A Warrior's Heart

Journey

It's a sad thing to think that my first journey away from my village, is an unwanted one and as a prisoner. My grandparents had never needed to leave the village. And I had never felt the need to travel. I had enough in the village to keep me occupied. Besides, it isn't common for humans to travel across the lands, where the iskrai roam. To much bad can happen. Morata is amongst the three kingdoms where the few remaining humans live and prosper. To attempt a journey through other places were non-humans lived, was a treacherous endeavor.

And now I was being taken through iskrai lands. No one had told us where we were headed. They hadn't bothered. But if I had to guess, we were being taken to the nearest Rhadjari camp, stationed in the Wrykka Desert. I knew the location because my grandparents had made sure that my brothers and I were educated on the geography of Eriphae, and where different iskrai lived. They had believed that it's plain stupidity if a human does not try to learn everything it can about other beings living in Eriphae.

I had not yet been old enough to remember my parents. They had died of a plague that had swept the village ,when I was but two eclipses old. Since then my brothers and I had been raised by our grandparents, the parents of my mother. My brothers had told me as much as they could about our parents when I grew up. Including the story of how fate had given me to my parents and how Cylian had given me my name. He told me that he and Zachion never questioned who my real parents had been and that I should likewise never question it. And that I was part of their family, and I shouldn't think myself different. I never had.

But sometimes, when I was younger, I would examine myself. I would stand before a looking glass and study my eyes, my hair, my skin. Looking for a mark, a shimmer of unnatural color or feature that would mark me as inhuman. Maybe my parents had been wrong, maybe I wasn't entirely human. My grandpa told me once when I was younger, that his daughter and her husband had found me at the edge of the forest, behind the village. They'd asked everyone in the village if the baby belonged to any of them. No one had ever seen the baby before. So my parents believed that I'd been left there by someone from a neighboring human kingdom. And they had decided to keep me, because whoever had left a human baby alone in the forest, must have not wanted her. And if it was not by their doing that I had been left in the forest, than they were at least going to take care of me until someone came looking for me.

No one had come. And the gods had granted me luck, giving me parents that did want me. And so I never questioned anymore. A family had found me and that was that.

But it seemed that the luck of the gods, was a fickle thing.

When I was twelve eclipses old, my grandmother passed away. Her death was peaceful, I was told, for she died in her sleep. A few months after, my grandfather, ever faithful to my grandmother, followed her. Even into death. On his deathbed my grandpa asked of Cylian and Zachion to take care of me and I in turn was to take care of them.

My twelve year old mind did not comprehend how I could take care of my brothers, but I promised my grandfather anyway.

Now my heart hurts, thinking of that promise, for I don't know if my brothers are alive. I hope to all the gods that they are.

****

We journey all through the night. Most of the other girls with me have fallen asleep. The others who can't, including me, keep watch. We watch silently as the Rhadjari stop for a few minutes to feed their horses and to rest. A few of them pull out flasks of water and start drinking from them. Thirst closes up my throat as I fix my eyes on a flask, wishing the water fell on my throat instead of that of the male. The owner of the flask sees me watching, and stalks over to my side of the cage. Hope mixed with distrust rises in me. But the overwhelming thirst overrides those feelings. The other girls notice the male, and they all shuffle to my side, as thirsty as I am. The male holds out the flask me , a slight smile on his face. I grab the flask and immediately start drinking, and as soon as the liquid hits my throat, my mouth and throat starts to burn. I cough hard, trying to get the burn away. It's not water. Some sort of ale. A bad sort of ale. The male starts laughing hard at my reaction, and says something to the other males in the Rhadjari tongue. His laughter sparks my anger, and I throw the flask back at his head. The liquid sloshes over him, but he only laughs harder.