Road To The Moon [one-minute stories]

Slaughter at the Bridge

Tollense Valley, 1250 BCE:
The meandering river streams softly through the luscious landscape of the Valley. For a brief moment, it seems there's no place more tranquil in all the world.

Colliding fists break the peace. Two men, locked in struggle with one another topple to the ground. Both strides to get the upper hand. Varion lunges for Gildart's throat, his eyes wide with rage. He pushes his opponent down in the water so hard his knuckles go white.

Lana runs through the shallow water, desperate to break the men up. Varion turns and catches her by surprise, shoving her in the water. He stands up, winding another punch.

"Enough!"

The chief's command boulders through the valley, making all freeze where they stand. "What is the meaning of this brutality?"

Varion drops to one knee as he locks eyes with the chief. "Gildart tried to have his way with my Lana. I had to punish him, father."

The chief nods, shifting his attention to the man crawling out of the swamp. "Is this true, Gildart?"

Gildart's gaze flicks from one face to the next as if he's trying to outrun his own thoughts. He wanted to explain himself, but no amount of explanation could justify what he had done. "I'm sorry, father."

"Is this how I raised my only children, to behave like beasts?" The chief spits at the two young men, who hung their head's in shame. He turns to Varion, "Keep your woman content so she does not search elsewhere."

"And you," Gildart glances up into the blazing eyes of his father, "find your own woman and don't even think about riding beside us at dawn."

"What?" Gildart jumps up, "This is not fair. You can't deny my place in battle, you need me out there!"

"With a thousand men, one rider, even a highly skilled one like you, is just one stone of the mountain."

Lana scrambles to her feet, trying to come to Gildart's defence, but it's too late the chief had made his decision. All she can do is give Gildart an apologetic glance as they all make their way back to the camp.

At the break of dawn, Lana can hear the horses breaching in anticipation as their riders mount, their swords and weapons glistening in the morning light.

Never before had the clan possessed so many riders. Never before had they possessed so many weapons. And never before had a battle been fought without the clan's greatest warrior.

She joined Gildart atop the hill as the clan's warriors made their way towards the edge of the woods, near the bridge. He pulled his hand away as soon as she brushed hers softly against it.

"I should be with them, teaching those Hittites a lesson not to take our land."

"Just be glad your father didn't submit you to a harsher punishment."

His eyes light up as he glances at her, a grin forming at the corner of his lips. "I would gladly endure any flocking if it would mean I could be with you."

A crimson blush, as red as the morning sky overtook her freckled skin. "I'm just glad you're okay."

For a moment, they just stand there silently atop the hill.

As the fog surrounding the swamp gives way, a swarm of warriors are revealed on the other side of the bridge. There are so many, that Gildart can't even see where their troop begins or ends. He feels Lana's trembling fingers brush his bronze arm ring. "What is this? Why are there so many of them?" She stumbles as she hides behind Gildart.

"I think the Hittites have made some friends."

Turning over his shoulder he can't help but notice the fear in Lana's eyes, "Don't worry, our warriors are well trained, those barbarians don't stand a chance."

Gildart shoots her one last smile as she walks back to the camp, trying to deny his gut feeling. As soon as Lana is out of sight Gildart focuses on the battle ahead.

Some footsoldiers of the Hittites try to cross the bridge, archers mowing them down as they go. Those who do make it across slam there wooden clubs on the bronze shields, but to no avail. "See, nothing to worry about our men got this," Gildart whispers to himself.
The words barely crossed his lips or the Hittites footsoldiers part to let a dozen of heavily armed riders through, who jump over the wall of shields, cutting the men down from behind.

As soon as the defence is broken all hell breaks loose. The Hittites pore over the bridge, cutting down any men who stand in their way with there swords, shooting down any who tries to escape.

Gildart watches on in horror as the battle turns into a slaughter. Finally finding his voice he sounds the alarm, running back to the camp. "Run, everybody run for your lives! The Hittites are coming!"

As he mounts his stallion a hand brushes his knee. "I'm coming with you," Lana insists.

A cloud of red billows in the river. Water and blood mix in his mouth, but even with his body a ragged ruin, he claws forward along the grass, fury in his eyes. "Brother," is all he hears before Gildart hooks his arms around him, pulling him out of the water.

"Why did you come?" Varion asks Gildart when he sees Lana standing by the horse, her gaze to the sky as she tries to hold back her tears.

"We might have our differences, but you're still my brother," Gildart explains as he examines the wounds. There are several gazes across his ribs and a flint arrowhead embedded in his upper arm. Gildart takes a piece of cloth to pull out the arrowhead. But before he can Varion covers his hand with his own, "You were right. We needed you in battle."

Tears pricked his eyes as he squeezes Varion's hand. "This was no battle, this was a slaughter."

Word count: 994