23. Hiram

“I told you to SHUT UP!” Evan growled, and he kicked me in the thigh. “My little brother just took an arrow for YOU."

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell and Evan wake to an invading army attacking the blacksmith’s small village. Our hero and Evan engage in the conflict to save Miriam, Hiram and Livi…escaping by horseback. An arrow pierces Hiram’s back in the escape.

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When something bad happens to the ones you love, don’t question it. Focus. You’ll have ample time for prayers and doubts AFTER you stop the bleeding.

The morning sun pierced the fragile clouds, pushing its warm glow between the trees. The heavy smoke from the village had flooded the valley, masking its location.

“They’ll be coming soon,” I stressed. Keeping a firm hold on the mare, I stroked her neck and watched the path behind us.

“Shut your mouth,” snapped Evan. He kneeled over Hiram, still cradling his arm from a dislocated shoulder. He looked tenderly at his mother as she sat on the ground, stroking the head of her little boy. “What can I do?” he whispered.

Tears mixed with dirt and soot, leaving dark streaks down Miriam’s cheeks. She blinked, as if waking up. Her small, nimble fingers tore at the gray cloth of Hiram’s tunic, revealing the wound. The arrow had struck deep — the shaft jutting out next to his spine. The boy’s breathing was shallow. His rib cage shuddered with each breath.

“We need to remove the arrow,” she said firmly. She looked over at the mare, then to the stallion. “Bring me my pouches.”

“I’ll get them,” I said.

“We need to set your shoulder, Evan,” Miriam stressed. “I’ll need your help and you aren’t any use to us with a lame arm.”

Evan nodded silently.

I handed the bags to Miriam. “Here.”

With a deft calmness, she untied the leather straps and fished through the contents until she produced a tiny jar and a small, folded, stained piece of cloth. She looked around her, squinting. “I need dandelion root.”

Evan scrambled to his feet and worked his way through the trees, weaving in and out. He panicked, “There aren’t any left!”

“Keep looking,” his mother encouraged him, “The frost is not come yet — they’re still in bloom.”

I kneeled next to Miriam. “We need to get off the main path,” I whispered. Though the screaming had stopped, I could still hear barking, howling, and faint laughing from the village below. “It won’t be long before they come up here.” I looked at her pleadingly. “They’ll follow the path. They’ll track us down. Track everyone down.”