Apple and Dagger. Part one
A feature on the last days of the knechte
When Martin suddenly fell ill, I immediately realized that this was the beginning of the end. The clouds had been gathering over the Knechte for a long time, we could smell the trouble that haunted us. Even the rains could not clear the air from the smell of ashes. The flames were coming, and Flanders wasn't going to save us.
In the evenings, I sat next to Martin, who was getting a bad cough and tried to figure out what we should do now. Being the chief adviser means making decisions when the leader can't, and I tried: looking for help, trying to find a cure that could help our leader. But time went by, and Martin got worse.
— Augustus, — one evening he said quietly, waking from oblivion. In the dim light of the tent lamp, his exhausted face seemed even paler. — Augustus… I had a strange dream.
— What? — I got closer so I wouldn't miss a word. — Flanders?
— No, my friend, — Martin grinned with a distinct bitterness. — No, not Flanders. Another unknown green land. There are plenty of clean water springs, straight from the ground, can you imagine?.. And also… This place smells like apples.
— Apples?
I only heard about tree fruit from adult colleagues, those who saw the world before the disaster, so I had no idea how Martin knew their smell.
— How did you?..
— I don't know, — Martin shrugged slightly and closed his eyes. — It's so peaceful in that place. Like an island hidden from all the troubles. A place of eternal happiness. Do you think we'll find it?
— Of course! — I didn't want to, but I clearly saw the light go out in his eyes.
For a while Martin was silent, gliding with his gaze cloudy from fatigue and illness across the ascetic decoration of the camping tent. It was so quiet like there was nothing behind the tarpaulin walls for a long time. It's like the whole world just disappeared.
— Augustus, — Martin suddenly threw his head and looked right at me. — I feel like something's about to happen. Warn the others.
Martin was a born leader with impeccable intuition. Sometimes it felt like something invisible warned him, kept him out of trouble. But now our leader was so weak, I thought his sudden alarm was wrong, wrote it off as feverish delusions.
I allowed myself to delay, I didn't warn patrolmen, I didn't tell anybody…
It was too late this morning when we learned of the impending disaster. A horde of Ravens, jackals, painting themselves with bright colours that couldn't hide their essence, was approaching the knechte. This horde, howling plague pack, was destined to end the Knechte crusade. We were facing our last battle, and the glow of Flanders on the horizon of our dreams faded and dissolved in the darkness.
I had only one last hope.
To be continued…