The War and What Came After

by NorsePony

Chapter 4

The rest of summer passed slowly, at first. The elders dispatched runners to all the villages in the forest and the hills to the north, save Clearbrook in the western hills, which was closest to the Others and so could spare no warriors. The days crawled by as Ghost waited for the warriors’ arrival, and when they began streaming in at last, in groups large and small, the days began passing in a blur of activity as they were brought into the training regimen.

Summer’s heat was waning toward the cool of autumn by the time the training was complete. The god’s camp had swelled to hold ten thousand warriors from all over the People’s earth. Every doe and buck in the camp had been trained in loading and firing the gods’ weapons, and many had also been trained to make the weapons and had spent much of their time for a month or more spinning sticks into hollow tubes and chunks of wood into the cone-shaped plugs and the cotton-like tinder that was packed in behind the plug—moss had finally proved unworkable as demand increased with thousands and thousands of warriors needing supply. The weapons and ammunition had been produced in ever-greater quantities as the summer steamed on, until at last every warrior had their harness and paired tubes and bags of plugs and tinder.

In the long tent shared by the Firsts of each village and the highest-ranking elders, Ghost and Ember surveyed a map drawn from the recollections of daring scouts who had ventured into the Other’s earth to spy on their villages throughout the hills and plains. The Others had not advanced their western border past Ghost’s fawnhood village of Snowfall. Clearbrook, the nearest village to the Other’s lines, had not fallen in the years since Snowfall, though it was unclear whether that was because the Others did not know of Clearbrook’s existence or whether Clearbrook had succumbed to cowardice and ceased pressing the Others. Ghost tapped a hoof near Clearbrook on the map and swept it over the Other’s settlement in the place where Snowfall was. “We will travel west in the forest, then north to the hills to rally at Clearbrook, then move east through the hills to retake Snowfall. It is a fitting first strike.”

The Firsts nodded and rumbled thoughtfully. Customarily, the First of a village was a respected and accomplished warrior who had demonstrated skill in the arts of leadership. Becoming First meant one was trusted by their village to arbitrate disagreements, coordinate defenses, and speak for the village in the rare councils of the People. Ghost respected their combined knowledge and judgement, and made a point of publicly including them in her planning.

Ghost had originally planned to bypass the hills, taking her army far to the east while still in the forest’s cover, to strike north into the plains around the east side of the craggy mountain at the center of the earth. East of that mountain was a steep and inhospitable mountain range which neither the People nor the Others could inhabit. But Ember had had the wise idea to begin the attack in the hills, where the Others were closer and the terrain less favorable for them. Though the hill villages were not well-garrisoned and so could not easily strike at the army’s back, Ghost understood the wisdom in not leaving any enemy at one’s back, no matter how weak. Ember’s strategy also gave the People the chance to take the hills back in a series of lightning-quick strikes before the fullness of winter bore down on the land, whereupon the heavy snowfall would cut the villages off from the lowlands and prevent the Others from reversing those advances. The People would be fighting on the plains in winter, where the snow would only serve to hide their advance on the well-defended large villages—cities, Ghost’s memory supplied the ugly, alien word. The Firsts’ thoughtful noises faded, and one by one, they stamped a hoof against the packed earth of the tent floor, ritually signaling their approval of the battle plan. Ghost caught Ember’s pleased smile from the corner of her eye.

The rest of the day was taken up by discussion of details—supply lines, signals, and debate over which village’s warriors should have the honor of being the vanguard in the attack on Snowfall. Finally, all was settled, and Ghost and Ember were free to leave the long tent into the long rays of sunset. They circled the camp, which had grown huge and sprawling with the addition of thousands of warriors, taking a last look at the preparations.

Ember said, “Do you believe we will succeed?”

Ghost stared at her for a moment before speaking, eyebrow raised in surprise. “Of course! The gods themselves assist us, and their weapons give us unstoppable power. The Others will be unable to withstand us. By this time next year, the earth will be the People’s again.” She hesitated and glanced aside at Ember. “Do you not?”

Ember shook her head, her fine large antlers gleaming in the light of the People’s celebratory bonfires. “I do. I wanted to hear you say it. I worry, Ghost. About after.”

“Ah. After.”

“Ghost,” Ember said quietly, “have you given any further thought to after?”

Ghost blew out a breath through her nostrils. “I have not. After is a lovely dream, but one I cannot afford to have just yet. Wetting the earth with the Others’ blood is where my concern ends. Once the earth has dried, well, that is for you and others of the People to concern yourselves with.”

Ember looked away, into the darkness of the forest around the camp. They completed their circuit of the camp in silence, and retired to their tents.

* * *

The wind swept through the narrow, dead-end valley, building speed as the valley’s rocky walls closed in. It passed through the village the Others had built over the bones of Snowfall, ruffling manes and tugging at the brightly colored bits of cloth hanging decoratively on the low stone houses as though in imitation of the brightly colored Others scurrying through the streets. The Others were builders, not warriors, and the dozens of dozens of stone buildings they had built in place of the tiny village of Snowfall showed that. Ghost snorted. They might as well be beavers. At the back of the village, opposite the high stone wall which spanned the valley to keep the village secure, the wind whistled over the granary—a long building with thick walls built snug against the valley’s steep rear face—and howled as it climbed out of the valley, forcing Ghost to squint against the steady blast in her face as she looked down on the village. In the hills, autumn was already well-established, and the fast, cold wind cut through her tawny coat like a knife. She ignored it, standing firm as she conferred with the Firsts and their head warriors to plan the attack.

Minutes later, Ghost crept through the scraggly brush of one of the valley’s side walls. Ember was at her side, and a thousand other warriors lay all around the lip of the valley, surrounding the village below. From her vantage, Ghost could see the five hundred warriors of the vanguard, creeping toward the village’s heavy gate. There were thousands more warriors standing idle, just out of sight of the village, and there they would remain. Ghost and her advisors had decided to use only a fraction of her forces in this narrow valley, lest they clog it and do more harm than good.

The vanguard was a long sling throw from the gate when a sharp-eyed sentry finally saw them and shouted an alarm. The Others who were working the fields beyond the gate dropped their tools and galloped for safety even as the gate began to close, pulled by blunt-featured, heavy-shouldered walking ones—earth ponies, Ghost thought, letting her distaste for the Others’ ugly tongue increase her pleasure at their impending death. The front rank of the vanguard rose from their stealthy crawl and the command to fire drifted faintly to Ghost’s ears.

Light sparkled from the standing warriors as they fired at the gate’s hinges, then fired again. The heavy wood cracked, then shattered under the impacts, but the hinges were not destroyed and the gate still stood, albeit crookedly. The walking ones were nothing if not physically strong, and they continued to drag it closed despite the damage, digging a great furrow in the soil.

The front rank threw themselves flat and twisted their necks back to draw their loading rods with their teeth, beginning the swift and practiced motions of reloading. The second rank of the vanguard leapt up and fired upon the gate’s hinges. That second volley was enough to destroy the hinges and separate the gate from the wall, and the gate fell slowly inward to land with a mighty crash and a great cloud of dust, leaving the way open. The second rank threw themselves flat and began reloading, and the rest of the vanguard charged past the supine warriors with a roar, rushing to run over the fallen gate to take advantage of the confusion before a proper defense could be mounted.

The Others’ warriors—if they could be called such—were flooding from their homes into the streets in response to the sentry’s alarm, some still adjusting their grip on their weapons or awkwardly running on three legs while securing their helmets. Ghost smiled, seeing them. “Now it is our turn,” she said conversationally.

She surged upright from her supine position, and the warriors lining the valley on either side of her followed her lead. She bent her front knees, lowering the mouths of her tubes to face the running and flying Others. It was a long shot through windy air, but not longer than they had practiced. Her antlers glowed red as she opened herself to Ano, but he felt weirdly remote, as though she were shouting across a distance. This is not the gods’ land anymore. Who would have thought the change could be so swift? But when she asked Ano to bring out the fire hiding in the tinder, he reached across the distance and it roared forth as hot and bright as ever, and one of the flying Others fell broken in the street. The products of the forest still belong to the gods. Intellectually, she had known the weapons would work, but feeling her tube fire was comforting nonetheless.

The Others had no chance. The warriors on the rim of the valley barraged the village like rain, ensuring that no defenders could move through the streets to take up favorable positions in the guard towers or in the air, which forced the defenders either toward the vanguard’s tubes or into the biggest buildings. The vanguard’s battle cries crossed the distance to Ghost’s ears, thinned to a musical quality. The vanguard stood just past the fallen gate in a leaf-shaped formation, the long straight sides of the leading edge giving the formation a wide sweep of control. The defenders were in disarray, charging the van in small groups, spears or knives shaking only a little. But no matter where they attacked the formation, a dozen warriors or more saw them coming. The scared, foolish Others were always reduced to a bloody heap in moments. Once a warrior fired, they would step back and the warrior behind them, who waited in the second rank with loaded weapons, would step forward to take their place. The formation was three warriors deep, and thus able to fire continuously in any direction.

In scarcely half an hour, the village fell silent. Defenders had stopped attacking the van, and there was no sign of motion in the heavy, squat buildings facing the open square behind the gate. The warriors of the van raised up, all together, to their rear legs, then slammed their forehooves down on the packed dirt of the square. It was the signal for the warriors on the valley rim to stop firing so that the vanguard could move from building to building without being struck down by a blind shot from above. Ghost stood, grateful for the relief in her aching knees, and all around her warriors stood and boasted to their neighbors about the Others they were sure they had killed.

The van’s leaf-shaped formation dissolved, reforming into a hundred fours of warriors and a much-reduced leaf formation to guard the gate. The fours fanned out quickly but cautiously, some combing the streets and alleys and others bursting into buildings to slay any cowardly Others hiding inside.

Occasional thumps and booms carried up to Ghost and Ember as the fours found enemies, and a few screams wended their way through the wind. Ember shivered at one drawn-out scream, and Ghost touched her shoulder to Ember’s, saying quietly, “It must be. This earth is the People’s.”

Ember nodded, gulped a breath of the cold wind to steady herself. Ghost barely caught her whispered words. “Is it, still?”

Once the all-clear had been signaled, Ghost and Ember filed down to the village to meet the Firsts and head warriors. They gathered in the square, and the First of Longbough cleared her throat. She had led the vanguard, and her voice was scratchy from the smoke and her war cries. “All told, we lost three warriors. A fine trade for a village of hundreds of Others.”

The group of leaders made pleased noises, nodding and congratulating each other and Ghost. Ghost sucked at her lip for a moment, and when she spoke, the leaders sobered at her tone. “The Others outnumber us a thousand to one, or more. Trading one warrior for a hundred Others will doom us. We have a two-day march east to the village of Wind. We will spend that time discussing what went wrong and how better to kill.” The leaders bowed to her.

Ember looked around at the corpses in the square and lying twisted where they had fallen in doorways, and raised her voice to carry. “This village will be the People’s when the snow melts. Let us not leave our sisters and brothers the task of cleansing it of dead Others. Gather the bodies beyond the wall and we will burn them. And have the doors of the granary reinforced to prevent hungry animals from entering in the People’s absence. We will need that grain to survive until the first harvest.”

The Firsts and head warriors stiffened to attention at the firmness in her voice, but they looked askance at Ghost. Ghost gave no sign that she noticed their questioning glances, but only bowed to Ember. It is a thought both kind and wise, and she thinks of after, as always. The leaders hastened to bow in turn before striding away snapping orders.

With the muscle of thousands of warriors, It took less than an hour to gather the corpses in a series of great piles beyond the fallen gate. On Ember’s advice, bits of weapon-tinder had been laid in the piles as they were being built. Ghost stepped forward from the ring of warriors standing well back from the piles, and reached for Ano. He came to her as across a great distance, as before. Out of curiosity, she asked him to release the fire in the body of one of the Others, but even she could feel that there was no fire there to be released—or that Ano could not touch what was there. She was unsure which thought was more disturbing. They do not belong to the gods, just as the elder said. Then, thinking of Ember’s earlier words, What have they done to the earth in their time here? Ghost frowned, and resolutely turned her mind to her task. She showed Ano the bits of tinder amidst the doubly-dead piles, and he reached across the distance to touch them all in an instant. White flame roared toward the sky, marred by a pall of greasy smoke. The warriors cheered, seeing only their enemies’ ultimate defeat.

With the feeling of Ano’s distance still fresh in her, Ghost could not see what they saw. What will it take to bring the gods back to this land? She had the sinking realization that simply killing the Others would not be enough. She turned away, suddenly tired all the way to her bones and wanting nothing more than to sleep. On her way to the tents, Ember fell in silently beside her and pressed her shoulder to Ghost’s. She didn’t speak, but Ghost was soothed by her presence. We have only begun, and already I long for the work to be complete. Then the responsibility will be yours, and I can rest.

Comments

[Seether00]

Can't wait for the Princesses to come. Bullets vs. waves of Solar and Lunar magic. You can't wipe out a village without payback.

[Tetrominon]

I can't wait to hear their version of history. Whose will be closer to the truth?

[Sereg]

Really liking the worldbuilding and different point of view.

[Lady Grey]

You write good battles. I feel sorry for Ember, but I feel more sorry for Ghost. I wonder if she'll fade away when her unfinished business is done. (Metaphorically?) That being said, it's not real war yet, there have been only slaughters. We'll see what happens if they hit real resistance.

Not much to say otherwise.