Another story proving my lack of short-writing abilities :P Therefore - two parts foreseen.
PS. Inspirowane "Nim wstanie dzień" Fettinga - ciekawostka dla mych współbratymców :P
- This is who you are – told the cold voice from above – so make thy choice, and sacrifice everything you used to love to the brightest thing upon the horizon now. Pile bodies of thy former allies. They love you. They'll be grateful for such an honor.
Griffith bowed his head, and took a look of his broken arms, and the behelit tangled around them. He wasn't feel like it was real. Nothing was real since Pippin brought him out of the tower; his body, his people, all this escape from Midland was only a feverish dream. "If so" he thought "why not. Why not to try, if everything became that… wrong. I'm dreaming anyway. It's only a nightmare, all only a horrible dream. I must wake up. However!"
He lifted the behelit with an effort, and opened his mouth. He knew that it won't be able to speak anymore, however he had to find some way to speak out the words of curse… To back to reality…
- GRIFFITH! – his body frozen as he heard the desperate calling. He turned his head, and saw hunched, bloodcovered frame of his raider's captain, swaying from exertion, breathing heavily and wielding the short knife, pointed at four demons. His eyes, focused on them, were burning like torches.
- Griffith, hold on, I'll get you out of here – Griffith felt Guts' arm embracing him, and lifting his own numbed, deaden body up like a ragdoll. Guts' flesh was hot against him, wet with sweat and black blood from the giant hand they were standing on. Griffith recall many moments on his former battlefields, which were similar to this; Guts protecting him from fall, they both supporting each other with their last strengths. Griffith felt his breath, his pulse beating like maddened, his wild anger and will to protect him. And felt, how cruelly real this moment was.
- What are thy willing, kindred? – asked the highest demon once more – Are you still heading for a castle? Are you already decided to do a final step?
Griffith raised his head, and looked at four dark silhouettes under the red sky. He felt sudden tide of dread. "The castle… The dream… I fed them with so many lives, of my enemies and friends, and with my own also. Now I'm just at the door… and edge of moat as well. I can see it, with my waking eyes, it's shining right up on that hill on the horizon… But… there's something pulling my sight away continually" – he realized the touch of Guts' skin on his owns. It was definitely the most real thing now. He felt hot streams on his face, and the salty taste on lips – "It's… this man! Now, when he's supporting me… when I feel his warmth, his breath, I remember our days together… I can't see the castle. He could churn it up with one glimpse. It's him I had right before my eyes for all this time in darkness. I survived on waiting for him, because I knew that he's going to get me out. When he's supporting me, I forget all these horrible things I did. I don't want… I can't… Do this to him. No. I won't!"
Four demons looked indifferently as the small being they used to call "kindred", shake his head weakly.
- So you won't sacrifice thy people?
"NO, NO, NO!" – Griffith was repeating the word desperately in mind, like he was worried that it could be taken wrong – "NO GUTS! NOT HIM! I WON'T! NO!"
- If you wish… - the world around trembled, and the black sun burst with red flames. All of the demonic faces under them raised a hue and cry, and giant hand started to crumble under their feet. Guts' arm strengthen the grip around Griffith's waist.
- According to thy wish, we let all of these lambs free. Remember though, that our sanctified children are still here… Waiting for their feast. And we shall not refuse them the banquet.
- Don't listen – Guts' voice turned out loud and pure against demon voices – don't listen to these fuckin' monsters. It's all bullshit. We're Band of Hawk, the invincibles, and a bunch of crazy demons means completely nothing…
Griffith only closed his eyes, still screaming "NO, NO, NO" mutely. Guts pressed his iron mask to the chest, as they fell down among the fading, moaning faces, shrinking quickly and disappearing during the way down.
As they hit the ground, there were no more terrific faces underneath, just the normal grass. The sky cleared up, and the orange setting sun came out from behind the light cloud. A gentle wind blew at their faces, carrying the smell of blood and choir of hungry yells. Anyway, the danger not passed. The army of ravenous apostles were floundering through the lake, their eyes focused on two tiny figures, lying by the lake bank.
- Casca! – Guts yelled, pulling himself and Griffith both up – Take Griffith and flee! Gaston! Bring me a sword and a couple of men… We'll stop them… Everyone else must flee! Protect your commanders!
Griffith just heard a brief horse trump before somebody's hands slung him over the horse back, and the spurred steed hared off, carrying him away from subsiding Guts' yells.
- Guts… take your way back soon – he heard Casca's whisper, as her hand grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place. He dared to open his eyes, and now watching the ground running below. "He will", thought Griffith "of course he will".
Casca wiped her lips with a hand, and pleased silently if it could be the last time. The least tides of nausea seemed to decline. She crawled across the dark tent towards the table, and gulped a few sips of beer from the pitcher, than fell on her pallet back, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, tossing and turning, but it was a futile try. Now, after another fit, it was impossible.
She got up insecurely and went toward Griffith's pallet. She used to do it every time she had problems with sleeping, which were quite often last time. She rearranged his dirty blanked, and the jagged scarf covering his face. As the summer begun, she and Judeau decided that the iron hawk-shaped mask must be replaced with something else. It was too hot, too heavy and simply unhealthy to wear, but Griffith refused showing his face. Casca understood him. Somebody who was that beautiful once must became hard affected by that kind of affliction.
She sat nearby, and stroked the blanket thoughtfully. Judeau's words turned out more true than she ever suspected; Griffith still wasn't able to stand up nor grab anything heavier than a spoon (he had a little ability of moving with his thumbs). The most of time he was just lying down in the wagon and looking away at something distant on the horizon through the uncovered rear, his stare empty and cold. Casca and Judeau were doing their best to encourage and comfort him, but the truth was cruel; the Hawk was down, and didn't seemed to fly again. Everyone knew about it, but nobody found it proper to say it loud, that now Griffith was only a burden to his people. They still saluted and called him "commander", though he was no longer able to speak any command. His former role came over to Judeau's hands. The Hawks were just outlaws now, though they still needed money, so the former heroes of Midland were now robbing the merchant hearses and taking occasional commissions from impoverished nobles. Griffith wasn't even unnecessary now; his presence among them was merely troublesome. He required constant care and safety, and was great bother to them, especially now, while they were still on the run. Luckily, if it could be named like that, Casca took the duty of taking care of him on her own.
But she also had her own concerns. She took another sip of beer to wash the bitter taste off her tongue, and felt a light dizziness. It was another morning which greeted her with a fit of vomits. Moreover, it was nearly second month passing without bleeding. She recalled Guts, and their short, but fateful sparing. The light shudder came down her spine.
Guts haven't join them after the eclipse. Casca thought that they could have fled too far; after they had slipped away from all that madness, the Hawks didn't stop on a briefest repose for about three days, until horses had strength to run. The idea of Guts getting lost wasn't that impossible. Casca sighed heavily, and decided to try to repose once more. She didn't want to think about it anymore. For tomorrow, for a week… maybe one day it's gonna be alright. She listened intently to Griffith's steady breath, as she fell back asleep on her pallet.
- You sure you don't need any help? – Judeau's face was evincing unusual concern. He rubbed his cheek, embarrassed.
- It's ok, Judeau – said Casca calmly, playing with a strand of hair and staring on some distant point on the blue sky. Her voice was plain and emotionless – driving me to the town would be nice enough.
Judeau glimpsed at her, but looked away after a moment. He didn't remember to feel such a sadness for a… years? No, perhaps longer. Why they have to sever on such a nice day of early summer, bright and sunny? And why Casca have to look that beautiful, thoughtful and sad? He tried not to think about it. The Band of the Hawk required strong ringleader, and definitely didn't required the pregnant woman and the cripple. He had to think logically.
Casca told him about her condition about a month ago, and their decision about her departure appeared short time later. "I would have more time to look after Griffith", she said. That was strong argument, concerning Griffith's declining health which nobody has time nor abilities to deal with, and Judeau can't deny that it was right decision. Three days ago, when the Hawks encamped in neighborhood of some quiet port town, Casca told him about a nice, small cottage for sale she heard about from local villagers. It was off the beaten track, so nobody would find two outlaws there, and Griffith would have good conditions for recovery. And for a mother with baby, it was also important to settle down in place where nobody's gonna interrupt.
"She looks good in long hair", he thought briefly, and stand up while the packed-up wagon appeared on the road in front of them. He offered Casca a hand, and help her up.
- Take good care – he embraced her gently, having a light stroke on her hair – of you and Griffith. I'll be visiting you every possible time.
She reciprocated the hug, and after a while took a place on the box next to Pippin. She waved to Judeau with blank expression.
- I'll be all right. Have no fear, Sir – she smiled briefly, and laid the hand over her round midsection. Judeau was looking at the departing wagon till it disappeared completely behind the low green hill, although he haven't move back towards the camp even longer.