Blood of Fire

by Marlow York

I noticed a small hole near my feet, an obvious sign of moles invading the garden.

  “Sarrenke. Have moles been a big problem here?” I asked.

  She looked up from the row of carrots she was inspecting. “Yes, sometimes. They are very difficult to keep up with.”

  “If you have something spicy, you could try sprinkling it near their holes, and around the base of the plants. It would keep them from eating them,” I suggested quietly.

  Sarrenke looked thoughtful. “Perhaps if we have something extra to sell, I could trade it for some spices. Thank you for your suggestion.”

  I went back to work, pulling weeds and squishing bugs, my heart heavy. I had given Sarrenke commonly known information, but somehow it felt like I was giving away my clan’s secrets. My father had taught me about keeping moles away, just like he had taught me that the smell of humans or the sound of clanking metal cans on a string can keep deer from munching apple leaves. I had hoped to pass those tricks down to my own children, not to a clan I had been taught to despise.

  The sound of footsteps caught my attention. Tarek was approaching from the forest, a handful of furry creatures—a rabbit and three grey squirrels—slung over his shoulder. He carried a bow in his other hand. He regarded us with little more than a brief sideways glance as he passed. I noticed the way he patted Khero’s shoulder, and the wolf’s tail wagged twice in response. I hadn’t expected Khero to enjoy being petted, and it was difficult to think of Tarek as affectionate, and yet I had caught a glimpse of both.

  “How long has Khero been Tarek’s…pet?” I asked.

  Sarrenke chuckled. “He isn’t a pet, and Tarek isn’t his master, not in the way you might think of the animals your people owned.” She sat back on her heels and looked at Khero, who was peering through the small dirty window that had been sloppily installed in the front of the house. His body remained angled towards us, ever watchful of me and my movements.

  “He doesn’t act like our animals, that’s for sure,” I agreed.

  “He is a god,” Sarrenke said simply, as though it explained everything.

  We were taught that many cultures throughout history believed in various forms of “gods,” but my people were not one of them. We scoffed at those silly stories, little more than bizarre fantasies people had created to make themselves feel guilty for things they had no reason to feel guilty for. We were taught about crime and punishment. If you did something bad today, you would be punished for it tomorrow, not years later after you died.

  The closest thing we had to gods were the Ancient Fiero in our legends, but even they were considered human beings. More importantly, they were not real. That’s why we weren’t supposed to talk about them. The only things the Fiero were supposed to believe in were tangible objects we could prove to be true and interact with in some manner. We were taught to respect each other and nature because we all served a purpose to each other. If we destroyed a tree, then it must be used entirely and another one planted in its place. The wood fueled our fires, which kept us warm and helped cook our food. Or they built tools that everyone could use. Even the leaves were used as mulch in the gardens. Likewise, we had to understand that if we killed an animal or plant, something else would be lost because of it. If a tomato plant was carelessly crushed, then someone might go hungry. All things were intertwined. Our responsibility to each other and fear of punishment from the City kept us well-behaved, not fear of an unseen god.

  And yet, there stood before me, a god.

  “We don’t believe in gods,” I replied curtly.

  Sarrenke nodded. “Some do not. But, there are few people the gods will reveal themselves to. I am sure you were frightened when you first saw Khero, and I am sure the first Grakkir who ever saw a god appear before him was very frightened as well. For us, however, it is common. We understand things differently than the Fiero do.”

  And your way is the wrong way. That’s what I’d been taught to believe, ever since I was a child. But if my culture taught us to believe what we saw, then how could I not believe what was right in front of me?

  “Perhaps the animals just grow bigger in the Northern Forest,” I countered. “The City guards always told us about the ferocious animals that lived out here. And people.”

  Sarrenke stared at me, and for the first time since meeting her, those blue eyes turned cold. I held her gaze, but I couldn’t deny that I was taken off guard by her expression. I expected Tarek to look at me with cold, angry eyes, but not Sarrenke. I think that’s what made her scary in that moment.

  “And what did your mighty City tell you about themselves?” she hissed. “Did they tell you they would drop bombs on your village, killing everyone you ever knew, destroying your home? Has anyone from the Grakkir done you any real harm since you have been here?”

  I thought about Tarek throwing me to the ground and pressing a knife to my throat. He could have killed me. Everything we’d been taught about the Grakkir said he should have killed me in that moment. Besides a bruised back, a nick on my neck, and chafed wrists, I had no real injuries to show. I pressed my lips together, but I didn’t respond.

  “I think it is time you stop believing everything you were told by the City, and start thinking for yourself and believing what you see right in front of you,” Sarrenke continued. “You may be a captive here but trust me when I tell you that you are better off a captive to the Grakkir than to the City.”

  She turned away from me and continued working on the next row of vegetables. I wanted to tell her she was wrong and that someone would come save me, but then I remembered the few times people had been taken from my village into the City. They were people who had done something bad; stolen something valuable, stockpiled food instead of giving their fair share to the City or to others within the Fiero clan who needed it, or people who purposefully injured others. It seldom happened, but when a crime was committed, the City guards took them behind the City walls. How many of them had returned? I couldn’t remember; it had been too long since someone had disappeared behind the walls.

  How was it that the Grakkir knew so much about the City that the Fiero didn’t know? Were they mistaken, or was it because they were far enough away to see a larger picture than I had been able to see from where I stood right in front of the City?

  Chapter 7

  With no way to accurately keep track of time, it wasn’t long before the days began to blur into each other. Sarrenke and I worked together on most projects, which surprised me initially. When I was given the title of “slave” and a collar was wrapped around my neck, I assumed that meant I would be forced to do all the work by myself.

  “The Grakkir are not so different from the Fiero,” Sarrenke told me as she demonstrated how to weave baskets from thin strips of birch bark. “We both have great respect for the land and its creatures. We believe in using everything we take from nature, and in helping each other. We trade objects for goods and services, not for money, just like your people.”

  I was surprised to hear her say the word “money,” an item that hadn’t been used in our land for centuries. I still remember furrowing my brow during Juliano’s history lesson on money. Some people traded useless sheets of paper for items that had actual value. Entire countries were ruled by the people who had accumulated the most paper, often at the expense of the people who didn’t have enough of it. In my head, I pictured a small child climbing to the top of a pile of fallen leaves, claiming to be “king of the hill.” He was king of nothing, and the leaves were just as useful as money. Maybe she knew about money because the Grakkir had once used it or had tried to trade with other clans who used money but found it was worthless to them.

  “You talk about the Grakkir clan very positively,” I observed. “But we’re so far away from everyone else. Doesn’t it lessen your feeling of community?” I asked.

  “We are here because it is in the best interest of the entire village,” Sarrenke replied, not looking up from her basket. “Our people will still interact with me and a
llow me to step within the village. Only if we were completely banished would my sense of community be entirely gone.”

  Though weeks had passed since I arrived there, I hadn’t seen anyone from the village come to our house. It was like we had been entirely forgotten, and yet Sarrenke still believed living away from everyone else was somehow useful for the rest of the villagers.

  “Why are we living out here, and not with everyone else?” I asked.

  Sarrenke gave me a sideways look. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

  In some ways, I was a little embarrassed to be so curious about Sarrenke, Tarek, and the Grakkir. The longer I stayed among them, the more I wanted to know. More specifically, I wanted to learn for myself how bad they were. We had been told nothing but awful things about the Grakkir, and yet, I had seen very little to support that. I had no doubt they were skilled killers, since I had seen firsthand how deadly Tarek was with a bow and arrow. He was always successful when he went out hunting, and I noticed, as Sarrenke had said, he never took more food than we could eat or preserve, and we used everything we could from every animal or plant taken from the forest. As for his violent nature, I did my best to avoid doing anything that might bring it out of him. He sometimes spoke angrily to Sarrenke, but she was good at placating him. More than once, he’d hurried me along with a sudden push that could send me to my knees if I wasn’t expecting it, but I wouldn’t call that “violent” in comparison to what I had been taught to anticipate.

  “We will go into the village today,” Sarrenke said suddenly.

  My heart leapt with unexpected excitement and a little nervousness. I was eager to see other people besides these two (I still hadn’t caught a glimpse of Ria), but I feared how a slave would be treated by other members of the clan.

  “We have extra vegetables to sell, and I would like to see an old friend,” Sarrenke continued. “Once we finish these baskets, we can bring them with us.”

  I tried to hide my excitement and fear as we packed the baskets full of fresh vegetables and small hides that could be sold to the tanner. The baskets had strips of leather threaded through the sides and could be worn as a backpack. It was awkward to have them thumping against our backs, but certainly easier than carrying them in our arms.

  Khero sat in his usual guard position just outside the house and stood to accompany us.

  “I think I will be fine on my own today, Khero,” Sarrenke said to the wolf. “If I have her carry enough things, she will not be able to run away.” She looked at me and smiled half-jokingly.

  The wolf gazed from Sarrenke to me and held my eyes, as though telling me not to try any tricks.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll be a good little slave and be on my best behavior.” I tugged at the collar around my neck. I’d gotten used to it, but it often bit into my skin, creating small red pinch marks around my throat.

  Khero gave a short growl, but sat back on his haunches and watched us walk towards the path to the village. The thick grass swayed and scratched against my legs. Loud beetles and flies buzzed around us, awakened by the heat. As we approached the forest, the scent of hot pine needles drifted past my nose, a sweet and refreshing aroma. A loud cicada whizzed past my face and buzzed rhythmically from a nearby tree. I could feel Khero’s eyes on my back until the trees surrounded us and blocked his view.

  The forest path was shaded by a mix of tall maple, elm, pine, and birch trees, which provided relief from the heat of the day. The thin trail was worn flat from years of travel, even though few people seemed to come that way. Perhaps I just never noticed them, or maybe the trail had been used more often before Tarek and Sarrenke left the village to live out on their own.

  We saw and smelled smoke from the village before we saw buildings. The scent of hickory from a campfire reminded me of food and made my stomach rumble. Soon the trees cleared again, and there stood the village several yards away. The buildings formed a semi-circle, creating an entrance wide enough for six horses to pass through shoulder-to-shoulder, but there was no protective gate or wall. I could hear a chorus of voices speaking and laughing in their unfamiliar language. My heart beat faster as we approached.

  “Will they do anything to me because I’m a slave?” I asked.

  “No,” Sarrenke said. “Other Grakkir are not in the position to taunt or reprimand a slave that is not their own unless he or she is doing something very bad. They will also not come near you because you belong to Tarek.”

  “He holds a lot of power in the village, doesn’t he?” I asked. I remembered the small band of riders he led to raid my village.

  “Not anymore,” Sarrenke said simply.

  I wanted to ask why the others would leave me alone if Tarek wasn’t powerful, but by then we had reached the entrance. The chatter of voices grew louder, and the screams of excited, playful children rose above the unfamiliar language.

  We passed a man nearest the edge of the village tapping metal shoes onto a horse’s hooves. Another man scratched the hair from an animal pelt that was strung up between two wooden poles. Both glanced up as we passed and watched me curiously.

  A woman sat outside the next building, stirring something in a heavy metal pot. The unmistakable scent of pork and spices wafted my way, and my stomach growled again. I swallowed hard and hoped it wasn’t so loud that Sarrenke could hear it too.

  Houses stood in rows all down the center of the village. Many of them were made from canvas, others were made from wood, but they were all much better constructed than Tarek’s house. One of the first things I noticed about the people—besides the fact that they stared at us as we passed—was the clothes they were wearing. The Fiero had been taught that the Grakkir all wore crude clothing made from animal skins and poorly tanned leather. To my surprise, I saw a mix of fabrics, leather, and very few animal skins. The entire village appeared to be an eclectic mix of materials gained from other villages and nature itself. Surely some of these materials were scavenged and stolen, but some may have been attained through trading and their own ingenuity.

  As we reached the center of the village, the place where most people were buying and selling goods, I noticed another aspect of Grakkir culture that stood out, something that was surely theirs alone—tattoos and piercings. Everyone seemed to have them, and I noticed how people with similar tattoos and piercings interacted with each other more.

  Until Tarek and the other men came to the Fiero village, I’d only seen these body decorations in textbooks. Seeing them in person was equal parts unnerving and fascinating.

  “Are the tattoos and piercings a family tradition?” I asked. “Do families get similar ones?”

  “No,” Sarrenke responded. “When Grakkir children are young, we begin to train them for certain jobs. If a child shows an affinity for fighting or crafting or fishing, they grow up learning how to perfect that skill. The choice is theirs to make, and sometimes children change jobs, but everyone in the village has a purpose. The tattoos and piercings are meant to direct the gods’ favor towards a certain trait. For instance,” she gestured at the two metal bars forming an “X” on her chest, “these are meant to alert the gods to my need for great compassion and empathy, as I was trained to be a Healer. The jewelry makers have black ink on their fingers, so the gods will bless them with dexterity.” She gestured towards a woman sitting outside her house, nimble fingers shaping a piece of metal around a tiny stone.

  As we strolled along, I found myself staring at them just as much as they stared at me, guessing what everyone’s job was based on the placement of their tattoos and piercings. “So, the tattoo on Tarek’s chest is…?” My voice trailed off.

  “It is called the Warrior’s Shield,” Sarrenke said. We stopped in front of a house where a man was sitting outside amongst a collection of fruit. He had thick black tattoos on his biceps and shoulders. If he was a farmer, perhaps the tattoos were meant to bless him with strong arms.

  “Warriors are given a different kind of ink,” Sarrenke
continued. “It is made from a mix of regular ink and a gemstone called Obsidite, which is stronger than the strongest metals and more resistant to damage than even diamonds, but darker than a moonless night. When young Warriors complete their training, the Shield is tattooed on their chest and throat to protect them from mortal wounds.”

  “So, it doesn’t just ask the gods to bless them, it serves an actual purpose in and of itself?” I clarified.

  “Yes, exactly.” Sarrenke traded the man a few animal skins for apples and blueberries. I hadn’t tasted an apple since I picked them in my village, and their scent made my stomach clench with something more painful than hunger.

  “The men who came to my village with Tarek had tattoos along their eyes. Were they Warriors too?” I asked. I was fascinated by the practice, though I wondered if it was just superstition or if the animal gods really blessed their limbs and senses.

  “No. They were Scouts. They trained to be Warriors but were never physically strong enough for close combat. However, they are quick and light on their feet. They are often sent to search for enemies and take goods from lost villages. Their eyesight is blessed to aid in this endeavor.”

  As we continued through the village, my eyes shot to a pair of slaves, easily denoted by the collars around their necks. My heart raced as I searched their faces for a sign of recognition. They looked at me with sympathy, but neither of them was Jenassa or another Fiero, and neither appeared to be in any distress. Though sad and dirtier than the other villagers, they didn’t look like they had been badly mistreated by their owners. Did this mean the City had attacked other villages trying to find me, or had these slaves been here for a while? How many other clans had been destroyed that I hadn’t heard about?

  We stopped frequently to trade with other villagers, giving what was wanted and replacing it with what we needed. I waited impatiently while Sarrenke chatted with the villagers, my eyes flicking around for my sister’s face. I suspected these people were old friends of hers, but I noticed that none of them touched her skin. Other Grakkir clasped each other’s hands, and even hugged or slapped each other on the back with the laughter of a shared joke. None of them hugged or shook hands with Sarrenke, and most conversations were kept short and professional.