Rusted Memories
“Get up, Qute! Come now, a warrior of the Kodiak’s can’t fall that easy!”
I groan. The warm grass at my back is so comfortable right now; far more comfortable than the prospect of getting struck by my father’s staff. However, if I give up now I’ll never hear the end of it. My eyes blink open, squinting against the bright orb in the clear sky, but I can’t help the grin forming across my lips.
“You got lucky, old man!” I try to sound fierce, but I know the voice of a ten year old is hardly the most intimidating sound in the world. The faint laugh of my mother is heard from the stone-packed abode nearby as she helps the others in my village prepare for the hunt, setting up cages and cleaning pens for the animals that will soon be brought back. Her laughter… it is like a faint melody on the wind, strong enough to be heard against the elements but gentle enough to soothe my soul.
A shadow covers the sun as my father stands over me. By the gods, he has to be the strongest man in the world! No one is as big as my father. His hands could crush boulders; I bet even the magic users from the skies that the elders talk about could not face him in battle!
“Hah! I just might have! But if so, all it takes is for your opponent to get lucky once! Remember to always keep your wits about you, and keep to your honour. When faced with insurmountable odds, you must advance. Always forward, always down, and never left or right.”
His face! It is broad and scarred and covered in the piercings that the elders bestow upon achieving feats of bravery. I heard that he slew a thousand men in one day, beating an entire tribe by himself when he was younger! He denies it, but I think it must have been ten thousand warriors and he’s just being modest.
He twirls the staff in his hand and I grunt as I shift up onto my knees. The faint bruise on my shoulder which knocked me to the ground is forming, but I do not care. His fierce expression shifts and it’s almost as if a different person is there. His mouth splits into a warm smile and I can’t help but feel warmth flow through me. I don’t know why the other children are scared of the neighbouring tribe. Sure, the Dragos have been conquering their neighbours, but we have the strongest warrior in the world here! Why don’t they feel as safe as I do?
“I can’t be losing my precious little lion, can I? Come now, let’s get you up and put some muscle on those scrawny little twigs you call arms!”
Indignation fills me. “I’m not a lion! I’m a fierce eagle! Eagles are prettier, and faster!”
He roars with laughter, a large hand slapping the hard flat plane of his abdomen with the sound of a hammer striking a rock.
“An eagle, is it!? Well an eagle shouldn’t be lying flat on the ground now, should they! Rise to your feet, young eagle and…” He trails off. The smile shifts and his brows furrow as his gaze shifts to the horizon. Drums… the horn? Why is the horn being sounded so early? The hunt isn’t yet to start until the sun begins its journey to the shadow side of the world.
“Walls-! … Man your… Bows! Swords!… Hide the-!” The tribe fills with so much noise and running. My father looks at me; his gentle expression is gone.
“Get up, Qute!”
“Father I… what’s going on? I don’t…”
“GET THE FUCK UP!”
I recoil. A monster stands before me. Icy fear fills my veins as the sun disappears and a grey shroud takes over the world. My father’s face—what was his name? Why can’t I…? It is no longer him. It twists into an ugly scarred visage—thinner and narrower and full of spite and disgust. Gone are my tribe’s tattoos, the piercings he is known for.
“Get the FUCK up, you useless gutter slave! I will not lose my creds because of a worthless bitch!”
My eyes drift down. The warmth of my memory fades. Ah… yes, here I am. I am gripping a rusty piss pot, though it is filled with water. In the slave pens we have to make do.
A thin, weathered face stares back at me. The grey eyes are dead; thin lines and dark shadows are already clear around them. Is that truly the face of a fourteen year old girl? At least… I think that’s how old I am now. How did it come to this? I was meant to soar, an eagle fierce and commanding of the skies… free.
I slowly unclench my hand around the pot. The nails are cracked and broken; blood and dirt are crusted underneath. I cannot remember whose blood it is.
The crowds of the arena scream as a man enters opposite me across the dirty, sandy floor. I look around at the pale baying faces of my people screaming for blood and violence. I feel the old familiar rage taking hold, but always underneath it… despair and a longing for what I can no longer remember. My teeth bare, but I cannot help but think: is this finally the fight that will kill me? I should have died long before, but there is something… something within me that refuses. I don’t know what it is, but it tells me I cannot die. It does not let me die.
Perhaps it shall abandon me today, like all others have.
But it does not matter. Whatever it is, use it and win. Or die. I rise to my feet and wrap my shaking hand around my spear shaft and exit the cage. The sounds of the crowds fill my ears until I cannot think… but through it all I hear something proud and beautiful
An eagle flies high over the arena, exhorting its call. I exhale, no longer lost in the sound. I advance. Always forwards.