Path of the Wind
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
12
Views:
742
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
12
Views:
742
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Attack!
This is mine, all mine. Leave it alone!!! Ask if you need backround information or anything else. I don't have a beta.
6
Sariandra rolls over wildly stabbing with her knife; it hooks, holds for a moment and then comes free. She swings her head from side to side, straining to make sense of the chaos around her. As a child runs past she grabs the small hand, roughly pulling down, in the same movement rolling onto her feet to crouch over the fallen shape. The cool night air is pierced by pain filled screams and shouts of anger. In the dark it is almost impossible to distinguish friend from foe. As the child starts to struggle she speaks in the soft tones of her people, she quiets down. In all directions people are running, this is bad, running makes you the perfect target. She hesitates for a split second then screams at the top of her lungs. “To me! Gerenti to me!” She anxiously watches as the shapes closest to her start to move. Trying to tell who is approaching her she gives another call. “Marahandra!” A shadow to her left answers with Dontenko and the one behind her with Mentyhe. The shape in front of her makes no sound. She drops lower, her knife held next to her thigh. She twists to block with her left shoulder, hoping to keep her right arm free to strike. As the man moves within arms reach she feels the numbing cold of metal against her back, a chain. She drops her right shoulder even more before turning her entire torso, striking low and to the centre of the dark mass that looms over her. Her sharp blade cuts deep into his abdomen, but still he makes no sound. Pakrash.
After that she has little recollection of the fight’s events. Minutes later the Pakrash disappear back into whichever hell that spawned them. The toll on the goya was high. Two women and four children are missing, taken by the carriers. All five the Kuriken had perished along with a large number from the rest of the clans. Of the six people who are left two are wounded. The little boy had sprained his ankle running away, which probably saved his life, while a Marahandra man had suffered a deep cut across his chest. The little group huddled through the remainder of the night. There was no more sense in running, the Pakrash had gotten what they wanted and would not return.
The next morning Serun is shy to show her face, she is hiding behind a cloud, the sky a blushing pink. The Tahina woman suddenly jumps up and points into the braking dawn. Fear returns to their hearts as they make out the dark shapes approaching. Weapons are drawn and prayers said to the gods. They watch quietly, shading their eyes against the brightening dawn. Relief makes the group collapse within itself as they recognise their own people. As the group comes closer they become recognisable, a patrol of Kuriken and Marahandra. Sariandra nearly cries as she realises the meaning. They had been mere hours of safety without realising it.
The two groups greet each other with great reserve. There is little to say beyond the story told on the plain around them. The patrol asks no questions beyond the names of the dead and the missing.
When they set out towards the Dontenko settlement they leave behind the rest of the goya. They have been returned to the plain, each clan to its own grave. The Dontenko face east, towards home, the Tahina face down into the ground whose bounty they gathered, the Marahandra face the suns that were their guides in life and the Kuriken face south, to keep an eternal vigil against their enemies.
AN: Here is a short discription of the Gerenti to help you understand some of the terms better.
Gerenti
Steppe people, hunters and nomads.
Travel after and ahead of the herds (Dendos, Mayanti)
Short people, no more than 5’5 tall.
Deeply tanned, hair from dark brown to pale blond.
Eyes brown.
Do not ride any animal.
Male, female equal, gods are nature based.
Reaches their majority at age fourteen.
Live in clans, ruled by chosen leaders.
Marahandra – hunters
Kuriken – warriors
Mentyhe – Shamans, dream caves, west, blue head band
Dontenko – Crafters, steam pools, east
Tihina – Gatherers
Gampo – Keepers of the stories, ice falls, north
6
Sariandra rolls over wildly stabbing with her knife; it hooks, holds for a moment and then comes free. She swings her head from side to side, straining to make sense of the chaos around her. As a child runs past she grabs the small hand, roughly pulling down, in the same movement rolling onto her feet to crouch over the fallen shape. The cool night air is pierced by pain filled screams and shouts of anger. In the dark it is almost impossible to distinguish friend from foe. As the child starts to struggle she speaks in the soft tones of her people, she quiets down. In all directions people are running, this is bad, running makes you the perfect target. She hesitates for a split second then screams at the top of her lungs. “To me! Gerenti to me!” She anxiously watches as the shapes closest to her start to move. Trying to tell who is approaching her she gives another call. “Marahandra!” A shadow to her left answers with Dontenko and the one behind her with Mentyhe. The shape in front of her makes no sound. She drops lower, her knife held next to her thigh. She twists to block with her left shoulder, hoping to keep her right arm free to strike. As the man moves within arms reach she feels the numbing cold of metal against her back, a chain. She drops her right shoulder even more before turning her entire torso, striking low and to the centre of the dark mass that looms over her. Her sharp blade cuts deep into his abdomen, but still he makes no sound. Pakrash.
After that she has little recollection of the fight’s events. Minutes later the Pakrash disappear back into whichever hell that spawned them. The toll on the goya was high. Two women and four children are missing, taken by the carriers. All five the Kuriken had perished along with a large number from the rest of the clans. Of the six people who are left two are wounded. The little boy had sprained his ankle running away, which probably saved his life, while a Marahandra man had suffered a deep cut across his chest. The little group huddled through the remainder of the night. There was no more sense in running, the Pakrash had gotten what they wanted and would not return.
The next morning Serun is shy to show her face, she is hiding behind a cloud, the sky a blushing pink. The Tahina woman suddenly jumps up and points into the braking dawn. Fear returns to their hearts as they make out the dark shapes approaching. Weapons are drawn and prayers said to the gods. They watch quietly, shading their eyes against the brightening dawn. Relief makes the group collapse within itself as they recognise their own people. As the group comes closer they become recognisable, a patrol of Kuriken and Marahandra. Sariandra nearly cries as she realises the meaning. They had been mere hours of safety without realising it.
The two groups greet each other with great reserve. There is little to say beyond the story told on the plain around them. The patrol asks no questions beyond the names of the dead and the missing.
When they set out towards the Dontenko settlement they leave behind the rest of the goya. They have been returned to the plain, each clan to its own grave. The Dontenko face east, towards home, the Tahina face down into the ground whose bounty they gathered, the Marahandra face the suns that were their guides in life and the Kuriken face south, to keep an eternal vigil against their enemies.
AN: Here is a short discription of the Gerenti to help you understand some of the terms better.
Gerenti
Steppe people, hunters and nomads.
Travel after and ahead of the herds (Dendos, Mayanti)
Short people, no more than 5’5 tall.
Deeply tanned, hair from dark brown to pale blond.
Eyes brown.
Do not ride any animal.
Male, female equal, gods are nature based.
Reaches their majority at age fourteen.
Live in clans, ruled by chosen leaders.
Marahandra – hunters
Kuriken – warriors
Mentyhe – Shamans, dream caves, west, blue head band
Dontenko – Crafters, steam pools, east
Tihina – Gatherers
Gampo – Keepers of the stories, ice falls, north