by Mussie Haile
The leader of the Sandoc rounded on D’rmas. He lunged towards the free warrior with his sword, but D’rmas was quick and parried the stroke. As they moved, their eyes stayed on each other trying to ascertain weak points on their stance – points where it was more likely for each to strike blood.
Like a rehearsal, the two of them danced. Striking, parrying, and striking again. The Sandoc slashed at D’rmas, aiming for his throat, but D’rmas was not born just the day before. Though the Sandoc was fast, D’rmas had seen his move even before he made it. Quickly, like the strike of a viper, D’rmas raised his sword vertically, intercepting the Sandoc’s strike. In the same second, he went under the Sandoc’s sword and slashed the Sandoc across the thigh.
The leader turned to face D’rmas, apparently unfazed by the cut D’rmas had just given him. But for the line of blood at the edge of D’rmas blade, there was no indication that the leader had been hit.
Instead, the Sandoc chief just smiled.
“I would not expect any less from you,” he told D’rmas.
“This is not a point you concede,” D’rmas corrected. “Whether you like it or not, I’ve drawn your blood.”
“Fair. But let us see who lies dead at the end of this!”
The man was still speaking when he dashed at D’rmas. He made to strike at D’rmas right side but feinted to the left. D’rmas saw the move but was unable to react in time. The Sandoc’s blow nicked him on his ribs.
The Sandoc gave a bloodthirsty smile. An indication that he was not done yet. D’rmas was furious. The Sandoc had not wounded him deeply, but the cut still hurt. It was then that he remembered what was said about the strike of a Sandoc blade: “One little strike could hurt like the sting of a thousand scorpions.”
“You feel it, eh?” the Sandoc asked him.
D’rmas gave him a furious glare.
Enough of this! D’rmas thought.
He dashed towards the Sandoc, striking so fast that soon all that could be seen were two men and chaos of metal strokes and sparks between them. Noticing that the Sandoc’s attention was on parrying and blocking his strikes, D’rmas stooped low and stretched his legs, upsetting the Sandoc’s balance. The Sandoc swayed, but the momentary lapse was enough for D’rmas to land a blow on the Sandoc’s head. The Sandoc chief staggered backward. D’rmas launched a few strikes, which the Sandoc blocked. But this time, his parries were weak and disconnected, still trying to regain control of himself.
D’rmas did not give him a chance. He kept striking, one heavy blow after the other. The Sandoc would stretch out his sword and parry each huge blow, but it was taking its toll. As he reached out to parry yet another blow, D’rmas reached out with his feet, kicking out the blade from the Sandoc’s grasp. D’rmas whirled, extending his sword in the process. The move had been so quick that for a time the result of the strike was not visible. The leader of the Sandoc knelt on the ground, confusion stirring in his eyes. He turned and looked at the environment, littered with the bodies of his people. Then he looked to see Eldana and Siem coming up to join D’rmas. He had failed his ancestors.
But surely it is not my fault, he thought. The magician did not tell me how strong they were when he sent me?
Just then a line of blood grew on his neck, and then it grew till blood spurted out of his neck. D’rmas, Eldana, and Siem watched him struggle to breathe with a look of indifference on their faces. The Sandoc chief fell dead.
The fight was over, and those Sandoc who had not fallen fled into the woods. The three companions had just turned to leave when Eldana heard the sound of singing. She halted abruptly. Siem turned, a confused look on her face.
“What is the matter?’ she asked as she fixated on Eldana.
“Do you hear it?” Eldana asked.
“Hear what?” D’rmas inquired.
He stepped closer to where Eldana stood and listened keenly.
It was the voice of a single person, singing in a language she could not understand. The unknown singer’s voice was high-pitched, yet, Eldana found the song serene, with a powerful soothing effect.
“Hmm,” D’rmas said, a smile growing on his face. “I can hear it too.”
“Singing.” Siem supplied, a grin on her face.
The volume of the singing increased and was soon accompanied by a rich rendition of unseen flutes. The louder the music got, the stiffer the atmosphere grew. It was like the natural air was being sucked, and in its place, the aura of the music spread, swallowing the mind of any ear within its reach.
Eldana, Siem, and D’rmas had smirks on their faces, as they swayed and turned stupefyingly. Their eyes no longer held any personality, just vacancy and excitement.
They were too ensnared in the song’s enchantment, they did not notice the people that began to walk out of the surrounding trees.
They were a group of tall, elegant people, with amazingly bearing and luxurious hair. At the lead was a woman, whose eyes were a shimmering honey-brown. She looked at the trio dancing around, trapped in her enchantment, and with a quick finger gesture commanded that the trio of Eldana, Siem, and D’rmas be captured.
A small group of bare-chested men with fine bows and arrows slung across their shoulders stepped out of the larger group and walked towards the troika. None of the companions resisted when they were being dragged away. Their minds were still deep in the enchantment.
Hermon’s hands were covered in glossy red blood.
The deer had been full of life. Removing its entrails was easy. Skinning it had been the difficult part, but Hermon had pulled through. All was quiet around him as he proceeded to cut the deer into strips that would be easier to prepare, and smoke.
As he worked, his mind kept whipping up images of Eldana and Siem. He had been friends with them for a long time now. He had seen much by them, done much by them, and so had they by him. He could not help but worry about the amount of time that had elapsed since they had gone in search of Mikko.
What if something has happened to them? He asked himself. Something dangerous.
Sometimes, when such thoughts came to him, he tried to immerse himself fully in his work, but he usually never succeeded.
He had cut and gathered foliage from the surrounding forest and arranged them into a large platter, on which he arranged the strips of meat, seasoning them with salt. He was about to light a fire to begin smoking when he heard it.
He brought his head up and sharpened his hearing. Hermon had thought he had heard a voice. Several heartbeats passed, and he did not hear a thing. So, he waived his concern aside and turned back to the meat.
Then he heard it again.
This time it was clearer; the gentle voice of a woman, singing in a language he could not understand. Hermon’s fingers let go of the dagger he was using to process the venison, as he felt a soothing flush of cool bliss inside him. The feeling spread throughout his whole body, exerting overwhelming dominance, until the look on his eyes drained out, and was replaced with a vacant expression. His face held a wide grin, as he got to his feet, and began to sway like one who was being a marionette.
As Hermon danced, there was nothing else on his mind save the intoxicating tune. People marched out of the cover of trees and surrounded him. But Hermon was too far gone to notice them.
CHAPTER SIX
In Times Past
A much younger Eldana ran down the stairs, her hair flying free in all directions. She giggled, and the sound bounced off the walls. She had sped down a flight of stairs, when an older woman came around the corner, just behind her.
“Eldana!” The older woman called, an anxious look on her face. “Come back here.”
“No.” Eldana’s gleeful voice floated back to her in response.
Eldana giggled and ran off.
“O, what am I going to do with this child?” Her pursuer complained. She held up the skirt of her dress, and
hurriedly descended the stairs after Eldana. As Eldana came off the last stairs, and into a huge room, she bumped into somebody and fell hard on her haunches.
The fall hurt just enough to bring tears to Eldana’s eyes. Some parts of her hair had fallen across her face, so she parted it, tucking each part behind her ears. Then she looked up to find a man looking down at her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
His voice was deep and had a reassuring quality to it.
Eldana shook her head in the negative, and he smiled.
“What is a princess like you doing running about the palace?” The man asked.
Eldana smiled sheepishly. “Nothing?”
“Ah. You should take extra care when running about.” The man advised.
Just then, Eldana’s attendant maid, the older woman who had been chasing her, stepped off the stairs and happened on the duo. “I’m sorry, sir.” She apologized to the man when he took a glance at her.
“No, need to be.” He replied. “I take it you are here for this little adventuress.”
“Indeed.” The woman replied, stretching out an open palm towards Eldana. “Come, Eldana, we must be off.”
Eldana sighed and placed her tiny hand into her maid’s palm. The man smiled at her, and she smiled in return.
A few steps up the stairs, Eldana turned and asked, “What is your name?”
The man smiled. “You will know that soon enough.”
Just then, one of the guards walked up to him.
“The king will see you now.” The guard told him.
It would be almost a month before Eldana saw him again. Though it was under very different circumstances.
Eldana had gotten into a rage, and as a result, had released a blast of raw energy that smacked her maids into the wall, and upset object in the room. Fortunately, the maids walked away with but a few scratches and swellings, nothing grave. The king had heard that she was getting more erratic with the use of her powers and had decided that it was time she began her training.
Magical training in the palace was conducted in a large room with a row of massive columns at each side of the hall’s longer rectangular lengths, with a glass-domed ceiling. On a few occasions, training that involved working with nature was conducted in a special glade not too far from here.
Eldana walked into the room with unsure steps. Being in this hall was different from her usual routine, and she allowed her eyes to roam this grand place. She was small, in her early teens. She had stopped in the middle of the hall and was admiring the skylight when she heard a voice from behind her.
“What do we have here?”
Eldana turned, and then her eyes widened in shock. “You!”
Standing before her was the man she had met some time ago by the stairs. He still smiled that comforting and reassuring smile.
“Surprised to see me?” he asked.
“I was told to come here for my training.” She said.
“Indeed. I can help you out with so many things, Eldana. You are destined for very great things. And you have been given tremendous power by the world itself, to fulfil that destiny.”
The man looked at the uncertainty on Eldana’s face. “Does that scare you?” he asked her.
“A bit. I guess.” Eldana replied.
“You do not have to be scared. I’ll take you through it, all the way, till you have grown and matured enough to master your powers easily and become what you were made to be. Do you think you can do that?”
Eldana nodded.
“Good.” The man said, straightening his stance.
“The first thing you are going to learn today is an elementary protection spell. A good protection spell can be the difference between a long life and certain death. So, you are going to learn how to create a protection bubble using the element of air. I am told you have been able to control the elements since your infancy?”
“So I am told,” Eldana replied.
“Good.” The man replied. “This will be easy then.”
As he opened his mouth to begin giving instructions, Eldana interrupted:
“You did not tell me your name last time, and I still do not know it now.”
The man smiled.
“My name is Sinto, I am going to be one of your teachers. I have taught people like you in the past, and I am honoured to train you as well. With time, I hope that I can help you realize your full potential.”
Eldana smiled.
“Thank you, Sinto.” She said.
Sinto’s lips spread into a big smile.
“Now, you are already familiar with the elements, although you mostly access them in a state of chaos, and as such cannot use them to do things that involve finesse. I’ll be teaching you the control and inner peace required to take these elements and knit them together like yarn.”
Eldana giggled.
“You will find as we go on, that you will not have times for laughter anymore, Eldana. As a young child, you received the mark of chaos and with that, responsibility is given. You have been chosen under so many other children. You need to understand the gravity of it. From now on, Training is your only focus. All you have to do is to learn.” Sinto’s face revealed no expression.
They lay in a row, like stacks of hay, under the cover of the brush. There were about ten of them in number, three adults and seven youngsters. Each of them had eyes fixed forward.
“Now,” one of the men said.
The group inched forward until they reached a berm.
The man who gave the order for them to move had his black hair woven into two large pleats that ran down to the back of his neck. His full black beard was also in two pleats and ringed with miniature gold discs. He stretched his head over the berm and caught sight of exactly what they had come here for.
A family of Warugs. The only thing they had in common with goats was their physique. They had sharp carnivorous teeth, claws instead of hooves, and serrated horns. They usually moved in families of six – the male, a larger female, and their typical offspring of five. They constituted one of the most ferocious beasts to walk the land of the Berserkers, and only a few sought it out as a challenge. Those who succeeded were revered among their tribe.
The leader of this expedition, Biniamin, had chosen the Walrug as his challenge and had come home with the head of the female, who usually had more bite than any in the family. It had been a long time ago, but he still flushed with the feelings he had felt that night as he was carried the grisly trophy shoulder high. That victory had betrothed him the most beautiful girl in the clan. Now it was his son’s turn, and he prayed that he would bring to his house even greater glory. He prayed because he had seeds of doubt in his heart as regards his son’s capacity to operate to the full glory of his bloodline. His son was too care-free, too soft at heart. He possessed none of the rigidity and rigor that had flowed from generation to generation. Biniamin would often stay up at night, gazing into the stars, and question what he had done wrong to deserve such a slight.
Biniamins’ bloodline was one of the strongest of the Berserkers, and as such constituted the royal family. There were five berserker families in the royal clan. Biniamins’ ancestors had ruled over the entire clan for as long as any berserker had histories for. But there was a provision, in their lore, for the chance of kingship to be challenged by any member of the five royal families; the Zelalus bloodline, the ones whose women were as strong as their men. The Whogatas bloodline, the family that chose leaders by brute strength. The Habtus bloodline, the ones that loved to keep to themselves. And the Yohano bloodline, the fastest runners. So far, such challenges had been deemed unnecessary because the current bloodline had proved its mettle. Every generation.
Driven by his fear that the kingship of his bloodline would be challenged in his son’s lifetime, Biniamin had called his son into his private chamber, on
the very eve of the ritual. A young Hermon walked in, aware that later that night he would have to choose a challenge for tomorrow, but totally in the dark as to the severe reprimand he was about to receive.
Hermon who had just joked about the Walrug challenge with his friends was stunned when his father asked him to choose precisely the Walrug challenge. It took him a while to regain his voice, and when he did it was lacking in vitality.
“But father”, he said, “I did not envisage this.”
“Life, Hermon, does not throw at you what you envisage. This you will soon learn as you grow older.”
“Father is there not some other way?” he asked.
“You have to prove your mettle to the clan, assure them that you will be a substantial king.”
“But isn’t there…”
“Silence!” Biniamin roared, cutting Hermon off.
He grabbed his son’s head between his large palms and dragged him forward.
Hermon trembled as his father seethed.
“You will not bring disgrace to our family name! You will sit on that throne! Return from the hunt a failure, and you can find yourself another home!”
Biniamin let go of Hermon’s head and the boy staggered. Hermon left his father’s chamber shivering.
The following day, when it was time to pick a challenge, Hermon did not bother to pick from the pool of lots the rest of the children had picked from. He thrust his chest forward, wore a stern face, and with a stentorian voice declared his intention to hunt the Walrug. His mother placed her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. But her eyes glowered with fear. Fear for her son. The boy could face great danger and go berserk, exhaust himself after. and while he lay weak, recovering, he could be hurt. Besides, going berserk would be the beginning of the shortening of his lifespan. Biniamin had smiled proudly. And soon, the boys from the rest of the royal family indicated their interest in hunting the Walrug.
Now, at the cusp of launching an attack on the Walrug family, Biniamin could not help but wonder if he had just led his only son to die.
