Summary: 13 year old Sarja of the Hill People had heard of the Sky Warrior, the great Wanheda, who shot fire from her hands, but it wasn't until he was alone and attacked by a wild dog that he would meet her in person.
By: MySoapBox
Notice: I do not own The 100, nor do I gain any prophet from this.
Sarja was washing the last bag of wool in the stream when he heard his mother call from their small mud home. "The travel man has come!" Sarja excitedly wrung out the last of the white fibers and hung them on the line with the others. The arrival of the travel man always meant good trades and good stories.
By the time Sarja and his mother walked to the village, the traveling man had unloaded his horses and spread out his wares on blankets. Sarja's mother traded two heavy bags of wool for a large fine pelt of coarse black bear fur. This show of wealth would surly solidify her place on the council.
Sarja looked over the swords and knives but he wasn't as interested in the things as he was in the travel man himself; the travel man always brought news and he told the best stories. News of the outside was often in short supply among the hill people and Sarja was hungry for it.
By evening, it seemed half the village was gathered by the fireside to hear the travel man's stories. Usually they were of politics, or wars, or trade, but once the travel man had told of a water monster that was devouring the fisherman by the sea, and another time he talked of a sickness that had wiped out an entire people. But of all the years that the travel man had visited their village Sarja had never seen him smile so wide as he did now standing before them, his arms held out beckoning them closer. If the twinkle in the travel man's eyes told true, tonight's story would be the best of all.
"What's the news!" an elder cried out, and the travel man stood up on a rock by the fireside so that all could see him. He raised his staff and gestured out towards the people.
"I tell you truly, Hill People, a tale of a great warrior who came down from the sky, and wherever she goes, she brings death!"
The crowed murmured and shifted around Sarja. He noticed how this reaction seemed to please the travel man. He continued, "They say she wears all black, like the raven, but her hair is white and shines like the sun, and her eyes are blue and deep like her birthright sky. She is expert with the sword and the bow, but she needs neither of these, for it is said that she can shoot fire from her hands and kill any man where they stand."
Talking broke out all around Sarja and he wondered what manner of warrior this could be, that could send fire from her hands. "This is not all, Hill People, this is not all. They say at night, that she howls to the cougars and the wolves. They are her friends and they obey her calls."
Another elder stood forward. "What has this warrior done, that she deserves such high praise?" he asked.
The travel man answered, "It is said that this sky warrior had lead her sky people in the forest land among the Trigedakru. She killed five hundred clan warriors with the fire from her hands. Their charred bodies fell around her in a large circle. Another time, a fire bomb from the mountain fell from the heavens killing many of the leaders of the clans, but this sky warrior walked out of the fire without being harmed. In the face of such power, what could the Twelve Clans do but sue for peace? It is said that Heda herself traveled to meet with the Sky Warrior to beg for alliance. After taming the Clans, the sky warrior turned her eyes to the Mountain Men."
At the mention of Mountain Men, Sarja shivered. Every child knew the story of the Mountain Men, how they came out at night with their ugly masks and stole bad little children from their beds.
"But at the time of battle, the twelve Clans turned on the Sky Warrior and left her people to die. Now alone, the Sky Warrior howled in anger and the wolves and the cougars crawled out of the woods to her aid. And with this army she stormed the mountain. They say that her eyes were like lighting and fire poured from her fingertips and in the end, she killed every Mountain Man - man, woman, and child - with her very breath." The travel man breathed out over his audience dramatically.
"You lie," an angry voice came from the back of the crowd. "How could one warrior kill a whole people with her breath?"
The travel man held up his hand in placation. "I tell you true. I, myself have seen the pile of charred bones at the mountain. No less than a thousand skulls pilled so high it blocked the sun. The twelve Clans, once a great people, tremble at mention of her name. And now she turns her eyes to the hills."
A young woman spoke up. "This Sky Warrior has come to our land?"
"Yes. Scouts from the north have heard her howling."
"But why? Why come here?" another voice asked.
The travel man shook his head. "Some say it is because she is troubled. Some say she is lost. But I, I think she is looking for new lands and peoples to conquer. "
A young warrior stood forward, unsheathing his knife. "I think you have told us a child's tale, traveling man. But tell me, what is this warrior's name, so I may know what to call her before I kill her?" He tossed his knife in the air and caught it again with a practiced hand.
"You may try, my brave friend, but thousands have tried and paid the price with their lives. That is why the ocean people call her Death Bringer, the northern gypsy's call her The Vengeant, the desert dwellers call her Betrayed One, but I know true, because I was told by one of Trikru who saw her with their own eyes that she is called Wanheda. "
Late that night, Sarja lay on his mat, looking out his small window into the dark night. As the stars moved across the sky he could still hear the elder's voices murmuring from down the path. He drifted to sleep with the image in his mind of a sky woman, hair white like the full moon, and fire dancing at her fingertips.
***ooOOoo***
Sarja's father arrived home during the morning meal. He smelled of sweat and dust and animals, and when he removed his head covering Sarja could see the tiredness in his eyes. He had been with his workers, moving the family's sheep down from the high rocky ridges to the lower fields for the coming winter. After giving a report to his mother, and seeing his mother nod, he turned to Sarja.
"We've lost a dozen sheep along the way. Go Sarja, you are old enough. Get a pack. I am sending you back up to the high fields to gather what more you can find."
Sarja wanted to yelp with delight, to dance, to sing, but instead he stood and inclined his head, "I won't let you down, father." After all, Sarja was 13 now, almost a man, too old for childish things.
It was a half day's journey to the high fields, an arduous upward walk across rocky hills under a bright sun. He had never been this far away from home alone before, and though he didn't fear, much, he still gripped his knife tightly in his hands. After many hours walking, the place where he would spend the night, his family's high camp, was finally in view. In excitement he rushed up the rocky hillside. Maybe it was his excitement at reaching his destination, maybe it was his exhilaration at being trusted to do this alone, whatever it was, it distracted him as he climbed the last ridge, and he lost his footing and went tumbling. His head hit something hard and all went black.
The next thing Sarja knew was pain, sharp pain, like a thousand knives in his shoulder and arm, and he screamed. The smell of blood and rot was in his nose and he opened his eyes to darkness and fur, and large yellow eyes reflecting in the moonlight. The beast tossed his body with overpowering strength. In his confusion, Sarja clutched for his knife but couldn't find it. He grasped at the beasts fur, pushing away with all his might, striking at the muzzle, at the eyes, but nothing stopped the attack. As his last ounce of strength drained away Sarja knew that this would be his end, alone on the rocky hillside.
It was then he heard the deafening pop, like one large boulder crashing into another. The beast squealed and fell, releasing his arm from its grasp. Sarja could feel a warm gush of liquid down his arm all the way to his elbow. He cast his eyes about to see what had struck the beast and saw a shadow person approaching. The shadow stopped and looked down at the unmoving beast and nudged it with its foot. "Damnit," a woman's voice said, "I hate dog meat." The shadow then crouched close to Sarja. The moon was to the woman's back, so her face still in shadow, but the moonshine lit up her hair like a halo around her head.
"Are you alright?" the woman asked.
Sarja felt exhaustion and sleep overtake him, but not before he mumbled, "Sky Warrior?"