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Except, these beings are real, and scarecrows aren’t.
I blinked a few times, still trying to bring myself from the haze of sleep, thinking perhaps I was still asleep and this dream had been lifted directly from the ink of my pen. But as I stared out, watching as orcs squealed in terror of a distant foe, I began to realize that I was indeed awake and the perpetrator was real.
My hands shook as I held the curtains open, too stunned to move, too marveled to hide away from the production. I heard bones crack, as sharp and cerebral as the shattering of glass, but it was out of my sight. I somehow summoned the courage to move from the window, find that source of violence, and see with my own eyes what had streamed out of my hand and onto paper.
“It can’t be, it can’t be,” I muttered as I scrambled for the closest lantern and lit it with a match I struck upon the table with trembling hands.
“Come on, come on.”
Finally, the wick caught, and I held the light source in my unwounded hand and scurried toward the front door.
For whatever reason, I was more curious than afraid, despite the sounds of screaming and slices of swords that clearly indicated a battle. I have been living under orc rule my entire life. Perhaps the melodies of death are a song I had long since become desensitized to.
But these sounds are different. The orcs are the victims for once, and the sound of it all makes my heart sing.
I flew out the front door and immediately found myself in the center of the scene. Severed orc body parts are at my feet, and a few orcs who had managed to get away from the source of their fright were hobbling away with desperate pleas. My feet became still as I finally saw what had caused all of this turmoil, and my heart struck against my chest, bold and thick like a clock hitting midnight.
A tall, broad, white-armored knight emerged from the fog. Streaks of orc blood and bursting insides spilled over the pristine ivory shade of his protective coverings. He walked slowly, holding a long sword that glistened in the moonlight, dripping that disturbing purple and black fluid. His face was covered by a magnificent helmet with drops of the same orc blood and intestines.
The lantern in my hand trembled as I felt him, or it, coming toward me. I cannot see any eyes. The sockets are black holes, and this, for whatever reason, made my knees weaken, and I tried to stumble backward into my homestead.
But he isn’t coming for me. He zeroed in on an orc to my left, one who was missing both feet and crawling through the dirt in desperation. The knight finds him, then swiftly and cleanly brings his sword down upon the orc’s spine like a ceremonial execution.
“ARGGG!”
The sword moved through the orc’s body like a knife through butter. I’m still backed up against my front door, unable to move, not wanting to move, as I watched the orc’s head roll off his spine, like the head of a chicken removed at slaughter.
The lantern shook madly as my chest heaved. The knight stood before me as he wiped off the sword and slowly slid it back into its sheath. Around him is utter chaos, but I cannot summon myself to move away from it all. I felt him staring at me, those empty holes for eyes, as the injured orcs wept for their slain brothers.
I don’t know why, but I spoke, thinking that was what he was waiting for from me.
“What … do you want?”
The knight stayed quiet and continued to linger for a few long seconds. I could try to escape, or I could wait. Something in me that transcends fear wanted to see the end of this story. Perhaps it was the dreamer, the writer, who stayed, letting the metal of the lantern clank against itself like a death rattle.
He then abruptly placed his hand on his sword, holding the end of it like a proper squire, and turned away from me. He marched forward like a soldier back into the fog, and his white armor faded away, like dew vanishing into the air.
I moved forward, wanting to follow the knight in an attempt to understand the circus of thoughts moving through my own mind when I heard Demi once again call out my name.
“TESSA!” She said. “Are you okay? Did you see what happened in town?”
I shook my head, looking off into the fog, thick only from moonlight. I can guess what she was about to tell me.
“The orcs are scrambling!” She bellowed. “Villagers said a knight came through and killed a bunch of them! There are bodies everywhere!”
Her shoes squish into the blood wet dirt as we both look down, seeing the disorder all around us. Demi, of course, has lived with orcs her entire life, too, and is also used to the random occurrences of brutality.
But nothing like this.
“Are your parents alright?” I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She nodded frantically, eyes once more bright with exhilaration.
“They’re fine! I heard screams from the village, so we went to look and … there’s so many dead, Tessa.”
Neither of us wants to confess to the satisfaction that surged through our bodies when we considered the idea of fewer orcs around to rule and harass us. I gripped the lantern and nodded, knowing that neither of us would share a word of that supremely unladylike delight.
“You should get back home,” I said, turning to the door. “This will all have to be cleaned up tomorrow, I think. You need to get some rest before daybreak. I should too.”
