Tyrmia Chapter 29
Korre was still tied up when he regained consciousness. He was laying face down with his arms wrapped around wooden stakes that were buried solidly into the hard jungle floor. He tried to move his feet, but realized that they were tied down too. He looked around the darkness and could not see anything but trees and grass in the distance.
He could feel the warmth of a fire and hear it crackling from behind him. Slowly, he lifted up his head and turned to face the fire. There were several vurhan males tending to the fire, their blue-green skin covered in a dull black, mud that was flaking off like dried dessert dirt.
He could not see any of his men and wondered if they were all dead. His mouth was parched yet he was sweating profusely from the jungle humidity. He tested the knots around his wrists and realized they were too tightly bound for him to wiggle free from so he gave up trying.
The vurhan warriors were gesturing excitedly, no doubt recalling how they were able to kill all of Korre’s best troops as they lay sleeping. He swore on his grave to revenge their deaths. He gravely underestimated the lethality of the jungle people. By killing off one tribe of natives he had somehow offended the local vurhan tribe enough to exact revenge on his detachment. The image of the frightened vurhan woman came into his mind again and he realized that killing her might have been the reason for the retaliation. Normally the wild vurhan were too afraid of the voton army to attack them outright. But this tribe had purposely hidden in the dark and attacked them when they were all asleep. Such bold tactics were uncharacteristic of the vurhan. Then he remembered seeing the female who had captured him. She had wielded a sword, of the type that existed only in museums. How had a vurhan tribe obtained a weapon of voton antiquity? It made his head hurt thinking about it. Then again, maybe his head hurt from being knocked out. He started to ease back into darkness, his eyes closing ever so slowly.
Someone grabbed his head by his hair and turned it away from the fire. Korre looked up sideways at the face of an apparition. A woman was looking down at him, her black skin was flaking off in pieces and underneath it was the white hot skin of a demon. Her eyes shined a cold blue and white color that he had never seen before. Her hair was streaked black but was clearly golden colored under the war paint. A more frightening sight he had never seen.
“What is your name, soldier?” the woman asked. Her crystal clear voice had an odd accent that he could not place.
“Korre, Commander Korre,” he said.
She let go of his head and his cheek hit the cold ground again.
“How many men did you have, Commander?” She snarled his rank as though she had absolutely no respect for it.
“Who wants to know?”
The woman smiled a twisted, toothy smile and stepped back. She was completely naked but for the black war paint and she carried a sword over her shoulder like a walking stick. “I’ll do the questioning, if you please.”
Korre picked up on her unusual phrasing and suddenly it hit him that he was probably talking to the alien woman that he was looking for. She was obviously not vurhan and despite her mud caked camouflage was far too smooth of forehead to be a voton woman and too small and thick of limb to be a Tyrmian.
“Are you the pilot of the plane from space?” he asked, ignoring her demand.
She looked down at him like he was lower than the lowest creature of the land. Then she looked away and had words with someone that Korre could not see. She was speaking the Tyrmian language and some version of vurhan he was not familiar with. He was not able to make out any of her words, so he studied her body in the flickering fire light.
She was very thin, for a voton. Thin and delicate as if a good push would snap her fragile arms. Her hair was full and long enough to fall around her shoulders. It extended from her forehead just above the eye brows, like a voton; but her brow line was thinner and her face narrower than a healthy voton woman. He found her oddly attractive and wanted to look away from her nakedness. But she captivated him and he continued staring at her.
She finished talking Tyrmian and looked down at him again, catching his awkward stare.
“Good night, commander,” she said.
He looked up at her questioningly for being clubbed on the back of his head again.
#
Zerdy had slept by the fire and awoke early the next morning. During the night survivors from the massacre had found their way back to the main camp. There were three women, mostly older and two orphaned children. The women tended to what food remained in the camp and managed to make a morning meal for the vurhan warriors. Zerdy ate her fill and thanked them and then left for the stream to bathe. Kwin informed the women of the dead and the wailing went on for the better part of an hour.
Zerdy could hear them weeping from clear down at the stream. She even cried for the fallen again, her tears lost in the water of the stream. She would never forget the look on Cyril’s face in death. That night she had even dreamed that Cyril was talking with her, like she had always done. If it were not for Cyril’s kind, patience manner with her when she first arrived, it was doubtful that Zerdy would be as comfortable with her new Tyrmian family. For that she would be always grateful to her vurhan friend.
Zerdy soaked her tired muscles in the cool, clear water and scrubbed the dried mud from every crevice of her body. The hair took the longest to clean and she considered hacking it off with the sword. In the end, she climbed out of the water refreshed and clean; picked up her sword and headed back to camp. She had to discuss with Kwin and Kaymon what they would do with the surviving voton.
She wanted him kept alive, so he could lead her back to the other side of the mountains, but she knew they would not want to follow her there. She knew that she had to go back with the voton commander. She had to see for herself how advanced they were. She had to know what she was up against, the next time they came into the jungle. The old Shaman was right, she was beginning to see herself as the protector of the Tyrmians and would do anything to keep the votons at bay. But first she had to see them for herself.
#
“I don’t like it. It’s wrong to go back and we all know it,” Kaymon said.
“But I have to understand what we are up against. If this one group does not come back, they may send more soldiers looking for them and then we would surely be out numbered,” Zerdy pleaded.
Kaymon looked away, his large arms folded across his chest. Kwin wanted to defend Zerdy, she could see it in his eyes, but he knew that the vurhan king was right.
“Zerdy, I would follow you to the ends of the world. But what you want to do is crazy. The blue-skins are truly evil. They do not live in accord with nature, they live in spite of it. They burn forests, make great holes in the ground and consume the harvest of the land with no regard to the future. With no regard to other tribes. To them we are just another animal to be hunted and killed. They killed our entire tribe!”
Kaymon nodded, “Your mate speaks the truth. These votons are not to be trusted and not to be allowed into our forest again.”
Zerdy looked askance at Kwin and then Kaymon. She looked at the green man standing with his spear in his arms and his heart in his stare. He could tell she was disappointed in his answer.
“If you two will not go, I will take the voton and go myself.” She turned around in a huff and started to leave.
Both men looked at each other and then at the blond female walking away.
“You go with her, she is your mate?”
Kwin shook his head, “She is not my mate.”
Kaymon raised a dark eyebrow at the comment. “I have a tribe to lead, I can’t go off on some crazy adventure,” he finally said. “Go with her, what have you here? Your tribe is welcome to come with us back to the trees.”
It was a generous offer and one that on any other day, would not have been offered by the fierce vurhan king. Kwin looked around at the hand full of Tyrmians in the camp. He saw the new Shaman standing tall across the camp, overseeing the prisoner. He looked young and inexperienced. Kwin wondered if Tenar would rise to a position of leadership in the reconstituted tribe, or perhaps that role was to be played by himself. He was the sole surviving hunter of the tribe and therefore the default leader.
Kwin moved up to Zerdy and put a palm on her shoulder, “I will come with you.”
Zerdy put her hand on his and smiled at him. “Okay, but you are not my mate.”
Kwin rolled his yellow eyes and his face flushed a darker green. He put his long green arms around her and she hugged him back. He was startled at how warm and soft her pale skin was against his body. He decided that he could get used to her touch.
Blue arms suddenly extended around them both.
“I can’t let you two go off alone together. Who would watch the prisoner?” Kaymon said to them.
#
Chief Kaymon informed his warriors that he would be going away for a while and he appointed his top man to be in charge while he was away. It was a risky move for him, Verro was younger and had almost as many wives as Kaymon. His place in the tribal pecking order was second only to Kaymon. But unlike some of the other males in the tribe, Kaymon trusted Verro and was grooming him to take over the tribe at a later date.
Verro took the news well, he stepped up and suggested that Kaymon should try and contact the vurhan underground. The Vurhne were responsible for sneaking out vurhan slaves from the west and leading them through secret tunnels under the mountains to the rain forest. Every few years a dozen or so freed vurhan made the hazardous journey and were adapted by vurhan tribes. Sometimes they smuggled items like knives and clothing and sometimes they came through with only the clothes on their backs. There were many long and winding tunnels through the heart of the mountains and only the Vurhne knew how to get through them safely.
Kaymon thought about it and decided that Verro was right, he would mention it to Zerdy. He told Verro to take in the Tyrmian women and children and to raise them as if they were vurhan. This was met with some skepticism in the warrior’s dark eyes, but Kaymon was sure he would follow through on it. Verro finally nodded his consent. Kaymon put his hand on Verro’s shoulder and the two men shook arms to seal the bargain.
He could feel the warmth of a fire and hear it crackling from behind him. Slowly, he lifted up his head and turned to face the fire. There were several vurhan males tending to the fire, their blue-green skin covered in a dull black, mud that was flaking off like dried dessert dirt.
He could not see any of his men and wondered if they were all dead. His mouth was parched yet he was sweating profusely from the jungle humidity. He tested the knots around his wrists and realized they were too tightly bound for him to wiggle free from so he gave up trying.
The vurhan warriors were gesturing excitedly, no doubt recalling how they were able to kill all of Korre’s best troops as they lay sleeping. He swore on his grave to revenge their deaths. He gravely underestimated the lethality of the jungle people. By killing off one tribe of natives he had somehow offended the local vurhan tribe enough to exact revenge on his detachment. The image of the frightened vurhan woman came into his mind again and he realized that killing her might have been the reason for the retaliation. Normally the wild vurhan were too afraid of the voton army to attack them outright. But this tribe had purposely hidden in the dark and attacked them when they were all asleep. Such bold tactics were uncharacteristic of the vurhan. Then he remembered seeing the female who had captured him. She had wielded a sword, of the type that existed only in museums. How had a vurhan tribe obtained a weapon of voton antiquity? It made his head hurt thinking about it. Then again, maybe his head hurt from being knocked out. He started to ease back into darkness, his eyes closing ever so slowly.
Someone grabbed his head by his hair and turned it away from the fire. Korre looked up sideways at the face of an apparition. A woman was looking down at him, her black skin was flaking off in pieces and underneath it was the white hot skin of a demon. Her eyes shined a cold blue and white color that he had never seen before. Her hair was streaked black but was clearly golden colored under the war paint. A more frightening sight he had never seen.
“What is your name, soldier?” the woman asked. Her crystal clear voice had an odd accent that he could not place.
“Korre, Commander Korre,” he said.
She let go of his head and his cheek hit the cold ground again.
“How many men did you have, Commander?” She snarled his rank as though she had absolutely no respect for it.
“Who wants to know?”
The woman smiled a twisted, toothy smile and stepped back. She was completely naked but for the black war paint and she carried a sword over her shoulder like a walking stick. “I’ll do the questioning, if you please.”
Korre picked up on her unusual phrasing and suddenly it hit him that he was probably talking to the alien woman that he was looking for. She was obviously not vurhan and despite her mud caked camouflage was far too smooth of forehead to be a voton woman and too small and thick of limb to be a Tyrmian.
“Are you the pilot of the plane from space?” he asked, ignoring her demand.
She looked down at him like he was lower than the lowest creature of the land. Then she looked away and had words with someone that Korre could not see. She was speaking the Tyrmian language and some version of vurhan he was not familiar with. He was not able to make out any of her words, so he studied her body in the flickering fire light.
She was very thin, for a voton. Thin and delicate as if a good push would snap her fragile arms. Her hair was full and long enough to fall around her shoulders. It extended from her forehead just above the eye brows, like a voton; but her brow line was thinner and her face narrower than a healthy voton woman. He found her oddly attractive and wanted to look away from her nakedness. But she captivated him and he continued staring at her.
She finished talking Tyrmian and looked down at him again, catching his awkward stare.
“Good night, commander,” she said.
He looked up at her questioningly for being clubbed on the back of his head again.
#
Zerdy had slept by the fire and awoke early the next morning. During the night survivors from the massacre had found their way back to the main camp. There were three women, mostly older and two orphaned children. The women tended to what food remained in the camp and managed to make a morning meal for the vurhan warriors. Zerdy ate her fill and thanked them and then left for the stream to bathe. Kwin informed the women of the dead and the wailing went on for the better part of an hour.
Zerdy could hear them weeping from clear down at the stream. She even cried for the fallen again, her tears lost in the water of the stream. She would never forget the look on Cyril’s face in death. That night she had even dreamed that Cyril was talking with her, like she had always done. If it were not for Cyril’s kind, patience manner with her when she first arrived, it was doubtful that Zerdy would be as comfortable with her new Tyrmian family. For that she would be always grateful to her vurhan friend.
Zerdy soaked her tired muscles in the cool, clear water and scrubbed the dried mud from every crevice of her body. The hair took the longest to clean and she considered hacking it off with the sword. In the end, she climbed out of the water refreshed and clean; picked up her sword and headed back to camp. She had to discuss with Kwin and Kaymon what they would do with the surviving voton.
She wanted him kept alive, so he could lead her back to the other side of the mountains, but she knew they would not want to follow her there. She knew that she had to go back with the voton commander. She had to see for herself how advanced they were. She had to know what she was up against, the next time they came into the jungle. The old Shaman was right, she was beginning to see herself as the protector of the Tyrmians and would do anything to keep the votons at bay. But first she had to see them for herself.
#
“I don’t like it. It’s wrong to go back and we all know it,” Kaymon said.
“But I have to understand what we are up against. If this one group does not come back, they may send more soldiers looking for them and then we would surely be out numbered,” Zerdy pleaded.
Kaymon looked away, his large arms folded across his chest. Kwin wanted to defend Zerdy, she could see it in his eyes, but he knew that the vurhan king was right.
“Zerdy, I would follow you to the ends of the world. But what you want to do is crazy. The blue-skins are truly evil. They do not live in accord with nature, they live in spite of it. They burn forests, make great holes in the ground and consume the harvest of the land with no regard to the future. With no regard to other tribes. To them we are just another animal to be hunted and killed. They killed our entire tribe!”
Kaymon nodded, “Your mate speaks the truth. These votons are not to be trusted and not to be allowed into our forest again.”
Zerdy looked askance at Kwin and then Kaymon. She looked at the green man standing with his spear in his arms and his heart in his stare. He could tell she was disappointed in his answer.
“If you two will not go, I will take the voton and go myself.” She turned around in a huff and started to leave.
Both men looked at each other and then at the blond female walking away.
“You go with her, she is your mate?”
Kwin shook his head, “She is not my mate.”
Kaymon raised a dark eyebrow at the comment. “I have a tribe to lead, I can’t go off on some crazy adventure,” he finally said. “Go with her, what have you here? Your tribe is welcome to come with us back to the trees.”
It was a generous offer and one that on any other day, would not have been offered by the fierce vurhan king. Kwin looked around at the hand full of Tyrmians in the camp. He saw the new Shaman standing tall across the camp, overseeing the prisoner. He looked young and inexperienced. Kwin wondered if Tenar would rise to a position of leadership in the reconstituted tribe, or perhaps that role was to be played by himself. He was the sole surviving hunter of the tribe and therefore the default leader.
Kwin moved up to Zerdy and put a palm on her shoulder, “I will come with you.”
Zerdy put her hand on his and smiled at him. “Okay, but you are not my mate.”
Kwin rolled his yellow eyes and his face flushed a darker green. He put his long green arms around her and she hugged him back. He was startled at how warm and soft her pale skin was against his body. He decided that he could get used to her touch.
Blue arms suddenly extended around them both.
“I can’t let you two go off alone together. Who would watch the prisoner?” Kaymon said to them.
#
Chief Kaymon informed his warriors that he would be going away for a while and he appointed his top man to be in charge while he was away. It was a risky move for him, Verro was younger and had almost as many wives as Kaymon. His place in the tribal pecking order was second only to Kaymon. But unlike some of the other males in the tribe, Kaymon trusted Verro and was grooming him to take over the tribe at a later date.
Verro took the news well, he stepped up and suggested that Kaymon should try and contact the vurhan underground. The Vurhne were responsible for sneaking out vurhan slaves from the west and leading them through secret tunnels under the mountains to the rain forest. Every few years a dozen or so freed vurhan made the hazardous journey and were adapted by vurhan tribes. Sometimes they smuggled items like knives and clothing and sometimes they came through with only the clothes on their backs. There were many long and winding tunnels through the heart of the mountains and only the Vurhne knew how to get through them safely.
Kaymon thought about it and decided that Verro was right, he would mention it to Zerdy. He told Verro to take in the Tyrmian women and children and to raise them as if they were vurhan. This was met with some skepticism in the warrior’s dark eyes, but Kaymon was sure he would follow through on it. Verro finally nodded his consent. Kaymon put his hand on Verro’s shoulder and the two men shook arms to seal the bargain.
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Ugh, first drafts are horrible. Enjoy the ugly.
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