Erin asked tentatively. “You mean… the Unguhur?”
“Yes. An underground world, and one that even a small army would not wish to encounter,” Gunther retorted curtly, and confidently, the idea seeming better with every second. “The passage beyond that door goes into the depths of the world. You will be quite safe there.”
“Won’t the enemies just follow us down?” Lee asked.
“It would be a great and terrible mistake for them to do so,” Gunther stated firmly, with a dark expression spreading upon his face as he considered the consequences. “But we will go down there only if we truly must… when we truly must. Until then, we stay up here. Maybe there is a chance that this storm will pass us by, or dissipate before breaking upon this area.”
He quietly studied the faces of the four strangers.
They were taking the somber news with a dismayed silence. Their all-too-brief respite from the trials and travails of the new world was over, and Gunther could not fault them for feeling great frustration and resentments.
Gunther watched Lee look sadly over to his companions, from Ryan, to Erin, and then finally to Lynn. All of them had beaten, weary expressions, and the glances that they shared amongst each other confirmed his evaluation.
They were exhausted, and not just in a physical sense. There was little that Gunther could do for them except to steel them as much as possible for whatever might come.
“I am sorry… very sorry,” Gunther then said to them, in a low and gentle voice.
LOGAN
Walking slowly past the broken segments of palisade at the entrance, Logan, in a brooding silence, looked around at what remained of the village. He was not alone, as many had begun to return to The Place of Far Seeing to search through its ruins.
Others from villages in the near vicinity had begun to arrive. For the most part, they were fellow members of the Onan tribe, some of the men with blood ties that resided in other villages due to a marriage. Logan’s gut clenched as he saw the shocked, horrified looks sprout upon their faces, as the new arrivals set their eyes for the first time upon the interior of the village.
The morning’s light had arrived following the devastating events of the previous evening. Instead of bringing a sense of hope, it nakedly revealed the full extent of the monstrous horrors that had been mercifully hidden by the night’s shrouding darkness. The sources of countless miseries, shattered dreams, and heavy burdens were brought into the unyielding light of that pitiless dawn. The destruction was spread everywhere that anyone could possibly look.
The crushed, collapsed shambles of former longhouses now littered the village interior. Gaping holes had been ripped in the sides of short segments that were still erect, though much had been consumed by the sporadic fires that had been loosed by the sprawling violence.
Numerous bodies lay amid the wreckage, still awaiting removal. The rubble from the boulders that had been dropped down upon them in the night was strewn everywhere, from large, jagged chunks to smaller fragments, whose sharp edges made Logan careful about where he stepped.
The presence of the rocks caused Logan to reflexively wince nearly every time that he saw one of the badly misshapen corpses upon the ground. He knew full well the brutality with which the contorted, broken villagers had met their ends.
A deeply forlorn and sorrowful assemblage of sights surrounded him. His eyes hardened in anger and regret as he saw some of the village women cradling the crushed bodies of their children or husbands, shaking with sobs and piercing the air with their sporadic wails.
Some children were crying in agony amid the ruins of the village, several newly created orphans just realizing that their parents would never again be there to comfort them. An infant wailed from somewhere off to his left, drawing Logan’s attention. He saw that it was just now being pulled out from the lifeless arms of the mother who had used her own body to shield her baby, saving its life.
Young men were openly weeping over the lifeless, still bodies that once held the spirits of their life-mates. Logan tore his eyes away from the delirium of grief within one such young man’s face.
Near the shards and splinters of timber that once formed an outer entrance to a small longhouse, a little girl was sobbing with her face buried into the blood-matted fur of a dead dog.
The scenes were overpowering, rapidly draining Logan with each ensuing moment until he was absolutely devoid of feeling. A cold, empty numbness filled him, the depths of which seemed to be without limit, save for the volcanic anger welling up from deep within him. It brought a fierce storm in its wake, as a whirl of emotions surged back to the forefront of his mind.
Before many more minutes had passed, he had to sit down, hanging his head and forcibly averting his eyes from the unrelenting scenes of suffering taking place all about him. His thoughts, fueled by competing emotions of sorrow and rage, whirled about within the tempest of his mind, as if contesting for dominance.
He struggled to grasp anything by which he could begin to feel a shred of purpose or sense. None of the calamity suffered by the doomed village was deserved in any fashion. If anyone had tried to comment that misfortune befalls the just and unjust alike, somehow implying that this carnage was all just a part of some obscene order of life, he knew that he would have reacted violently, smashing his fist right into the face of the speaker with no compunction.
Any order that doled out such terrors to the innocent could be consigned to the fires of hell for all that he cared. The suffering around him was all too vividly real. No matter what sort of eternity lay in wait for those who had died, even if there was one to begin with, there was no justification for the horrid loss and pain.
He thought sardonically about the One Spirit that the villages had so lovingly and loyally spoken of, and wondered how their God could have possibly refused to intervene in something such as this tragedy.
Logan could accept an imperfect world. Mistakes, fallibility, and obstacles were necessary components for the true growth of a person. Even mortality, in its own way, could teach a lesson about the intrinsic value of life. They were things that he could accept, even if sometimes grudgingly or resentfully.
It was the extreme pain and devastating tragedies that he could not reconcile himself with. The more that he reflected on the hideous circumstances of the moment, the more that the totality of it all became a swirling mass of burning confusion in his mind.
For a brief second, Logan wished that he was the One Spirit that these villagers worshiped, just so that he could do some things differently. He knew in the core of his heart that he would have done something different in response, regardless. It was merely an acknowledgement of the true way that he felt.
He shook his head and let a bitter, rueful chuckle escape as he thought of what he would have done. Such was the hapless futility of wishing, without the power to follow it up with. Logan swore to himself that he would never have allowed the same things to happen to powerless, mortal people, knowingly putting them upon great danger’s cruel pathway. No child would lose its mother, nor young lady her dearest love, nor husband his cherished wife, if Logan would have been able to have any say in the matter.
In that moment, he came to the conviction that he truly could have done much better by the villagers than their One Spirit had, if he held even a fraction of a god’s power. The acrimonious feeling was so strong that if the One Spirit had suddenly manifested physically before him, he would have testified to that certitude with an unwavering intensity.
The same feelings, though they had welled up rather involuntarily in him at first, also made him feel somewhat guilty. His dispassionate intellect could recognize his sheer audacity and presumptiveness in the matter, for a Creator would undeniably hold supreme rights over the creation.