The Strength of Love
Chapter 1 - The Massacre
The little girl was terrified. Her mother had shoved her under the sleeping pallet and covered her with hay. “You stay here, no matter WHAT happens! Do you understand me?” Her mother shouted at her. The child nodded her head, her eyes wide with confusion. Theirs was the only lean-to with a metal roof. It was to prove to be her salvation. The woman ran outside after placing her daughter in the safety of the tin-roofed shack. Everywhere she looked was nothing but Hell. Almost all of the houses were either consumed in flames or already smoldering. The bandits had hit them hard. Men were being cut down left and right. Some of the women had taken their children and fled, but most were caught and being held by the men on horses. The ones holding the hostages had sharp lances pointed at the weeping women and screaming children.
There were still many villagers running about, screaming. A few men had gathered their farm implements and were managing to keep the marauders at bay. The young woman grabbed a hoe from beside their shack and ran toward her mate. He was standing back-to-back with their closest neighbor, a young man of only fifteen. They both had axes and were using them to full advantage, cutting down riders as they approached. She was almost to them when she saw a large bandit astride the biggest horse she had ever seen. He was thundering down on her mate! She shouted to him to turn and look behind him, but it was too late. The large bandit struck! She watched in horror as, in slow motion, the bandit’s sword cleaved her husband almost in half. From his shoulder to his navel was sliced open. The young woman dropped to her knees, screeching her pain and suffering as she watched her beloved mate die an agonizing death. She did not even feel it when an arrow, tipped with poison, pierced her lungs. As she lie dying in the dirt street of the small village, her last thoughts were not of her daughter, still hidden in the shack, but of her husband, struck down in his prime.
The bandits did not waste time searching the shacks. They knew this village was too poor to harbor much of value. They simply lit arrows and shot them onto the straw rooftops of the homes. It was a hit-or-miss affair. Not all of the buildings went up in flames, but they did not care. They had come for the livestock and the food stores the villagers had hoarded. They had been watching the small group of farmers and knew where each man lived and where each item they wanted to steal was stored. When they made their move, it was sudden and deadly. They made away with all of the livestock and as much of the harvested vegetables as they could carry in the wagons they had stolen. Tonight would be a feast! They had fourteen women and twenty-three children with them as well. These they would sell to the highest demon bidder. They knew women and children went for a higher price than the men. The men could be forced to work, but the women… ah, the women. They could be used for so many other things, as well as the children.
By the time the bandits left the sad little village, much was in ruin, and all was in chaos.
The little girl waited for what seemed like many hours. Her mother did not come back for her. Even after the sounds of flames, screaming, running, and harsh voices died down, she still did not come. The little girl waited through her hunger. She waited through her tiredness. She even waited through her fear. But on the second day of hiding, her bodily functions could wait no longer. She scrambled from under the sleeping berth and slowly crept to the open doorway of their home. As she peered outside cautiously, she saw only a peaceful countryside. The fields in front of their open doorway had been harvested by her father over the last months. Nothing was left. Only a few strands of cotton blowing in the gentle breeze remained. The tiny lot directly in front of the door, where her mother had her small garden planted, held a few tiny vegetables, ripe for the plucking. The weeds were starting to overgrow some of the plants, however. The little girl knew her mother would be displeased. It was her job to weed the small plot every day. As this thought came to her she slowly stepped outside. Their house faced their fields, as did most of the other houses. They did not have a back entrance, however, as many of the other families had. That would require installing a door. They did not have means to trade for a door. So, they had to make do with only the one entrance.
The child stepped around the wall and walked to where she could see the road going through the village. As she rounded the last corner she stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth frozen in a tiny “o” in horror at what she saw. Everywhere she looked there were bodies and blood. She was not sure what to do. She seemed to be the only one around. She started forward on her tiny legs, made wooden by her shock. As she passed by the bodies she began to recognize some of them. There was her neighbor boy. He had been alone since his father was killed by a runaway mule last spring. She did not remember his father. She had been too young. She stopped by another man that looked familiar. She could not place him, but she knew she had seen him around the village a time or two. His throat had been cut and blood lied in black pools under him, already soaked up into the dirt and dried. She stood still for a moment and simply turned in a circle.
“Mama!” she cried, running instantly towards a woman lying on the ground about twenty feet from her. When she reached her she dropped to her knees, hugging the woman fiercely. “I was so worried Mama! You didn’t come for me and now the garden is overgrown and…” She stopped mid-sentence. “Mama?” She began to shake the woman’s shoulder, wanting desperately for the woman to wake up and smile at her, as she had so many other times. But the woman was still and silent. The girl put her tiny hand on the woman’s face and felt its coldness. A shiver ran down her spine as the girl used all of her strength to turn the woman over. She gasped as she saw the arrow sticking halfway out of the woman’s side. Her eyes were open and glazed, staring at nothing. The little girl did not know what death was until that moment. Death took away those you loved.
After sobbing uncontrollably for a long time, the little girl dried her eyes and continued her search. She knew there HAD to be someone else here still alive. She could NOT be the only one! She turned back in the direction she had been going previously. Just past the man she only vaguely recognized, she found her father. His wounds were horrible to behold. Her tears were not the wracking sobs of before, but they fell down her face in a stem-less tide of grief.
After searching half the day she found only one other living soul. A stray dog had wandered up the village street. He stopped here and there, licking at blood or other things lying around. She shooed him away from a child’s body. She did not know the child. He looked to be younger than she. Not knowing what else to do, the little girl turned for home. As she curled up on the sleeping berth, still sobbing quietly, her loneliness swept over her. She trembled as she fell asleep, alone in the big bed for the first time in her life.