Legends of Belariath
Mozenwrathe
Swim Upstream To Fate - And The Heart Is Hard To Swallow
*Told to her closest of friends, this is one of Indukanta's most bitter memories. Not the worse one by far, this recollection describes one of the numerous reasons she has little faith in anything with a dick between their legs. She knew full well there was much even within the tale she was holding back from the others - especially Bandhura, the half-vulpani. She was not completely trusting of those whom she had shed blood with and shared wine with. Perhaps she never would be. Out of the four, Indukanta was the most used to being alone or at least pushing people from her. Her closest traveling companions were the "pets" she kept with her or running into. One had to challenge calling a big cat the size of a small tiger a pet by any stretch of the imagination. Neelkamala insisted that it took her five years to get this far with Indukanta, and she was willing to spend another five years to get the half-barbarian to open up to her fully.*
Have I know people who have used the gods as a way to maintain power, or convince another what they have done was right. One of these was a shaman in my old village named Rotcev Lausiv. He was very handsome for the Four-Colour Waterfall, and knew it. He was also very good at talking to others in ways that would make them feel great about themselves. Most of the tribe knew all that well that Rotcev was not the most attuned of the spirit-talkers in our village, but they would go to him first rather than Old Wise Aditya Sunshower or her daughter Biryla Moonrain. His winning smile and smooth voice would always draw people to his side.
When I was just growing into womanhood, I found myself attracted to Rotcev much like many other young women in the village. I ignored it, however, preferring to work on my hunting and fishing. I was determined to follow in the path of my own mother - one of the best catchers of salmon and pike in the village. Though one night I overheard quiet talking close to my mother's tent. Creeping to the edge of the tent from the inside, I made sure that my shadow form could not be seen at the outside of the tent by remaining low to earth. The voices were of men - Rotcev and at least three others whom I could not recognize. The scorn and hatred I heard in the voice of Rotcev was more terrifying to me than when I saw my first wounded wolf. I was frozen to where I was, afraid that somehow he could sense my presence within my mother's tent. He spoke of how Old Wise Aditya was "in his way", and how with her and her daughter gone could he easily become the most powerful man of the Four-Colour Waterfall tribe.
The next day, it seemed that in the night Old Wise Aditya and her daughter had been taken. Blood had been splattered all over their tent, and knives had cut through the leather and fur used to make it. Kidnapped by a rival tribe in the dead of night, somehow they had made it past those who keep watch over our village. Rotcev was filled with woe and rage about how something like this could have happened, screaming for our tribe to hunt down their kidnappers and make them pay. A warhost was soon gathered, and they were sent out in the direction that Rotcev gave them. My uncle and my two cousins originally were going to go with them, but they noticed my trembling whenever I looked in Rotcev's direction. They told me to be brave and strong like my mother, and then left in a different direction.
It would be four days before Old Wise Aditya was found. She had been raped and savaged, apparently by wolven. They were enemies of my tribe for years before my birth, and it would not be assumed any others had done such to her. Her body had been half buried, and defiled further, those who had attacked her covering her with their seed. By the time the warhost found her, she had already gone to become part of the ancestral host, giving her wisdom to the spirits who guide us all. Of course, Rotcev himself insisted on doing the ceremonies of fire and earth, keeping those he had always held personal council with close to his side during the two days of prayers and preparation. Every so often, Rotcev would look in the direction of myself and my best friend Nidar'iria and give us a thoughtful stare. Nidar'iria believed he would favour us when it game to ceremonial rites and was quietly pleased. I, however, knew far better. Especially as one of Rotcev's cronies had always looked on at my friend with ill-hidden lusts.
On the night of the ceremony itself, Rotcev was pronounced lead shaman for the Four-Colour Waterfall tribe. As Old Wise Aditya's body burned behind him, he declared himself a true follower of the older ways, and would promise to restore our tribe to glory. His words sounded so gracious and glorious, I was almost swayed by them. Though whenever he would look at my friend and I again, that gleam of utter wickedness shone through. Just before he called for whom he would take as assistants, three arrows with blood-stained pigeon feathers landed at his feet. My uncle and cousins had returned, a badly beaten and shaken Biryla Moonrain with them. In her hoarse voice, she did call Rotcev out for his treachery and his personal involvement in the raping and slaying of her mother. Rotcev had been both the first and the last to take Old Wise Aditya, insisting that it was Aden'Ver himself who gave him the right to crush the bloodline. Invoking the name of The Battle Lord was something reserved for only the most serious of times, for all knew that Aden'Ver only cared for bloodshed and could easily destroy everything in his whims.
The ceremony was in an uproar, and many called for combat between the accused and the accuser to settle things. Of course, it would be Rotcev's own people who decried Biryla's claim and demanded that such be dealt with in the old ways. Ways that would clearly favour Rotcev, as he was taller and stronger. Yet did Biryla not once flinch at the vicious words or the cries, bareing herself naked before all with only a length of hemp rope attached to a heavy stone. Rotcev, sneering at Biryla and calling her a worthless camp-whore of a vulpani, removed his own robes and drew a vicious looking blade. (Amongst our tribe, calling someone vulpani or wolven were as good as cursive words.) As Rotcev rushed the clearly bruised and unsteady Biryla, did I see something amazing. Biryla spun swiftly and summoned the stone to her hand with but a word. She then used it to strike out at Rotcev just steps before he would have gutted her like a fish.
It was like something from the storyteller's songs and speeches. Biryla's use of the hemp rope and stone was something to be feared. Attacking both shallow and deep, she never once allowed Rotcev to touch her with his blade. Eventually, Biryla wrapped the hemp around Rotcev's neck and arms, binding him tight. Then with his own curved sword, was he beheaded before the whole tribe - vengeance being claimed and his blood feeding the flames. Biryla had now become head shaman of my tribe, but at the cost of her mother. It would not be until later that I would be told the rest by my cousins. (They caught a beating from my uncle and my father afterwards, as what I was told was not to be shared to anyone.)
Something that none were ever to know was Biryla herself had wanted to be lead shaman, but had been content to wait until her mother had passed her judgment. Biryla had been Rotcev's lover, but Rotcev had been spreading himself around the tribe indiscriminately. He and his two closest companions from childhood had been disgusted at how the tribe had been spiritually guided by women, whom they all saw as weak and suitable only for warming furs and cooking meals. Their plan had been a sound one, convincing people to slowly do little things here and there that would eventually give the three of them the opportunity to remove Old Wise Aditya. Rotcev had "given" Biryla as payment to his friends for them to enjoy as a sex slave and then sell later on. My uncle had known of where Rotcev and his friends would always go to enjoy the slaves of the tribe, as few ever stopped them as long as the slaves were returned in good condition. The bodies of Aper'gpui and Relluem were never found, presumably in the belly of some bear or wolves.
This is how I learned to not place all of one's faith in any man - especially the handsome ones. How pretty they were on the outside only served to make them a trap of honey for the unwary fly. Such a man could have a heart as disgusting as rain-soaked offal and harder than thrice-forged steel inside a well-formed chest. It would be would be not until a few months after I was forced to realize that there were many women of that nature as well.