FORD

FORD, by Mary Soon Lee, artwork by Gary McCluskey

 Rain, wind, water, mud–
 men and horses slowed
 so that the two-day journey
 took three days,
 though they set out before dawn
 and rode past sunset.

 Wind, water, mud, rain–
 the last light lingering in the west
 when they climbed the ridge
 overlooking the ford,
 the wide river swollen,
 the plain across the river flooded.
 Diminished shapes of survivors
 struggled toward the ford
 where thousands of people
 already stood, stranded, sodden,
 on the far side of the river.

 Water, mud, rain, wind–
 Memnor, King of Ritany,
 gray-haired and great-hearted,
 ruler of that underwater plain,
 rode down the ridge to the ford
 followed by sixty of his cavalry
 and his guest, King Xau,
 who had offered his help,
 though it seemed unlikely
 that Xau and his guards
 could make much difference,
 the scale of the disaster inhuman.

 Mud, rain, wind, water–
 Memnor’s horse refused to put one hoof
 into the churning brown water,
 so Memnor dismounted and strode in,
 the cold water pummeling him.
 He made it thirty yards,
 thigh-deep, fighting for balance,
 before he turned round.

 Rain, wind, water, mud–
 Memnor waded back to his soldiers
 beneath the darkening October sky.
 Wind whipped his wet hair.
 His guest, King Xau,
 only twenty-four years old
 yet already burnished with legends,
 dismounted and joined him.

 Memnor turned to Havnar,
 his army commander (and more than that),
 a muscled man with a shaven scalp.
 “What can you do?”

 “Nothing until the main army reaches us.”
 Havnar shrugged, his habitual response.

 Memnor gazed across the water
 at his stranded people.
 A man on the far side
 waded into the river toward them.
 Partway across, hip-deep,
 the man was knocked off his feet.

 The man’s head bobbed up once, twice,
 before Memnor lost all sight of him.
 “Ropes?” asked Memnor.

 “Ropes are with the supply train.”
 Havnar wore the same look he’d worn,
 years ago, when his soldiers
 were dying of a fever.

 King Xau said, “Perhaps the horses.”

 Memnor looked at him sharply.
 He didn’t point out that his own horse
 had refused to set foot in the river.
 He’d heard the tales about Xau–
 demon-killer, dragonslayer,
 he who tamed wild horses.
 Tales were usually exaggerated,
 but Xau had always struck him
 as levelheaded.

 Xau said, “If the horses stand,
 each bracing each, a rope of horses,
 people to walk beside them.”

 Xau gestured as he spoke,
 compensating for his awkward grammar
 (just as well since the translator
 was back with the supply train).
 A rope, or chain, of horses
 lined up across the river,
 the horses anchoring each other,
 people wading, holding onto them.
 Perhaps.

 Havnar shrugged. “I doubt it’s possible.”

 “It’s all we have,” said Memnor.

 Xau nodded. “We are not sure your horses
 to do this for us. May we try with him?”
 Xau laid his hand on Havnar’s horse,
 a sturdy brown gelding.

 Havnar shrugged again. “Go ahead.”

 Xau unsaddled the horse,
 handed the saddle to one of his guards,
 walked the horse into the river.
 Through the rain and dark
 it was hard to make him out
 when he paused, over halfway across,
 turned the horse, came back.

 Memnor stepped forward
 and hugged the younger man,
 surprising both of them.

 Mud, water, wind, rain–
 a chain of horses across the ford,
 people struggling through the water,
 clinging to the horses.
 Soldiers in the water with them,
 carrying children.

 Rain, mud, water, wind–
 Memnor helped people–his people–
 up the ridge, many of them crying,
 all of them exhausted, cold, hungry,
 yet those who could helping
 the children, the elderly,
 so that Memnor’s heart swelled
 with pride and love for all of them,
 for the whole soggy expanse of Ritany.

 Wind, rain, mud, water–
 two hours in, Memnor shook with cold
 as he ordered the soldiers
 to rotate and take breaks.
 Havnar strode over
 and handed him a mug of soup.

 Memnor drank the soup,
 standing by Havnar,
 shoulders touching,
 no need of words
 after all these years.

 Water, wind, rain, mud–
 four hours in, Memnor estimated
 half the people had crossed the ford.
 Progress, but not fast enough.
 The surgeon thought many
 would die by morning without shelter.
 “Half done,” he said to Havnar.

 Havnar surprised him by frowning
 instead of giving his habitual shrug.
 “King Xau’s half done too.
 He won’t leave the horses,
 but he can scarcely stand.”

 “Would the horses stay without him?”

 Havnar did shrug this time.
 “I doubt it. The horses look at him
 like he’s their foal–no, their leader.”

 Memnor peered into rainswept dark,
 shook his head. “Get across the river.
 Send the small children first,
 then the babies and nursing mothers,
 then the elderly. If there’s time.”

 Havnar shrugged and went.

 Mud, water, wind, rain–
 most of the children over.
 Two horses lost down the river,
 the other horses struggling.
 Memnor waded into the water himself,
 stopped in the middle by Xau,
 who looked three quarters dead,
 the current pushing both of them
 against the wet black flank
 of one of the horses.

 Memnor gripped Xau’s arm.
 “We’re done until morning.”

 Xau mumbled something
 that Memnor couldn’t decipher,
 and pointed at the people
 waiting to cross.

 The horse edged its head round,
 rubbing its cheek against Xau.

 Xau looked at the horse,
 its nostrils flared,
 sides heaving, and nodded.
 “The horses are tired.”

 Water, wind, rain, mud–
 all the horses out of the river,
 Xau clinging to a horse for support.
 Memnor exchanged a look
 with one of Xau’s guards,
 and then the two men
 hoisted Xau up between them
 and carried him to the surgeon’s tent.

 Wind, rain, mud, water–
 Memnor, too old for nights like this,
 checked on his soldiers,
 checked on Xau (fast asleep under two blankets
 and the watchful gaze of his guards),
 walked down to the river,
 pissed into the rushing water,
 then walked back up to the tent
 where Havnar waited for him.

________________________________________

Mary Soon Lee was born and raised in London, but has lived in Pittsburgh for over twenty years. Her stories and poetry have appeared in Analog, Asimov’s, Daily SF, F&SF, Fireside, and Science. Her latest book is “The Sign of the Dragon,” the complete story of King Xau, chosen by a dragon to be king, now available as an ebook with an illustrated print edition forthcoming in 2021.   

Gary McCluskey has been a professional artist for more than 15 years. He’s done book covers for every genre imaginable (such as the memoir of a coma survivor’s trip through the afterlife), as well artwork for comic books, children’s books and RPG games. Recently he completed 5 ebook covers for Roger Zelazny’s Amber series and several interior illustrations for a new hardcover version of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ ‘The Oakdale Affair’. He’s currently working on a comic book about a vampire-shark.