Legends of Belariath
Krrlik
I grew up much as any country-catling in our area did. Born to a litter of four, things were generally pleasant. Our father worked hard to provide for us, and never tore down our dreams. Mom was the kindest person anyone could hope to meet. Things changed, though. Nothing good can last, they say, and people from my community seemed to accept that too readily. Just before our 9th birthday, 2 of my sisters, Myrra and Kelise were gathering strawberries near the road. My other sister, Shala, the firstborn, stronger than any of us, and ever the serious one, was paired off with me, and while we gathered, we wandered farther away.
To this day, I still don't know how those men could have gotten so near us without us hearing, but my younger sisters' twin screams still echo in my mind. Dropping our reed baskets, Shala and I darted around a copse of bushes, then nearly fell over each other as we skidded to a stop. Only a few hundred feet away were over a dozen men, and they'd formed a ring around my sisters. Two huge, vicious dogs were...blood was everywhere. I was in absolute shock, and it was all my sister could do to drag me off, away from that wicked place, without alerting them to our presence.
Things were never quite the same again, and my dad started taking me into town to learn how to fight. A friend of his had been to a big city, living the streets for years, and so I was told to start learning a thing or two from him, that I might better protect my family. For the first several years, I was ever an apt pupil, learning to move gracefully, even for a cat, learning to use my tail as the best of balance mechanisms, and as a distraction when one was needed.
I'd always thought my skills of stealth and quick combat were my nearest and dearest of pleasures, but returning home one night, I passed a place with a curious tap tap tap sounding, quiet cries of pain heard seemingly in correspondance. I told myself to keep moving, to look away, as it was probably none of my business, but a sidelong glance changed my life forever. Inked needle held to a woman's flesh, gently tapped into it to leave the stain of that pigment, mixing with the red of blood upon that naked skin. Her beauty lent itself to my mystification that night, lying on her stomach as the man worked down her back, design already covering much of her right leg and most of her taut ass. A short battle raged inside, the allure of this woman and the freedom of this body artists's craft. The latter won out, and I begin cutting my other lessons shorter and shorter to spend more time with that man, unbeknownst by my family or mentor.
On the night of seventeenth birthday, I received the worst beating I'd ever gotten from anyone, and the fists that nearly broke me were attached to the form of my father, though that night could not possibly have been him. Never had he laid a hand on us in anger, but his face was this mask of terrific rage, and even as I curled into a fetal position, blows raining down on me, his yells making my head hurt as much as those bloodied knuckles, I could see that face behind closed eyelids, and would for many months. I'd been found out, and while my mentor thought it more amusing than wrong, my father felt differently. He reminded me of the day my sisters had died, and as that night went on, it seemed as if I were responsible for being unable to take on twelve armed highwaymen and their dogs. When he had finally tired himself, I ran out into the woods, as gracefully as I could with my too-recently-developed limp.
I spent the night out there, curled into a ball, more scared of my sire than whatever beasts might lurk out in those woods, but if I'd known what would happen while I was gone... I arrived shortly after sunrise the next day, lip covered in dried blood, one eye nearly swollen shut, and that damnable limp still bothered me; Sleeping on hard ground had done little to aid my healing, as did my lack of food. As soon as I cleared the trees, I knew something was wrong. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and black, and I ran home as quickly as possible.
The house was in flames, consumed completely by them, licking into the sky more than 20 feet. Had our house not been in a clearing of our own make, the whole forest would likely have burned that day. I found my father pinned to the ground by a fat, crude spear, the blade shoved through him and into the hard-packed earth. The goddess had yet to take him, though he was close to that journey. I touched his shoulder lightly, and his eyes popped open, bloodshot, nearly the same red as the blood that trailed down his cheek, pouring from his mouth, soaking his clothes. A flashback of that day so long ago. Blood.
He blamed me for not being there, for not having taken more of the lessons he'd paid a hefty coin for. It was my fault the slavers had my mother and sister, and his death would be on my head for all time. 17 years of love ended that day, as my father shoved needle after vicious needle into my heart, finding no kindness or forgiveness even with his last breaths. He died, and I wept, for in the cruel way, he'd died to me the night before, and could never be reborn. With those tears stinging my cracked and bleeding lips, I suddenly took heart in my mission, self-given, to rescue what little of my family remained, for it was all I had left in the world. Armed with only a dagger my mentor had given me during my training, and the clothes on my back, I set about following the tracks of these slavers, murderers, bastards all.
I followed them for days, and my life as a simple gatherer came in very helpful, for I'd have starved if not for my meager meals found nearby the paths travelled. It was easy enough to catch up with the slow slavers caravan, several slave-laden wagons making ruts in the ground at the softer parts, where the rain from days prior was slow to dry up. I stalked them, nearly caught several times, and only my bit of training saved me from discovery; Had they been more alert, even suspicious of my presence, I'd likely have been gutted before I'd realized my error.
More than a week of this went by, and though I ate what I could find, I steadily lost much of what little weight I had. Finally, one night, I believed fortune had smiled on me, for a fight broke out amongst the slavers, two of the humans accusing a large creature, a troll or ogre or even a small giant, I know not which, of stealing from them. At first, the two humans were content to use body and fist to attack the large creature, and it seemed for a short while that they might overcome him. The strength of such creatures is terrible in its awesomeness, as I witnessed that night. A tremendous surge of power, and he stood, knocking them both from atop him, one falling upon the ground and the other nearly stumbling into the low-burning fire. The large creature pulled its impossibly large axe from its back, and all about the caravan, the sound of steel ringing free from confines of sheathes was heard.
It seems there'd been a split in their ranks, each believing the other weaker, a drag on progress, a waste of resources. I crept in closer, and again felt fortune, or the goddess' hand on my actions, as the fire was on the other side of the locked door I believe my mother and sister in. The fighting rang all around, and for over a minute, trembling hands worked at the lock with training lockpick my mentor had given me. Finally, that click, and I swung the door wide open. My mother and sister were there, both badly beaten, and though my mother was happy to see me, Shala glared at me with hatred. Blamed for my father's death, and grief flooded me once more. Fighting back those tears, I struggled to get them out of the wagon, out into the night, into the forest all around.
The sounds of combat had slowly faded away, and as I half-carried my mother, nearly dragging my sister every step of the way, a huge weight, a lurch of motion, brought me down to the ground. As I struggled to rise, the glint of metal and shiny blood caught a torchlight as that huge ogre-thing approached. He'd thrown his axe, and it rested several inches in my mother's body, from shoulder blade to opposite hip. "Run" was all she had time to say before that last breath escaped her. My sister's rawed nerves snapped, and she dropped next to our dead mother. She'd been eating better than I, it seemed, and that creature walked slowly closer, toying with us, using that expectation of pain and death to raise the fear within, to slow our wits and bodies. I finally pulled my sister away, dragging her out of that camp, towards freedom, and still she struggled.
A sickening squelch as the axe was pulled free of my mother's body, and Shala fought harder than before, irrational, wanting only to cradle that corpse. A great final tug as I turned away, and suddenly we lunged ahead. No longer did she weigh more than me; The creature's axe had cut her clean in two. We stumbled down the side of a large hill, one I'd had no idea we'd come near; Later, I discovered it was more a ravine, a gash cut deep into the ground. A jarring, bruising ride, many scrapes on my arms and legs, clothes tattered and torn, I finally arrived on the bottom, only to see my dying sister staring at me, a mask of hatred so like my father's, and to find why she'd weighed so little. Final words of accusation, even struggling to crawl towards me, before life finally left that half of her body, eyes glassed over, still staring at me. It was all more than I could take, and I slipped into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.
It would seem several days went by before I awoke, in the care of an old man and his wife, hermits that lived off the land, she tending a small garden, and he hunting smaller game, for they did not require much to live anymore. They nursed me back to health, and later, I visited the two graves they'd dug for me. As I grew stronger once more, I helped them as best I could with the day to day things, fixing what he might have difficulty in completing, assisting in the kitchen whenever I might. Months went by like this, but it was finally time for me to move on, as their time to do the same neared. With tearful thanks, hugs, and farewells, I departed with nought but a bit of food and the new clothes they'd given me, directions to a nearby settlement, and the things I'd arrived with. A fortnight later, tired, hungry, and dehydrated, I arrived at the Lonely Inn. I hadn't realized it, but when I awoke the following morning, it struck me. I had forgotten about my birthday. Only two days before arriving in Nanthalion, I'd turned 18. A time for new things awaited, and so, with every effort, I look forward to what the future would bring.