The Children of Zzthethpezemos

Turlogh Dubh of the Clan na O'Brien spent the next few days learning, observing, asking, and absorbing as much as possible of the culture on Torn. The days turned into weeks as Brenne slowly regained his youthful vigor. Eventually, he left the home of Zzthethpezemos and took up residence with the family of Ka, his devoted female nurse. Sadly however, he walked with a profound limp, his right leg being somehow lamed by the severe blow to his brain. Zzthethpezemos said that in time, this ailment would also pass, or at least improve considerably. To Turlogh it seemed that time was plentiful on Torn, amongst the lovely women and joyfully singing children. Terrilara's child was named Mayan and a source of neverending joy she was. During the day the little girl stayed with Turlogh and his woman, but at night she returned to her grandparents house. This was the way of the Children of Zzthethpezemos. "The young couples need the late nights for their own amusements," said their ancient chief. "And the grandparents are saved from loneliness."

Although deemed mad by his own clan, Turlogh possessed a very sharp intellect. He quickly learned the language of the yellow people. Terrilara was a good teacher, although at times the Gael could scarcely concentrate, ever he felt the urge to touch her fine breasts. And often he did. Zzthethpezemos also taught him much of the tongue, and many other things as well. Still, the old man enjoyed conversing in Gaelic with his guests. "It serves to keep the mind well functioning," he would say with a chuckle. Turlogh suspected his host had enjoyed somewhat his stay of old in Errin. He spoke much of the important events of that fair, green land. The Gaels readily passed on what history they'd learned from the Druids and Elders. Zzthethpezemos always listened with an attentive ear. Occasionally, the old man would say he recalled well this or that important king or warrior. He enjoyed and entertained with folksy tales of ancient Gaelic heroes or villians.

Turlogh also passed much of the day working. Always he had been a weaponsman, but he found the simple peasant life held its own appeal. There were a few other villages scattered here and there, all were small and much the same. Zzthethpezemos was considered the father of all the island peoples. The ancient one would spend days in each place, healing and counseling. Turlogh often went with Terrilara and others to do trade with these folk. Always they seemed joyful to see him. Sometimes the dark warrior helped with the fishing or the weeding of bountiful gardens. A goodly variety of vegetables and fruits grew on Torn, Terrilara explained their names and tasteful qualities as best she could. The Gael also helped with basket making and carpentry. He earnestly expanded the simple hut that was now his home. Amazingly, he found there was indeed much more to life than marching off to do war or vengeance at the whim of some king. Everyday he visited with Brenne son of Art and asked how his health progressed. Brenne would answer usually with, "I'm feeling much better," thanks to the care of this good woman...and those foul smelling potions Zzthethpezemos strongly insists that I drink." Turlogh watched his friend's eyes when Ka would enter. No one understood better than he the sentiment behind Brenne's affectionate gazes.

Thus the days and weeks passed. These were happy times for the dark Gael. Often, he would walk on the beach with his woman and enjoy the dawn or sunset. He could scarce remember ever giving a second thought to such whimsical yearnings in the past. Afore, nature was a thing mostly to be endured. One evening, as the couple sat together gazing out at the expanse of the ocean, it occurred to Turlogh that he hadn't thought of Errin in days. This deeply bothered him and he brooded silently to himself. Terrilara sensed something was amiss and she rubbed her smooth cheek against his. Her eyes spoke of her concern, even as her soft caresses spoke to his desires. They embraced there in the twilight, with the tide tickling their toes. Her gentle softness, and the depths of her green eyes chased away the depression. It was then that he realized he loved her. Afterwards, they returned to their little home. The couple ate, drank, and smoked. Then they made love as never before. The last thing Turlogh heard before falling into a great sleep was the gentle music made by the native birds and the hum of a midnight rain.

Rays of early sunlight were creeping through cracks in the walls of the hut when Turlogh awakened with a great start! Adrenalin exploded through his veins and every nerve reeled from a sudden, great excitement. The sound of something the Dalcassian had not heard in a while gave cause to his casting off the arms of his lover and leaping naked from bed. It was the clash of steel on steel, the shouts of rage,....and the scream of someone dying. No man was more familiar than Turlogh with the din of battle. Terrilara glared at him through sleepy, uncomprehending eyes. "Bar the door woman, and dare not leave!" he shouted to her. Then he tossed his dagger to his woman, even as he hastily donned his steel helmet and grasped the stout handle of his war ax. "Use that dagger to defend yourself if I fall," with that he raced outside grim and expressionless. He wished for his strong mail but knew there was not time.

Turlogh nearly ran headlong into a brown-skinned man. His body was almost covered entirely with hideous tattos. His hair was black and thick, coarse like a horse's tail, and very long. The man's eyes were wild and glazed as if he had over-indulged of some powerful chemical stimulant. With a bone-chilling shriek, this demonic apparition cast his long spear at Turlogh. With amazing cat-like quickness, the Gael side-stepped the throw and the missile imbedded itself harmlessly against the side of Turlogh's house. Not discouraged by his failed throw, the savage roared again and came at his foe with a long knife. This was his last living act as the heavy battleaxe came crashing down on his shoulder, ripping him down to his breastbone. He fell heavily, spitting blood, and the somber Gael strained to free his ax from the man's chest.

Turlogh jerked his weapon free with a triumphant grunt as another dusky-skinned madman ran at him. The Gael swung mightily again and broke the handle of his opponent's spear.....and the arm that held it. On the backswing the ax's rear spike buried itself deep in the head of the wildman, spilling brains, blood, and shattered shards of skull on the sand beneath Turlogh's feet. Again the ax was wrenched free as the second attacker fell beside his brother.

This gave the dark warrior a split second to look about and attempt to gauge the gravity of the situation. The attack had come from the sea, several primitive boats had been dragged onto the beach. Everywhere Turlogh looked, the brown savages were making battle with the men of Torn. The yellow-skinned warriors were outnumbered but holding their own, however, already a few had fallen..as well as several of the enemy.

A fierce battle raged at the home of Zzthethpezemos. Brenne Mac Art and the ancient Chief were striking with swords at the blood thirsty host. They were hard pressed and Turlogh made a quick decision to rush to their aid. Two wild-eyed men came at the Dalcassian. The berserk battle madness was fully upon the somber warrior by now and he struck with such force the first foe's head was cleaved cleanly from brown shoulders and flew through the air, striking the other man who reeled momentarily in shock at the sight. This hesitation did not serve to save him from the bloody ax that buried itself in his own head once second later.

Turlogh was now blind to all save the glutting of vengeance. He waded into his foes, swinging the fearsome weapon with deadly success. The steel drank deeply of blood and gore, the arm did not tire, and the host fell back in horror as the cold hand of death laid itself on the shoulder of one brown brother after another.

Suddenly, Turlogh found himself searching for the enemy when so recently there had been many. He leapt to deal death to a wooly weaponsman only to see Brenne run his sword into the hapless fool's stomach and out his back...

The war-chief of the attackers screamed the command for retreat. As, one they turned and raced for their ships. Above the tumult of battle Zzthethpezemos shouted, "we must prevent all from escaping, lest they return with their breathern!!"

The yellow warriors and Turlogh ran after the enemy. Brenne followed as best he could on one good leg. Zzthethpezemos grasped the boy's arm to steady him.

Turlogh and the men of Torn fell on the foe at the beach. Turlogh hacked off an arm that had just buried a spear deep into a yellow chest. Many of the brown warriors had thrown down their weapons and concentrated on making it to sea. This was a fatal mistake. Within three or four minutes all were slaughtered, their bodies floating in the tide, a grisly meal for the creatures of the sea. As suddenly as it began it was over. A last remaining foe was pinned to his warboat by the spear of a giant yellow warrior called Sornge. A dying scream punctuated the overwhelming defeat. This desperate cry faded to be replaced by a triumphant victory chant that exited the strong lungs of the Sons of Torn. Instinctively, Turlogh and Brenne raised their weapons and joined in the celebration. Vengeance had been glutted and red blood had slated the thirst of their steel!

Turlogh felt a surprisingly strong hand grip his bicep. It was Zzthethpezemos. "Truly you are a heroic son of Errin," the old man said. "But now we must see to our wounded."

Brenne beat his chest with the hilt of his sword as Turlogh gazed upon the ocean. His chest heaved from exertion and his mind reeled with the knowledge that even here there was no escape from the battle lust of man.
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Turlogh's hands and arms ached, having not fully recovered from the wounds inflicted by the harpy. Still, he helped the men of Torn toss the bodies of the brown foes into their boats. Turlogh counted some 33 of the slain warriors. The boats were set aflame and pushed away from the beach. As the Dalcassian watched the burning vessels, it occurred to him that he'd fought lesser warriors. Terrilara and her child were by his side. The woman squeezed his powerful arm in an effort to calm her nerves. The child sobbed uncontrollably. The Gael stroked the babe's hair with surprising gentleness.

"Calm yourselves, my darling lasses. Those savages will never harm anyone again...save in the next world."

"What brought those awful men here?" Terrilara asked anxiously. "In all my days, we have experienced nothing but peace on Torn. Only a short time ago I was attacked by a demon and now this."

Turlogh shrugged. "Who knows for certain. Most likely they sought women, slaves, plunder...anything they could take. In truth its an old game, but as they learned to late....you can lose only once."

"This troubles me greatly," said Zzthethpezemos. "These men came from a land far to the south. It appears they have finally mastered the sea. We must be wary, lest their brothers come in search for them someday. It could be there is war in their lands, these might simply be scouts sent to find a new home for their people, as the old one might be soon lost. Also I suspect these might well be from a tribe of obscene cannibals. In truth, they would have found old Zzthethpezemos a morsel wearisome to gnaw!"

The Chieftain continued, "yea, when all is considered we fared well...thanks in the greater part to our mighty weapons brothers from Errin. I haven't seen such awesome prowess in battle since my days of old on that lovely green land of yours."

Turlogh touched the hand of Terrilara. "I had much to fight for my friend." For the first time since the battle this gave cause for the woman to smile. And a lovely smile it was.

That night was a quiet one in the village. Elders from the other peoples of Torn came and made inquires of the tragic event. Preparations were made for funerals. Five yellow warriors had died and two others were gravely wounded but Zzthethpezemos assured everyone they would survive. Both were moved to his house for treatment. Additionally one woman and a young boy had died during the attack. The wails of mourning lasted well into the night despite the potions Zzthethpezemos had hastily prepared to soothe raw nerves and lighten the heavy yoke of grief.

That night Turlogh did not drink the blue drink called gellum or smoke the herb called non. The time was spent holding his woman and her child...their child. For this evening at least, Mayna was kept close to her mother. At last the little family fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning at dawn the bodies were brought out and placed on stretchers pulled by the mossund. Flowers, personal belongings, weapons, sweet smelling oils, and various other items were placed by the dead. Just inland, directly behind the village, was a goodly sized hill. The funeral procession wound its way slowly up a well worn path to the village graveyard atop that same knoll. Seven pits had been dug, each was filled up with wood and brush. The bodies were placed upon the pyres and the fires were lit. The Children of Zzthethpezemos chanted as the flames consumed the flesh of their precious departed ones.

Finally, the flesh was burned away and only the charred bones were left. These were covered by flowers and the personal items were placed in the graves. After a last tearful goodbye, stones were piled into the pits until a substantial cairn was constructed. Lastly, a tall pole was erected at the head of each grave. Anyone who wished took up a knife and carved some symbol of rememberence on the totems. Birds, fish, spears, and many other simple carving were soon applied. Turlogh learned that, at any time, one visiting the cairn was welcome to make a notch or etching on the pole. He noted that some poles of those long dead were literally covered with thousands of such markings. If a totem decayed and fell away a new one could be erected and the process started anew.

After all that could be done for the dead had been done, Zzthethpezemos declared a feast in honor of the departed. This was done in part to reassure the dead that life would continue as before in the village..albeit without them. That night there was much eating, drinking, smoking and dancing. Despite Terrilara's urging, Turlogh decided against displaying his nimble footwork at the dance. The Gael was a tremendous athlete but his great warrior's heart waxed weak at the prospect of possible ridicule. Brenne Mac Art was not deterred however. Fortified by much gellum and non, he hopped about on his one good leg like a mad crow. Even Turlogh chuckled at the sight. Zzthethpezemos saluted Brenne and rewarded him with a silver bracelet. With a flourish and bow Brenne passed the gift on to Ka. The girl beamed with joy and she embraced the warrior with a passion that might have wrenched a lesser man's back. Thus a sad day passed into memory.