Fierce
Chapter 1
Echoes in the Mist
Frosty air bit her cheeks and crept down the high collar of her grey, woollen tunic. Rayl saw her breath hang like smoke in the air as she stepped through the tent flap. She let the heavy fall of felt drop behind her.
She stared at the wisp of breath, still visible and puzzled over it. The harder she thought, the more the thoughts slipped away from her mind. She gave up and shrugged. If she kept moving rather than thinking, then some part of the hidden knowledge would seep from that hollow place under the bones of her chest and she would find her path. She knew she'd come out of the warm depths of the king's tent for a purpose. Perhaps she was headed to the wooden milk pails to choose the ones holding the richest cream. She knew that she made the best kefir.
Rayl stepped past the two warriors standing guard either side of the tent door. She made no response to their chest thumping salute and greeting nor did she meet their eyes but strode across the wooden platform. As she walked down the long, narrow steps an image of white, crinkled wool rose in her mind.
"Thank you, Fire Mother," she breathed. Always the secret knowledge came to her of its own will or that of the goddess.
In the centre of the large village, with its many round, domed yurts, stood the khan. A prince among his own people, Yavar had his fingers tucked into the wide, leather belt where a pair of shiny, retired blades were thrust through. He faced the heavy, carved posts that marked the entrance to his village. Either side of the flung back gates, sentries stood mounted high on wooden platforms. Their eyes roamed the countryside restlessly, ceaselessly looking for any enemy.
A pleased look rested on Yavar Khan's face. His herds flourished. The grasses in this country were rich and fattening. Messengers from the ruler of the next tribe promised that the treaty held strong and there was no trouble among the headmen within his own people. His breathed in a deep sigh of satisfaction, sniffing the air filled with the mixed aroma of smoke, animals and cooking meat. The two hearth companions that accompanied him wherever he went, exchanged glances of benign mischief. When the khan was happy, everyone was happy.
A striking figure moved through the village. The khan's face darkened. His men took a step back and looked away. Rayl, the khan's relative was a source of dismay, shame and pity for the man.
"Rayl, where are you going?"
The woman gave no sign of hearing the khan and kept plodding steadily and muttering under her breath.
The younger of the two guards stepped forward and reached out a hand as if to restrain her, but Yavar Khan lifted a hand and the man stopped dead.
"Rayl!"
Yavar dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. Before the weight of it had fully settled on her, she dropped away under it and spun about. Her hand reached for a sword hilt at her belt that wasn't there. Fear, anger and the promise of violence were written clear on her face. Rayl faced Yavar Khan in a coiled half-crouch ready to fight to the death, until a vague recognition reached her eyes.
She jerked her head back. "Oh, Yavar," she dropped her chin in the habitual salute of the people and placed her fist over her heart, "I...I'm...forgive me, my khan."
The words were thick and slurred. The khan returned the salute and without another word she turned and slipped away, stumbling over a wheel rut as she went.
Yavar Khan swung away too. The sorrow in his heart flared into instant anger as he caught the mocking snicker of his bodyman. Without warning, he flung up an arm and dashed the back of his hand across the grinning face.
"You shall not mock her, Samsa. I stood shoulder-to-shoulder in battle with Rayl many times before she wed my brother. Do not despise one of our brave widows, broken by the tragedy of war."
"Forgive me, my Khan."
Embarrassment and shame coloured the warrior's other cheek so that it matched the scarlet of the struck one. He saluted and stepped back hastily. Again his eyes met those of the other warrior. They held reproach and the young man felt the colour surge in his face again, for not only had the khan's sister-in-law lost her husband and young child to the cruel edge of the sword but she'd also been taken captive by the raiders.
Months later, the khan's scouts found her. It cost a great portion of his wealth to buy her back. Furthermore, when the woman returned it was clear that her mind was broken.
Much muttering and grumbling among the people followed for they felt frightened by the images her broken state conjured up.
They made signs to ward off evil when she passed and occasionally slung a clump of mud or rotting vegetable in her direction. But Yavar Khan was not moved by their discontent. Not even his pretty, young wife could alter his decision. Rayl had fought for the people as a shield maiden and after her marriage had given her own blood and that of her husband and child in the people's cause. He would not forget that. He owed it to her and he owed it to his deceased brother. He would not abandon her in her sorrow and bitter fate as neither would Rayl have ever abandoned any of her own. Those were his final words to the stinging ears of his people and none had defied his will since.
The young man, recently receiving the honour of appointment to the khan's own body guard, hung his head in shame.
A commotion at the gate diverted Yavar Khan's angry gaze from his foolish warrior.
A horseman had arrived and the sentries demanded he halt. In a moment one of them leaped upon a shambling grey and cantered down the centre of the village to his chief.
"Khan, a young alp from the Askuzai tribe is here. He brings warning from your wife's brother that Neuri warriors are on the move. War bands have been spotted heading toward this land."
"Bah," Yavar Khan waved his hand, the bands of irritation from the encounter with Rayl and his young fool of a man made him answer roughly, "send him away. Our allies, the Altenai lie along that path. If they need our help, they will send word. They are a strong people. We need not fear."
"But my Khan, surely we must give him the hospitality of the tribe," the sentry was shocked, "at least for one night besides, he lost all his companions along the way to bandits."
"Oh, very well," Yavar said, peering toward the gate and the young horseman, "but if he's here to tell me Galti Khan wants his sister to return until the danger of the Neuri people has passed, my answer is still the same. My wife stays here with me."
The sentry lowered his eyes and bowed and the khan felt angry all over again because he knew he was unreasonable. His wife's brother was only taking care of them and risking his own young warrior on the long, dangerous path between their distant lands to bring them a warning. But things were well here. He'd struck treaties with the neighbouring tribes, had powerful friends and was more and more prosperous. He only waited for the auspicious day his new wife would tell him she carried his heir - then his cup would be full. The shaman read the omens and assured him the time was approaching.
No, the Askuzai tribe were few in number and nervous, neither were they as clever and well protected as his Lateri people were.
Yavar Khan's thoughts were interrupted by the sight of his sister-in-law, now bent over with a big basket overflowing with wisps of wool. He frowned yet again. Rayl did the work of ten men. Everything turned to gold in her hand. Her rugs fetched the highest prices at the market towns and she kept his own home tent immaculate. If only her mind healed. If only the spirits that oppressed her would leave. What an asset she would be. He might even make her his second wife and lift her up from the position of his reluctant wife's companion.
A man bowed before him, "Lord, a herdsman is here asking for you."
The chief left off thinking about the problem of Rayl and strode off. A dispute among his herdsmen made him forget the arrival of the young messenger and the warning of danger that he brought.
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© 2019 Emma C Buenen