Calvin Baker - Dominion

When they stood inside three yards, each drew his sword for killing. When they were nearly close enough to touch, their blades clashed in the air with a ringing that seemed as if it could be heard for miles around, as if the entire war had come down to only this battle between the two of them.

Unlike many who had faced him, Jupiter’s sword did not give way immediately but took the shock of Caleum’s blow when it struck his own. Nor was the man himself overwhelmed. He simply drew back and attacked again.

As they fought, Caleum felt for the first time he was fighting his only natural equal. In another time they might have been friends, and one side against all others, having some shared understanding. Here they were enemies. Each wielded his strength and skill for his cause and each fought superbly — as they came at each other again like Titans in the bitter mouth of chaos — and neither yielded from fear nor lack of stamina or tactic.

In contests of giants, though, there is never a deadlock but always the annihilation of the weaker ego, as fate lashes out with cruelty. In the course of seeking out advantage, one side must give so victory can progress, one over the other, no matter how tremendous a fight has been waged or the goodness in each warrior’s heart. So it was for the two of them.

Here it was Jupiter who first felt the heat of steel pierce his flesh, making his blood run purple then red into the dirt of Saratoga.

He grew enraged after that, as he started to drink from death’s cup just handed him. In a flight of madness he let go all caution and training to rush in toward Caleum’s blade, either to kill his opponent then and there or else speed the course of his own blood’s flowing.

Caleum moved to dodge this blow, and was almost safely beyond reach, when Jupiter’s blade found his leg and dug in very deeply, teaching him well the agony of metal conquering flesh.

Wounded, they fought on from strength of will, long past when other men would have expired. Each was inspired by the other’s resolve, and each was determined to leave the field of battle with another victory, another day of life.

Jupiter’s wound was to his vital section, though, and he soon sucked and gasped for breath.

Caleum was also hobbled and fought with his weight pressing down on what was no longer a sound limb. And, as they drew up for one last thrust and parry, their eyes met. They lunged again; Jupiter fell upon Caleum’s sword. When Caleum withdrew it, the other man lay dead before him.

The rest of the British had already abandoned the field to nightfall, leaving their dead and wounded all around. When Caleum killed mighty Jupiter, he knew the man deserved to be delivered back to his home at Mashpee, or at least deep into the silent earth there, but such was not possible. He barely left that field himself, as a pair of friends led him off to the medical tent so his leg might be attended to — if there was still hope left to save it.

Although the pain was unbearable, he insisted on leaving the field under his own power, limping slowly with a wince round his eyes each time the afflicted limb touched the ground. It took toward an hour, but they finally gained the doctor’s attention. The scene all around that place was ghoulish and filled with moans as night thickened. Men of all ranks lay willy-nilly, nursing their injuries from the fight. Some were only modestly hurt, while others were too far on death’s journey ever to be brought back and died in the afterglow of victory instead of on the field of battle. They themselves could scarce tell the difference, except that on the battlefield someone might have given them a friendly blow of mercy, while here they died slowly.

Several camp followers came round, bringing water to the men or administering rum to those who were about to have surgery. Between those who had only suffered shallow wounds and those whose death was certain, Caleum waited his turn for treatment.

His comrades who had brought him bandaged his wound themselves with rags they found in the infirmary. They then left to report back to duty — as there was more fighting to be done the next day — leaving Caleum among those other war claimed. He felt fatigue creep through his entire being then, although the pain in his leg kept him from sleeping, as it did almost that whole night through.

As he listened to his fellow soldiers’ moans the only thing that gave him solace was to remove his coat, which was cold with sweat, and stare at the scene of Stonehouses his wife had embroidered into its lining long ago. It comforted him as he saw his uncle and aunt, then wife and child, although all were older in life than in the picture. It was a magical thing Libbie had made, even if her craft could not hold up against the movement of time. Young Rose was five already, and conversing about all she saw around her, and they already had another who was no longer so small. Why their father was gone was hardest for them, but they understood he did something very important and was any day going to return. Staring then at all of them from Stonehouses, even from so long ago, he was filled with all the universe of love. It was this alone that gave him comfort in his pain and allowed him to suffer through that night without succumbing to the well of grief that claimed those who were injured and did not hold on so strongly as he. Through all the hell of that night, it was the only tether that kept him fastened to the world.

He suffered there in the medical hall for four days, as the surgeon let Nature work upon his wound. Each one was a greater agony for Caleum than the one before, and he dreamed feverishly during this time of all manner of things. By the fourth day of the ordeal he could bear it no longer, as his wound had begun to fester and the pain tossed his mind like some small play toy. He saw himself in a dark cavern that last night, descending endlessly.

When he finally reached the end of his descent, Jasper Merian was waiting for his grandson before a massive gate. He took from Caleum his old sword, which the living was at first hesitant to relinquish, and handed him a carved stick to help him walk. He bid Caleum to follow, and led the way through the entrance. They emerged in one of the gigantic rooms of that place, and soon after reached an open field. When they came into the field, there was a great swarm of people, some in the most tortured positions and others very content. Jasper Merian pointed out each group and explained all the men and beasts there to his grandson as the two of them walked along the bank of a river that flowed through the field, dividing it in half. One of the demi-spheres was hung with dark clouds, while sunshine and abundance ruled over the other. It looked to Caleum like one of the scenes from his sword, and he strained to see all he could, and to understand it.

On an island in the center of the river was a great assembly, and Jasper pointed at those gathered there, as they looked back at Caleum with keen interest and longing. His own curiosity was unbearable, and he wanted nothing more than to hear what each had to say, but Jasper would not let him cross over, although from where he stood their voices were just beyond comprehension. Among them were two who needed no explaining, as they looked at Caleum and he at them for a very long time — all wanting speech and communion: Purchase Merian, his father, and beside him his wife, who Caleum knew to be his own mother, though he had not seen her since he was a tiny boy. Each of the others was also either an ancestor or descendant of Caleum himself; Merian explained who each one was who came before him but said little about those who would come after, except to point out how many of them there were and to say some would achieve great things in their day.

How he craved to cross the water then, but Jasper Merian still held him back and began to lead him away from the shores of that river and out of that meadow.