I think this is just about okay to post as one piece, but... well, I hope it is.
So, here it is;
I was in my fifteenth summer now. My hair hung freely to my waist as all women wore it, out of the girlish braids that had restrained the lengths for so long. Around my neck was the talisman that declared my training was finally over and I wore it over my shirt with pride.
Old Mage was still my mother of sorts, the Queen hadn’t deigned to reclaim me from where I lived amongst the ordinary tents; kept far from her royal pavilion. I lived under the malicious stares of my people, understanding, now, why they were so hateful of me. It had taken Old Mage eleven summers before she yielded and told me. However that was a thought crushed far to the back of my mind and seemed meaningless when I woke one morning to War Bells.
I sprang out of my sleeping sack and dug my feet into wool-lined moccasins. I could hear Old Mage in the living compartment next door; she was humming calmly to herself as she prepared the morning meal. The air was frigid, spiked with frost and it grated painfully down my throat even with the fire growling a metre or so away.
Old Mage turned around when I entered. Her black eyes questioning my early start for she usually had to haul me out of bed. She wore plain robes that were traditional for the Mages and extra strips of fabric bound her ankles as support.
“Little One,” she said in her voice that seemed to caress each letter she spoke. I bowed my head slightly, remembering my manners but anxiety still gnawed at my stomach. I could not grasp why she stood here cooking while the tolling that warned of battle rang from outside.
“Grandmother, why do the bells ring?”
She smiled, her old face crinkling up, the wrinkles fanning out from the corners of her eyes like rays of sun. Her amusement was always something that I cherished for it was so rare these days.
“You know why they ring, Little One.” She chuckled, bending low over the fire where a pot of steaming broth hung. I waited for her to react but she did not.
“Well? Should we not go out and see?”
“My bones are tired, Little One, I do not care to heave myself all the way out there, just to see metal clanging against metal.” She grumbled, wheezing under the weight of the cooking pot. I hurried around the fire and helped to take some of its weight from her. It sank into the sand floor like a rock into thick mud.
“Thank you, Child. Come now, get dressed properly and then you may go out and seek the commotion that is sure to be.” She gestured to my sleeping compartment and I trailed to it unhappily. I heard a bark of laughter behind me. “Do you wish to be seen in your sleeping clothes?” she asked. “It is hardly the thing a Warrior would do.”
“Oh, hush, Grandmother!”
“Then prepare yourself quickly before the food cools and we are left with frozen broth!”
Following my orders I slipped into my ordinary tunic and leggings and exchanged my moccasins for proper, hard-soled boots. When I came back out of my room, Old Mage was humming to herself at the tent opening while she sewed beads onto a dagger sheath. I cleared my throat to announce my arrival.
“I know you are there, Child.” She breathed, still managing to continue with the intricate tune she sang. I flushed with blood.
“Should we eat?”
“Well I don’t see why not, Child.”
She put both unfinished sheath and sewing implements into a large pouch at her waist and came back into the warmer interior, while I ladled out vegetable broth into two bowls and set one before her. The old woman nodded her head in thanks and we both began to eat, she, delicately sipping at each spoonful as I wolfed it down in several goes.
“We have plenty food,” she muttered teasingly. I grinned up at her and took a smaller amount the next time.
It was all silence apart from the slurping of soup and the quiet, murmured crackle of the fire for a few minutes. The tent flap was closed so that the noises from outside could not get in and we both sat and enjoyed that moment’s peace after eating the last of the food. Old Mage laid her withered hands over her stomach – now rounded with food – and heaved a great sigh.
“It is a pity that war has once again appeared.” She said thoughtfully, her eyes closed. “I had thought, foolishly I admit, that it might have finally ended; this life of endless battle, I mean to say.”
“It is not all bad. We have had a rest for fifteen summers now, Grandmother. We should at least be grateful of that.” I spoke softly. The atmosphere in the room seemed to have thickened and now we both sat in brooding silence, every breath we took, every thump of our heart sounded incredibly loud. Old Mage nodded slightly, a frown hiding her eyes from view and exaggerating the folds in her skin.
“True. Yes, you are right, Little One. However, once you look out there, people will be dancing for joy that another battle has come.” Her frown deepened. “When the gods made this Tribe of Warriors thousands of summers ago, and gifted it with a talent at war, it was meant as a means of self-preservation. But now, as the gods have begun to slip the minds of our youth, people have treated war as the very meaning of our community! That our whole world must revolve around fighting as that was what we were created for.” She stood and paced over to the pile of firewood standing alone in the corner.
“I tell you, Child, how has it happened to be, that men – the essence of our being – are now the players in our darkest nightmares?”
“I do not know, Grandmother.” I mumbled, not wishing to interfere with the great woman’s brief flash of insight. She, however, became suddenly aware of herself and how she was fiercely grasping a log of wood and smiled warmly.
“Of course you do not, Little One. And it is far from your duty to do so.” She pushed the wood into our fading fire and stood up, clapping her palms together to rid the dust covering her skin. “Please, run along. I will not take more of your childhood with my aimless questioning. Off with you.” She then quietly wandered into her own sleeping compartment to ready herself in a way only Priestesses know.
I stared after her for a few more minutes, musing over the quandaries she had seeded in my brain, before walking to the door, grabbing my cloak and stealing out into the cold-bitten morning, the war bells still resonating through the air.
Children streaked through the camp, shrieking with pleasure at the excitement of the adults. I waited in front of the tent for the flow of youngsters to end and I could safely get across the pathway. My teeth were already chattering after being only a moment outside and goose bumps ran all over my skin. I pulled the cloak tighter around me and pushed on, following the sounds of animated chatter coming from a short distance away.
My land was beautiful; there was nothing that could prevent me from seeing it that way. Through all the bloody battles they had faced, the mountains still graced the sky with their ancient grandeur, tickling the pregnant clouds with their peaks. Green forest still blanketed the hillsides even after so many trees had been cut for our usage, carpeting the world in an emerald sea. The plateau grew abundant wild grasses and flowers, all waving gently in the breeze; dancing to an ancient tune. And, after many thousands of summers and winters past, the sun continued to rise up every morning, flaring the dark sky a rich crimson and bringing light to our valley, and every evening it would sink behind the horizon, tired, ready for bed like our children. It was much to ask for, I thought, and yet most people had forgotten the beauty.
But I, little Myra, still sang with Old Mage the melodies of times past, to coax the sun back into the sky every morning when it would rather stay asleep and leave our people in utter darkness.
Now I stood at the very edge of the camp, on the crest of a hill, gazing down on the valley below. I spotted a herd of wild horses a far way away and the crystal-clear river that snaked its way through the land. My hair whipped about my face as the wind propelled it in a vigorous dance. The breeze was strongest here; charging up the incline below me and careering straight upwards, into my face. I was freezing, utterly chilled to the bone but I couldn’t care less. I was free.
“Myra!” someone yelled from behind me. I spun around to see my mentor standing at the last tent, her expression irritated but playful. I grimaced, why did she have to come?
“I’m coming, Astrid.” I called back, filling my lungs with the sweet air before trudging back to her side. She seemed to understand my annoyance.
“You will have time for dreaming later, Myra. Now, you must listen.” She said, her voice raised ever so slightly as the wind tried to drag the sounds away. “Didn’t you hear the war bells?”
“Yes, but I thought it wasn’t important for me to be there. Old Mage said I needn’t go.” I smiled sheepishly. “I was going, but then I got distracted.”
“By what? The wind?” she demanded. I nodded solemnly, lowering my eyes as respect called for.
“Have I taught you nothing these past summers?” she cried in exasperation, lifting her arms to accentuate her displeasure. I walked up to her, dangling the necklace that signified the passing of my training. She barked a laugh not unlike the sound a dog makes and rolled her eyes up to the sky, as if it would share her irritation with me.
“You were the best mentor I could have asked for, Astrid.” I said sincerely, dipping my head in gratitude. She barely acknowledged my show of appreciation but I could see the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, hush, Child.”
“Why does everyone call me Child?” I demanded of her, lifting fierce auburn eyes that Old Mage always said looked tinted with gold. Astrid fumbled for words and finally came out with,
“But you are younger than us!”
“No,” I whispered, feeling sadness sneak around me like ash-grey tendrils of mist. “You wish not to speak my name.” I felt Astrid’s discomfort and so I turned away from her and began my wander to the horse stables where my mare; Gira, waited.
It was true, apart from Old Mage who called everyone Child; the others only sometimes used my true name. They replaced it with all sorts, trying to make it natural and easy. They couldn’t. Tears brimmed in my eyes, threatening to overflow and they would have, if it wasn’t that I then arrived at the horses and Gira looked so pleased to see me that I could not help but be happy.
“Good morning, Sister.” I addressed her, lowering my eyes in greeting. The mare snorted and bowed her head as well, quickly, before snuffling at my ear for attention. I put one hand up and tickled her behind the ear, laughing when her eyes closed and she leaned drowsily against the wooden wall. “Oh, Gira. Come, let’s have a ride.”
She snorted loudly at that.
* Well that is it, if you think that actually I shouldn't have put this in one post then please say so I won't do it in future. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and any useful pointers would be much appreciated. Also, a question. Do you think my characters should speak formally or should speak normally (more modern)? Bearing in mind that this is a tribe of female warriors...
~Ash~
