Musings of a Whimsical Mind

Any dissension, whether from without or within, will be crushed.

The king is gone. His city, Nyora, is now controlled by the Ambassador, who will stop at nothing to keep the mines at capacity.  And the once-allied Inzi nation living outside the walls?

We must relinquish freedom, or be slaughtered holding to it.

I defy the Ambassador in his own his own city as a coy, dauntless spy, and also in battle as a cold, devastating warrior. My tribe often praises me for my fearless tenacity.

But I am not fearless. I am terrified. And my fear may get me killed…

In both open combat and the dark Nyorian streets, I must face heartless enemies and agonizing losses, as well as my own self-doubt and past mistakes.  The Ambassador will not stop until my nation is enslaved or destroyed, so I must kill the fear within to be the leader my tribe needs me to be. 

I am Are'An. Fearless Warrior.

“War is difficult, Are’An,” Aira says, reaching over and gripping my hands. “And shielding your eyes from its awfulness does not at all make you a coward. You are my Fearless Warrior—that is all. Do not be ashamed of your fear. Let it whisper to you. Let it touch you. But do not let it take hold of you. Hear what it has to say while allowing your veil to shield your eyes.”

I watch her small frame as she stands before me.

“Die, Wench!”

Barely drop. Another swing. Scream. Tip runs across my back. Breath. Block next blow. It stabs forward. Get closer. Jump back. Run forward. Jump back. Cannot get past swings.

“Come! See what I have for you!”

So it talks.

Cross daggers and run forward. Push sword up. Run to lean on its chest. It drops sword. Grabs both of my wrists with one hand. Spins me around. Pulls me close. Cannot get free. Cry out. Panic. Release me—! My daggers face me. It pulls them close.

“Die!”

Drop daggers. Nearly killed myself. It wraps my arms around me. Forces me to the ground on my chest. Cry out. No, breathe! Get free.

Spin sharply. Bend knees. On my back; arms free. Pull dagger from bosom.

“No tricks, wench!”

It kicks my hand. I lose dagger. Catch boot—it aims for face. Twist it hard. It makes noise and curses. But it falls. Grab dagger. Roll on it and grab its hair.

“You’re too slow!”

What?

It grips my wrist, pushing dagger away. It flips me. Straddles me. Tries to pry my dagger free. Breathe. Calm. Breathe.

“You will die by your own hand!”

It talks too much. Silence it.

Pull knee up. Bring boot closer to other hand. It finally claims dagger. Pull second one from boot. Sink dagger into its neck as other touches mine. Scream. Too close. Breathe. Again.

Roll to a sit. Reach for other dagger.

Leaf crunches behind. Roll left. Heavy sword pierces the ground. What dares?

Kick backwards. Foot hits its stomach. It stumbles back. Holds out hands.

“Hold on, Barmaid!”

Another talker. Kick aside its sword. Stamp on its foot and push elbow into its chin.

“Barmaid, wait!”

Do not pause at familiar voice. It drops its sword. That was a mistake. Spin around; kick its face. It stumbles back.

“I yield!”

Push aside his outstretched arms. Grab his head and knock it against mine.

“Stop, Barmaid!”

And for what? Hit each of his legs with dagger. He falls to his knees at my feet.

The door opens loudly as the brute enters, slamming it behind him. “Ah. I see your saviors are departing,” he says with a grunt.

“I do not have time for you,” I reply, rolling my eyes and turning away from him. I do not have to take his abuse. I turn to go up the stairs to my room, but he stomps after me.

“I finally figured you out, Wench.” He presses his hands against the walls of the corridor. “And now you're afraid of me.”

I huff and spun around. Afraid! If I were able, I would end him in only a moment's time. “I am not afraid of you. I am annoyed—”

His hands spring forward, slamming loudly against the wall I lean on. I do not even blink.

“Liar. You appear before me to be bold and fearless, but I finally see through that. You play the part of this...helpless damsel, trying to hide the fact that you are exactly that. You've met your match, Wench.”

I open my mouth, but he grips my cheeks with his large hand, squeezing tightly. “Say nothing! You are accustomed to using your charms and your looks to your advantage—fooling all who come in here. But I have no interest in you, Siren. And now, you are afraid. Everyone else can overlook your prying questions and illogical excuses, but not me. I know. Inside your dainty frame is nothing but cowardice, and behind your delicate lips is nothing but lies.”

I twist the brute’s hand from my mouth. “So then, what?” I demand. “If you are so convinced I am guilty of something, why do we argue? Why not just hand me over?”

The brute does not reply, just stares at me angrily. I huff.

“You do not believe it. You just search for some excuse to handle me. In truth, I would be gone already if I were even suspected to be Inzi—”

His hand quickly grips my neck. He lifts me high against the wall, and I struggle to hold myself up against the choke by grabbing his wrist.

I finally look up as he pulls me excitedly behind him. My cheeks hurt as I try to keep myself from smiling. I have to run next to him to keep up with his long stride.

Focus, Are’An. The commander needs your focus.

I pull against his tug. He does not notice, and releases me, putting his hands through the ivy vines covering the outside wall.

“So, Are’An, be truthful with me. Is your inn actually full? I think your innkeeper is leading me on.”

I laugh. “No, truly, the inn is full. It is so small; it is usually full.”

“Hmm.” He does not turn as he pulls the ivy aside, revealing a ladder. “Well, no matter. I am not far now, so I get at least a little time with you. I’ve got another day of leave while I await the next caravan. I found this spot quite by accident this morning and hid it again. Can’t wait to show it to you.”

I look back across the street to the Sugar’s Plum as he loudly pushes the ivy. I did not plan to be gone for long. I did not even tell Mary that I was leaving.

“Why did you not just come over and get me?” I ask. I would have been better prepared for this jaunt had I have known.

“And risk having that official deflect my plans and dismiss me? I think not...”

“So you will leave me to get the chastisement?” I ask with a laugh. “Added with being out past curfew?”

“Never mind that, Are'An,” he replies as he finishes pulling the ivy down. “The official likes you; you could probably get away with anything.”

I huff as he tugs my hand. Maybe. But only if the brute does not notice first.

“Besides, I’m in uniform. I'll escort you back later and you’ll have no trouble from the guards. Come, you go up first. It’s wobbly, but I promise it’ll hold.”

I have not even agreed to this outing. I pinch my lips and plant my feet. I should return to the inn. Brute or not, Sam will want an explanation of why I was out so late. And what if he is writing a letter to his home as I stand here? I should be…

The sound of the early morning bird calls cover the sounds of our steps. I creep through the tall grass alongside Feam, watching the soldiers ahead talk quietly as they pack up their camp. I hold my hand up and our troop pauses. The smoke from the many dying fires falls gently into the low-lying fog. 

My eyes meet Feam’s and I nod ahead. He puts his hand to his mouth, whooping quietly, mimicking the sound of the le’on bird. Responding to the sign, Jul from Aira’s troop begins singing loudly and incoherently on the other side of the camp, across from us. The entire camp rumbles as the soldiers gather; some to get on guard, others to just to see what is going on.

I close my eyes, letting Jul’s voice and the scene fade.

“Ma-hali.”

Follow Feam; pull out daggers. Move quickly. Quietly. Put dagger to neck of everything. Jul screams. My troop stays unnoticed.

Separate. Open tent flap. One buttoning pants. Hit its neck; it falls silently. Next tent.

Empty.

Turn. Everything yells at once. We have been found out. Shadow over tent. Lean back. Sword pierces through the cloth. Stance. Three enter tent.

“Only a woman.”

The soldiers are satisfied and wrap ropes around our necks and wrists. But they never check us. Fools. I shift and walk widely so the dagger I hid on my inner thigh does not slip. I press my lips together to hide my grin as one ties the rope around my wrists.

Once everyone is gathered and tied together, the horsemen lead the way down the lonely road. The foot soldiers walk on each side of our line with their hands on their hilts. 

“Do you suppose we will come back here and gather more villagers?” The soldier walking next to me asks suddenly. I keep my head down. “They did not put up nearly as much of a fight as we were told they would.”

“Oh, certainly. Our own people fight more than these did. Ambassador Vincent demands the meek for the mines. They make wonderful workers.”

“Perfect.”

“No captives,” Aira calls suddenly in Inzi. One of the soldiers briefly turns to her. “We take everyone. To protect Dwale, no one can know what actually became of this brigade.”

I close my eyes as I walk, breathing deeply.

“That girl is not speaking Dwalean,” one whispers. “I don't speak it myself, but her accent is wrong.”

Another watches me listening. “Do you understand us?” it asks me. I smile.

“Prepare yourselves,” Aira continues.

“Didn’t they say there’s a new Inzi chief…?”

“A young girl, yes.”

“On my command.”

Those around Aira step away as she stops walking. She grins. Soldiers too surprised to arm.

“She is speaking Inzi!”

Roll neck and squat. Reach for knife under dress.

“Attack!”

Cut rope from around wrists and pull second dagger from bosom. Am pulled back to the ground by neck.

One charges, swinging wildly. Dolt. Lean left. Trip it. Hit the neck as it stumbles. Next swings low. Leap back, block blow. Push sword high; spin closer. It grabs my shoulders; tries to push me over. Let it. Roll on the ground, hit back of its knees. Run dagger over neck as it falls.

“Dalo!”

Drop flat on stomach. Sword swings over. Roll to back. Five stand over me. Outmatched. Deep breath. Take what you can.

Three raise swords. Toss daggers. One crumples. Other blocks. Third drops sword over face. Move head. Sharp edge grazes cheek.

“I got one, Dalo!”

Jam leaps on one soldier, twisting it to the ground. Roll to the left; get dagger. Scream. Another sword runs shallow across hand. Pull dagger from boot. Roll over;  block its blow. It falls on me. Get it off! It tries to pry dagger from fingers. Push it; it pushes back. Reach for eyes; it leans away. Cannot grip its hands. It cannot grip my neck. Other two watch and taunt.

“Stop playing with the girl and kill her.”

“Come now, she’s tiny! Be done with this!”

Yes. Be done. Give it the dagger; grab another from bosom. Lash its face quickly. Plunge dagger into its neck. Others cry out. Roll to feet. Bend in stance.

“Mine.”

Jam trips one to its back. Other swings at me. It has a saber, not a sword. Spin away. Pick up daggers. Jump back. It twists...nicks my stomach. Drop to the dirt. Saber swings overhead. Roll out of reach. Stand; block next blow with daggers. Twisting. Twisting. Hold daggers out. Which way will it attack?

Left. Too slow. Saber nicks my arm, then leg. Fall to knee; hold one dagger above head and other at chest. Saber hits both. Roll again. Toss a dagger. It twists saber down to block. Plenty of time. Run dagger over wrist. Saber drops. Grab its hair. Tilt head. Strike.

Fall next to it and scream. Release the pain.

Hate sabers.

No rest. Another sword swings. Push it to the dirt. Bring knee to chin. It stumbles; make it fall. Kick face and collapse on it. Raise daggers.

“It’s you!”

Soldier that grabbed me the day before. Grin.

How late is it? I rise from our bed and pace the room. I do not want to. You have to. I cannot. You must.

Where will I hide her body after I commit such an act? I hate to think about it. Perhaps just bring a sack up? Then what? Bury her? Leave her in the forest somewhere? I press my hands against my eyes. How will I even explain her sudden disappearance to Nathan?

She rolls over, softly sighing. I bite my lip as I watch her. My hands tremble with each breath and tears stream down my face, blurring my sight. I have to. Her or me. I have to. I will be merciful, anyway. I will make it quick. She will not feel a thing. It is better if I do it, anyway. If I am ever suspected…

That is right. The Ambassador holds children in absolutely no regard…what terrors they would put the little girl through? Better by my own hand than by those awful soldiers.

My own hand. I have not even picked up my knife yet. It is still hidden between the bed’s leg and the wall. I clutch it, watching the moonlight cast fractured rays on the walls as the beams reflect off the metal. I stand over the bed and take a deep breath. I close my eyes, breathing through my nostrils. Let the scene fade. Let it all disappear.

Nothing.

I close my eyes again and take deep breaths. Let the room blur and the sounds vanish.

A little girl still sleeps before me.

Try again. Again. Still nothing. Nothing I do can make her image fade. I breathe and close my eyes. I do not even have the resolve to raise the dagger above her. I take another breath.

She smiles in her sleep. I never noticed her doing that before.

I cannot face her. I walk to the other side of the bed. Already matted again. I should have just braided her hair instead.

And for what, Are’An? You are about to take her!

I pull the blanket over her head and gently rub my hand over it, feeling for her temple. I will be quick. I hold the knife up.

The caravan rolls almost directly under me. I whistle again. Feam steps from the brush ahead, standing in the center of the dirt road. Feam is a massive man, and the soldiers are not rash. As I hoped, they quickly circle the wagons, not even noticing the four large barrels of oil we had earlier placed in each corner of the area. Feam stands with his huge hands folded calmly in front of him as he watches them clamor.

The soldiers finally get in place and the captain calls out.

“You there! Inzi! Do you speak Lyngarian?”

Feam shrugs. He does not speak it, but he understands it well enough. The soldiers are uncertain, and whispers run through their ranks. I press my hand against my lips, stifling my giggles. There, forty fully armed soldiers stand trembling in formation, frightened of a single Inzi man.

“Surrender, Inzi! You are outmatched!”

At this, Feam grins, making the soldiers whisper in panic. I whistle again. My archers light their arrows. One of the soldiers near the edge hears the stretch of the bows and looks up.

“Ambush!”

Feam waves as the archers send their arrows flying. With a bright flash, the four barrels simultaneously light, setting all the circled wagons and a few of the nearby soldiers ablaze. I close my eyes at the screams, but the fight has not yet been won. My troop leaps from their perches in the trees, beginning the battle without me. I have given my orders.

And I only need a moment.

I jump from the tree and close my eyes, rolling my shoulders. I take a deep breath. The sounds of the battle slowly distort and everything fades to black.

Arm daggers. Two for each of us. Soldier nearest has a crossbow. Toss knife at hand. Arrow misses...flies into the air. Kick crossbow aside. Elbow its face. Hands raise to block me; its chest is unprotected.

Smirk. I am owed another.

One runs past. Catch it; hold it tight. Do not let it escape. It is strong; I am clever. Jump on its back. Twist it to the ground. Aim daggers down. Fall.

The moon shines through the trees in broken beams as I finally approach the night’s meeting place. The fire stretches into the sky, illuminating just the features of my fellow tribe gathered around it. The young commander stands with his head hung in the center, next to our snarling chief. I quickly cast my eyes down as I walk behind the circle. I cannot bear to see who is missing from our assembly.

“Leaders? Dalos?” The chief's voice rattles. “Is this what you dare call yourselves?”

Feam smiles weakly as I sit next to him and raises his massive hand to gently rub my back. I did not see him retreat. I rest my head against his chest and exhale in relief.

“The dalos of each troop finally brought together for this one task! Each with your own second in command! Yet, every one of you retreated! How can we win this war if even my dalos run with tails between legs?”

A dirty pair of feet stop before me, feathers around the ankles.

“Are’An.”

My eyes slowly travel upwards at his call. I can only make out the chief’s menacing silhouette before the bright flames. “Fearless Warrior. You retreated as well. Did you not even hesitate?”

I bite my lip and hang my head. Only briefly.

“One of my greatest warriors!” The chief grows angrier at my silence. “Who dared try my command? Who called yamiu?”

The fire pops, sending a shower of embers around Indohy, but he does not even blink. “No one speaks?”

All eyes travel to the dirt. How could we? What would the repercussions be? Indohy never shies away from raising hand, and Aira is only just twelve. I cannot bear that! Will Indohy beat her before us? Strip her of her rank? Or exile our young initiate completely?

I take a shuddered breath. That would be worse. I glance up briefly, scanning everyone's faces. Some bite their lips, others pick at their wounds. All avoid Indohy’s eyes and pray that he will not command an answer.

Collapse under foliage. Be silent. Hold breath. Heavy footsteps thud closer. Remain still; do not move. One boot stamps my skirt. Another mashes my fingers. Bite lip. Do not scream.

The soldiers pass. Rise. Grip daggers. Take aim. Simple. Both points plunge into necks. Fetch my daggers.

One more.

It turns around. It should have fled. Hit its sword arm with one dagger, run my second across its neck. It stills. Look around. Nothing else dared give chase. Run back towards the field.

One stands alone. Bend in stance and creep behind it. It turns. Drop. Sword swings over. Roll left. Roll right. Pain; sword cuts shallow.

Scream. Punish it!

Kick out its knees. It falls on me. Flip it over, sit on it. Grab its head. Twist.

Loud noise?