#sayna

The pirates had come out of nowhere. Sayna and the rest of the tribe had been preoccupied with the celebratory feast they were holding in honor of their new home and the new life among them. A few of the mice had been in the middle of a song when half-a-dozen boats landed on the shore, releasing a mob of vermin onto the shore. At their head was a lithe stoat, laughing as he swung his sword wildly, calling out his own name.

“Vilu Daskar,” Sayna gritted her teeth. She would remember that name until the day she died.

Luke had sprung from his position beside her immediately, sword in paw, quickly followed by the other fighters, who fought with anything that came to paw.

Sayna hadn’t seen much of the battle; her only concern at the moment had been for Martin. She had grabbed him and sprinted up the shore as far as she could from the corsair invasion, dragging her mother Windred along with her.

The others later told her that Luke has taken on Vilu Daskar all by himself. Both had fought viciously, managing to grievously wound the other. Daskar had fallen first with Luke’s sword through his chest. The death of their captain had broken the corsairs’ spirit, and they began a quick retreat to their boats. Luke, despite his weakened state, charged after them, slaying many before succumbing to his wounds in the shallows.

The pirates fled, and their red ship disappeared over the horizon, but the price of victory had been steep. So many good friends had died. Old Twoola hadn’t been able to run at all and had fallen to a searat’s cutlass. Cardo had died shielding his daughter; poor Fripple was an orphan now. Coll had always been like a brother to her. And Denno…

“Denno,” Sayna sighed. He had been sweet on her when they were both much younger, before Luke, of course. He always had told the best stories.

Martin stirred in his sleep and Sayna patted his head gently, comforting him. “Keep sleeping little one,” she whispered. “Dream happy dreams.”

She could hear other voices echoing into the cave from the shore as they worked under the rising sun. There were wounded that needed tending. Bodies that needed moving. Sayna wanted to be out there with the rest of the tribe; she wanted to be helpful and useful, but her body refused to move.

A short time after the attack, their hedgehog and mole neighbors from the clifftop, witnesses to the onslaught, came down to help. They brought herbs and bandages as well as food: berries from the tops of the cliffs.

Berries. Old Twoola had told Sayna about them earlier and she had told Luke. Luke had considered going with some of the others to pick berries that night, but had changed his mind, wanting to spend time with his wife and son at the feast. How would events have changed if he had gone off? Would they have delayed the feast? Would the fire not have been built so large? Would he still be alive?

A passing shadow tore Sayna from her thoughts. Vurg was standing over her, a mix of sorrow and anger written across his face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop by sooner,” he said, his voice weary, “but there were others to see to. How are you managing?”

“Barely, Vurg. Barely is how I’m managing. I’m struggling to keep myself together.”

Vurg knelt down next to the fire. “It is not good to keep it all in. Sometimes the right thing to do is weep.”

Sayna shook her head. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I have a son to take care of.”

“If you need time, we can all help. Windred, me, Dulam, or any of the others.”

“The tribe has enough burdens now. It does not need another.”

“You are no burden, Sayna. You are family. Luke is the reason most of us are alive today. We are all indebted to him and the least we can do to remember him is to care for his wife and son.”

Sayna shifted her position, adjusting the blanket wrapped around Martin. “Thank you, Vurg,” she said quietly, “but I would like to be alone with my son for now.”

“As you wish, Sayna, but try not to stay in the dark for too long.” Vurg turned to go but quickly turned around again. “Young Timbal found this in the shallows, not far from where Luke fell.” He unshouldered Luke’s familial sword. “By all rights it’s yours now.”

“He always meant to pass it to Martin,” Sayna reminded him, “but I will hold on to it for the time being.”

Vurg made again to go, but Sayna called him back.

“Vurg, where is my husband’s b…  Where has Luke been placed?”

“The others we buried in the soil near to the cliffs, but Luke had his warrior traditions.”

“Yes, his family has a custom of burning the dead on a pyre.”

“We’ve kept him covered and safe,” Vurg assured her. “By tomorrow we’ll have the pyre ready.”

“Thank you, Vurg. Tomorrow evening, then.”

***

The cloak wrapped around Sayna fluttered in the evening breeze. Behind her, the tribe had gathered to see off their chieftain. Even the wounded had been brought on stretchers to say their farewells. A small pile of tokens and mementos had been assembled at the foot of the pyre, a final tribute to their beloved leader.

Sayna stood alone next to the pyre. Windred was holding Martin and the rest of the tribe had given her space so that she could share some final, private words with her husband.

“My love,” she said, stroking his fur, inwardly astonished that he looked only to be sleeping. “My love, I’m sorry you will not be here to see our son grow, but he will grow up surrounded by friends. He will be loved and well cared for. Our son will be safe, and I know that you would have been so proud of him.”

Sayna leaned over to whisper into Luke’s ear. Her voice took on a grim tone. “Were I a warrior, I would make promises of vengeance for your death, but you have already seen to your own vengeance, so I will instead make a promise. We will never again be defenseless.”

Sayna stepped back and her somber demeanor returned. “Goodbye, my love.” Taking a lit torch from Vurg, she lit the pyre and watched as the flames consumed the body of Luke the Warrior.

The tribe stood by for some time and watched the flames grow. As the sun set and the moon rose, the gathered crowd began to leave a few at a time until at last only Sayna remained, holding Martin in her arms. The small mouse had scarcely made a sound during the entire affair, and he had kept his eyes fixed upon the pyre almost the whole time, never flinching from flame or heat.

The morning light brought with it a warm wind which carried the ashes out toward the sea. The incoming tide carried anything left out into the sea, leaving only a charred stain upon the beach which was likewise quickly washed away.

Sayna had stayed on the beach the entire night, sometimes sitting, other times pacing around. By morning, she was exhausted, and a few of the other mousewives had to half carry her back to her home to get some proper sleep. She was woken up around noon by a soft touch on her arm. Through sleep-filled eyes, she could make out the form of a young mouse.

“Timballisto,” she yawned, rubbing her eyes, “what brings you here?”

“I caught a fish earlier and Mr. Dulam fried it up. He sent me to ask if you wanted some of it.” He held out a plate with a piece of cooked fish, a slice of bread, and some fruit.

“It’s lunchtime?”

Timbal nodded. “You’ve been asleepin’ since dawn, ma’am.”

Sayna took a small bite of fish. “This is delicious. You’ll have to keep catching more of these. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No, ma’am. First I was catchin’ fish, than helping Mr. Dulam with vittles. Now I’ve promised Miss Mirel that I’d go with her to pick herbs…”

“So busy for such a young mouse!” Sayna remarked.

“I’ve been tryin’ to help a bit more, cause of all the creatures that d…cause there aren’t as many of us anymore.”

Sayna ruffled his headfur. “That’s very kind of you, but everybeast needs to eat.”

“But I promised…”

“If Mirel takes issue with you eating lunch, than she’ll have to answer to me.  Now have a bite to eat, I’m not going to manage all this by myself.”

Timbal enthusiastically devoured his portion of the meal and lingered for a few minutes to play with Martin, amusing the infant with some shiny rocks he had found on the beach.

“Missus Sayna, are we safe here?” the young mouse asked, worry engraved in every word. “We’ve only been here a few days and we’ve already been attacked.”

Sayna leaned back against the cave wall. “The world can be a dangerous place, and we weren’t ready for an attack. We were weary from travel and unfamiliar with the land, but we can be safe. We will make ourselves safe. I promise you Timbal, we’re not going to lose anyone else, not if I have anything to say about it.”

Her voice echoed about the cave. She hadn’t realized her voice had grown so intense. Timbal was standing back, looking a little startled.

“I’m sorry Timbal, it’s been a terrible few days for all of us. Before you go help Mirel, would you find Vurg and send him here?”

“Yes ma’am,” Timbal said and left the cave.

Vurg arrived a few minutes later. “Timbal said you wanted to talk to me.”

Sayna nodded and picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle from a corner of the cave and began to unwrap it. “You’ve fought alongside my husband many times. You know combat. You know death. You were like brothers, the two of you. For all these reasons, I must ask you” -the last of the wrapping fell to the ground and she held out the sword-“show me how to use this.”

Vurg sighed. “Sayna, you are right that Luke and I were like brothers, and I don’t think my brother would like the idea of me preparing his wife for war.”

“We’re already in a war,” Sayna snapped, her eyes shining fiercely. “War came to our shore only a few nights ago, stealing away our loved ones. We are at war with everything that threatens to tear our tribe apart. Would you deny your brother’s wife the ability to defend herself and her son!?”

“And when I’ve taught you, then what?”

“Then we teach the rest of the tribe. We teach them everything they need to fight and survive. Archery, spears, slings, traps, anything and everything that will keep us safe!”

Vurg found himself overwhelmed by Sayna’s firey passion. It was impossible for him to deny her request.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

***

Seasons passed. Young ones grew older, couples got married, and children were born. The tribe flourished once again.

A league to the north of the caves, a lone figure stood upon the beach with the sea to one side and the cliffs to the other. The figure stood out distinctly upon the sand, garbed in a cloak of sky-blue, watching as a group of some two-score creatures approaching.

The leader of the group walked ahead of the rest, stopping a pace away from the blue-clad figure. He was a stoat, and the assorted foxes, rats, weasels, and ferrets following him were clearly sea-faring beasts. It was all so similar to that day many seasons before.

The stoat opened his mouth to speak but the blue-clad figure spoke first.

“You call yourself Lord Badrang. Your ship ran aground two weeks ago. You and your crew are taking creatures as slaves before heading east. Did I forget anything?” The figure tossed her hood off. Sayna looked directly into the eyes of the stoat.

Badrang’s mouth was frozen open; he was not used to being caught off-guard.

“We’ve been watching you since you made landfall,” Sayna continued. “I am familiar with what it is you do.”

Badrang quickly recovered his composure. “Then you must have seen me stepping over the bodies of those who opposed me. And you must have seen me wave away threats like gnats. And you must have seen that I do not negotiate with those who will be my slaves.”