Will they have the strength to continue, the fight is hard and the war is long.  But it continues . . .  Post #43.

Published by Ava D. Dohn at Smashwords – Copyright 2011 Ava D. Dohn

 Sisters of the BloodWind     #43

Of Councils Great and Small

ENJOY THE CONTINUING READ . . .

Pulling away and spinning around, Darla stared at Euroaquilo, her teary eyes glaring their anger.  No longer could the woman contain her fiery rebukes.  She unleashed them with full fury.  “Damn their worthless skins!  All of them!  Ardon…  Damn his no good hide!  Old bag of shit!  Windy shit, useless dung heap!”

She nearly choked, taking a breath.  “I have drenched my sword in the blood of all living souls to preserve their asses while they romance diplomatic behind the safety of distant walls!  I have stood the line while the bravest and noblest of my kindred fled, pissing in fright from nearing death, my own flesh standing as a shield of safety for them!”

Shaking a fist in anger, she cried, “Four times I have lain in my own blood while my spirit sought escape!  I have crawled miles in the filth with ruined legs, dragging my sister’s corpse so the enemy could not desecrate her temple!  Through the ravages of famine, fire, fear and fury, I have carried out my sacred duties in order to bring this goddamned rebellion to a finish, a rebellion I share no responsibility for starting!  What goddamned right do all those miserable ingrates have in declaring who is sane and fit?!”

Euroaquilo sadly nodded his head.

Darla was not finished.  In anguish, she cried, “My sword has consigned hundreds of souls to the fires of hell!  Do they think my heart doesn’t weep over such murder?!”

Turning away, she put her hands to her face and wept.  “Never have I requested one thing for myself from any of those bastards, not even a straw pillow for my head!  Their council I do not seek; my opinions I keep to myself.  Did I intrude tonight, placing my name high up above the others?  My soul sought escape from this night.  But no! The Lord of Lords commanded my appearance be there, and then it was by request of the new king that I acted the part of consort, escaping to the shadows when possible.”

She shook her head.  “Many are those who, not by design but by fate or circumstance have received greater glory and rank.  Never once did I complain unless it was one of my brothers who deserved the recognition… and rarely was that even delivered.  At Avery, my troop of less than thirty held a force of four hundred at bay for six hours, preventing our flank from being overrun.  All but six I left behind on the frozen sands, digging their shallow graves myself with bare, bloody fingers.  Who of those so wise and noble reflected upon the sacrifices made to stay the line that day?  Not even a note placed in the official records for such gallant valor could I get them to write!”

Turning to look in Euroaquilo’s face, Darla lamented, “What of me?  ‘Oh my!  We must be so careful, mustn’t we?  She’s cracked, you know, unstable, unpredictable.  She may say something wrong and offend the Great Serpent…’ Wicked WastePipe!  Lord of the dung heap and the flies!  ‘Oh!  We must be so careful to not upset him!  Ardon must stay close to the brattling for fear she will put others at risk!’  That… that, my Lord, is my reward for countless years of sacrifice and bravery!”

Darla rested weary hands on Euroaquilo’s upper arms.  She was exhausted, but the fires of distress were not yet extinguished.  There was another storm building, hopefully the last, but he could not tell.  “My dear Dusme…”

Darla stepped back, livid with rage.  “Where were those great leaders when we lay in the ruins of Mordem, huddling in desperation to warm the dying as the winter winds screamed and bombs burst all around?!”

The tears finally gushed forth.  Like a mother filled with grief, she wailed, “I should have perished on our day of lost valor at Memphis!  As least I would have fallen with those who were real heroes.  Jared died, pierced through by a lance, pulling my broken body from the charging horned beasts.  Tifara, my dearest companion, was torn asunder as she shielded me from a rogue missile, my leg being nearly severed at the knee when it exploded.  Our reward for holding that gap on that day of infamy was seventy slaughtered companions and an ever-aching injury that hasn’t healed completely down to this day.  And not one goddamned ‘thank you’ for all our suffering!”

The color had drained from Darla’s face, her energy quickly waning.  She stared up and into Euroaquilo’s eyes, searching… searching.  Falling onto his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt, distraught, she cried, “What good is my life?!  If I should die tomorrow, will I be remembered only as the woman whose mind is demon-bent?!”  She buried her face on his shoulder and wept.

Euroaquilo embraced his child in burly arms.  He could hear her labored breathing as the tears sapped what little strength remained.  Soon Darla’s knees began to buckle, they no longer having the power to sustain their load.  A moan came from the woman’s lips, indicating that a powerful headache was brewing.  It was obvious that Darla was near the point of collapse.

Mustering the last of her energy, Darla looked into Euroaquilo’s face, whimpering, “I have tried to be a good child… so hard I’ve tried.  You do believe me… don’t you?  Don’t…”

NEXT- Post #44- Security Amidst Evil

PREVIOUS- Post #42- The Western Star

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