Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade by C. D. Baker

Author:C. D. Baker [Baker, C. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Historical, Historical fiction, German
ISBN: 1456406590
Amazon: B007IHZZPI
Published: 2012-03-06T11:00:00+00:00

As swiftly as the unexpected had arrived, it passed. No sounds were heard other than the wash of calmer waves streaming timidly around displaced trees and rocks. The rain had slowed to a gentle drip and an eerie hush now ruled the night. A passing breeze stirred a rustle among the willows but no sound of the crusaders could be heard.

In the ghoulish calm the storm clouds soon abandoned the night sky, granting consent for the moon and stars to shadow the river that was now shrouded by a heavy mist. And so the silver-eyed keepers of the night held fast until finally chased away by the merciful sun that arrived like the shining armor of a valiant knight riding hard from the east.

As beams of yellow light pierced the fog, magpies began to play and flutter about, indifferent to the carnage all around them. Thrush began to sing and wood-chucks poked their whiskered faces from the valley’s edges. Here and there, chamois teetered atop the displaced rocks and snow mice scrambled gingerly from log to log. A soaring eagle rode the cool air on his morning’s flight, giving nothing more than passing notice to the rutted valley below. As it were, the only few who seemed mindful of the night’s tragedy were the groups of vultures now floating in circles with eyes fixed expectantly on the destruction below.

Suddenly, a snow mouse froze. He pointed his little ears toward some strange new sounds. First here, then there, he jerked his tiny head from side to side. Here he heard a cry, there a sob, a whimper, or a cough—finally a feeble call for help, then another and another. The thrush stopped singing and the magpies stood still.

Wil opened his mud-caked eyes and squinted as a ray of sunshine blinded him for a moment. He was confused but regaining his senses. He slowly lifted his head and found himself tangled among broken branches and bound in thick mud. He wiggled and squirmed and toiled to free himself from the rubble to finally crawl atop the soggy bank, grateful for his life. His tunic and leggings were torn; his hands and feet were bruised and cut; dried blood covered one side of his face. He felt no broken bones and found no deep wounds. Satisfied with his own condition, he promptly began the search for his companions.

Wil needed to look no farther than a few paces upstream where he spotted the mud-caked head of his sister. She had been mercifully carried atop the buoyant timber of a broken river willow and, though frightened and nearly buried alive in bramble and mud, she was spared far worse. Wil charged toward her and threw off the debris that weighed on her. He dug frantically with his bare hands through the mud and, before long, he pulled a most thankful Maria to her feet. The two embraced.

Wil surveyed both sides of the river and saw Karl staggering along the bank about a bowshot downstream. “Karl!” he cried.

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