The earth was already old. Land has formed. The lush forests in the centre. The freezing tundra in the south. The beautiful lands hidden in the giant western sea, and the vast sand dunes around it. The rolling hillsides to the north-west. And, of course, the apparently uninhabitable wasteland rocky wasteland that completely covers the east of the planet.
There were six tribes. The first, those that called themselves Gionan, build their settlement in the forests of the central land. Their large village was perched on the edge of a hill, above a waterfall. Below it, a large river was forming, pushing it’s way through the trees. On the banks of the river, Gionans erected farms, growing all kinds of crops for the villagers to eat.
But the Gionan’s settlement, called Giona, was in danger.
Not by the wolves that stalked the woods at night. Not by the harsh monsoons that ripped the leaves apart in the summer. But by men. They were greedy, power hungry. They lived in Barben, a smaller village miles away from Giona. They were known as Barbarians.
This is where the story begins.
A young Giona huntsman is who it begins with. His name is Makana.
Giona
He raises his bow. That is what he calls it, a bow. It’s something he had fashioned himself, taking a slightly arced piece of wood and tightly fastening a piece of string to either end. Makana places a pointed piece of wood in the groove of the bow, pulling it backwards. The beast he’s looking down on was grazing on a wild flower that it had found while roaming through the forest. Now it would be dinner.
Makana releases his grip on the string and the wood goes flying through the air, cutting through the wind. The beast gives an ear piercing howl as the wood penetrates his torso, causing him to slump to the ground. Makana places his bow in a strap on the back of his shirt, and then grabs hold of the rope tied around his waist. He looks to the tree 10 feet away from him, making sure the other end is tied there, and allows himself to fall from the branch. He, like the arrow, cuts through the air, the rope keeping him from tumbling to the ground. As soon as his feet hit the dirt floor he digs his heels into the mud, slowly coming to a stop. Swiftly untying the rope from his waist, he strolls to the beast. It is still breathing, it’s chest heaving in an attempt to stay alive.
“Thank you for you sacrifice.” Makana calmly tells the beast, before taking another pointed piece of wood and using it to slit the poor thing’s throat. He dislodges his two arrows, as he calls them, and puts them back in their pouch, which is strapped to his leg.
“You shouldn’t be too heavy.” He says to the beast. It was something that helped take away the guilt of ending the animal’s lives. That, and the fact that this beast could help to keep the villagers alive. He swiftly climbs the tree to which the rope is attached, unraveling the tight knot, and then tying it around the body of the animal. He put his back to the carcass, facing the path back to the village, and began to tug on the rope. The beast’s body slowly trails behind him as he goes.
The boiling sun begins to warm Makana’s body as he enters the clearing. The rope suddenly gets entangled in a thorn bush. As Makana works to untangle it, he starts to feel strange. Like something is not right. He feels watched. Standing up again, the rope untangled, he walks slowly, his head darting left and right, to make sure no one is following him. He reaches the other end of the clearing, where the dirt path through the forest continues. As soon as he starts to feel safe, it happens. He feels something close around his ankle, and within seconds, he is swept from the ground, the rope falling out of his hands. He dangles upside down, a piece of rope around his lower leg tied to a tree just above him. It’s a trap that he normally uses to catch smaller game, but he knows that he hadn’t put any down in this spot for a long time.
“Mss ajan, Kor hunda mi pa?”
“Nes. Ka Ajan gan yu fusell.”
Makana’s heart is burning and thumping. Does he hear voices? And if they are voices, why are they talking in such a strange language?
“Whoever you are, I’m just a hunter. Don’t worry, I’m Gionan.” There’s silence.
“Hello?” Nothing. Makana reaches for his “arrows,” but when he fumbles around on his back, his hands don’t meet them. That’s when he sees his arrows sprawled out across the floor. He tries desperately to grab one, thrusting his hand downwards, but it doesn’t work.
“Show yourself!” Makana shouts. He’s trying to sound bold, but there is no hiding the way his words came out shakily.
“Mssasa.” He hears from the bushes, and suddenly, they came into view. Three people. Terror is instantly struck into Makana. He doesn’t recognize them. They are of his race, but are wearing strange clothes. Armours crafted of metals, and two of them wear menacing wooden helmets with faces carves into them.
Could it really be? Could there really be more people on this earth than there were at Giona?
“Ajan. Gom em ka renash ton ka Barben?” It is the man without a mask. He comes up close to Makana, staring into his eyes. Makana tries to think of something to do, or say, quickly. These men are carrying weapons, swords, which are long and twice as wide, shining in the light. Blood is rushing to his head. His hand suddenly lashes out, trying to meet an arrow on the floor. The man in front of him reacts swiftly and brutally, He draws his sword and lashes out with it. There’s a flash of pain in Makana’s arm, and as he looks down in horror, he sees a huge gash on his forearm, the shirt around it torn. The pain is horrible, like the wound is burning through his arm, and putting his good hand over it just stopped blood spraying on the floor.
The man talks again, and Makana is instantly flabbergasted. He speaks in Gionian.
“I said. Speak… You… The tongue…. Of the BARBEN?” Makana is silent. He stares at the man, wincing in pain at his wound.
“Who are you…. And what do you want from me?” Was all Makana could manage.
“We are Barbarians. And we want you to deliver a message for us. Tell your leader…. That this is our land…” As he talks the two other men come up to him. They use their swords to cut the rope free. Makana falls to the ground, headfirst, into his blood and arrows.
“And that by settling here, you have sinned in the eyes of the Barbarians.” The masked man on the right drops to his knees, using his right hand to grab Makana’s collar, and sending his left hand into Makana’s face. He does it again. And again. Makana feels blood trickling from cuts all over his face. His cheeks become tender and bruised. He tries to resist, to push the men away, but one arm is completely useless and the man with no mask keeps his foot on Makana’s other arm. He soon becomes too week to thrash around.
“Tell your leader as well, that we punish sins with death.”
The man who is talking grabs Makana’s left leg, still keeping his arm pinned. He then raises his sword.
“Soon, your kingdom will be dust.” He forces the sword downwards. It makes contact with Makana’s leg. He screams. The men disappear as quickly as they appeared.
Makana sees Giona through the trees. It’s not aflame, or besieged. People are going about their daily tasks, happy as always. Makana stumbles through the bushes and collapses in the tall grass at the outskirts of the village. He manages to pick himself up, using his right leg to walk. He leaves a trail of blood behind him. As soon as he enters the town, Alma sees him. She drops the clothes she is carrying to the river, her face wide eyed and horrified. She calls for help, but Makana hears it as if it were far away. He can’t stand anymore. His eyes droop as he collapses to the ground. In front of him, he sees Tolmus, their leader, and behind him, a crowd. More than half of the village is gathered around him.
“What happened, Makana? What beast or monster has done this to you?” His voice echoes. Makana reaches out to him, trying to form words. He has to tell them.
“Invaders.” He manages. Gasps from the crowd. He coughs. His bruised lips form another word. “Bar….barians.”
There were six tribes.
While the people of Giona were preparing for an invasion, another war was coming to an end.
Rzzaki.
Living in the snowy land of the south. They were once a strong settlement of 1,000 people. Half of them lived in one village, Rzzaki, and the other in a different settlement a mile from the first one, called Rzzamika.
Then, Rzzamiki betrayed Rzzaki. There was a feast, celebrating the most successful hunting month they have had in years. Everybody was in Rzzaki.
That was when Rzzamiki took their chance.
They had been waiting for years, forging a fake alliance with the other village, convincing them that they could be trusted. When their bond was stronger than ever, Rzzamaki attacked Rzzaki. Their soldiers killed 100 villagers, taking all of their supplies back to their settlement before they left. Those who survived, they wounded, or did wicked things to.
Now, six months after, Rzzaki takes revenge. Led by their king, Nageti, they strike.
Rzzaki
“Men and women. Today, we will bring justice to our land. Many of us have been scarred by the attack in Sunfall. We have all lost some of those dearest to us. So now, the Rzzamaki will suffer. Remember, the guards and soldiers must die. So must Talmet himself, the treacherous scum who ordered this attack. Spare the woman and the children, and the men who did not participate in the slaughter. Keep your swords at your side. Those who wield projectile weapons, stop when I say the word, and use them. Then, you will collect more ammunition from the stockpile under Icehill and fire again. Those who fight in the vanguard, abandon your steeds when we reach the walls. Climb over their defences, or push through if you can.” Nageti pauses, jumping up onto his steed. He runs his hand through it’s white fur, before putting his hands on the reigns attached to the beast. To rouse his men, he sais one final thing.
“When our ancestors look back at the moon passing of Icereign, they will remember it as the passing when our kin dominated the evil that PLAGUES THIS LAND!” before he even finishes, his 150 soldiers roared. They were ready. He puts his hand on the hilt of the greatsword nestled under his fur armour, drawing it. He can raise it with one hand.
“FORWARD!” He hollers. Nageti kicks his steed twice, and it goes thundering ahead. Beside him, there are 50 others, all charging forward, swords raised and projectiles aimed. They attack the harsh blizzard, not able to see ahead. It matters not. Each man knows their way across this stretch of land, and could easily traverse it with their eyes closed.
“We’re getting close now! Be ready to dismount-“ Nageti is interrupted by the sound of something cutting through the air. Before he could decipher the sound, three huge objects appeared above them, plummeting down to earth. They crash into the ground just left of him, and their line of attack is suddenly broken. Three of the mounts stop in their tracks, hit by the objects, and their riders go flying. Nageti now knows what is happening.
“They know we approach! The traitors are using their machinations to weaken our attack! We must increase our speed!” There’s a ferocious cry from the soldiers as they urge their beasts to go faster. They are thundering across the land now, ploughing through the snow.
“PROJECTILES, FIRE!” With swift reactions, the last two lines of soldiers drop off, and the air is suddenly filled with their ammunition, hurtling towards the settlement of Rzzamaki. Another round of rocks come flying through the air, but their beasts manage to dodge it, and they come to a stop in the ground behind them. Nageti can see the walls of Rzzamaki through the snowstorm now. They are just five seconds away.
“DISMOUNT, NOW!” He screamed urgently, and like dancers, each soldier flew from their beasts, landing, in the snow feet first. The animals retreat, but Nageti’s men keep moving up. Projectiles continue to fly through the air from both sides, like fighters exchanging blows. His men reached the walls. There are at least 100 men lining the walls, ready for an attack. Nageti digs his left hand into a groove in the wooden wall, holding his greatsword in his other hand. All around him, his men do the same. He sees a guard above him, stabbing at the man to Nageti’s left with a dagger. He sweeps his greatsword upwards and it finds the guard’s arm. He drops the dagger, collapsing to the ground.
“KILL THEM ALL!” says a booming voice below Nageti. A hole in the wooden wall suddenly opens, and a host of armoured soldiers pour out. They instantly begin chopping at his men, who were scaling the wall.
“Drop from the wall! We must defeat the guard below us!” Nageti, as if to show the others what he meant, lets go of his handhold and plummets to the floor. He arcs his sword as he falls, and it cuts through three men. He lands in the middle of the fray. Instantly, five more soldiers jump towards him, trying to disarm him. Nageti ducks and one goes flying over his head. He stabs with his blood soaked sword, impaling a soldier, before kicking another attacker away. He turns. A sword flying towards him. He brings his up to parry, and the sound of steel hitting steel echoes throughout the valley. He jumps to the left, avoiding an attack from another man. He tackles the one who was attacking him to the floor with immense power. As the man is consumed by the snow, Nageti raises his sword. He pauses for a second, his sword ready to strike. Suddenly, he hears a scream coming from behind him. Taburta, his best fighter, stumbles to the floor, clutching a wound below his waist. Nageti rises to his feet, already swinging. He plunges his blade into the attacker’s stomach, bringing him down instantly. Nageti looks down at Taburta, who is still on the ground. He sees the emptiness in his eyes, and knows that he is gone.
He died valiantly.
Nageti sees that the company who had attacked them has been obliterated. A lot of his men and women have fallen, but there are still a lot of them alive.
“Through the gates. Spare the innocent. Kill the guilty.” Nageti is not aflame with fiery anger, but struck with a cold, deep rage. He raises his sword, and walks towards the gate.
There is more resistance from soldiers inside. A battle is instantly raging, his men locked in combat. He walked through the destruction, five men at his side. He is following the path through the small wooden houses to the king’s hall. He wants to face Talmet, the king of Rzzamaki. He wants retribution.
Nageti turns a corner and the king’s hall is suddenly in front of him. A huge wooden building, with an arced roof. There are around ten guards at the door. A last defence for the king. They charge towards Nageti, looking tired. One raises his circular blade, inches away from him. Nageti cuts him down swiftly before he can attack. The five men at his side easily take down the others, and soon, nothing is standing between them and the door to the hall. He pulls the doors open.
The first floor of the hall is empty. It’s a familiar sight. In front of him are three long tables, stretching to the far end of the room. The chairs are neatly placed under the table. At the very far end is a smaller table placed sideways, which is where Talmet sits. The table bathes in the light of a huge window covering the far wall.
“We will find him upstairs.” Nageti says, nodding towards the spiral staircase in the far left of the hall. They make haste towards it and ascend it quickly.
Nageti strides into the throne room, tailed by his guards. It is also a long room, like the dining hall below, except there are no tables. The far wall is also a window, and sitting behind it is a throne, decorated with jewels and precious materials like gold. Talmet is slumped in the throne. He sees Nageti but doesn’t move. Slowly and hesitantly, Nageti moves up the ragged and dirty red carpet leading to the throne, sword scraping the stone floor.
“Why?” Nageti simply asks.
“Because there is no room for two.”
Nageti stops walking.
“Have you crossed even a small fraction of the land that we call home? There is room for a thousand villages holding a thousand people here.”
“Maybe now. But do you not expect our villages to grow? In a hundred moons time, there will be thousands more of us. Imagine how it will be in a thousand moons time? Do you think that we will be able to house all these people without our villages growing?”
“We could expand. Move away from each other. We do not know yet how big this earth is. How do you know that the Rzza land is the only realm in the whole world?” Talmet laughs at this.
“You mean to say that there are more realms other than Rzza? Don’t make me laugh.” He stands from his throne, no weapon in his hand. “This is the survival of the fittest. You have won. You have earned the right to obliterate my village from this earth. Now go ahead. Kill me.” Talmet spreads his arms out, a look of fatigue but relief on his face. Nageti raises his sword, ready to cut the traitor in front of him down. But something in the back of his mind stops him. Suddenly, it becomes clear to him.
If Nageti kills Talmet, he would validate Talmet’s theory. If he burned their village to the ground, like, after extracting the innocent, he planned to do, then it would prove that living on this earth is a matter of survival of the fittest.
Nageti does not kill Talmet.
He kicks open the doors in the dining hall, and bitter snow instantly hits his face. Standing in the doorway, he throws Talmet onto the ground outside. Then, Nageti walks out, standing over him.
“Your king will live. Your settlement will not burn. However, if you attempt to rebel, you will suffer the same punishment as this treacherous scum.” Nageti kicks Talmet, who is lying on the floor, and he goes rolling down the steps, landing at his soldier’s feet. One could not describe the state Talmet was in. Nageti did not kill him, but he did not let him go unscathed.
Slowly, the soldiers of Rzzamaki turned, and when they saw Talmet, recoiled in horror. One by one, they dropped their swords on the ground.
“My men. Take these soldiers prisoner. Do not kill them, but spare them. The ones that agree to live in peace can go free.” Nageti walks down the steps. “Tell the villagers to gather in the town centre. Now, we rebuild.”
Epilogue
From the day young Gionian hunter Makana stumbled into his home village, brutalized, with news of another tribe attacking, the people of Giona have been prepared for an invasion. They built walls. They trained soldiers. They had men watching the perimeter all hours of the day.
The attack did not come.
For 10 moons, they waited. Through the boiling days of the winter. Through the dark nights in the spring.
It was in the violent monsoons of the 2nd moon of summer when they came.
And Giona believed that the end was nigh.
Thanks for reading. If you want to tell me what you thought then please feel free to message me on facebook or comment on this post.
-Joe
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