PRAYER FOR THE DYING

This is a chapter from Zendragon. It begins the heroine Althea's journey to fight the devil worshipers.

The sky was as black as despair, the stars cold with apathy. The moon stared like the mournful eye of God, shedding ghostly tears of light on the nightmare vision below. Mutilated bodies lay everywhere; former enemies that had burned with hatred in life now lay together peacefully in repose, though their gory wounds and twisted positions belied their serene expressions.

Althea held a torch aloft as she picked her way across the field alone, except for the gorging carrion birds, feeling like a lost soul trapped in a frozen moment of anguish. She was young with golden-brown flowing hair tied back in a ponytail, brown skin, exotically beautiful features, and sad eyes. The two armies had moved elsewhere, the Shidokans retreating while the Garderons and their allies pursued them, leaving their dead behind. She had to steel herself to endure the horror of closely examining the butchered bodies she passed, the smell of blood and ordure, as she searched for signs of life.

She stopped beside a body and knelt. He was alive, and he was a samurai. He was clutching the broken shaft of a spear driven into his abdomen. He had used his wadded headband to staunch the bleeding, which was the only reason he had survived so long. He stared at her with rage contorting his face. He spat a flurry of invective she didn’t understand.

She said, "Please, I am a hospitaler. Let me help you."

He spoke her language haltingly. "Get away from me, you gaijin scum! Let me die in peace."

She frowned. "If you wanted to die, you would have pulled that spearhead out."

He looked away. "I was disgraced, dishonored, my people routed. I wanted to savor memories of my wife before I die. She’s all I can think about now. If I die angry, my soul will go to hell."

"You don’t need to die at all. I can save you."

"What, why? We invaded your land, we killed many of your people. We almost defeated you. Why would you forgive such transgressions?"

"Because my Goddess commands me to forgive my enemies."

"No wonder we almost defeated you. You people are fools." He looked disgusted.

Her concern turned to anger. "If I pull out the spear tip, you will die soon after, but there will be a brief opportunity for me to save you. Will you let me do it?"

He looked away. "Don’t bother."

A voice said, "Let that heathen bastard die, it’s what he deserves. Save me instead." She turned to see a man lying on his side atop another body, his face a gruesome mask of blood. He had a gash in his forehead that exposed bone.

Althea looked at him and considered leaving the samurai to die. But she knew such a callous act would haunt her for the rest of her life; she couldn’t betray her principles. She said, "I’ll be with you soon. I’m going to save you both."

The samurai looked at her, no longer angry. Suddenly he yanked the spear tip out of his body, and his face contorted with pain. Blood gushed forth from the gaping wound. He lay back weakly, and Althea knew if she didn’t act now it would be too late. She jammed the butt of her torch in the dirt, then closed her eyes and clasped her hands, before she began singing reverently in a strange language. Her voice was soft and haunting, full of aching sadness for the impermanence of life. She opened her eyes and stretched forth her hand, touching the gory wound, before her hand began to glow with a blue radiance. She grimaced slightly as she struggled to will the wound closed. She eventually succeeded and healed him, though she slumped in exhaustion.

The other man said, "Damned fool! You think he’ll be grateful? He’ll kill you now for your kindness, he’ll kill us both!"

The samurai rose to his feet, as did she. He drew his short sword from his belt and faced her grimly. She stepped back in alarm as he gazed at her pitilessly. He said, "Death before dishonor," and stabbed himself in the stomach, then he tore his blade horizontally and his entrails spilled out. He collapsed in agony and writhed on the ground.

She was stunned and nauseated, her stomach heaved and if she’d had any food inside her she would have vomited. She couldn’t possibly heal such a wound, especially now that she had so little energy left. She knelt beside him again and said, "How could you do that? Don’t you know how precious life is? You were given a second chance."

"What would a gaijin know of honor? I was measured in battle, and I failed the test of manhood. There was no salvation for me." She watched helplessly as he died.

She staggered to her feet, full of dismay. She stumbled over to the soldier and knelt beside him. He said, "Crazy samurai. They’re not human like us."

"I don’t believe that."

"He’s in hell now. Good riddance."

She began to sing her prayersong again, but frowned before touching his head wound. Her hand didn’t glow. Her voice scaled higher, as she sought for hidden reserves of strength. She called out silently, Goddess! Please answer my prayer! I beg you. Nothing happened. Tears glistened in her eyes at her failure and her voice was sorrowful, "I’m sorry. I’m not strong enough."

The soldier looked defeated. His head sunk back and he gazed at the moon. "Then I died for nothing."

"No, you triumphed! We won the battle, the Archionites and the Avialloreans saved us at the last minute. They drove away the samurai with their magic!"

"That makes me glad, my people are safe." Then his voice hardened. "You still shouldn’t have saved that heathen. Is this how you treat heroes? I fell defending you, and you couldn’t repay the favor? What’s wrong with you? Some savior you are, can’t even tell your friends from your enemies."

She said, "I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry." She cast her eyes down in shame. "You must forgive me."

His eyes stared accusingly, but he was dead. She bowed her head momentarily in grief, then closed his staring eyes and prayed. "Heavenly mother, what should I have done? Should I have left the heathen to die? Did I murder a loyal Garderon with my faithlessness?" The consequence of her choice horrified and condemned her. Had she committed murder by inaction? She, who had sworn a solemn vow to never take a life, a vow she would rather die than break.

Why had the Goddess given her this cruel test, forcing her to weigh the value of men’s lives? She had chosen the life of an enemy over one of her own people, an enemy who had no doubt killed innocent Garderons. In the eyes of men, the choice had been clear: loyalty to her own kind. But she had chosen otherwise.

"The holy scriptures say that all men are part of one brotherhood, and to forgive our enemies. I couldn’t turn a blind eye to the samurai’s death, even if he had killed loyal Garderons. Am I a fool? Am I unworthy of your grace?" She bowed her head. Her heart roiled with doubt and dismay, but when she remembered the love and benevolence of her goddess, that granted everlasting life to believers, her heart cleared of pain.

She felt sorry for the samurai, for the harsh price of his unbelief, but she had at least tried to show him a better way. "Forgive me, dear Goddess, but I am only as you made me. I could not have done otherwise, even if that condemns me in the eyes of my people."

She staggered to her feet and stumbled away in dejection through the hellscape. The battlefield, a grim tableau of death and suffering, seemed to mock her with every step. The carrion birds cawed harshly, and the cold wind whispered through the lifeless forms scattered across the ground.

Althea walked through the desolation, her torch casting flickering shadows on the mutilated bodies. Her thoughts churned with self-recrimination and sorrow. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of her choices bearing down on her. She had always believed in the sanctity of life, in the power of mercy and forgiveness, but tonight those beliefs felt like fragile shields against the harsh reality of war.

The moonlight, cold and indifferent, illuminated her path. Althea's gaze lingered on the faces of the fallen, friends and foes alike. In death, they were equal, their enmities dissolved in the final stillness. She whispered prayers for each one, her voice trembling with the burden of her faith.

As she moved further from the battlefield, the sounds of the night grew softer, the cries of the dying fading into the background. Althea's mind drifted to the words of her Goddess, the teachings that had guided her all her life. She clung to them now, seeking solace in their wisdom.

"You are a healer, not a judge. You are a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope. Trust in the path laid before you, for it is through love and compassion that you will find your way."

These words, spoken in the depths of her soul, gave her strength. Althea straightened her back, her resolve hardening. She would continue to follow her path, to heal and to forgive, even when the world around her seemed determined to shatter her beliefs.