Barbarian

Chapter XXVIII

Ringing in my ear and tremors through my body, I pull my eyes open but am met with only smoke. Garrick’s arms are no longer around me but Lachlann has not moved from within the wall of my body. 

“Brogan!” Ailis’ scream drives me out of the silent wall around me. I shake my head free of the buzzing sound and race for the ledge. 

Brogan is over the edge of the cliff. He holds on with only one hand, the other held against his chest and twisted in an awkward position. His face is twisted with pain and blood runs down the side of his head. 

“Hold on, Brogan!” Ailis voice cracks and she grabs his arm. She tries to pull, but he does not move an inch. He’s too heavy.

Garrick swings over the side of the ledge and lands beside Ailis who tries to wipe the tears from her eyes faster than they spring up. She is fighting a losing battle. 

Garrick grabs Brogan’s arm and using a crack in the stone as leverage, uses his entire weight in an attempt to pull his friend up. It feels like it takes hours but soon, Garrick an Brogan are both safe on the ledge. Ailis kneels behind the Brigantes warrior. She rips a strip of cloth from her leine and presses gently against his head wound. 

Garrick glances over the ledge into the pile of boulders covering the mountain pass. The dust is beginning to settle. Nothing moves. 

“Come on, let’s get to the ledge above to rest. With Garrick and Ailis pushing from below and me pulling from above, Brogan is pulled up onto the large ledge and is positioned so he leans against the mountain wall. Ailis is next and Garrick swings up right behind her. Lachlann races into the arms of his adopted mother. Ailis hushes his mournful whimpers. 

“So... It’s over,” I say. I know it is true but my mind is still on alert, still in perpetual panic mode. 

Garrick nods. “It’s ov--” 

A blood-curdling cry freezes my bones. We all turn to Brogan in horror. A sword sticks out from his thigh. A Roman stands above him.

“Girls, get behind the bush,” Garrick orders. We scurry behind the paltry little sanctuary.

“I am Festus Demetrius and I will not be beaten!” the Roman commander roars. I suck in a breath. With blood running down the side of his face, his mouth missing a couple teeth, scrapes and bruise covering his body, and his hands gripping his sword so tightly they shake, he looks mad. And there is nothing to prove he is not.

Demetrius raises his sword to Brogan’s neck. Brogan’s breaths are shallow and filled with agony. The injury to his thigh is deep. The bone is probably shattered. Beside me, Ailis sobs freely, her hands covering her mouth, trying to stifle the weeping. 

The Roman yanks his sword out of Brogan’s leg but this time, the warrior only groans. His face is pale, a puddle of blood has formed beneath him. The bloody sword is harshly pushed against his throat. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this,” the roman says and I realize that he is speaking our language perfectly. “I’m sure you believe you’ve seen me before. But let me refresh your memory. When we attacked your village, you gave me this,” he points the long nasty cut that runs through his eye and across the bridge of his nose. “--and this.” He motions to the long blood red stripe that runs perfectly straight across his neck. He grins. “I’m sure that one looks familiar. I believe I killed your wife with the exactly same laceration. It’s a shame I killed her really, she would have been a tasty treat for me last night.”