Under the Shadow of the Eagle

Part Twelve

—Boudica was my mother... —the vengeance began.

—And the Vercingetorix, my father —the lost one followed.

—Alareiks was my brother... —the warrior said.

—And Spartacus, my friend —the druid added.

—Hanibal showed me the way...

—And Fritigern taught me the means.

—Gaisarix was my master, and Arminius my example —the man continued.

—Atila was our champion, Viriato our legend, Brano our grandfather, and Gallia our land —then the druid dropped the torch she held over the frame of trunks and branches.

—We were born free and we will die free —said the vengeance and the lost one in unison.

—I was born free and will die defending that freedom —the mistress continued to talk.

—Because we are free, because we are strong, because we are the losing side —again the vengeance and the lost one spoke as one.

—Because it is worth it.

—They are hares trying to rule over wolves.

—We will lose, but we will never disappear.

—We will never disappear, and some day, we will win.

—We will win... for all the fallen ones, and for you, champion of our flock —the druid continued, waving a large amount of earth with her scythe—. For you, slave.

—For the first fallen one of our flock —the apprentice spoke suddenly, barely arriving with the others—, and the last one.

No one said anything else. Her steps were heavy, her gaze was fixed on the fire, her expression did not exist. She was carrying the staff, the wooden pole of her broken sickle, in one hand, and both fists clenched tightly.

Hours passed in silence. One by one, they withdrew from the pyre, except for the apprentice. Without moving, clutching her staff more and more, although her hand began to bleed, she remained there until she could only see smoke and ashes, until the moon ran across the sky, until the first glow of dawn spread over the camp. She was the first to notice the reflection of the sun on the golden feathers.

—... The last one —the woman repeated in a whisper, and looked up. Her eyes immediately met those of the gigantic bird—. It's coming back!!

Before the druid and the warrior, even before the vengeance and the lost one, the four beasts charged howling. As soon as the eagle was within their reach, bleeding gold and flying as clumsily as when it escaped, the two crows, the wolf and the horned bird pounced at it. Fangs clung to its neck, talons hooked on its remaining wing, and horns climbed up its back.

The swooping flight became a violent takedown, and steel fell on it. Where the wolf's fangs made its neck bleed, the apprentice stuck the tip of her staff. Where both crows opened countless wounds in the wing, the warrior, the druid, and the lost one stuck sword, scythe and bardiche. And where the beak, the talons and the horns of a beast had plucked feathers, leaving the center of the eagle's back clearly visible, the vengeance stuck her falcata.

Again the earth was stained with gold, but the screech sounded louder than ever. It was deafening, even forcing the barbarians to interrupt their war cries. The turn it took, despite the cracking of its wing, brought down all its attackers. As it got up, the slash it gave with one of its feet tore off part of the face of the horned beast, throwing its inert body to the ground.

The vengeance jumped up, charging the face of the eagle with her shield and thrusting her falcata to its neck, piercing it completely, turning the blade when she saw the tip sticking out from the other side. The youngest of the crows and the lost one charged, each one to a different flank. The bardiche stuck into the breast of the enemy, and the bird's beak would have done the same, but the wing, with incredible force, blocked it. He leapt backwards, at the exact moment to avoid the spikes that were forged from the blood of gold.