Prologue
"On this night, war is born." Began Anya, the leader of the Woods Clan, as she stood before her people. Dozens of dejected and soot-stained faces stared back at her from amongst the cinder that had been their home just hours before the sky began to rain fire.
"Hellfire rains down on us from the sky as a new people invade our home, leaving death and destruction in their this night, our villages burn to ash and our beloved burn alongside them. We find ourselves at the mercy of invasion for the first time since the birth of our Coalition. The peace we've known these recent years has rendered us idle, but it has not made us soft. These violent acts of war cannot and will not be ignored.
On this night, many warriors stand among us; only one stands out. Seventeen years ago she came into this world born of the black blood which foreshadows greatness, born beneath a bleeding moon, and blessed by the flame. Tonight, we understand why – tonight, as we stand in the aftermath of this attack on her very nameday, we give Aryn kom Trikru a chance to prove herself and avenge the lives lost here tonight."
Cheers erupted among the resilient group of natives. They rejoiced amongst themselves, embracing and speaking excitedly in a langue that was as harsh and guttural as its people. And when the crowd parted, a young girl stood at its heart.
She was tall and lithe, but not devoid of a certain harshness in her features that wasn't entirely uncommon among her people. Fairer than most, her ivory-toned skin shone all the brighter in the moonlight and in contrast to her olive-skinned companions. Her blue eyes were a bit too big for her face, her nose a touch too pointed, but her lips were full and soft – arguably the only softness to be found. Brown hair normally cascaded down her back in waves almost long enough to sit upon, but tonight she wore it in small braids of two on either side of her face, woven into a large braid that hung just below her shoulder blades.
"Approach, Aryn" said Anya with a nod.
And so she did, kneeling before her former-mentor with a lowered head but an inquisitive gaze. All eyes were on her, she could feel them watching with bated breath as they awaited their leader's command.
"On this night, you will relinquish your weapons and put up your armor. The battle you're about to find yourself in is one of wits. You, Aryn kom Trikru, from this moment on will spend your days as our eyes behind enemy lines. You, with your misleading look of adolescent innocence, are to join the sky people and become one with their ways, their customs, their thoughts. From the inside out we will pick them apart, learn of their strategies and their numbers and their weaknesses, only to use the information against them when the time comes to face in battle.
You are tasked with the responsibility of gaining intel on these invaders. You are tasked with earning their trust and poisoning their minds. When you return to us, you return a greater warrior than before and an even greater asset to Trikru."
It was a task unlike any she'd ever been given. Relinquish her weapons? Put up her armor? Aryn stared up at the older woman with her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted – baffled. War went well beyond the physical realm, this was something she'd long since learned, and yet her strength had always laid within combat. She was born of black blood, a natblida, and had been trained most of her life to become the next commander.
What new war tactic was this?
"Ai huk op Yu Disha hana, Aryn kom Trikru," Said Anya solemnly, when Aryn's pause lasted for a moment too long. "Dula op nou let bilaik kru daun."
The command sat heavily on the young warrior's shoulders. I give you this task, Aryn of the tree people. Do not let your people down.
"I won't." Her voice held the strength of every soul she'd ever conquered – seven in all, long since fused into the core of her very being and manifested as burns dotting the notches of her spine. All warriors carried the marks of their fallen foes, each signifying worthiness and power. The more marks, the greater the warrior.
Aryn let this power fill her up as kneeled there before them all. "Jus drien just daun."
Blood must have blood. It was the way of their people, a law older and more sacred than anything they knew. It was the balance of life and death, of good and evil - the truest form of justice there had ever been. Those words were engraved deep in Aryn's bones, and today she felt them stronger than ever.
The words crept over the crowd, first a whisper and then a chant and then a war cry - jus drien just daun, JUS drien JUST daun, JUS DRIEN JUST DAUN!
Two of Anya's protectors marched their way through the crowd. Between them they carried the slumped form of a young woman. Blood oozed from a gash along her hairline, the blonde curls matted to her forward. A white bracelet encased her wrist, but otherwise the foreigner was nude, stripped from head to toe. When they set her down at Aryn's feet, she could see the fear reflected in the stranger's gaze.
"A nameday gift," Announced Anya, unclipping the dagger from her belt. "Another soul to empower you on your journey." As she said this her current mentee, a little girl called Tris, stepped forward and produced a pile of neatly folded linens.
"An honor." Aryn murmured as she accepted the blade and what appeared to be the sky girl's clothing. It was lightweight, stained with markings of the earth and dried blood.
Climbing to her feet, Aryn gazed out at the crowd and could see the thirst for blood reflected in their eyes. The need for vengeance was heavy in the air, weighing down on them all – herself included. Their ways were ruthless to some, maybe, but to them it was necessary. It was how they survived.
And when she dragged her blade across the throat of the sky girl, spilling her blood and returning it to the earth, that, that was how they did justice.