Прохор Озорнин - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

Shouts and groans. Sounds of clashing blades. Battle was boiling.

***

The battle has been raging for a day – and warriors of Odin have prevailed. Only a hundred warriors from former several thousand…

“Glory to the Great Odin!” the battle shout was carried around, once the last enemy has fallen.

“Glory to the Odin!” many warriors repeated in an echo, him including. They have won the battle, they have prevailed once more. Their fallen brothers will stand in the light halls before the Great Father – for new battles and new victories. And one day he will meet them too…

***

He moaned. In powerless fury punched a table with such a force, that it has almost collapsed half-in-half.

Why, why, why? Why should he do that? Words fell into silence and were dissolved in it without a trace. Words were gone – yet his inner voice did neither abandon him nor give a chance to rest. No longer a voice of the warrior of Odin.

Monastery. Why should they attack this monastery? This is an unworthy battle! Murder of innocent ones for the sake of looting of stronghold's treasures…

And he, he must lead his hundred-warriors squad – only to see how monks fall under blows of axes and swords, having lifted their crosses highly and begging their unknown to him God for protection… This will be a massacre instead of a battle – bloody slaughter because of avidity. And he, one of the best, will be their leader… and he cannot refuse for the price for that deed is a death and eternal damnation, forever depriving the one of entering into the golden chambers of Odin. Why doesn't he have a choice? Why must he exterminate defenseless ones – not warriors in any sense?

Or must he?

He roared in a powerless frenzy. Swept up on the house. Then grasped an ax and started smashing everything in the vicinity. Then somehow ran across a butt with water and tipped a head over there. This helped. He returned to his senses, calmed down.

Has been silently sitting, reflecting. So an hour has passed. Then he has sharply and fitfully risen up, as though having solved for himself a question of utmost importance.

“It is decided,” he thought clearly, “it is decided”.

***

They were landing ashore from war galleys and he was commanding them – warriors of Odin. Warriors of a god, deadly for their enemies.

And battle shouts and enthusiasms were born once again. His brothers-in-arms were almost the same – yet their enemy was different now… Here the last of warriors is descending on a coast – now he should lead them into battle against yet unaware of their presence defenders of a monastery, that has conveniently arranged itself on a slope of mountains one kilometer away from here.

“Now or never. Now or never”.

“Warriors,” he cried out. “Great warriors of Odin, who have won in hundreds and hundreds of battles for the glory of our God! We are daring and courageous, and Odin leads us into the righteous battle! The fate of our enemies has already been sealed, for Odin himself directs us!”

A loud shout of approval was his answer.

“But I call to you, warriors. Whether we are going to fight for a worthy purpose for now? Whether a battle that is awaiting us is worthy of the glory of true fighters? We are obliged to destroy foes of ours – but whether they are real enemies for us? We have always battled worthily and have finished battles as conquerors – yet we will not leave this fight as conquerors, brothers! This fight is not ours, it will not lead us to the glory and golden halls. We must not conduct it!”

Rows of warriors started arguing. It seemed as if they all were greatly confused.

“Even one, a single one from you, support me, brothers. At least one courageous enough for that…”

“Yes, Hrothgar said right! This battle is not ours!” and one of his soldiers stood forward, saying these words. “I too have thought of that when has received my task to go under his command – and I have decided that this fight is not a deserving one. We will find no glory in this battle, but rather kill those who are unworthy to fight against the Warriors of Odin!”

Warriors started whispering among themselves. Some were winding heads in confusion, looking at what others were going to do. Yet this did not continue for long – totally not long. Only several dozens of seconds.

“You are the traitor! You dishonor victorious fighters! You are unworthy of entering the halls and will be forevermore damned for that cowardice!” Another warrior came forward as if almost spitting out these words in him.

“Betrayer!” he repeated and has approached Hrothgar, highly raising his battle ax. But during that moment the one who has supported Hrothgar has blocked his way and unshakably risen up in arms, being ready to fight – or to die. They are really going to die here soon – two against dozens…

And so he spoke again. Convinced them of an error, which they were almost ready to make. Urged them not to start this unworthy battle. Told of better battles and worthy encounters. He tried to find all those words clear for them – speaking their language, which has almost become distant for him.

And while he was speaking, another dozen of soldiers left the ranks and stood nearby him – in their eyes, there was the same courage and readiness, if required, to die here – as well as in his own. Yet entire thousands of fighters remained motionless. It seems that they are really going to die today – and be subject to eternal damnation for this apostasy…

“Listen not to this coward and liar! Each one, betraying the mighty Odin in battle is losing the right to enter His halls forever. Cowards are not welcomed in the halls of daring! Let us wipe off these traitors and liars – and start a great battle! Attack, true warriors of Odin!”

Accusatory words once again – and the ardor of warriors is flaming up. Confusion is disappearing from their faces to be replaced by fierceness and pitilessness once more…

“Well, brothers, we have to die here today,” he mentally addressed eleven true warriors. But they perfectly understood him even without these words – only have stronger seized their weapons in hands and moved closer – shoulder to a shoulder.

An instant – and one hundred warriors are rushing towards them.

An instant – and weapons are clashing.

Instants – are like eternities themselves.

Here twelve warriors stand shoulder to a shoulder, ready for fighting and dying.

Here the first run up enemy swings his blade – and his blow is beaten off.

Here more and more enemies are coming – and blades are striking tirelessly – they, these twelve, didn't feel weariness this day.

Here the first of them is wounded – and they stand closer to protect him inside the formed circle.

His war cry, which was carried far away by a wind. And here the first wave of enemies rolls back from them as from an indestructible barrier. But enemies assault once again – and two more defenders are wounded. The circle closed even tighter and attacks became even more furiously.

First, second, third, tenth, twentieth… Enemies ran up and were forced back away from them – like from impenetrable wall. But there were many… so many of them… Here only five defenders keep fighting – the others have either been wounded or killed.

Four… three… two…

Only he and the warrior who have first stood for his defense remained. Here he turns to face him – and great wisdom and understanding shine in his eyes.

“Let us battle, brother!” and he stands to his back, protecting.

So, standing back to each other and striking aside incoming blows, they have held for two more minutes. And then almost seven dozens of warriors have crushed them and overwhelmed – and rushed to a monastery, encouraging themselves with wild roars…