Tribal Bonds Ch. 06

Rather than attempt to fight a more skilled warrior on his own terms, I decided to allow Geri and Omuzlar do the work of defeating our enemies. My job would be to hold the other soldiers off while they fought, to prevent them from getting around behind Geri and Omuzlar. I would not be trying to defeat them, just to distract them and giving the others the chance to fight on an equal level.

To that end, I slashed out quickly at the solider who was trying to move around behind Geri and Omuzlar. It was a wild slash, but the solider was forced to jump backwards. I turned the other direction, saw that another solider was coming around on the other side, and repeated my tactic, against successfully. The two men circled around wider, and then both came at me together, head on. Now Geri and Omuzlar were, together, fighting three soldiers, while I had two facing me.

My stomach clenched and my muscles tightened as the two soldiers neared me. They moved in unison, their swords up for protection. But, despite the fear and despite being outnumbered, I acted. I feinted towards the soldier on my left, swinging at him with no intention of hitting him. The solider on the right took a step towards me. I instantly shifted my weight back in that direction, launched myself on my left foot and sent my right foot crashing between the soldier's legs. I felt my calve crash into his undercarriage and heard him let out a pained whimper. He collapsed onto the ground, dropping his sword and grasping his cock. I dropped to one knee, my hand grasping into the dry sand on the edge of the river. I pulled up a handful and turned to the other soldier, who was moving quickly towards me. I threw the same quickly at the man's face. He screamed and reached his hand towards his eyes as the sand hit. He took a step back.

I smiled in triumph, having bought myself a few seconds while outnumbered. But then I heard a piercing scream and felt a hard smack against my back. I tumbled forward from the force and then rolled to the side. I rose up and quickly turned to see what had knocked me over. I saw Omuzlar, lying on her back. There was a sword through her calf, planted in the ground after passing through her. Her foot was already coated in blood.

It was then that Geri made a fateful mistake. She turned, just for a second, to watch as her wife and sister collapsed onto the ground. The soldier who had pierced Omuzlar saw her look, and quickly removed the sword (Omuzlar screamed again), and slashed up quickly at Geri. Geri parried the slash, but had to turn to the side to catch it. One of the other soldiers stepped forward quickly, and drove his sword into the side of Geri's breast, through her ribs, and into her heart.

"No!" I heard a voice scream, and first thinking it was Omuzlar, but then realizing it was me. Blood pooled at the corners of Geri's lips and she fell in a heap onto the ground. The soldier swiftly pulled the sword from Geri's body. Omuzlar was writhing on the ground next to her wife's corpse, grasping at her own calve and screaming in pain and loss. The soldier who had killed Geri turned towards me, his blood on the blade. He started moving towards me. I grasped my sword tightly, felt blood rising in the back of my throat.

"No, wait," a gasping voice behind me said. I heard him pant a few times. It was the soldier I had kicked in the groin, rolling over onto his hands and knees, "No, wait, that little blonde bitch is mine!" he said. The soldier moving towards me stopped. He actually took a few steps back. The other soldiers moved back as well. I turned and faced the kicked soldier who wanted to kill me, raising my sword. Instinctively, I moved so that I was standing next to Omuzlar's body, ready to protect her as best I could.

The man who I had kicked was still slowly getting to his feet. For a brief moment, I was able to turn and gaze at Geri, lying on the ground. Her eyes were still opened, but she looked peaceful. Beautiful. The sweet girl who had welcomed me into the Hayalet with her warm body. A woman I had feared because of her beauty. A woman who I had hurt, and never properly apologized to. And now she was dead. Because of me.

"I should kill 500 Ulus warriors to avenge you. But I am not Buzcu. Still, I am Buz. His blood flows in my veins. And I am Hayalet. Their love fills my heart. And I swear to Buzcu and to you that for every 100 he killed, I shall kill one. I shall kill five of the enemies of my clan. Of my family. Five of the Ulus," I said to myself quietly as I looked at Geri.

The words. The warrior words of revenge. Unbidden at my lips. But spoken honestly. I was Buz. Their blood flowed in my veins. But I was Hayalet too. These were the people who had brought me in. These were the people who treated me with respect. Who wanted me to be a part of their society. These were the people that loved me. They were my family. And they were under attack. And I knew my duty. Not for hatred of the Ulus (as I had once hated the Kabile), but out of love for those who loved me.

It is hard to explain what happened to me in that moment. It was as though, by accepting that I belonged with the Hayalet, that I felt...more like I was part of the Buz than I had ever felt before. Not the bluster and desire to be a Buz. But the real thing. The hardened warrior of the far North. I felt the blood quicken in my veins, felt my mind clear. My muscles felt stronger, quicker. I felt that Buzcu...his spirit was inside of me. I knew, in that moment, that I could kill 500 men to protect the Hayalet and to avenge Geri.

I reached down into the dirt with my left hand and grasped Geri's sword. I now had two. I turned and sprinted towards the soldier I had kicked as he rose up onto his knees. His head flicked up as he heard me and he started to rise more quickly. The soldier with sand in his eyes, sensing that I had taken an unfair advantage with my sudden burst of movement began to close on me from the side. Without turning, I lifted Geri's sword out straight in front of me and lurch hard to the side. The sand-eyed soldier was caught by surprise and he sprinted, at full speed, into the blade. It glanced off his armor, slide up his chest, and then buried itself in his throat. I dropped Geri's sword.

The kicked soldier was now on his knees facing me. I dodged to the side opposite his sword moving quickly. He slashed at me but I dropped onto the ground, and rolling over so that I was behind him. I lifted my sword quickly and brought it down across the man's ankles, his Achilles tendons snapping and rolling up his thigh. He screaming in pain and pitched forward onto his stomach. I rose quickly onto my feet behind him and buried my sword in the base of his neck.

I was now facing the three remaining soldiers, who had been at my back before. Their eyes were wide with surprise, maybe fear, at my suddenly rapid motions. But they were moving towards me, closing. Rather than wait, I again moved quickly, running towards the man in the middle. Like the Hayalet, I attacked when outnumbered and confused my enemies. The men were walking passed Omuzlar, who was still lying on the ground. The one on my right was closest to her and did not see her wounded leg rise as he went to step over. But I did. Omuzlar was looking at me as she tripped the man. He stumbled forward and I launched myself in his direction, thrusting my sword forward. My aim was perfect. As the man fell forward, his face rushed into my blade, shattering his teeth and the blasting out of the back of his head. I jumped to the right, sliding my sword out of the man's head and turning to face the two remaining soldiers.

The two men were looking at me, but did not dare approach. I could see their hands shaking a little bit. I had already killed more than their remaining numbers. I did not know what I was going to do next, did not know what approach to make. But, for some reason, I felt no anxiety at that prospect. I felt no discomfort of any kind, at all. I was breathing heavily, but easily. My body felt hyper-alert, aware of everything. The world moved slower. A feeling of pure power.

Just then, one of the men, the one on the right, stole a half-glance at the man on the left. Just half a second, I think to confirm that his comrade was still there. My body reacted before I even understood that the man had looked away. I lunged on instinct. Or something beyond instinct.

The man was left handed, and he was gripping his sword tightly in the hand closest to my own sword. Rather that jump directly towards the man, I circled in rapidly towards the outside of his sword hand. I raised my sword as I did so. The man's focus began to return to me as he glanced away from his fellow soldier. I stepped forward and brought my sword down rapidly. The man tried to react, lifting his sword up to blow the blow. But his attention had been split, his reflexes were a half second off. My sword came down on the man's wrist, slicing so hard that his hand (and sword) dropped easily to the ground in one fluid motion. Blood spurted from the stump and the man began to scream. But only for a moment. I lifted the sword up and drove it into the man's temple, silencing him instantly as he fell to the ground.

I looked up and saw the one remaining solider. He glanced at me for a second, wide-eyed. He made a strange sound in the back of his throat. The sword dropped from his hands, clattering on his fallen comrade's armor. The man turned and ran.

"Four," I said to myself, realizing that I was one shy of my pledge. Beyond that, it was beyond my power to let this one, scared soldier run away. No one could survive this battle. No one could be allowed to return to the world to tell the tale.

I jumped awkwardly over the fallen body of my most recent victim and began to sprint after the man. He had a split second head start on me and, what's more, he was running for his life. As he ran, he stripped off portions of her armor, growing lighter with each passing second. He didn't look over his shoulder at me. He just ran, as fast as he could. I don't even think he knew what direction he was going. He weaved around horses, bodies, and objects, changing directions sharply and seemingly without reason.

But I had my own internal drive, pushing me forward. My desire for revenge, my need to prove myself to my people (whoever they were). I gripped my sword loosely, but firmly, and ran. I did not attempt to keep up with the soldier's wild motions. I controlled my stride, ran consistently, breathed deeply. Soon, despite his fear, the man began to tire. He slowed and the distance that had grown between us began to recede. He tripped slightly, regained his balance and kept running. Now he looked over his shoulder at me, saw me gaining, and tried to push himself harder. I kept closing the distance.

I don't know how long we'd run when I caught up with him. It did not feel long, but my lungs ached and my throat felt dry and cracked. My knees were weak. But the man ahead of me was worse. He was limping now, after his trip, and I could hear him crying. I lifted my sword and swung sharply. I felt my blade tear through the man's shirt, but not scratch his skin. He pushed a little harder, separated the distance from me again. I pushed harder. I swung again, aiming down. I felt the blade crash into the man's ankle and heard him howl in pain. He tumbled down onto the ground and I nearly tripped over him. I heard him crying out, perhaps for mercy.

Exhausted, I dropped to my knees on the ground beside the man. I gasped for breath, surprised by how weak and tired I felt. The man said something to me but I ignored him. I quickly raised my blade and brought it down sharply in the middle of his chest. He quickly grew quiet and I, with difficultly, wrench the blade from the man's ribs.

"Five," I said to myself, and I tilted my head back, looking up at the heavens and breathing in and out heavily. The sky was a light, delicate blue. Nothing like the slate gray sky of the far North. Not a single, snowy white cloud to be seen. I felt the sense of power slowly easy out of me, as my breath returned to my lungs. My arms felt weaker, my fingers limp. I don't know that I could have stood if I wanted to.

"Five for the Buz," I said to myself, and this time I heard the words. They echoed slowly in my brain, along with the sound of the air rushing into my lungs. Those words seemed to simultaneously drip with, and be devoid of, meaning. They echoed on and on in my brain, growing quieter and quieter with each passing repetition. Until finally, there was silence. Just the sound of my breathing.

And, in that moment, I sensed that a debt had been paid. A tether had been snapped. The last connection to a place and a people that I had once considered my own was gone. I thought now, briefly, of the far North. Of the frozen rivers and the wide, white plains. I thought of my family. The father who had sold me. The brothers who I had lost. It felt like looking back on a different lifetime. Having the memories of a different person, a person I didn't even know. I had closed out that portion of my life without even realizing that I had done it. I had been baptized in blood into another life.

What was strangest about it was what I did not feel. I felt no sense of loss at my feelings. I had clung so tightly to my identity as a Buz for so long, I defined myself first as a Buz. But now that name, my former tribe's name, sounded strangely hollow to my ear. It wasn't just that I no longer felt any real affection for the Buz. I no longer felt any resentment either. I no longer felt angry that they never listened to me, that they were ashamed of me, that they'd cast me away. I felt absolutely nothing. And this lack was disturbing and confusing. I could not, at that moment, figure out what it meant.

"Kedi..." A voice said, nearby. It shook me out of my thoughts and I turned and looked. I saw on the ground, just a few yards away from me, Omuzlar sitting in the grass, still bleeding. She was next to her dead sister, Geri, now.

For a moment, I froze. The facts could not arrange themselves in my brain.

"Kedi..." Omuzlar said again, and her eyes locked on mine. Then I recognized the reality of what I was seeing. I was back where I had started. With the women I had been fighting to protect. The soldier had run me in a circle! He had brought me right back here.

"What?" I asked, dazed by my realization. To have run so far and ended up right here, what did it mean? But Omuzlar didn't speak, she just lifted her hand and pointed.

I spun quickly, looking in the direction of her finger. In the near distance, I could see figures moving towards me. Dozens. My eyes were stung with sweat and it had foggy as the battle raged. I could not make out how many. But they were moving slowly in my direction. Towards the river. Towards Omuzlar and Geri.

There were no longer any sounds of battle, beyond the cries of the wounded. no clash of swords. It was all over. The soldiers coming towards me were the victors. And there was a good chance they were coming to take my life. There was fear then. And the sword felt limp, worthless in my arms. I thought about toss the sword to my right and then turning, running to the left as hard and as fast as I could, hoping for freedom.

But, despite the fact that she did not speak again, I could sense Omuzlar behind me. And Geri too, though dead. I could sense her presence there. If I ran, they would be exposed. If I stayed, I could not fight all the enemies arrayed against me. But Omuzlar would die with honor. And Geri would know that her body was protected as her spirit moved towards the gods.

These thoughts brought an intense wave of emotion over me. A fierce level of protectiveness, like a mother feels for her children. I felt my lip curl back in anger, an anger that burst upon me in full force. Anger at Geri's death. Anger at the danger facing Omuzlar. The feeling was both familiar, and unfamiliar at the same time. I could sense my attachment to these people as the same sort of attachment I had once given the Buz, a dedication to something larger than myself. But it was so much deeper, so much richer than anything I'd experienced before. This was not an unrequited devotion, I was not an embarrassment to my new-found friends. They had cared for me when they had no business doing so. And they needed me.

Slowly, the strength that had drained from me after the battle began to course through me again. My arms tightened, my fingers found my blade and grasped around them. I rose to my feet, my knees feeling strong, stable. I felt fear. But also the courage to stand anyway. To protect Omuzlar and the body of Geri. To protect the members of my tribe. Not like a Buz anymore. Something else.

"I am Hayalet! I am the Ghost, returned from the land of the dead to seek vengeance for my fallen comrades. Fight me if you dare!" The line of warriors halted. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I gripped my sword, knowing that even with my strength returned I could not take them all. But I would take some. I would atone for the wrong I had done. And I would earn my place in the Hayalet Valley.

"I wouldn't dare," a voice said. A familiar voice. And out of the shadows stepped Otuzbes. And then more and more of the Hayalet. Coated in blood. Their faces glowing. Victorious.

"Oh thank the Gods," I said and, exhausted, collapsed onto the ground.

* * * * *

"Kedi, the Warrior Cadilar, I present to you Yakin, and her daughter Kapat," Orospu said, standing in the doorway to my longhouse. My longhouse. It still felt strange to think of it as such. But much had happened in the weeks since battle.

The immediate aftermath of the battle had, in itself, been a whirlwind of activity. The Hayalet had, of course, every reason in the world to be angry at me. I might have killed five of their enemies, but that had only been necessary because I had revealed their whereabouts. However, the Otusbes' quick thinking and tactical skill had turned a possible disaster into an unparalleled triumph.

"There are times," Orospu stated when I returned to the village, "That the old stories begin to fade from memory. When one or two or even a dozen traders disappearing can cease to have the desired effect. We had been approaching such a moment for a long time. More and more men have been traveling in the Hayalet Valley. A time was coming when an example must be made. And 100 elite, dead soldiers is exactly the kind of example we would like to make. We did not choose the moment, but we seized it." And so, the Hayalet were inclined to forgive, or even praise, my recklessness as having a benficial effect.

I had returned at the head of the column of soldiers and the women and Cadilar of Daire had listened spellbound as I, and the soldiers, recounted our daring actions. I learned much about the ebb and flow of the battle. Soldiers described individual feats of honor or bravery. I heard about how the leaders of the enemy force were chased all the way to the river and drowned beneath the waves. In fact, the enemy had been so severely taken by surprise that, despite our small numbers, they'd been quickly overwhelmed. The greatest danger was that one or more solider would return to his horse and make an escape. Luckily, those of us who had freed the horses had made that impossible. All the enemy troops were accounted for. And dead. Burning now, their corpses to feet the river.

When the size and scope of our victory became apparent, the Hayalet rejoiced. They, spontaneously, agreed to forgive whatever transgression I had committed by escaping and exposing their location. I was honored as one of the few Cadilar in the last thousand years to act as a warrior, and Omuzlar recounted the nature of my military prowess. In fact, in the warm glow of triumph, Orospu had, again, offered me membership in the Hayalet.