Part one
When Martin unexpectedly took to his bed, I immediately realized that this was the beginning of the end. Clouds were gathering over the paths of the bollards for a long time, we sensed the misfortune that was relentlessly pursuing us. Even the rains could not clear the air from the smell of ash. The flames were approaching, and Flanders was not going to save us.
In the evenings, I sat next to Martin, who was breaking into a heavy cough, and tried to think of what we should do now. Being the first advisor means making decisions when the leader is not able to, and I tried: I looked for help, tried to find a medicine that could cure our leader. But time passed, and Martin only got worse.
“August,” he said quietly one evening, awakening from oblivion. In the dim light of the tent lamp, his gaunt face looked even paler. “August… I have a strange dream.
- Which one? - I sat down closer so as not to miss a word. - Flanders?
- No, my friend. - Martin chuckled with distinct bitterness. “No, not Flanders. Another, unnamed green land. There are many sources of clean water, straight from the ground, can you imagine? .. And also ... This place smells of apples.
- Apples?
I only heard about tree fruits from adult companions, those who found the world before the disaster, so I had no idea where Martin knew their scent from.
- Where are you from?..
- I do not know. - Martin shrugged weakly and closed his eyes. “It's so peaceful in that place. Like an island sheltered from all troubles. A place of eternal jubilation. Do you think we'll find him?
- Sure! “I didn’t want to, but I clearly saw the light fading in his eyes.
For a while Martin was silent, glancing dim from overwork and illness over the ascetic decoration of the camp tent. It was so quiet all around that it seemed that there was nothing behind the canvas walls for a long time.
As if the whole world had suddenly disappeared.
- August. - Martin suddenly jerked his head up and looked directly at me. - I feel that something will happen soon. Warn the others.
Martin was a born leader with impeccable intuition. Sometimes it seemed that something invisible was warning him, protecting him from troubles. But now our leader was so weak that I considered his sudden anxiety to be mistaken, attributed it to feverish delirium.
I allowed myself to hesitate, I didn’t warn the sentinels, I didn’t tell anyone ...
In the morning, when we learned of the impending disaster, it was already too late. A horde of Ravens, jackals, who were painting themselves with bright colors that could not change their essence, were advancing on the bollards. This horde, a howling plague flock, was destined to interrupt the bollard campaign. The last battle awaited us, and the radiance of Flanders on the horizon of our dreams dimmed and disappeared into the darkness. I had only one, the very last hope.