Legends of Belariath
Salina Kyle
The Warrior’s Dance Part One
”Poppa! No!” I screamed, but it didn’t change the scene.
I’d gone to pick Elderberries. We had seen them from the wagon, but it was impolite to block the trail. When father had brought the wagon to a stop, I grabbed a water bucket and jumped down.
“Not to many, Bella,” he had called, “you know they can give you the runs.” He would unhook the pull beasts tending to the animals needs. When I returned, it would be up to me to prepare the evening meal. My mother had been gone three turns of the Great Wheel. I acted as the woman of the family.
Closing my eyes, I prayed it away. The arrows would be gone. The wagon would not be smoking. “Daddy-“ oh my father! What greeted my opening eyes brought new chills of terror, then the first as three of the four Sheyka warriors came for me.
“No!” I screamed with fear something worse then death might be on their minds. I picked up the bucket of fruit throwing it with all my might. My aim was good from years of playing ball toss. The contents ran down his chest with the bucket resting on his head. His companions burst out in guffaws of mirth at the amusing sight of a warrior struck down with a bucket of fruit. This stopped when I disappeared into the high grass. The smell of Elderberries followed me into the semi-darkness of the new spring growth. Growling from deep in my chest, I slid under prickle bushes to protect myself. The long thin spikes grew numerous, and sharp. The fingers of one of the warriors grazed my soft traveling boots, but I pulled myself deeper. Hair pulling from my two neat buns, blood began to drip from the scratches appearing over my arms and legs though no pain reached my grief stricken mind. One deep cut opened on the back of my hand whilst another spike ripped across my cheek. Sucking in my breath, my body held still, the gentle breeze rattling through the brush with the ominous sound of dry bones hanging in the hot wind. Blood dripped down my cheek, and onto my trembling lips, my teeth biting on my tongue. Its salty steel taste entered my mouth ruining the sweet taste of Elderberries for the rest of my life. My eyes closed in desperate prayer to the High Ones, feeling the long spikes as they pushed into my growing buds. Would they burn the bush? Terror grew to a new height, but was quickly fought down with logic. The Sheyka wouldn’t risk a forest fire to kill me. With my father dead, and the draft animals dead or taken away, my chances of survival were nonexistent.
“That’s what those savages think,” I whimpered, “but I won’t. Daddy raised me to take care of myself. Uncle Beanan will come looking for us.” Plans kept the fear and sadness at the back of my thoughts. My mind played a vicious trick making my stomach twist. Within my head, my father had arrows sticking from him. A wail of grief came from deep in my heart. Again, common sense took control jamming my wrist into my mouth cutting off the sound as tears streamed down my pale, bloody cheeks. The prickle bushes rustled about me, an ominous rattling. My lips moved in silent, anguished plea for this horror to end. I hoped to wake from this terrible nightmare.
Scratching at the dried blood on my pale cheek, my eyes took in the destroyed wagon, our belongings scattered about on the ground. My daddy’s body lay as the killers had felled him. As I knelt at his side and wept, some small thought began. It lingered just out of reach in my chaotic mind. Trying, unsuccessfully, to wipe the salty moisture from my cheeks, I had to think of my next move. His body had to be buried. I couldn’t bear the thought that some beast might feast on my beloved father’s flesh.
“Better move ahead,” I said, softly. Head? Why did that seem important? My eyes traveled up his bloody form in struggling thought. They had searched him, but nothing more. Suddenly, my eyes snapped closed to concentrate on this little bit of knowledge just out of my mind’s reach. What had Uncle Beanan said about Sheyka warriors?
“They don’t leave without a ‘trophy’,” I whispered, staring at my father’s unspoiled body. “The head of their slain foe.” My feet came under me before the thought had finished, but it had already become to late. Strong male hands caught me by the hair, and shoulders.
“No! No!” I kept growling, even while two of them held me down. The long hunting blade glittered in the setting sun.
“Go ahead, you blood thirsty bastards,” I cried, tossing my hair in defiance, “Do you have the courage to look a person in the eye when you kill them?!?” The knife began a downward arch. As I watched it draw near, I raised my chin in stubborn pride and gave the blade more room.
“Cha!” growled one of the warriors. The blade pressed lightly into my throat. There began a brief debate between the four. Pulling out the one pin that held back the thick expanse of my hair, the warrior gestured to my face. He caught my chin to turn my head. Hissing with disgust, my teeth sank into his thumb. He grunted in pain, backhanding me hard enough to make my head begin to throb. They continued to talk among themselves nearly ignoring me. I knew that tone of voice from years of listening to my father haggle in the markets. The warrior tried to convince his companions to spare my life.
“No!” I shouted, struggling against the ebony hands that held me. “Kill me! Kill me, you stupid heathens!” Something of what I said translated to the warriors. Loud, rough laughter greeted my demand for death. The debate ended against my enraged ultimatum. The young warrior, dark blue stains on his leather hood, won his intense argument with relief in his eyes. They let go of me seemingly waiting for something, all their eyes on me. It took every once of self-control for me to lie still. The arrogant men expected me to bolt like a fawn from a Great Wolf. They wanted me to try to run from them. They laughed, softly as I lay still in apparent submission. Their masks covered their faces, but the violet eyes staring down at me showed amusement. They wore leather outfits covering their entire bodies. I wondered what the face of a Sheyka warrior might look like. Not even Uncle Beanan, with all his travels to far away places, knew the face of a Sheyka man. Sitting up suddenly, I snatched out and caught two of them. One mask came only partially off before the warrior pulled away. My other hand held onto the other gear yanking it free. My chin fell in stunned surprise forgetting everything else in the unusual sight. Braids of stark white hair fell around an ebony black face. His violet eyes widened in shock. Frantically, one of his hands tried to cover his face. He tore the mask from my limp grasp. The three others pinned me to the ground, and blocked my view of the unmasked warrior. Two held me to the ground. The third tore strips of cloth from my tunic. These strips wrapped around my head. Soon, I could see only darkness. They tied my wrists behind my back. A warrior tied a leading rope to my neck, and dragged to my feet.
“Let me go,” I growled, fighting the hands. This earned me a smart slap. Cheek stinging, I fell quiet. In all my life, my father had never struck me. A Sheyka warrior led me away from the wagon forcing me to sit on the damp grass. His presence hovered over me like a great beast. My heart pounded with such intense fear as to turn my stomach over. What was happening? Why did I sit in the wet grass? As the others approached, my body cringed against the legs of my guard. Would they rape me now? Some relief washed over me when I was dragged back to my feet. The rope grew tight pulling me along behind these savages. We were on the move into the growing darkness of the evening. How would I ever get away from these beasts?
We walked way into the night further and faster then I was accustomed to. The sound of the night animals frightened me to a great degree. Tied and blindfolded, I would have no chance if the warriors decided to leave me. I didn’t think I could go much further as my legs ached with fatigue. The rope stayed tight to my neck lightly choking me as it stood.
“Wait, please,” I gasped. The sound of my voice brought a quick stop. My aching knees sank to the cold ground, my feet throbbing as well. Breath passed hotly through my laboring lungs. A warrior grabbed me by the hair to drag me up but I just couldn’t go any further at that point.
“Please, I- can’t- go any further,” I moaned, trying to pull away from his painful hold in my loose hair. “My legs are sore… I haven’t eaten in quite a while… I just can’t go any further tonight. Please…” My body braced for anger from these brute, hearing them talk softly amongst themselves. After several minutes of talk, I found myself lead to a tree. Forced to kneel, the rope passed around the small trunk then around my body pressing me into the rough bark. Lastly, he bound my ankles tightly. With my wrists still tied behind my back the rope cut into my arms a little. I could hear movement as the four set up a small camp. It sounded like they went about setting up a fire. Exhausted and grieving, I cared about none of it at that moment. With a quiet moan, I passed out.
A hand gently touched my cheek snapping me to wakefulness. Disoriented from the blindfold, I began to scream in terror fighting my bonds. The hand went over my mouth instantly cutting off the sound. A sharp knife pricked my cheek in open threat. It took great effort, but I stopped my panicked actions. Assured I had stopped, he lifted his hand carefully ready to slap it over my mouth if I made a sound. The spout of a water skin pressed to my lips. I drank the cool water down as much as I could. The warrior took the skin away causing me to whimper, still a little thirty. He held a piece of meat under my nose. Carefully, I accepted the morsel of tasty food, the rumble of my empty stomach bringing a hot blush to my pale cheeks. He touched my cheek again in a soft caress then continued to feed me. In a few moments, the feeding stopped as he gave me another drink.
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked in a soft, frightened voice. His finger went over my lips pressing down firmly.
“No talk,” he said. This warrior could speak my language. That alone brought me great comfort. Quickly, my head nodded in understanding. It was only two words but it comforted me anyway. He released my aching sore ankles from the leather cord he’d tied tightly around them. The rope loosed to slip down from the tree and my painful, tired body. It took me a few moments to get to my tender feet struggling with the rope tugged on to get me to try harder. The warriors started moving quickly again with the rope dragging me long behind them. What choice did I have?
At a brisk pace, we walked well into the hot summer day. The warriors talked and laughed among themselves. The rope would jerk once in awhile making me stumble. Listening to them, I wondered how they could destroy my life, and act as though it were nothing to them. My life would be forever altered. Even if I could get away from them, I would never look upon life in the same light. They had taken the one person I loved more then anyone else in the world. My father’s lands and house were nothing to me. I had only been with the warriors for one night. It would be enough for those of my village. I would be marked as an outcast to all I once knew in my life. ‘Savage’s slut’ they would call me. They might even try to take away what was mine by birth. These four men cared nothing for what they’d done to my good life and loving father. They joked with one another horsing around in complete ease. My concerns meant less than nothing to them. As my mind ran the pain around and around through my aching head, I could find no solution to my problem, save one.
“And I won’t let you animals take my life,” I hissed, softly. So wrapped up in my own thoughts, I didn’t realize the Sheyka had stopped. My body bumped into the warrior in front of me, and listened to them speaking in hushed tones. My head turned a little trying to figure out what was happening. A breeze of summer wild flowers blew across my face in a gentle caress. On the wind, a melody reached my ears, from a man, singing quite loudly, coming in our direction. The warriors dragged me from the path to force me to lie down. As the riding beast got closer, the voice became clearer and tears ran down my cheeks. I knew that voice, loud, and always off key though never too ashamed to keep him from song.
“Uncle Beanan,” I whispered. Feeling my body tense, the warrior lay over me, one hand over my mouth, the other put a knife to my throat. His muscular body pressed against mine into the wet ground, his scent of leather and musky odor washing over me. The closeness of his body upset me more then the knife at my throat. Uncle Beanan rode by singing, and whistling merrily. He must have decided to ride out to meet father and me. If only I could let him know I was there on the side of the path. He came within ten feet of where I was held, but rode on. With the savage’s hand and knife there was nothing I could do to let my dear uncle know my plight. Still on me, the warrior’s hand went to my hair forcing my head back with a hard yank. Another forced my mouth open while a piece of leather was stuffed into my mouth. More leather tied the wad in place. Dragging me to my feet, my holder threw me over his shoulder I like weighed nothing. Struggling brought a painful smack on my bottom. Silently they moved away from the path, away from my last hope.
‘Uncle Beanan!’ I cried, silently. They carried me into the high grass disappearing from the trail into the tall grass with no more trail then the passing of the wind.
From the feel of the sun traveling across my back the warrior carried me for most of the day. The Sheyka men stopped by a brook to rest, my holder dropping me to the ground so he could stand with the others. Frightened of the brutes, I didn’t try to move in any way. They didn’t sound very happy about something. I tested the bonds on my swollen wrists, but it was no use. Someone yanked the gag away to let me have a drink of water. The gag came back up much to my distress. I wanted to ask him to leave it off, as the leather rubbed my face raw.
“Please, I won’t scream,” I whispered, trying to pull away. “I won’t scream.” They had a brief discussion standing over my shivering body. He left the gag hanging around my neck as a threat should I decide to try to scream. My face ached from the gag and the strips of cloth that wrapped around my head so tightly. My lips were chapped burning from the leather rubbing against them. We went to a near-by cave, spending the rest of the day, and the night in a small space of cold rock.
We trudged for three days over the rough grasslands through summer flowers, the sweet smell actually beginning to make my stomach turn. Without the path, my feet stumbled on roots, rocks and anything else as I couldn’t see. The warriors slowed down their usual mile eating pace because of me. Their irritation showed with jerks on the rope. At one point, I felled to the ground hard crying out in pain. My bruised knees ran with blood. Aggravated one of the warriors kicked me in my stomach knocking the breath from me. Like a fool, I turned to kick back at him. I didn’t know whether or not I hit him, but the attempt proved enough. Hissing in rage, he struck me again much harder. This blow threw me back with blood dripping from my nose. Suddenly, another warrior stood over me to block anymore blows. I cowered as I thought sure they’d kill me. He argued with the one I’d angered, in my defense, to protect me. They fought for several moments, their voices getting louder, angrier. The enraged warrior spat on the ground near me, then stalked away. My body trembled against my protector. With a gentle hand, the kind warrior pulled me to my feet. I hoped he would remove the blindfold, but such was not to be. He took hold of the rope, but walked a little slower. Somehow, I could tell he tried to avoid things that would trip me.