest flushed with gratitude.

Josiah: “Thank you little one,” he said with a frowned smile.

The floating spirit just wept.

He went to get up, but the spirit tugged at his hand to stay. Josiah felt the bone grab his hand; it was cold. The two sat there together, hands clasped. They stared at the grave.

Josiah was touched by the god of his graveyard.