Chapter 34

The others were making their way down the side of the gully when I
reached them. My heart leapt to see them, even as it pounded in fear.
       The group convened. Yuhannan gave instructions. They had
been seen; there could be no escape. The strongest fighters would
return to the plain to try to hold off as many of the enemy as they
could. They would proceed south along the gully and make their
way to the surface as carefully as possible, to try to approach the
enemy from an unexpected direction.
       The rest of us would remain in the gully, preparing to fight
hand to hand but also collecting rocks to hurl at the enemy as they
approached.
       None of us expected to live. Our goal was only to provide as
much distraction as possible to allow the other two groups to make
it to the safety of the caves. If somehow the enemy thought to look
beyond this small group, they would be hard-pressed to find them. The
caves were well concealed near the top of the highest of the
foothills. 
       We prayed that it would all end here in the gully and that
the enemy would be satisfied with having taken out our group and
those left behind in the town.
       Yuhannan turned to the group and said quietly, “We fight as
one.” Everyone nodded, and we took our positions.
       It was then that the fear within me began to yield to a strange,
disembodied peace. I stood up and began to practice with my sword.
I willed myself to move slowly and deliberately. The image of the
carpenter working his wood came to mind.
      I followed that rhythm to the best of my ability, shifting my
weight as needed until it became a smooth, efficient motion. It was
clearly not my usual stance—fighting left-handed was still awkward
and slow—but it was an improvement.
       The others were watching me. I paused, looking into each of
their faces, trying to commit them to memory. Aryel was not there.
She had joined the group that was going to fight from above. I allowed
myself no thoughts or feelings about this.
       Yuhannan’s words returned to my mind. “We fight as one,” I
echoed to the group.
       They nodded, and each resumed his or her own preparation.
Some sharpened their weapons on stones, some practiced moving as
I did, some prayed, and some simply sat in silence.
       We were all afraid. And we were all committed. It was as simple
as it was fatal.
       When we heard the enemy’s cries of attack from above, the peace
fell away, and fear returned. But we steeled ourselves.
       My heart was racing, my hand on the sword, sweating. I wiped
it hastily on my tunic and gripped the hilt more firmly. It felt too
uncertain to me, heavy and awkward despite the practice.
       I ripped away the sling the carpenter had made. There was no
need to think of healing at this point. I needed every resource I had.
       I have only a blurred, discontinuous series of impressions of the
battle that followed. For weeks after the battle, these impressions
remained hidden in the deepest recesses of my mind. When they did
come up, unbidden and unexpected, they overwhelmed my every
faculty.
       Some of the moments frozen in this landscape of horror are images.
Some are sounds. Some are sensations that seem to have a life
of their own, with no clearly identifiable image, or sound, or even a
fragment of a story to connect them in any meaningful way.
       I see the eyes of a man I killed as I swung my sword with a force
that seemed not to belong to me and separated his sword-bearing
arm from the rest of his body; I feel the sickening impact of my
sword as it impaled the belly of another whose face I had no time to
see; I hear the wild cries of the enemy and my own people alike; I
feel the strange, equally fierce sounds that emanated from my own
throat.
       I see two of my comrades fall, one beheaded and the other impaled
against the side of the gully. I see the war-blinded, unearthly
rage in the eyes of an enemy soldier who attacked, then was hit from
behind as I parried. 
       I feel the sword coming down across my shoulder and my back,
a simultaneous blow to my head, and the impact as I hit the ground.
I see the blackness that followed.
       Still powerful enough to immobilize me at times, these sensations
tether me to that day in a way that I am not sure I would want
to change. It is too important to forget. To do so would be a dishonor
to those who died.