chapter 14 and comments

I (Jon) realized this week that there are many reasons I write. I express feelings that I have in a safe way, that is true. But, a greater motivator is to pull out the same feelings in the reader. If they cry, laugh, feel love, saddness, scared, or angry then it gives me some form of satisfaction. Not because I feel controling, but that it is exactly what I am trying to do. I want the reader to feel the same thing the character feels. To live in their skin if but for the moment. I think that if I can accomplish that in my writing, then I am passing something important to the reader. In my life, there have been times of great feeling. Great fear. Great joy. Great love. Great grief. I can bring those feelings back by a simple thought and relive them. Why should I keep those feelings to myself. So I share them.

There is a scene in what is now chapter 14 where Adminius stands looking at the possibility of continued danger to his people and ruminates on his past. He explores deep into his soul and questions if he is good enough to meet the challenges before him. A young man, who is just now venturing into who he is as a man, is doing a reading of the book for me. He told me that when he got to that scene that he stood there on that hill in the place of Adminius when he read it. Yes, he felt it. I will post the scene but I wonder, if you didnt have what leads up to the scene if you would come to the same place. WARNING: may be spoilers. Here it is in its entirety:


Chapter 14 – “Firefight”

“The smallest of things can bring great pains, or may be angels in disguise.”

--Sribonius Largus


Adminius’ driver pulled back on the reins and the wheels of his chariot sent dust into the night air. The chariots had sped quickly up the road, then across a field, and up to the crest of the hill. The warriors lined up on the edge between up and down, and waited for the people to arrive before heading into the valley and to the stream below.
Before them lay Kendall’s field. Above them, the full moon rose behind dense rolling clouds of black smoke. Eerie shadows moved across the harvested pasture.
“We will stop here, but briefly,” Adminius said.
The Charioteers, although eager, held their ground. The horses stamped impatiently for battle.
Adminius’ eyes narrowed, hunting the origin of the blaze that came from somewhere deep within the woods. The fire moved slow and had not yet crowned into the tree canopy of the ancient forest. The dark oak and hickory stood in contrast to the bright yellow glow of the growing threat to his homeland. At various intervals, red, orange, and white flashes silhouetted the massive limbs of the great trees beyond so that they appeared as men writhing in pain. Their cries came in the form of crackle, hiss, and pop of the fire as it fed on the underbrush and shinery of the forest. The air around him filled with a thick husky smell of smoke and ash. It assailed his senses. His throat closed up. He gagged. Coughed. Rubbed his eyes.
As he stood in the chariot beside Kendall, Adminius’ cloak fluttered in the wind. A large fibula in the figure of a prancing horse encircled in a ring of gold appeared to dance in alternating moonlight and shadow. He unfastened the broach from his cloak. He then pulled the material closer and clasped it again around his wide shoulders. Loose-fit trousers flapped against his calves in the brisk breeze.
He gripped the reins. His biceps strained. Shoulders tightened. Neck muscles tensed. A gust of hot wind blew his obsidian-colored hair backward, away from his face.
He reached up and tied his long dark locks tight to his neck with a leather thong, just as he would before a fight.
“The maelstrom is headed right toward us.” He said to Kendall.
“It won’t be long,” Kendall replied.
With fierce determination, Adminius stepped out of the double-ponied chariot and checked the wind again.
“The air is hot,” he said. “I can feel it on my cheeks. It is like I’m too close to the bread furnace.”
“Look how the blaze in the distance twists up to the heavens. The flames lick the top of the trees,” Kendall said.
“If the flames reach the canopy, they will jump from crown to crown and quickly become uncontrollable,” he turned to Kendall, “Once it breaches the dry grassland of the meadow valley, it will travel as fast as the wind.”
“That’s my field. All will be lost.” Kendal said sorrowfully.
Adminius feared that as well. Once in the fields, the fire would voraciously climb the hill to feed on the waiting stacks of grain and forage for more timber to devour. Then their homes.
“Merely round houses with thatched roofs!” He said, pointing toward their homes emphasizing the danger.
He looked down the road and the people on foot huffed and puffed their way up the hillside. Feeling the people were now close enough to follow, Adminius joined Kendall in the cart once more.
“To the water!” he commanded.
The chariots took off down the hill one at a time like a flock of kites diving for food into a vast lake of green.
The fire—as if it knew the battle had been joined against it—ate, leapt, roared, rippled, and then burst into crimson towers as it penetrated into the smaller pine and oak to the west.
When they reached the stream on the north side of the valley, twigs—falling fragments bearing live fire—showered around them.
Once stopped, Adminius jumped over the chariot rail and up to the bank. He quickly summed up the situation as he undid the fibula and removed his cloak. He folded it and laid it carefully into the chariot.
Adminius knew that the river would provide a barrier to the south, working as a natural fire break. He felt confident that his men knew what to do.
“May the gods be with you, Kendall. You know what to do!” Adminius cried as he slapped the rump of the horse. The chariot took off toward the small tree line downstream.
All around him, the chariots, oxen carts, and people of the Catuvellauni were eager to help and quickly went to task. Women and children brought out their buckets, skins, pots, and jars—anything that would hold water. They filled the vessels, stepped back, and formed a path to the small trees at the edge of the woodlands. Then they passed the water pots and jugs one to another until the line ended in front of the flames. There, they tossed water, soaking the ground and snuffed out the fire. Emptied, they passed the containers back down the line to refill them. They did this repeatedly, pressing as close as they could to the blasting oven-like heat.
Everyone—men, women, young, and old, helped the warriors attack. Adminius noticed that even the children did what they could. It seemed as if the dogs barked orders to the little ones. The folk acted in unison. Some sang to keep cadence.
The men grabbed shovels, rakes, and axes and headed into the slight trees by the stream on the northwest. The warrior marveled at the enthusiasm of the men as they took their shovels to the soil or used axes to cut down the brush, small trees and even the hot roots underground. They pulled back the brush and removed everything down to the dark mineral dirt. In this manner, they cut, dug, and stole nourishment from the hungry monster’s path.
Adminius grabbed a cas chrom from one of the nearby carts and joined them close to the flame. He used the foot plough to turn the earth. It was tough work. The light-weight, hand-held plough was better than the larger ploughs at turning the soil in areas of rocky soil like that on top of the hill near the tree line. His muscles strained as he pulled on the hand plow. Sweat poured off his face and down his chest and arms. As the night wore on, he called to the others encouraging them.
As they penetrated further into the woods, he felt that they were making headway. His confidence grew.
He was about to tell some they could go back to their homes when there was a loud crashing, then a “boom” near the treeline.
“Help!” someone screamed through the smoke.
Adminius dropped his plow and ran to give assistance. Bounding over several smoldering logs and pushing through thick shinery, he arrived to where the call originated. A long-dead tree had fallen. Perhaps the men had pushed too hard into the interior.
“Help me,” called someone from beneath the debris pile of limbs and branches.
Adminius shielded his eyes and saw in the thick smoke before him an older man. He was trapped by the branches and his legs were pinned to the ground.
Two others joined him and together they lifted the log away as Adminius pulled the man to safety. Adminius was relieved that the man was able to stand.
Several of the women arrived and quickly tended to the man’s wounds.
“You will be fine, look at how easy it is to attract a flock of beautiful women,” Adminius said.
Patting the elderly man on the back, he said, “Take care, Old Man.” Then he walked back up the hill and directly back to the fight. But his feet were heavy and he felt weary. Adminius stepped through the blackened brush and limbs and made his way away from the dense smoke. He broke out into the open area. He stopped and picked up the hand-plough, leaned against it and tried to breathe. Except for the last incident, the battle was going well. The fire had not jumped the stream. The firebreak made by the ploughs and the individuals, by hand, was working. He could not see any flame before him and nothing but black smoke of dying ash lay all around. He saw his chariot down by the water.
“I will find refreshment there,” he said.
Once at the empty chariot, he looked in the supplies and found a small pouch made of pig bladder, full of clean water. As he was about to take a draught, he noticed a small boy and a dog standing by the chariot. The boy stood there and looked up at the warrior. He patted the dog’s head.
“Would you like a drink?” Adminius asked.
The boy reached out and took the pouch. Adminius smiled at the young boy’s ash-covered face. He watched the child drink from the pouch and then pour water into his dirty hand for the animal to lap.
“I see you brought your pet today,” Adminius said, “Has he helped you fight the enemy?”
“He singed his tail,” the boy said. He handed the bladder back and then ran off.
Adminius laughed to himself. Seeing the boy rejuvenated his own heart.
He replaced the bladder into the chariot and then picked up his plow and headed back to the battle with the blaze. He felt calm.
He soon crested a short rise and stopped to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat and dirt from his eyes with his forearm. He then placed his right hand between the buttons of his simple cotton shirt. His thumb reached around the leather baldric across his chest. The left hand he carried behind him, holding the cas chrom. His knuckles pressed into his lower back, just above his sword belt.
“Aaah, it is winding down. In control and away from the crops and our homes,” he said.
Alone, he stood and from this vantage point, surveyed the scene before him. Down the hill on the other side was the winter harvest, bundled into standing shocks of wheat, like men standing at attention waiting for battle. Looking at Kendall’s field, still intact, he wondered if all their efforts had been enough to halt the flames.
Adminius winced remembering the fallen tree and the old man they had saved. He wondered if others had been hurt that night. Maybe the danger was not yet over. Perhaps the enemy was only resting. Regrouping. He had seen fire do that before.
He smelled the acrid smoke and ash in the night air. The heat still burned his nose and lungs. Adminius heard the crackle of the fire as it fed on the underbrush and shinery deep within the forest and knew that it was still there, heading his way. It was slow moving and had not crowned into the tree canopy of the ancient forest, yet. Up on the hillside half a league away, suddenly to the north, he saw a whirlwind of fire that danced up and down the slope. It might have been a beautiful sight if Adminius didn’t fear that at any moment it could envelop the people in its fiery embrace and they would be no more.
“It won’t be long,” he said as he took in a slow deep breath. He felt a slight breeze on his face. “It will rise again. The people must not slack now.”
He thought of his family. His brothers. His father. Only Togodumnus had shown up for the fight. Where was Caradoc? Then for an instant, he pictured Caradoc’s wife, Alexenah and her newborn twin sons cradled in her arms again. Where had she gone? He let out a breath, coughed and then swallowed ash. He watched the dancing whirlwind and suddenly felt as if his strength was pulled from him. What if the fire reached her? What if it attacked her children? How could he live with the thought of her tiny babes twisted into tiny charred skeletons? Vessels pounded in his neck. He was exhausted. How could he see this through to the end? He felt as if a tight fist squeezed his heart, forcing the life from him.
A shiver ran down his back as the vision of the whirlwind sparked a memory. Kendall had mentioned it earlier. The fire of their youth. Adminius closed his eyes and recalled the memory of a child that stood in this very place and fearfully watched solid walls of fire going the other direction toward the timberline many years ago.
Like women’s gossip, it started as a whisper of flame from a glowing discarded faggot and became the loud cry of tragedy. The flames swept quickly through the grasses, up the hill, and down the valley toward the woods. Adminius remembered the cattle running ahead of the advancing flames trying to avoid the blaze as it spread into the dry winter field. He gazed across the valley and shook his head slowly.
“I have been here before,” he said. The memory of his past flooded his mind with unwanted and long repressed pictures and feelings. “By my hand. By my hand,” he said, “It sprang up quicker than I could warn anyone.”
He had set the fire and tried to put it out on his own.
Then down by the river, as if called up by his memories the people began to sing an old song, of tragedy long ago.
The Bard’s cadenced voice echoed in his mind as the women took up the melody. They sang the Firesong.

“It was only a small brand,
From hearth fire plucked,
tossed aside by a child long ago.
Fanned by the wind,
Igniting homeland’s dry stubble.
For days, fire raged.
Rising smoke,
so heavy the sun could not shine.
Come nighttime,
the light of day.
We walked with the great King Tasciovaunus.
We sifted through the ashes.
Smelled flesh charred.
We touched the warm melted metal
still around their necks and wrists.
Twenty-three passed to the vale beyond.
The black marks of death record.
Only burnt stumps remain.”

Adminius tried to avoid the dark thoughts, but the Firesong permeated the night. It was a terrible time. A fire much like the one they fought tonight.
“The only thing that survived was the ancient massive trees of the Great Forest.” He recalled.
He shivered again as he thought of the black skulls and bodies of the cattle and of the people who died as they tried in vain to put the flames out. How could he forget the scorched skeletons of their homes? He closed his eyes, pressing them tightly until his cheeks burned. He saw the carnage in his mind as if it was happening now.
He felt alone then. He felt responsible. He felt regret. He had those same feelings now. A deep sadness engulfed him as he stood there.
“Days. For days the fire raged,” he said softly, tears welling up in his eyes. His fist clutched tightly to his baldric. The leather felt good in his well-calloused hands. No matter where the fire originated, he was resolved to quench it this time. This time he had help.
He turned to look at the people. They were singing and laughing. He could sense the feeling that they felt the worst was over.
“We spend the best years of our lives making regrets. Would-to-the-gods that was my only one. All tasks have potential for regret. This will not be one of them,” he said aloud as if that would ease his pain. “I must think. Focus on this task. Now is what matters. My men, my friends, my family, my people need my help.”
He closed his eyes. As he reflected on his past, his present was ablaze. He longed for some kind of hope that it would all end well. He longed for anything that would give him hope.
Turning away he forced the memory from his mind.
“People died… Not again. Not tonight. With the help of friends I will stop it this time!”
Walking back to the chariot, he placed the cas chrom on the board and reached for a rag. Going to the water, he knelt down. He wet the rag and washed the soot from his face.
At that moment someone kicked water at him, and as he turned, his balance shifted. Then he was pushed and he fell on his backside in the stream.
He heard laughter.
“You need a bath!”
“Togodumnus, why you little…” Adminius said as he tried to get up. He intended to push his brother into the water as he had done to him.
“Whoa, brother,” Togodumnus said, stepping back. “Can you not see I am carrying a precious bundle?”
Adminius wiped the water from his eyes and looked at the warrior before him. How long had he been standing there? Then his mind suddenly sharpened. Did he say he had a precious bundle? There, held in his arms like a child, was a bundle wrapped in a cloak.
The bundle moved.