Marked (10 page)

Komir got on one knee and blocked the other warrior’s attack. He looked toward his father, desperate to see how he was doing. Ulis was fighting off one of the tiger warriors. At his feet were the bodies of two of the barbarians Ulis had killed. He was bleeding profusely; his face and his tunic were cut and covered in red stains. He was retreating, fiercely defending himself against his adversary. With the severity of his wounds and the loss of blood he would not last much longer.

Komir was shaking.
I have to help him or he will die!

A third attacker stormed in with his blade held high in both hands and headed straight for Mirta.

Komir, leaning on his knee, leaped up and planted a forceful kick in the attacker’s face. Stunned, he was forced to retreat. Komir took advantage of the moment and outwitted his enemy by changing the movement from a slash to a thrust at the last moment, stabbing him in the heart. The warrior howled in pain, then fell to his knees as the life drained from his body.

Mirta shot an arrow at the attacker rushing toward her. It hit him in the right side of the chest but he kept coming at her, as if possessed by demons. Before she could load another arrow, he was on her. The warrior raised his sword and then brought it down on her.

“Nooooo!” Komir screamed in despair.

Mirta blocked the strike by holding the bow with both hands above her head. On impact, it split in two with a sharp
crack.
The warrior raised the sword again, ready to kill her. Mirta dropped the two pieces of bow and took out her knife in a vain attempt to defend herself.

The tiger warrior laughed.

Komir sprung at him with everything he had and drove his sword into the back of his neck before the aggressor could kill his mother.

The tiger warrior convulsed and dropped the sword. Then he breathed his last and collapsed.

At that moment, three more massive tiger warriors burst into the house. Their ferocious appearance and enormous size made a formidable, intimidating impression. Komir recognized the leader in the middle of the group... In one hand he was carrying the spear with the bloody tip he had seen in his dream. The two men with him wearing white tiger pelts were armed with short bows. They looked like a trio of wild beasts from the depths of some sinister jungle.

Before Komir could react and attack, both archers took their shot.

Komir jumped out of the way but the arrow hit him in the shoulder. He felt a stab of pain. He skidded across the floor then tried to stand up.

He looked at his mother.

A boundless anguish gushed over his very soul. Kneeling on the floor, her head drooping, Mirta peered through the darkness at the black arrow protruding from her stomach.

“Mother! No! Noooooo!” screamed Komir.

Out of his mind with agony, Komir threw himself at the three attackers with wild abandon.

Forced back by another arrow that hit him in the right thigh, he lost his balance and fell to the floor. In that same moment, he saw his father finish off his assailant and heard his agonizing scream of despair as he saw his wife, dying.

“Mirta, Mirta! No! Mirta!”

With a desperate, raging howl, Ulis hurled himself at the three warriors in an impossible attempt to save his family.

The powerful enemy leader readied his spear. With both hands he blocked Ulis’ feverish attacks then brutally struck the Norriel in the face, leaving him stunned. The leader of the tiger warriors calmly took one step back. His violent, slanted eyes silently analyzed the incapacitated Norriel. With a swift thrust of his arm he drove the bloody spear through his victim. Mortally wounded, Ulis dropped his sword. He took hold of the spear that would end his life and took two unsteady steps backwards. He looked at his beloved wife, took one desperate step in her direction and then stumbled and collapsed on his side on the floor.

“Noooooo! Father! Noooooo!” bellowed Komir with a deafening wail of unfathomable anguish. The powerlessness and the agony were too much for him. He felt as though he would go out of his mind.

The leader of the tiger warriors gave an order to his two men in a guttural, unintelligible language then walked over to Ulis. The two tiger warriors put down their short bows, drew their swords and slowly approached Komir and Mirta to finish them off.

Komir could not get up. It took all he had to get on one knee. From one of his boots he took out a small throwing dagger.

The leader approached Ulis. With one last effort born of absolute desperation, the valiant Norriel tried to continue the fight to save his family. As the leader of the tiger warriors raised his sword, Ulis, staring at him defiantly, struggled to his knees and proudly and fearlessly spit at his enemy. With one swift motion, the warrior finished off the brave Norriel.

Komir hurled his dagger at the tiger warrior heading straight for him, intent on ending his life. He released it with a force born of the wrath and madness of that fateful moment. The weapon stabbed the warrior in the right eye with such violence that it drove him back several steps before his lifeless body dropped to the floor. 

Mirta lifted her eyes from the black arrow in her stomach. She stared at her dead husband, then with every ounce of strength she had left in her lungs she let out a long, high-pitched wail toward the heavens, shattering the silence of the night.

Komir gazed at her, recognizing the unmistakable Norriel warning call—a shriek could awaken neighbors long distances away and alert the village guard.

The enemy warrior hurried to silence Mirta. He lifted his sword, preparing to slaughter her. Mirta lowered her head, accepting her fatal destiny. She looked defeated, hopeless. The warrior placed his sword on the Norriel’s neck and cackled menacingly. With a quick, unexpected move, Mirta plunged the knife she’d been hiding behind her back into the warrior’s boot—penetrating through his foot and into the wooden floor. The warrior howled and, as he doubled over in pain, the sword moved away from her neck. In one swift motion Mirta pulled the knife out with both hands and drove it into the enemy warrior’s gut. He recoiled in a sea of suffering.

The tiger leader slowly approached Komir and delivered a powerful kick to his head. He blacked out for an instant, and when he came to his vision was still blurry. As it began to focus he could see the enormous assassin had moved behind his mother’s back. He was holding her by the hair and had his sword against her neck. A stream of blood spilled over the floor from the arrow in the brave Norriel’s stomach. Mirta looked upon her son and, with tears in her eyes, said to him:

“Live, Son; you must survive!”

“Mother!” was the one word Komir could pronounce in his agony, stretching out his hand in a vain attempt to reach her.

“Live another day; you must save yourself, Son!”

“Mother!”

“Live, Komir!”

The leader warrior looked at Komir, a glimmer of triumph in his black, almond-shaped eyes. In a fleeting moment he slit Mirta’s throat and let the brave Norriel’s body drop to the floor as Komir watched his mother collapse on her side. As her head hit the floor, the light went out in her eyes; the glimmer of life faded from her face... never to return again.

“No! Noooooo! Noooooo!” screeched Komir, with the despair of a thousand souls damned to eternal suffering. His pain and grief were so deep his mind could not fathom what was happening. Enraged, he stood up—oblivious to the two arrows embedded in his flesh and the acute loss of blood.

He picked the sword up off the floor and began an assault on the mighty leader who almost effortlessly blocked his frantic attack. This enemy was not only powerful but a highly skilled warrior and an incredibly well-trained swordsman. A swift and forceful blow sent Komir stumbling backwards, nearly knocking him out. The warrior was fighting with the power and speed of a great feline. Komir managed to quickly execute a thrust but his enemy parried and counterattacked, cutting Komir’s arm. Blood immediately gushed from the wound.

His rival was stronger and more skillful. He would not be able to defeat him.

All was lost.

He would not live to see another day.

His right leg faltered from the injury and he fell to one knee. It mattered not; he would fight to the end. He would die like a Norriel, sword in hand.

“Norriel are we, Norriel shall we die!” he cried out, tears of rage filling his eyes.

He launched one last, desperate thrust toward the savage beast’s stomach but he easily averted it and disarmed Komir with a mere flick of his wrist. Sure of his victory, he began laughing. A hideous, guttural cackle.

Komir gazed upon his parents one last time, their lifeless bodies spread across the floor as if subjects in a morbid, macabre painting. An uncontrollable rage possessed him once again but his body could no longer respond to it. He had absolutely no strength left; every muscle paralyzed. Yet, something awoke inside him; something intense and self-willed. A feeling that was both familiar yet strange to him. He felt a powerful force emanating from inside his body; thousands of tiny particles emitting glimmers of pure energy that coursed through him and collected in his chest.

The tiger leader stood over him and, looking into his eyes, raised his sword above Komir’s head.

The final moment. Death.

I must live. I must kill this bloodthirsty assassin!

The sword began its deadly descent toward his neck.

Not wanting to give up the fight, Komir lifted his left arm to protect himself from the lethal blow. And in that instinctive move to defend himself, the powerful energy stored inside him surged forth from his body, propelled by the immeasurable fury and absolute desperation that had overtaken him. It exploded against his attacker with a terrible virulence. The tiger leader was blown backwards across the room from the violent force and smashed into the stone wall of the hut. It was a brutal, horrifying blow.

Komir was astonished.
This cannot be... it has happened again. I don’t know how, but it has happened again.

Sprawled on the floor, his enemy observed him. Without saying a word he slowly began to get up. As if indestructible. Superhuman. Komir could not believe his eyes. The impact had been unmercifully fierce—more than any human could endure. This man had to have broken every bone in his body. Even so, he was still intent on coming for Komir, still wanting to carry out his mission. As if the laws of nature did not apply to him.

Komir again reached for his sword and without a drop of strength, in a last-ditch, futile effort, tried to grasp it. The warrior took two steps and raised his sword over his head.

He took another step, and collapsed on the floor.

Dead.

Komir released his sword.

He lost consciousness and was hurled into blackness.

Midway through a stormy, gray afternoon, a private meeting was taking place in the Tribal Council’s courtroom. A young man limped into the building and greeted the two guards dressed in bearskins posted at the door. When the warriors recognized him, they saluted him and withdrew the lances they had crossed to impede access to the building. Reluctantly, the young man slowly advanced and went directly into the courtroom. He stood before the great oak table and observed the twelve elected members of the Council seated there, waiting for him. Auburu presided over the Council. She greeted him with a welcoming smile and a serene expression. To her right was seated Master Smith Althor, who seemed lost in thought. To the left of the leader, Master Warrior Gudin greeted him with a quick nod of the head. The rest of the twelve prominent members of the community simply looked at him with concern.

“Welcome to the Tribal Council, Komir,” Auburu warmly greeted him as she stood and smiled. “We are happy to see that you have finally recuperated and are once again healthy. You fought so long for your life, often closer to the kingdom of the mistress of eternal night than to that of the living. There were moments when we feared she would take you with her.”

Komir looked at the floor and sighed. He still could not believe he was alive. Against all odds, he had survived. He had no idea how; he should have been dead. Nearly four long months had passed since that fateful night, and the serious wounds he’d incurred were still pitilessly punishing his body. He suffered from intense pain and sporadic spasms he had to fight to control. His body needed more time to heal. His spirit, though, would never heal.

“Thank you, Auburu. I feel much better. Suason’s care has truly worked miracles.”

Komir found it strange to see Amtoko and Suason among those gathered at the meeting since they were not voting members of the Council. Only on a handful of occasions did the Council call on nonmembers and, generally, only for extremely serious matters.

“I want to publicly thank Suason for having saved my life. Her knowledge of medicine is extraordinary,” he said appreciatively, looking at the tribe’s elderly Healer as he bowed in a show of gratitude and respect.

“I was only doing my job, young bear. Your body and spirit are as strong as the mighty oak. That is what saved you; that—and the constant vigilance of the three goddesses. Ikzuge, the nourishing Goddess of the Sun, watched over you during the long days of your convalescence at the request of her mother, Iram. And every night at sunset she was relieved by her sister Igrali, the wise Goddess of the Moon. Without the intervention of the three goddesses on your behalf, I would not have been able to do anything for you,” the Healer explained, a look of affection in her eyes.

“You were lucky that arrow in your stomach did not finish you off. Two inches to the right and you would not be here today,” said Master Warrior Gudin, shaking his head. “I have seen many wounds like that, and nine out of ten men do not survive. You should consider yourself quite fortunate. I agree with Suason that the goddesses smiled upon you with their blessings; otherwise we would be returning you to the bosom of our mother, Iram.”

“Sit down at the Council’s table, please,” invited Auburu, pointing to a place at the table.

“Thank you,” responded Komir. He sat at the end of the enormous table, facing Auburu.

“Before we begin to deal with the matter at hand, I would like to know if the funeral rites and distinctions with which the tribe memorialized your family were what you had hoped for. Your family has always been cherished and respected in our community and they deserved to be sent off to their eternal rest with every honor.”

Komir swallowed hard, trying to choke back the pain rising up in his throat.

“Yes, Auburu, the farewell was fit for a Norriel leader; I could not have asked for anything better,” he answered, his voice faltering with pent-up emotion.

Auburu nodded. “The purpose of this Council meeting,” continued the leader,
“is to understand what happened. There are many unanswered questions; we must find out why this tragedy occurred.”

“I am at the disposal of the Council and the tribe.”

“These foreign assailants with their slanted eyes and tiger pelts were expert warriors,” began Gudin without pretext. “The way they fought is proof of this. These were no ordinary warriors; if they had been, Ulis and Komir—with Mirta’s help—would have been able to defeat them. They were an assault force. Men with exceptional skills.”

“Foreigners we know absolutely nothing of. Has anyone ever heard anything about these people?” Auburu asked the Counselors. “Perhaps you, Ailite? You, the grandmother of the tribe, with your one hundred and ten springs?”

Ailite cleared her worn-out throat.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I must say I know nothing of these foreign peoples, though I admit my memory is not what it used to be... I am familiar with the blond, pale-skinned men from the icy lands to the northeast, from way beyond the great mountains where the snow is ever-present... with their lightly colored eyes and their rude mannerisms... as cold as their snow-covered lands... heartless, and as direct as their sharpened war axes. Tall, strong men, with long, golden hair and beards, but with icy hearts and manners to match.

“The men of the snow, the Norghanians,” added Auburu.

“I have seen the men from the distant South, past the kingdom of Rogdon; born in the desert lands, with their dark, tanned skin burnt by the arid sun. Dark eyes, dark hair, always carrying their imposing scimitars... Always courteous and friendly, full of flattery... and always dangerous. Never trust them or you’ll find a curved dagger in your back and a smile on their faces,” explained Ailite.

“The men of the deserts, the Noceans,” clarified Auburu.

“And we are all quite familiar with our neighbors from the southern plains. The kingdom of Rogdon holds no secrets for our tribe. We have been trading and negotiating with them for many years. These warriors most certainly did not come from there. No, the men with slanted eyes and lemon-colored skin have never been seen in these lands,” Ailite concluded.

Auburu nodded pensively. “And what is your opinion, Amtoko? You have been so quiet, and your insights on these matters are always quite wise.”

“When the members of the Council debate, one must listen and reflect. But since you are asking me, I will tell you... It makes sense that they are from some faraway land... even from overseas... Otherwise we would have some evidence of their existence, though it is true enough that there are remote, unexplored places in Tremia. Small kingdoms and city-states exist on the east coast that we know nothing of. In any case, I would say those men come from much farther away, from another continent...”

“But why come so far to attack a Bikia family? Was it chance or premeditated?” Auburu pondered.

Amtoko cleared her throat.

“It might be considered chance... Savage foreigners lost in an inhospitable land... an accident of life... if not for one small detail. The body of a man with slanted eyes was discovered some eighteen years ago, and that event marked Komir’s arrival to our village...”

An uneasy murmur filled the room.

“That is true,” corroborated Auburu, quieting their voices with an authoritative wave of her hand.

“The two incidents must be related...” Althor thought out loud.

“That’s right; these kinds of ‘coincidences’ never really are,” assured Gudin.

“That very day we buried all traces of that foreigner...” Amtoko began to explain, grabbing the attention of everyone present. “We did not place much importance on the fact that he was a man with distinct eyes, of a different race never before seen by any Norriel. It was a conscious decision. Under the watchful vigilance of Igrali, the wise Goddess of the Moon, we tried to play down that fact, as if it were just a matter of a random accident. At the time it seemed like the right decision. There was no need to place a greater stigma on the strange apparition of that baby than there already was.”

A wave of whispers again rippled through the room.

“Silence! Quiet down. Silence!” insisted Auburu.

Clearing her throat again, Amtoko went on. “That happened eighteen springs ago... Now, after so many years, the men with the slanted eyes have returned, and they’ve returned—in my opinion—for him,” she stated, pointing at Komir. “No, this was no accident. Their objective was Komir; of that I have no doubt. Two such strange coincidences are not a matter of chance—quite the opposite, actually.”

All those present nodded and the whispering resumed.

“Komir, do you have any suspicions about why they are looking for you? Did your parents ever mention something that would in any way make you think something like this would happen?” questioned Auburu.

“No. I have no idea of the reason. My parents never told me anything about my past. It is a complete mystery to me. I am sorry I can’t shed any light on this situation. Believe me—I would like nothing better than to be able to offer you an answer. I myself need those answers.”

“You should not torment yourself about what happened, young bear. It was not your fault. The threads of destiny are moving dark forces we know nothing of,” reassured Amtoko, raising her hands and gesticulating. “Unfortunately, you are caught in the web of a merciless destiny.”

“I believe we should reinforce the security on our borders. Since we’ve been enjoying a time of peace, we’ve relaxed the border patrols. We must fortify them and step up surveillance in the fishing towns on the coast. For all we know, this group of warriors may have arrived by sea. A fisherman saw a strange ship with foreign sails anchored near Leike Bay the morning after that fateful night. The boat did not wait for survivors; it departed shortly after being sighted,” Gudin explained.

“If they came for Komir from faraway lands once, it is reasonable to think they might try again since they failed in their first attempt,” reasoned Althor.

“If that is the case, we shall be ready and waiting for them. They will not catch us off-guard again,” Gudin responded.

“What will happen if they send more men this time, or even an army to invade us? We do not really know what they are searching for or what they are trying to get,” noted Lemak, the woodcutter.

“If they send an army we will spot them and will stand up to them just as we have always done: united, as Norriel. We will call together the rest of the thirty tribes, and united we shall defeat the enemy,” proclaimed Auburu resolutely.

“That will not be necessary,” interrupted Komir. “I have decided to... leave the village... I’m leaving.”

The murmurs among the council members immediately increased in volume.

“I am going after those responsible for the death of my parents. I will find them and bring justice to them.”

“Vengeance is a foolish companion,” cautioned the Witch.

“Amtoko is right. There is no need for you to leave. You are a Bikia, a Norriel in your own right and the tribe will protect you,” assured Auburu.

“Not everyone shares your opinion. Plenty of people will feel relieved once I leave the village. They will sleep better at night. I don’t blame them—it’s only natural. I have always been a stranger among my own people... incomprehensible events marked my life, and what has happened now is only going to make the situation worse. No matter what I do, it will always be that way. But I do appreciate your kind words, from the bottom of my heart. You are a just leader and I thank you for that, Auburu.”

“You will not be able to face them by yourself, young warrior,” warned Gudin.

“You do not even know where or who they are,” protested Althor.

“I have made my decision. I will not change my mind. I will find those responsible and I will have justice—or die trying” he said, not a shadow of doubt in his voice.

“But this is madness! Think this over, Komir. You are young and impulsive. Reconsider your decision, I implore you,” pleaded Auburu.

“I have had much time to consider all this while I was healing; thinking was nearly all I could do... My decision is made,” Komir declared to the Council.

A heavy silence came over the room; no one dared break it. Finally, with a heavy heart, Auburu announced:

“In that case we shall not oppose your wishes. The tribe shall permit you to leave. When your search is completed and you wish to return—whether or not you’ve delivered your justice—do not hesitate even a moment. This is your home and it always will be.”

“Thank you,” said Komir, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. 

The meeting of the Council was adjourned. Komir left the building amidst the continued deliberating, debating whispers of those in attendance.

But he did not care what the Council thought.

He would find those responsible.

He would have justice.