This story is so COMPLETELY historically inaccurate. Facts aren't important in this story. Rather, it is a new direction I've decided to pursue. I seriously mean it though. Practically nothing is historically accurate. Just saying, so no one yells at me for being stupid. If anyone even reads this... lol enjoy xo
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Tall, broad and strong stood the chief- my father- of the Techitizulon tribe. His deep, colorful voice rang out over the mass of people.The blue-green of the humid rain forest around us contrasted with the bright richness of our celebratory garb. Electric blues, greens, reds and yellows draped the majority of each person's body, my own included. My sister and father wore rich leathers, dark and light, woven and arranged methodically on their bodies.
They stood at the front of the congregation, because they were the main attraction. My sister, at one from twenty years, was finally being wed to our ally tribe's chief's son. Their union had been arranged from my sister's conception- when her fiance was just four. Xechlita- or Chel, as she is better known, fought the marriage at first- well, for months, actually, she was quite difficult about it. However, over many feasts with both high families, Chel became enamoured over Zukachad (or, Chad). Chel and Chad. How completely and disgustingly adorable.
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A sharp elbow to my side. That's my reward for daydreaming during the three and a half hour long final ceremony of the wedding. It's just a little bit boring. Chel glances over at me and widens her eyes in a plea for my behavior. I roll mine in response. Just because she's sold on preserving the sanctity of the marital ceremonies does not mean I have to go along with it. It's boring, and I recently discovered I have to pee. Badly. But according to ritual, I must remain- as second in line for the chief-dom, next to my sister- kneeling beside the bride. I tried nudging Chel with my knee, but I wobbled haphazardly. Chel glanced at me in alarm. Trying to portray my need through my face, I wiggled my eyebrows and looked down then at the quickest exit behind me, nodding my head that way. Chel looked at me like I'm loco, which she's done many times before. So I tried mouthing my message to her, again, nodding towards the exit. This time she seemed to understand. She began subtley shaking her head, and glaring at me. We both quickly turned to face forward again when we felt our father's gaze on us. We'd both get in some serious trouble for upsetting the big chief. There was no way for me to get out of this before it ended on its own. Oh gods.
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The vibrations shattered through my upper arm when I struck at the warrior's gut. He easily blocked my blow with his leather shield. I reversed my energy, spinning around and striking him down with the fake dagger in my opposite hand just in front of his collar bone. Should my blade have been real, I'd have jabbed it where a major blood pathway ran, and a bundle of nerves sat. Dead in less than five minutes.
See, my passion resides in the art of war. Fighting. My sister and I used to spar, until she became attracted to more mature pursuits. My father lets me continue only because I am not heir, and for that I'm grateful. Fighting is second nature to me. Such leeway is allowed to me that I'm even able to wear linen pants- leather when fighting. That never would have been acceptable if I was heir.
My opponent rose from the ground and bowed. When he straightened, he smiled and winked.
"Well old friend, I should be ashamed of being beaten by a girl, but... I can't help being proud"
"Oh Tor!" I giggled, pretending to be flattered, "Please, go on!" I encouraged, waving my hand.
"Geavonna, what did I tell you of humility?" I froze, hearing my father just over my shoulder.
"Oh Papa..." I trailed off, smiling and blinking more than I needed to. Papa just shook his head and smiled begrudgingly.
"Hello, Chief-" Tor began, before my father cut him off.
"Ah Toraidio! It's been too long since I've threatened your life in reference to my daughter!"
"Papa!"
Tor ducked his head and coughed.
"I'm just joking with you, son! I trust you with my daughter's life, as I have for the past- oh, gods, how long has it been?"
"Fourteen years, Chief-"
"Yes, you've been inseperable since you were three. You two truly know how to make me feel like an old man. And with Chel's union with Zukachad. I still don't understand what she sees in him-"
"Papa, you wanted them to wed! What happened to that?!"
"My little girls grew up, that's what! Now, I'm going to be turning into an elder- an old elder- and Chel and Chad will lead the Techitizulon before I even get a chance to eat my meal. Before I even make it back to my bed for a good night's rest, I'd be willing to bet you!"
"PAPA-" "Chief-" Tor and I pleaded at the same time.
"Oh alright, I'll leave you two to your sparring, and spare you the sentiments of an old man. Gea, I hope you beat Tor quickly and cleanly, as I taught?"
"Of course, Papa-" I tried to answer, with a proud grin.
"Hey!" Tor exclaimed indignantly.
"Oh, and Toraidio I am sure you lost with great dignity." My father cut him off, and Tor gave up, knowing he was better off. My father strolled off as silently as he had come.
"Geaaaaa-"
"Oh Tor, come on! Let's go find something else to do!"
"I wish I could, but I have to help my father with the fields. The chief is right. We're getting old. We have responsibilities. Before we know it, I'll be getting married, and you'll be growing into an old spinster who cannot spar anymore, because I'll have killed anyone who tried to married you."
"Hey! I wouldn't be so sure it won't be the other way around, Toraidio! It is not fair you are allowed to marry whom you please and I have to grow old alone!"
"Gea, you'll never be alone. You'll always have me!" Tor winked, stroked my cheek and kissed it, then left, smiling like a madman.
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What do you do when abandoned by your best friend? When they leave you, it's like there's absolutely nothing left to do. So I wandered through the jungle.
Of course, the chief had warned me a thousand times before not to do so on my own, but I am a warrior. A female warrior, to be much more precise. Although, our tribe hadn't fought any wars since long before I was born, and I had never asked my father for the official title of warrior. But he does call me his warrior princess...
The soft bed of the jungle squished between my bare toes. I carried my pair of sandals I used for fighting or travel loosely in one hand by their straps, and used the other hand for feeling each tree trunk as I passed it.
Some were centuries thick with mosses and other jungle growth, others as young and fresh as my father saw Tor and me to be. Vines weighed branches down, forcing sweeping boughs of leaves to hang low. With the benign animal sounds radiating from around me without any discernible source, it was very difficult indeed to heed my father's warnings and horror stories of the jungle and its mysterious powers and evils.
I began to sing along with the natural harmonies of the jungle, spouting words as they appeared in my head. Though any passerby would find no meaning in the seemingly random jumble of ancient and more modern words, they came from my subconscious and therefore held weight. Even if they only held weight for me.
The jungle's repetitive appearance would confuse and puzzle any amateur explorer, but amateur I was not. It would take days of careless and unobservant walking for me to not know my way back home. I'd ignored my father's warnings many, many times when bored, sad, upset, angry or adventerous. However, Tor usually came with me, so technically, I rarely disobeyed my father. Papa never elaborated on his warnings or symbolic stories, but just stuck with the basic message of "Do not roam the jungle, especially not alone; do not get lost in the jungle. The end."
But I had come to know and love it- it was wild, and free. It was unorganized, but so organized. Everything had its place here. I guess that's the main reason I loved it so. Being the second-born leaves little of any kind of job for me to do, so I was often out of place or unnecessary. But in the jungle, anything or anyone could find a place- a way to be important, even if you are only important to your own survival and nothing else.
Soon, however, I would find that Papa's ghost stories held some merit, after all. And none too pleasantly.