Trial by Fire

And I was burned.







Coercing or leaving
Shutting down and punishing
Running from rooms, defending
Withholding, justifying

These versions of violence
Sometimes subtle, sometimes clear
And the ones that go unnoticed
Still leave their mark once disappeared

Diagnosing, analyzing
Unsolicited advice
Explaining and controling
Judging, opining and meddling

These versions of violence
Sometimes subtle, sometimes clear
And the ones that go unnoticed
Still leave their mark once disappeared

This labeling, this pointing
This sensitives unraveling
This sting I've been ignoring
I feel it way down, way down

These versions of violence
Sometimes subtle, sometimes clear
And the ones that go unnoticed
Still leave their mark once disappeared

These versions of violence
Sometimes subtle, sometimes clear
And the ones that go unnoticed
Still leave their mark once disappeared.

Prayers For The Fallen

I awoke early, as the central fire was rising over the distant horizon of the plains. I dressed and left my wagon, eating my morning meal by the small campfire within the circle of my wagons.

From my stock of kaiila I selected my most beautiful and vicious stallion. I took care in securing the saddle and harness. I think the beast understood the solemn nature of this mornings events. He was aggitated, but restrained himself as only an animal could do.

I looped a set of bola on the saddle horn. I checked the brace of quiva. And I secured a full quiva of arrows to the saddle, along with my finest bow.

The helmet was placed upon my head, the chain of colored rings hanging over my face. With lance in one hand and the black laquered shield in the other, I set out from the harigga. Many watched as I rode through the lanes, pointing and whispering among themselves. I took no offense, of course. I imagine it must be an unsettling sight to see a man, a haruspex, dressed for war riding towards the open plains.

I think even the bosk could hear the beat my soul was pounding out. It pounded and wailed and the drum was my heart. The herds parted to allow me through and I could hear their mournful bleating echo in my ears. I was in no great hurry at this point in my journey. The kaiila trotted at a brisk pace and had it not been for the screen of mail chains, the breeze might have been comforting.

I'm not sure how long I rode. Time seemed to lose meaning in that moment. Bend and warp. It became a malleable thing for me. When I drew back on the reins and looked about, searching for my bearings, I could no longer see the harigga. I could no longer see the bosk. There was only the grass and the sky. And in any direction I looked, the two merged in the horizon. A place I could ride towards for another hundred years. A destination I would never actually reach.

It was here, upon a piece of land that might have been trodden many times over, or may have never known the presence of a man, that I let go of the reins and raised my arms. In my right hand was the lance, gripped so tightly that my knuckles were nearly white. On my left arm the sheild. They were thrust towards the sky, shaking and stabbing at the blue canvas overhead. I felt my head tip back, as if unable to remain upright under the weight of the helmet. And as I peered through the circular holes in the veil of chains I felt a stirring inside me. My lips parted and a heard a scream fill my ears. I scarcely realized that the voice I heard in my ears was my own. I don't think it was until my throat felt raw and my lungs began to burn that I became aware of the sound coming from my mouth.

At some point my eyes closed. I don't know when. It may have been as soon as I began to scream, but I can't be sure. I'm not even sure how long they were closed. But when I opened them I had stopped screaming. My throat still ached and I was breathing a bit faster, as my body attempted to compensate for the prolonged lack of air. And when I regarded the Sky once more, I saw it.

Above me and out in front there was a looming black cloud. The only one in a sea of blue more vast than the Thassa. It looked angry and threatening as it hung there, alone. Its gloom had even chased away the lighter, white clouds to the farther reaches of Sky.

As I watched this cloud, my cloud, it began to drift away from me. My body seemed to move before my mind to come to the conscious decision to do so. In my left hand I gathered the reins and I viciously buried the spurs into the flanks of my mount. The squeal is made was echoed by an angry cry of my own before he lurched forward and into a hard gallop. I screamed and yelled. I roared and bellowed. But the cloud seemed to be out distancing me. Vengefully, I stabbed the deadly end of my lance at the cloud in a futile attempt to injure it. Perhaps I thought I could make it lame and that way it wouldn't get away from me.

But it was futile. Vain. I spurred the kaiila until its flanks began to bleed. Its nostrils were flared, fangs bared as it thundered across the plains. We not beast and rider. I don't even think I was a man anymore. I yelled and screamed more like an animal. But the cloud was further and further away with each passing ihn.

At last, I stood up in the stirrups and heft the lance over my shoulder. Drawing back I flung it with all the strength in my arm at the cloud. It arced up and sailed through the air as if it had wings. Higher and further it climbed, until I could no longer see it. And just as I lost sight of the lance a ray of light pierced through that black cloud, blinding me with its brilliance. I had no choice but to lift my empty hand to sheild my eyes. But the light seemed to seep through my fingers, like water. Against the thin links of metal chain it glinted even brighter, forcing me to turn my head away. But the light persisted and I could feel moisture coming to my eyes now.

Despite the initial brilliance of the light I found that it was becoming tolerable. Even to the point that I could lower my arm. And then turn my head back towards the source and open my eyes. I could see nothing else but the light, though. It still stung my eyes, though, and I could feel the tears coursing down my cheeks.

Soon I became aware that the tears weren't a simple response of my eyes to the light. I could feel the trembling in my body as I cried. I felt my chest growing tighter as it became more difficult to breath. And some where in all this revelation I began to realize that the light was fading. It was withdrawing from me.

When the light dissipated it still took several more ihn for my eyes to adjust to the lack of brilliance. I can remember removing the helmet, balancing it on the saddle as I wept.

I wept for the loss of a warrior. A Tuchuk. But above all, I mourned the passing of a friend.

I'm not sure if anyone before me has been aware of when they shed their final tear. But I felt it, as it rolled down my furrowed cheek. I heard it when it plummeted from the edge of my face and landed on my helmet. And I felt at peace.

When I looked up at the Sky once more, it was clear and pristine. And I also saw that the central fire was hanging directly overhead. It had barely been a fraction above the horizon when I left the harigga. The reins were still twisted up in my left hand and I pulled on them to direct the kaiila back. In which direction I should head, I didn't know. In truth, it didn't really matter.

It was growing dark when I saw the harigga and the bosk once more. But neither I nor the kaiila seemed to have the energy to increase our pace. We simply walked.

As I came through the heard, and began to wind through the wagon lanes to find my own, I found myself considering the day.

Not all prayer is done on a man's knees or spoken with words. I have bid my farewells to Lazlo.

A Spicey Dinner

I had informed Seveya, none too gently, that we would be having a guest for dinner; Tumka. It should go without saying that she was not at all happy to hear this news. Or that I expected her to join us for the meal and be sociable.

She tried everything she could to irritate me. I think for the sole purpose of revenge. She sulked. She pouted. She didn't speak beyond what was required to answer any question directed her way. And she also refused to eat with us. Of course, it didn't take me long to figure out why she was refusing to eat with us.

Two large bowls, steaming with a meaty stew, were given to myself and Tumka. The meal smelled quite pleasant. And we both dug in like men. It wasn't until I was into my second or third, and I think Tumka was already on his fifth, spoonful of the stew that we realized why my niece had refrained from partking. There was enough pepper in that stew to choke a kaiila!

To his credit, Tumka forced himself through the meal. He wouldn't refuse her food. His face looked like it was about to burst at any second, though. As he continued to eat, I think Seveya realized the severity of what she'd done. I could see it on her face, although she was fighting to hide it. She felt guilty. More then likely it was only a small measure. But she brought the sweating man a bowl of milk to help counteract some of that spice. All in all, he took the attack on his pallete in stride.

The rest of the night Tumka and I spent talking about the upcoming raid. And I also discussed my desire to make a journey north once more. During the Games of Love War I heard discussion about a fair that the dwellers partake in. I figure if nothing else, it will give me an opportunity to trade for things not often come across in the plains.

Eventually the conversation turned towards the topic of my niece and the stunt she pulled tonight. Tumka expressed his understanding that Seveya doesn't see him in any sort of romantic light. And to be frank, I'm not even sure the woman likes him period! But I can see that he admires her. He sees qualities in her that he knows will shape her into a fine woman for a man. We talked for several ahns about matters of the heart, he and I. And when it was all over and done with, I don't think he had any clearer and understanding of how to proceed than those few ahns ago. I couldn't help but laugh and slap him on the shoulder as he sat there by my fire stumped.

Love, relationships, emotions; none of these things have a clear path that the best of hunters can find. These are mysteries that no light can penetrate. We all, each and every one of us, must stumble in the dark and hope that those we bump into in the darkness do not hold a quiva to pierce our hearts or backs.

The Unveiling Part I

She finally left my wagons for reasons other than her chores. I don't know if she understands me well enough yet, but I think she actually believes I didn't see her hovering in the shadows near the main fire of the First Wagons. I didn't speak to her. I didn't call her. I wanted her to brave this moment on her own. And I was pleased to see that she did. Slowly, apprehensively, she left the false comfort of the shadows and crept into the firelight to kneel beside me.

This woman I speak of is my slave. The only woman I have bothered to take, and keep, for myself in some years. She was a free woman of Turia once. The daughter of a Merchant who specialized in the trade of wines. Her name, then, was Farah Jaela. Now? She has no name that I have allowed her. She is merely... slave. Wench, Kajira. In time I will likely grant her a name, but she is too raw for such a reward.

As I often do, I digress from the point of this writing. She came and knelt beside me. I let the fingers of my hand nearest her sift through her hair and I could feel the subtle shift of her head towards my hand. It pleased me to see her shaping into the wench she could be. But she knows me as the Bastard Tuchuk. A man forged of steel. In my long life I have worn many masks. This is the mask I wear for her. And true to the mask that she knows, I withdrew my affection and ordered her to make herself useful and tend to the free.

Her voice was timid as she asked if any had need of anything. It was almost laughable, as she had hurled insults and threats at me with the vehemence to make some men question their intentions with her. Ayguili was the only one who spoke up. He desired blackwine and she rose to go retrieve it for him. Although I spoke with the others, I still kept a careful observation on the girl. I began to wonder if she would guess at how he wanted his blackwine prepared and risk his ire if she guessed wrong. But she paused and asked exactly that, which he told her.

When she returned with his drink there was nothing flourishing or even remarkable about her presentation to him. She was graceful and accurate in her serve, but there was no desire evident. Ayguili complimented her and sent her away from him. With no other calls for her labor, she returned to my side and knelt. I continued to talk with the others for a few ehn longer. All the while that razor sharp tongue of hers remained still. And I even asked her in regards to her silence. She spoke sincerely and mentioned that she did not wish to be whipped this night. I could resist the laughter that began to build. I told her that perhaps tomorrow I would whip her then. There was a spark, a glimpse of the fiery nature in her copper flecked eyes at this. I smiled at her, then stood and excused myself from the fires to tend to other matters.

My wench remained, which I was pleased to notice. I would speak with her later in the night. And ask her what it felt like to serve and kneel before an Ubar.

The Unveiling Part II

It was well past dark when I returned to my wagons. Tromping up the steps, I kicked the rail a few times. One boot and then the other, to knock off the mud. Throwing the leather flap aside, I walked into the welcome privacy of my wagon. I looked about and almost immediately saw her. She was sprawled across a brace of furs, looking right up at me. There was no question that she'd heard me outside, but she hadn't risen to greet me. Nor did she speak to me as I moved across the floor. I must confess a certain annoyance at her behavior, but I wouldn't play into her game.

I sat down on a throne of my personal construction. Plush cushions and pilows, piled high, and mingled with luxury, exotic furs. Most of it came from raids on merchant caravans traveling across the plains. Some of it was aquired in trades, though. Some would probably find it terribly amusing to learn of it. Truth to tell, I'm rather proud, and fond, of my throne.

At any rate, I removed my boots and set them aside for her to clean in the morning, before I left for my duties. Of course, I didn't explain to her that she was supposed to clean them. Settling back, head craddled in my hands and my legs extended, I wiggled my bare toes. And spoke to her.

"What has you so quiet, wench?"

"Perhaps I'm just tired, Master."

It was a mix of sarcasm and truth. From the onset of her enslavement she has been put to work. Like the rest of the slaves, she labors from the rising of the central fire, to its setting. Such is the life of a Tuchuk slave.

The banter passed between us for several ehn was relatively pointless. Casual conversation, one might call it.

"How did it feel to kneel at the feet of an Ubar tonight?"

I sprang the question out of the blue. And was rewarded with exactly the reaction I desired. Her eyes grew wide and she was quiet for a time. When she did find her voice, her words came out in a stammer. I was pleased to hear her next question, though. She asked what I thought of her serve to the man, Ayguili. Not if he was pleased with her, but if I was pleased with her. It was a certain point of discovery that I savored, watching the Kajira inside her take shape.

Typical to the man she knows I didn't give her the answer she sought.

"If you served him from your heart, with feeling and emotion, then you served him well."

She thought of my words for several ehn. I have owned my share of slaves over time. Some were fresh to the collar while others had long ago embraced their slavery and found the freedom that comes in giving selflessly not just to a single man, but to a greater whole. I have found that you can't just beat a woman into submission and acceptance. That alone doesn't make a Kajira. My beliefs were reaffirmed with her next words.

"I think I could have done better, Master."

There was no need for me to critique her performance in serving Ayguili. She had done so herself. She had found herself lacking. Not because she had erred in the basic execution of the order, but because she had thought nothing of the act in bringing another man a drink. It had not mattered to her if he had found her pleasing. It would have simply been an unfortunate occurrance if he'd been irritated with her and struck her.

With her at my side now I took hold of her collar, using it to force her chin up. Force her to meet my eyes with her own.

"You will serve every man as if you were serving me."

I think I felt her tremble at my words, but I'm not sure if it was a result of fear, rage or even something... else. By her collar I pulled her towards me, bending low on my throne until my face was beside her own, my lips at her ear. I could feel her cheek against my own. The flesh a stark contrast to that of mine. Smooth, soft. I'm sure she was just as aware of the feel my scarred face. The cords of scars that line my cheeks. Their rough, raised texture.

"You will serve every man, but none will satisfy you as I do."

I'm sure she understood the deeper meaning of my words. They had less to do with anything sexual, than they did with everything emotional. But the fierce sleen in her reared its head and I would swear I could almost feel the fire of her tongue.

"As no other woman will satisfy you... Master."

Such a haughty beast! That night I didn't see fit to use. Instead, I merely slept with her in my arms.

The return to the harigga has been a busy one. I haven't given much time to socializing, other than late at night. Nor given much time to lounging about my fires. I've had too much to do since my arrival. Several of the dozen or so wagons I returned with were laden with goods meant for the tribes.

Silks, jewels, gold, various tools, weapons, exotic pelts of animals, and sacks of smuggled blackwine beans. All these things from the far off cities I traveled to over the course of the 15 years I was abroad. All of this I've been working to distribute, along with other men, among the tribe.

I've also completed the task of gathering up all my wagons once more. Before leaving them, I had left them in the care of various families among the outer wagons. Along with the wagons, I've collected my herd of bosk from those I'd left them with. The work and return to such an old, familiar routine has been enjoyable. Some part of me had feared, foolishly, that I would have forgotten the ways of life on the plains. The ways of the Tuchuks. As I said, it was foolish. After such a long life spent on the plains, I don't ever think I could forget anything about my People.

The dour faces of women, squatting by fires as they tended the cooking pots. The slaves, with their sacks of dried dung, or buckets of water to bring to the herds. The children, running among the wagons and screaming their joy. The scarred colorful faces of the men, riding proudly in their saddles. Lances in their hands as they tended to and safeguarded the bosk. Indeed, it is good to be home once more.

Time Passes

When I left the fires of the first wagons, I wandered among the many lanes. My path meandering, but ultimately leading me towards the wagons beyond those of the Ubar's first. When I had left Lazlo, the companion of my sister, was not part of the Ubar's favored. Their wagons lay beyond that inner circle, as did my own. Although, over the long length of my life I have earned many scars and even won the command of a Thousand, I had never moved my wagons to those of the first. In the past, many have questioned this. But only a few know why it was to be. And that explination will not find its way to the parchment I write upon now.

I came across many a face that I recalled. Warriors that I had shed blood with. Women I had teased as a youth and defended from raids as a man. I spoke with them all, not realizing how many ahns had passed. At last I inquired about Lazlo and his daughter. I saw the changes in their faces as they spoke of Lazlo, but all they would say was that Seveya had gone to seek her place in the first wagons. I was pleased to hear this news, but I didn't miss how those I spoke with avoided the topic of my old friend Lazlo. I didn't press them for those answers, only made my way back to the first wagons to search for my family.

As it would happen, I came upon the painter. I had seen her on the plains one night, collecting roots for her pigments. She was beyond the bosk herds, although we could still hear their calling in the distance. There was something familiar about the girl, but in the dark I couldn't place what. We only spoke briefly. I got the distinct impression that she was somewhere she was not supposed to be.

But I digress.

I came upon the painter. She was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the platform of her steps, stargazing. I asked her if I had found the wagons of Lazlo. She confirmed this and asked who I was. There was also a change in her demeanor. As if speaking my old friends name was somehow taboo. Without telling her who I was, I called on her to get my friend, "the old man" as I often called him.

As a point of interest, this was a joke between us. I was several decades Lazlo's senior, but I often referred to him as the older one.

The girl, who was older than a child but still didn't wear the nose ring of a woman, stiffened and, if looks could wound I would have needed a healer! But the news she told me hurt far more than the scathing look she gave me. Lazlo was dead. Passed several hands ago. My friend, my oldest and dearest friend, the companion of my sister, was riding free in the Sky. I didn't try to conceal my sudden pain or surprise from the girl and I'm sure she saw it.

There was a bit of commotion at this point. A woman who I had met at the fires, her name Kaeli, was sneaking about in the shadows of the wagons. While I had no concern that the cloaked figure I saw posed no threat, I could not resist the temptation of cornering the sneaking one. And during my confrontation with the Healer, while Seveya was looking on, I purposefully let it slip from lips. I asked the Healer what business she had with my niece.

I'm sure it was all quite a shock to Seveya. Her mother having died just before I left the harigga. Her father passing just hands ago. It was clear she didn't recall me from her childhood memories. Not that I can blame her. I scarcely recall my own childhood now. But there was a relief and a joy in her eyes when she finally came to believe that I spoke truthfully. I had an idea where those emotions came from. Seveya realized that she was no longer the last. She had family yet living.

And I must say that I shared her joy. I had never taken a woman for myself. I had no sons or daughters of my own. When Seveya was born I had taken to her strongly. I often thought of her as my own, rather than a niece. With her father I taught her the saddle of the kaiila. We began to teach her the bow and quiva, that she might defend the wagons with the rest of the women, should raiders breach the lines of the warriors. And now, some 20 years old herself, I could see traces of my beloved Satirri and Lazlo in her face. They both rode together in the Sky, but in their daughter they still lived. I was joyful to embrace my niece once more.

And tomorrow, I will ride out on the plains. I will offer prayer to the Sky and speak my goodbyes to Lazlo.

Across Vast Distances

It's been a long time since I was among my people. True, that since the day I left I've had ten men with me. An Or, part of the Hundred, which in turn are part of the Thousand I command. These ten, this Or, were those warriors I've known for many years and trust my life to them. So yes, I've been among my people. But it has been many years since I rode among the endless herds of bosk and vast spread of colorful wagons. That has changed.

I will not write of why I left those many years ago. Those words are for Kamchak. When I left, he was still Ubar of the Tuchuks. I confess a surprise that upon my return the grey bosk hide passed on to another. It has passed through many hands, from what I gather. So, now, the story of my absence is also for the new Ubar.

What I will write of is my return. There are no words, in any language, that would do justice to the peace that settled in my breast when I rode through the herds of bosk again. When I walked along the wagon lanes. While some things change, many things do not. Children still raced through the lanes, darting beneath wagons and tagging along behind the men escorting me back among my people. Women were gathered about their cooking fires, tending meals. The brash, wild slaves of the wagons tending to their chores or otherwise stirring up some sort of dust. It was very much as when I left.

At the fires of the first wagons I spoke with a man who named himself Ayguili. This man, who is Ubar of the Tuchuks. And there were women gathered about the fire, who I was introduced to as well. Some of them I remembered, such as the woman Tarra. Others, likely, were infants or otherwise young when I left the harigga. I spoke with them all for a time, before standing and announcing that I would seek out my family to spend my night in their wagons. Ayguili had been kind to offer his own wagon to me, but I declined. It had been 15 years since I rode beyond the herds of bosk, for the cities of other men. And tonight, I would sleep in the wagons of my family.