Standing there was a woman who looked about forty years old. Her shoulders were wide, just like many women from Vikisoteland. Her hair was a pure blonde, almost white from its brilliance. This woman was beautiful, but she wasn’t the queen.
“Who are you?” Murid asked.
The woman placed a hand over her heart and slightly bowed before Murid.
“My apologies. I’m Faida. I came with the king and queen of Vikisoteland. I saw you run in here after speaking with our prince. Forgive me if I’m being too bold, but I felt like we should have a moment to talk.”
“Why? Your king and queen have already made the decision that my parents agreed to. What would our conversation accomplish?”
“You’re a very precocious young woman. I like that. You and I will get along excellently.”
Precocious. That’s the word adults used when they really meant obnoxious. It’s the consequence of forcing more education on a child than playtime.
Faida approached Murid. Willow nudged her toward the stranger. Murid made it a point not to ignore Willow’s instincts. She took this as a sign her friend approved of this woman from Vikisoteland.
Faida stopped a few steps from Murid. She bowed once more, but this time she made a goofy face when she stood erect again. The unexpectedness of it made Murid giggle.
“I knew there was still a child behind all that maturity.”
Murid liked Faida. Her compliment felt genuine, unlike most she got from the dignitaries who visited her parents on official business.
“My parents say my destiny means I have to grow up faster than most,” Murid said.
“Pish posh, what do parents know?”
Murid covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. She’d never heard anyone say something even remotely impolite about her parents. Faida was braver than most adults Murid had met before.
“Who are you exactly?” Murid asked.
“I told you, I’m Faida.”
“Yes, but what do you do for King Viktor and Queen Katrin?”
“It’s not what I do for them, but what I will do for you.”
“Which will be?”
“Among other things, I’ll be your spiritual leader and personal servant.”
“Oh,” Murid said.
Her heart sank. She had plenty of servants. Just because one came from an exotic land didn’t make her special. Murid already had servants from all over the planet. Some were even Namerians and Canfras.
“Don’t look so disappointed. I’m a special kind of servant. I’m meant to teach you how we live in Vikisoteland. I’ll teach you our culture, our traditions, our food; even our dances. Just wait until you experience your first Celestial celebration.”
“What’s Celestial?”
Faida’s eyes looked misty as she spoke. “Celestial is the most holy of time. It’s a three-day festival to honor Jorosolman. It’s so holy, one should accept death rather than offend the gods by ignoring the festivities. I look forward to teaching you all about it, especially the presents.”
“How about teaching me how to be a shield maiden?” Murid asked.
Faida snorted laughter. “I mention presents and you want to learn how to swing a sword? You’ll do well in our kingdom.” Faida chuckled again, then composed herself to answer Murid. “I’m not the best person to teach you those skills. I also doubt the royal family would like me to let you learn.”
“Oh,” Murid said, glancing at the straw-covered ground.
“But,” Faida said, “if you keep it between us, I’m sure I can find someplace else to be when Olha trains you.”
Faida added a wink after her statement. Murid allowed a mischievous smile to spread. She definitely liked Faida.
“When’s our first lesson?” Murid asked.
“How about now?” Faida answered while patting a bale of straw.
Murid sat next to Faida as the older woman told her a story.
“Princess Murid, how much do you know about politics?”
“I know enough not to ask questions when others speak of it. That’s an easy way to be excused from the room.”
Faida laughed. “I’m sure it is. Do you know anything about Corla?”
“Yes,” Murid said matter-of-factly. “It’s an absolutely evil country.”
“It definitely is, but do you know why?”
“Because they’re mean to everyone else?”
“That’s a spectacular understatement. The Corlains are greedy, vicious people. They make demands on how each of us must live. They steal the resources from the lands our ancestors worked. They slaughter the innocent and any who stand in their way of global domination. I can say without exaggeration that there’s no such thing as a good Corlain. Unfortunately, many people across Glostaimia appease the Corlain Empire. They bow and scrape and hope the pain won’t be too much. This attitude has led to universal suffering for our planet.”
“The Corlains can’t be that strong, can they? How can they possibly control all of Glostaimia?”
“They shouldn’t be that strong, but when you combine the indifference of the eastern countries with the subjugation of the southern countries and acquiescence of those in this part of the world, you can see why Corla controls so much.”
“Why don’t good people stop them?”
“Isn’t that the million-coin question? Fear controls most. Impatience makes some who could be a threat to Corlain imperialism easily defeated. I like to believe a third option is why the good people wait to find their courage and their voice.”
Murid leaned in with absolute fascination. Faida chuckled as she did this.
“I can see you want me to tell you.”
“I would enjoy that very much.”
“Have you heard of the prophecy?”
“The prophecy?”
Faida smirked to herself. “I suppose you wouldn’t have. You don’t know our gods, so you can’t possibly know our prophecies. It was foretold by the gods that ‘he who survives a violent massacre by foreign oppressors will lead his people to victory.’”
Murid furrowed her brow. Prophecies always sounded too general to her. Violent massacres happened all the time.
“Do you believe in the prophecy?” Murid asked.
“I must. My faith is the only thing that keeps my fear of being tortured by the Corlains at bay.”
Murid was about to speak again when Willow started kicking inside her stall. Murid stood and looked at her horse. Willow continued to act erratically. Faida stood next to Murid. A noticeable rumbling in the ground became apparent. Wheelbarrows filled with horse dung rattled and tipped. Murid and Faida shared confused looks.
“What is it, Will—”
The wall exploding inward interrupted Murid’s question. A wild pachymule revealed itself to be the reason for the destruction. The pachymule was easily four meters tall with thick, gray skin. Murid recognized it as a bull by the ivory tusks jutting out from not only its mouth but also surrounding the joints of all four legs. The tusk wall made it difficult for predators to jump and snap at the vital arteries in its neck. Being male meant it weighed over seven hundred kilograms. It trumpeted a challenge out its long trunk. Willow never had a chance.
Murid covered her eyes in absolute horror as Willow was first gored, then trampled by the panicked pachymule. Murid screamed long before she realized someone was carrying her. Faida had the young princess cradled in her arms as she sprinted away from the pachymule. The wild animal seemed unconcerned with the fleeing humans.
Murid moved trembling hands from her eyes. Pandemonium surrounded her. Servants and guards ran around, attempting to corral the beasts. There were at least four charging through the front doors of Murid’s home. People screamed next to mangled bodies. Murid stifled the vomit trying to erupt from her mouth as she saw the body of a young servant. Murid couldn’t remember his name, but he was only a few years older than she. He often helped his mother working in the garden and never required punishment. She’d taught him discip
line. His once innocent face was contorted into a depiction of pure terror. The impression in his back and spilled organs proved he was unlucky enough to have been crushed by a small pachymules.
“Faida! Bring the princess here!” King Viktor screamed.
Faida nodded and raced toward her king. Faida lowered Murid once she arrived. King Viktor briefly tapped her head, but soon his eyes searched for his own family.
“Father!” Hafoca shouted.
The teenager, with bow clutched and a quiver full of arrows, hesitated as a pair of pachymules separated them.
“Hurry!” King Viktor shouted.
Hafoca appeared to summon his courage before charging across a lawn that was once immaculate. Now clumps of mud littered the green grass. Hafoca reached his father. They embraced each other as the Vikisote guards surrounded the four.
The Vikisote guards pulled vials from pouches hanging on their leather armor. Each man and woman squirted a thick, clear liquid into their hands, then smeared the substance onto their faces and any other exposed skin. Murid scrunched her nose. Whatever the fluid was, its smell resembled minty urine. Why would anyone want to put the stuff on his or her face?
The Vikisotes drew weapons. They looked determined to fight the pachymules with nothing more than the swords and round shields they held. It seemed impossible.
“May I have some crick oil, Father?” Hafoca asked.
King Haymel shook his head as he added his own oil. “You know you aren’t old enough. Soon, my son. Soon.”
Hafoca clenched his jaw and turned his face away. His eyes locked with Murid’s. “What are you looking at, brat?”
Murid opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of wood splintering drew the attention of Murid and her rescuers. She watched in horror as her home, the only one she had ever known, imploded. Only the brick exterior stood aloft, but several holes perforated it from pachymule charges. They were powerful animals.
“No!” Murid screamed.
She fought against Faida’s steely grasp. The woman held her firmly. All Murid could do was watch as her world crumbled around her from multiple pachymule passes.
“Let me go!” Murid protested. “My parents were in there!”
“So was my mother,” Hafoca said. “We must wait for it to be safe before mounting a rescue.”
“How did these beasts enter in the first place?” Faida asked.
“I don’t know,” King Viktor answered.
“They came through the front gate, milord,” a guard answered. “It was abnormal. They pushed their way past as one mind, then panicked once inside.”
“From order to panic?” King Viktor asked.
The guard nodded to confirm.
“No!” King Viktor shouted. “It’s a trap.”
As if on cue, a loud crack quickly followed by several more echoed. The guard who answered King Viktor’s questions fell forward as blood pooled from inside his leather armor. Murid noticed several holes. King Viktor lurched backward and held a hand over his left bicep.
Murid fearfully searched for the source of the attack. Standing by the destroyed portcullis was an army. A Corlain army. Their full plate armor shined brightly in the late afternoon sun. In fact, it was too bright. Most of the Vikisote warriors and castle guards were forced to cover their eyes. Murid covered her own eyes but peeked through her fingers at the advancing soldiers.
The intimidating Corlain soldiers had glaring armor that reflected the sun almost like a weapon. The only color visible on their armor was a thin, red triangle lens. King Haymel had once told Murid that the Corlains had the most sophisticated weapons, armor, and equipment in all Glostaimia. Their unique armor was principle among this military advantage. Despite most of the defenders being blind, Murid knew the Corlain soldiers comfortably saw what was before them because of the red filter they wore. Even at night, when their shiny, enchanted armor would transition to black, they could still see their enemies clearly.
Once again, Faida grabbed Murid and cradled her. Murid watched as the wounded King Viktor led Faida, Hafoca, and the closest guards away from the advancing intruders. Murid sobbed uncontrollably, burying her face into Faida’s chest. She knew she should look for her parents, but she wanted the comfort that darkness provided at this moment. When she found her courage enough to peek from her “sanctuary,” she saw the front line of Corlains with muskets had stepped aside to let those with halberds and broadswords slaughter the few remaining guards and servants.
“Take this, child,” Faida said to Murid.
Murid accepted a small vial with a green liquid inside. Small black flecks swirled with the viscous drink.
“What is it?” Murid asked.
“Don’t worry about that. Just drink it. It’ll give you courage as we find your parents and escape,” Faida answered.
Murid nodded. She remembered what the adults had rubbed into their skin. It may have been strong, but here was the child version. The Vikisotes bravely fought the Corlains. Murid would try to do her part. With a single gulp, Murid downed the foul-tasting medicine. She waited for the courage Faida promised her to fill every gram of her being. Instead, she became sleepy.
We’ll find them, Murid thought, as darkness overtook her.
cHAPTER 2
Two Dogs took a stealthy step as he brushed his long, dark hair from his eyes. He slowly placed his moccasin-protected foot onto a moss-covered rock. The green lichen complemented the green of his animal-skin footwear. Two Dogs was a prime specimen of a man. For thirty-two years, beginning with his birth, Two Dogs prepared his mind and body for greatness. He had broad shoulders complemented by well-defined muscles. Every woman in his tribe commented about his attractiveness when they thought he couldn’t hear. Two Dogs was always listening, and he thoroughly appreciated the compliments from the fairer sex.
Ahead of Two Dogs was his hunting partner, Swift Shot. Although a few years younger than he, Swift Shot was the best friend he’d ever known. Like Two Dogs, Swift Shot was athletic, though her love of wrestling made her less beautiful. None of that mattered to Two Dogs. Currently, he appreciated her most for her superior hunting skills.
Swift Shot held up her right hand. Her left hand held a bow with an arrow already nocked. Two Dogs knew to wait for her to signal him to move again. He looked past her shoulder to see what lay in the open prairie ahead of them.
Two Dogs’ heart fluttered when he saw the prey in the clearing. Past hunting trips, too many to count, had been disappointing. The mighty turklyo became more and more scarce as Corlains over-hunted the animals that meant so much to Two Dogs’ Lacreechee tribe. Thanks to Swift Shot’s keen tracking skills, a single turklyo grazed in front of them.
A turklyo was a large herbivore, but the Lacreechee wouldn’t waste any of the animal. It had tough, green skin that would be used to make the moccasins and clothing the Lacreechee wore. Stretching ten feet long meant the tribe would craft new outfits. The six hundred pounds of meat would feed his tribe for two weeks. The armored shell on the animal’s back would be suspended over another family’s tipi and protect them from the occasional magically summoned hail storm. The children had to learn to control their power at some point. The beak would be converted into whatever tool the tribe needed next.
All the physical features of the turklyo had life-enhancing uses, but none compared with the bone plate on the crown of its head. The igsidian plate, often referred to as the stone, was a reflective black color with orange marbling running throughout. It protected the turklyo’s head, but the Lacreechee people had a far more important use. Igsidian stones gave the Lacreechee magical power. All children in the tribe learned how to manipulate the power inherent in each stone. Some, like Swift Shot, became experts in elemental powers. Lightning, fire, frost; they were all easily weaponized to protect the tribe. Others learned to create lifelike illusions to confuse an enemy. A few felt it was better to learn intermediate levels from each magical school. Two Dogs’ brother, Proud Wall, was a man trained in mult
iple schools.
Two Dogs looked at the mighty turklyo in front of him. Magical attacks were unwise when hunting; it led to wasted meat. Unless, of course, you learned protector magic like Two Dogs had. He clutched his tomahawk and knife. Each had a shiny black blade made from the Igsidian stone he recovered from a hunt when he was a young teen. He focused on the power that each weapon had. The blades glowed bright orange as he summoned an invisible, protective armor around his body. The igsidian embedded in his turklyo-skin shirt and leggings also glowed. Two Dogs felt his muscles tighten as his strength multiplied a dozen times. His speed only improved by a factor of four, but summoning this much magic took a toll. Exceptions had to be made.
Swift Shot glanced back at Two Dogs as his igsidian brightened to a warrior’s level.
“Let me take the shot,” she whispered.
The sound may have been quiet, but Two Dogs felt like she’d screamed. The turklyo must have sensed something. It quickly jerked its head upward and sniffed the air with amphibian nostrils. The female slowly retracted its head into the relative safety of its ridged shell.
Two Dogs smiled at Swift Shot. “Well?”
Swift Shot let out an exasperated breath at Two Dogs’ mockery. She aimed at the hidden head of the turklyo and let her arrow fly. The turklyo honked to express its pain. Swift Shot’s arrow snapped as the turklyo’s head quickly extended from the shell. The enraged animal ran away from Two Dogs and Swift Shot. Two more arrows flew at its back. One bounced off the shell, the other plunged into the back of the knee on the left rear leg.
“I thought you were good at this?” Two Dogs teased.
“Just get it!” Swift Shot shouted.
Two Dogs could sense her annoyance with herself as much as she was pissed he could be such an ass, even when they finally found a turklyo again.
Two Dogs gave a mocking salute to his friend with the tomahawk clutched in his right hand. He chased the sprinting turklyo as he adjusted the grip on his knife to an inverted one.
The turklyo may have had a pair of wounds, but it was still a relatively quick animal. Swift Shot, or any other human who didn’t have igsidian-enhanced physical abilities, could never catch the amphibian. Two Dogs laughed to himself as he closed the distance in under a minute.
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