Lost Ones To Normandy

“Isaac… Isaac!”

There’s a voice far away from time that breaches the thin, adhesive veil of my dreams. Almost as if I’ve awoken from such nonsensical, analog horror. Like the flesh clouds that weighed heavy against my head had been scattered by a lightning frenzy of fractured memories. But, that word, that name draws me in almost enchantingly. Rallying. Symbolically. Like I am called to action.

So, I open my eyes to a world I never thought I’d greet in this lifetime.

Where… am I? Where have I…

Peeking through the leather skin that’s propped on either side of me, a green tent teases a view of the lushest meadow I have ever witnessed. To be blessed with such a view, I’m almost too engrossed by the scene to hold any second thoughts of averting my gaze.

Yet there’s a man perhaps ten or more years older than myself. Somewhere in his late thirties at most standing slightly hunched over the bed that I laid. A scruffy man pointing a short, gray beard down my direction and equipped with a full set of ironclad armor pieces with barely any scratches, and a cynical grin across pasty lips, watches my sleepy-eyed expression with satisfaction.

“You’re usually awoken before dawn, before the rest of the warriors, Golden Boy. So, I took it upon myself to play the role of the sun and birds for you, Isaac.”

I watch as he strikes a dastardly pose, a sinister front with one elbow resting on his other hand whilst covering part of his face, shaking his head almost as if the moment was too good not to relish in somewhat solitude.

“The first in our lives as knights have I beaten you. It's almost too good to be true. Ha! A miniscule victory, yes, but mine all the same. Perhaps I have been caught in a daydream. Or a spell casted haphazardly from a witches’ bout.”

My eyes widen to his words as I sit up, noticing a rigid feel of chainmail rattle and grind and struggle to constrict my motions. Knights…

“Did you have a strange dream too? Something doesn’t feel right. My name… I keep hearing… Joe-”

“Must you always be focused on yourself?

The man scoffs at my inattention, dismissing my bizarre onset before I’m Lost too far into my head. He stares daggers through the armor on my chest and the flesh on my bones like a child who had his joy stolen from his favorite game. Then he turns to me with a hand on his hip, the playful demeanor devoid from his eyes.

“Isaac, whatever dream you immersed yourself in, leave it at that. Our scouts say the English are lacking. Exhausted and deprived from any recovery from their latest spurt. This is our time to strike. William the Conqueror will lead our march to Pevensey of Sussex once the sun peaks. It would be in your best interest to steel yourself.”

He nods towards the brilliant long sword that sleeps against a small, wooden shelf to my side next to its sheath. A weapon that gives me a strangely familiar adulation from its look as well as the man’s nod. As if the essence of a thousand battles hum on its tip.

“Hopkin," a voice from outside of the tent calls the man to attention. A woman with long, burgundy hair comes in. And a woman who could turn the meadow into dried, barren lands in paling comparison. “Ah, he’s finally awake. Please give us a moment, would you?”

Hopkin’s mouth dropped at her sudden arrival, barely able to speak with the same confidence he held with me.

“Y-yes Tamara.”

Though like a puppet on strings, he finds himself awkwardly saluting the woman and slipping out the tent out of sight.

Tamara waits for his footsteps to leave earshot before throwing a heavy glance my way. Looking me over in what seems like a mix of discomfort and awe. While I watch her in what comes to me as a fractured thought. Something I’m missing, a piece to a puzzle I have yet to know why I’m solving. Then she spoke.

“J… Isaac?”

“Yes?”

I answer her hesitantly, hearing the quiver of a distant dream in her voice.

Her lips part to soak in the sound of my voice. That is when I thought I knew we had met somewhere before. Perhaps in another lifetime. Maybe there are other Lost Ones, scattered amongst the forgotten lands. Feeling the same as me. A mind confused and drifting.

She surprises me with what she had to say next.

“Let’s get ready to depart. Our duke of Normandy is waiting for all of his loyal comrades-in-arms to assemble in the field.”

She smiles, graciously before continuing on.

“It's good to see you.”

Before I know it, I find myself echoing her.

“It’s good to see you too. Do you know what this war is about, who are we fighting?”

Tamara folds her arms and looks off to the side like she’s focusing a thought.

“England. We’re fighting King Harold II for the expansion of Normandy.”

After a moment to process it all, I finally stand, stepping over to the small desk and grabbing the sword under the handle. A blade that astonishes me with its weight when I lift it to eye level; but my body feels light still yet with this weapon, almost like it has always been a part of me. Then I pick up the sheath to equip both pieces to my side’s strap. A snug counterbalance I can easily become accustomed to in moments time.

“Tamara, my gratitude for you coming to see me in these quarters.”

She lets out a sigh of what may be relief before looking unto the meadows ahead of us. Though there’s a ladybug that lands on her vambrace, snatching her fixation from thoughts to action. So she takes a second to gently nudge the small creature off of her, that she may continue speaking without interruption.

“When I awoke, I was told we are to march immediately to Pevensey and then from there, Hastings.”

I pause before looking at her direction in slight clarity or bewilderment. The quivered arrows on her back gently swayed in a sudden wind.

“So this is a battle of-”

“Hastings, yes,” she says whilst meeting my eyes. “William intends to eradicate England's main forces there and assure our success.”

“I see.”

“Then let’s go, Isaac. We have used up enough of our time.”

I nod and so we finally set off to join the rest of the army. Just in time to hear him start a speech on our journey through what could possibly be more dangerous regions than before.

He tells of his time with Normandy as Duke. That he is honored to have proud warriors such as us on his side. Valiant men and women who dare say yes freedom. Freedom to expand where we please. To conquer what we want, for we are mighty and unyielding.

It was a speech that was stuffy with pride and rightful masculinity but all-boosting in morale for every man under the sun’s blaze. They must feel immortal after a talk like that.

Then, we marched to… ruination-

“Isaac.”

Even under my helmet do my ears perk up at her sound of my name. I notice her making way through the crowd of metal until stopping a few feet away from me. While I await her urgencies.

“The others may seem rallied into immortality, but you and I may never meet again. I wanted to tell you to stay focused, Isaac. Fight and live. So that we will meet again, alright?”

This feels like a dream all over again.

“I will. So you do so as well. There’s much to discuss, I think.”

She chuckles at my indecisiveness and throws a light jab that sticks onto my chest. Then her beautiful smile fades, Tamara staring at her fist against me. Picking up a melody for a song.

“We knew that many would not return, but all our hearts were true. For we were bound for Normandy, where we had a job to do…”

Oh, what days were ahead of us that I had never imagined crossing. I don’t know how much time passed, but we inevitably touched English soil. And before I knew it, the dragging hours breached Pevensey. But our breath was sharp, short. Only briefly did we rest on the clear coast, unbothered by any opposing forces, even the wind seeming to take to our side. As if it was destined for us to reach our finale.

So, after a fleeting reconditioning being as rested as could be, William led us onward, to The Battle of Hastings.

To a bathing of blood and agony. Nothing less.

“Hopkin, you must endure!” I plea.

The horror of mangled flesh and shredded bone fills my eyes, watching the man wail in pain and clutch his disfigured leg, barely hanging on. He drooled under bulging eyes that pointed straight to the clouds at the intensity of what limb used to be. Only God would know if his voice reached the heavens as the rest of the armies’ battle cries occupied every inch of land for miles.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at Hastings. Around October third is when we infested its district. We ravished the land, plundered and fortified our defenses so that our stand would be grandiose. By October thirteenth, word came to us of England, Harold’s army was approaching. That’s when we were commanded to meet them head on.

I manage to drag him behind a rock, deeper behind our lines, but that was the most I can do for him. Not belonging to my expertise, I tell him someone who can patch him up should find him soon and then I ready myself with my blade to engage once more. Yet I find my leg being tugged just to see his half-conscious body dozing off, mumbling about better times. Better days.

“We will make even better times, Hopkin. You need to hold on. Please…”

When I feel his grip loosen, I take off towards the opposing forces. The feeling of wrath and adrenaline is overwhelming. Some knights could not contain themselves enough not to swing at their allies. It’s madness. Even the ground beneath our feet ache as its once magnificent land is painted red. England’s heavy shield makes it hard to expose but William commands that we fall back just to lunge forward into their broken formation.

Our numbers outweighed theirs and it’s shown only a matter of time before their fatigued fighters faltered under our immense pressure.

Yet not soon enough.

Tamara?

I see a familiar body yards from my position lay almost too cold and twisted against a rusty shield on the ground. A split in her armor where blood soaks onto her breastplate. More on her left thigh, through the chainmail and a puddle dripping down from her onto the shield.

It only takes me seconds to mow down the enemy faction in my path. Tunnel vision possesses me as I do all that I can to make it to her. My heart throbs, the adrenaline pinching my chest as my head starts to become too heavy to lift. I did not know you long, but there was something special about you, Tamara.

When I make it to her, immediately I scoop her in my arms, hearing a gentle hum from her body. Soft breaths pour from her in increments too far apart for me to depend on. But nonetheless, her eyes find their way to my own.

“Tamara, you can’t be this way- I thought- weren’t we both supposed to make it? You can’t do this right now… please just tell me you can hang on until it’s all over.”

She stares through me in what feels like a distant time, beyond what my eyes can comprehend. Then she nods, even if it is obvious that was a lie. It only shows me how kind of a person she is.

“I’m going to sit with you until it’s over, I don’t care if I die!”

But my words stir her, and I feel the flame of her soul rekindle just enough for her to reach to her side, shakily bringing a quiver with only a few arrows left against my chest with a thud. I hold her in one arm as well as the quiver in the other. I almost hear her mumble something under her breath so I lean in close to her lips.

Brave allies and weary enemies battle around us, those knowing who we are or seeing the moment we shared even in this sinful light push ahead, our allies cry out in efforts to cover us with their presence. Tamara then whispers in my ear only a few words.

“Bound… job… heart… true.”

That is when her life had ended. I Lost a friend, a warrior, and family.

Removing the shield from under and laying her properly on the ground, I close her eyes and pray with all my might. Let this arrow catch wind. Let this be the end. I only have moments to spare as I see a promising line of fire. So I take the bow and bury an arrow onto the string, deeply tugging until I can almost hear her voice tell me that it’s far enough. Then I let go just to see the arrow disappear behind a horde of English shields. A sudden wave of hush following soon after.

…

“THE KING OF ENGLAND HAS BEEN SLAIN! HAROLD II HAS DIED WITH AN ARROW TO HIS EYE!”

Those words echoed down the submit and through the bones and souls of all the warriors on the battlefield. And as our knights screeched at the top of their lungs, chasing the remaining forces down, I could not help but fall back and lay next to my fallen comrade. Hearing nothing but a song I hummed only for us. Sang only to us.

I never thought when I left home, of the dreadful sights I’d see… for every hero’s name that’s known, a thousand died as well. On stakes and wires their bodies hung, rocked on the ocean swell. Men who cracked a joke and cadged a smile… as they stormed for Normandy.