A/N: Thank you to my reviewers! I never realized how encouraging a review could be until I started posting stuff here myself. I'm definitely going back now and giving nice reviews to all the great stuff I read this summer, even if it's really old. Returning the favor and all that. J

As the word "Harad" only means "south," I have chosen to interpret this as the Northerners' name for all the southern lands, and not the name of a specific kingdom. Therefore, Harad is actually made up of many different kingdoms. I don't know if Tolkien created a language for Harad, so I made up one, based roughly on some type of African language.

Ellipsis: Good question. I can see how my wording was confusing. Where I'm from (Florida), it's perfectly possible to have a lot of thunderstorms and no rain. So I sort of meant the comment in that way, but I was also not being entirely literal, trying instead to go for a surrealistic, dramatic stance. Hopefully the added phrase should clear things up. Thanks for catching me.

Chapter 1: Jambola

Jambola, Ulaka (Near Harad); June 5, 2990 T.A.

"Mikele! Mikele! Usta punaka, muki!"

"Coming, Mother!"

Fifteen-year-old Mikele straightened the beads of her necklace, brushed any lingering dust off her skirt, and dashed out of the grass hut. Once outside, she came abruptly to a halt, trying to look as if she had walked out gracefully and elegantly, like a lady.

Anisha frowned in disapproval at her daughter. She grabbed her hand and began briskly walking down the street. "Come. We are already late. Do you wish to impress the shaman with your tardiness?"

Mikele, as usual, found herself lifting her chin a little in reply. She dared not reply to her mother, but she would not let herself be treated as a child. She maintained a haughty silence as the two walked down the street.

"One would think that my daughter would have the good sense to be punctual for one of the most important events of her life," said Anisha with a huff.

Mikele wisely chose to ignore this and instead asked, "Where is Father?"

"He had business to attend to in the city. He will meet us there."

Another morning had come to the city of Jambola, capital of Ulaka. Mikele found herself reveling in the sights, sounds and smells that assailed her senses. The dirt road was filled with bustling pedestrians, wheelbarrows, and occasionally a mûmak for nobility. The only traffic rule was that commoners made room for more important people. As a result, there was always much jostling and shoving.

As the daughter of a merchant, Mikele was neither upper class nor lower class. She sniffed in disdain at the wails of the impoverished plebeians as they begged for bread or tried to steal coins from those wealthier than they. Such was life, and it would do no good to pay the commoners any heed; that would only make them bolder.

Above the din arose a high-pitched cry that pierced the ears of those who heard it. Mikele turned her head to see a slave being whipped by his master. His back was bare and laced with many red stripes; a golden earring ornamented his right ear, and upon his right shoulder was a brand with the J rune. His master was obviously wealthy: he wore much gold jewelry, and a turban sat upon his head. His clothes were of five colors, the sign of nobility, and his sandals were of fine make.

Mikele heard people murmuring to each other. "I wonder what the slave did?"

"I heard that he stole a loaf of bread. It is surprising that his master does not kill him."

"Perhaps he finds the slave still useful. Then again, he may be whipping him as a warning to others, only to kill him later."

Shuddering at the grisly sight of crimson blood running down the man's brown back, Mikele turned away and continued walking with her mother.

They were now come to the marketplace. Having occasionally come here with one of her parents, Mikele recognized many of the vendors selling goods. She smelled bread, fresh fish, and goat cheese, as well as the stench of too many people packed too closely together. She glanced rather disinterestedly at the sight of the colorful jewelry and carpets on display. Normally her mother would have stopped to greet and barter with the other merchants, but today they were in a hurry.

One thing did catch her interest, though: the storyteller. She heard him before she saw him, his melodic voice lilting with each phrase he uttered. Surrounding him was a crowd of both young and old. As with the street musicians, he would be paid by satisfied listeners upon finishing his tale.

"So there I was," the man was saying, "surrounded by the barbaric White-skins of the North. They leered at me with their hideous teeth, and were about to roast me alive, for all know that the Northerners are cannibals who sacrifice their own children." Several people shuddered at this, and mothers pulled their children close to their breasts. "Then, by the mercy of the great god Lombura, an idea suddenly struck me, a plan of escape. I—"

"Mikele! Hurry up!" Anisha scolded. "We shall be late." With a firm grasp, she grabbed her daughter's hand and wrenched her away from the storyteller. Mikele gasped as pain shot up her arm, and she bit her tongue in frustration, glancing wistfully back at the storyteller as she walked away.

Soon Mikele could see the shaman's hut. It was marked by a long red pole which stood beside it, upon which a skull was set. All the other maidens—about fifteen or so—were already present and knelt on the ground outside the hut, while their families stood to the sides. Mikele recognized her father, Bayusho, standing with the men. She quickly dropped to her knees beside the other young women.

She found herself kneeling next to Risheda, the most gorgeous girl in the city, and probably the worst gossip as well. "What took you so long?" Risheda whispered.

"I lost track of time," Mikele answered curtly. She did not wish to add that she had been daydreaming again, knowing that the others would only laugh at her.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you made it here in time. The gods only know what might have happened if you had been late. I heard that Tatalguo is in a bad mood today. Oh, well, it doesn't matter now that you're here. Don't you think Iskembe's dress is absolutely horrid?" The girl chattered on, unaware that Mikele was not paying attention.

A sudden noise from the hut made them all stop their whispering immediately and become completely still. Mikele heard the rustling of the grass covering being pushed aside, then the footsteps of Tatalguo, the shaman. Although none of the maidens could look up unless spoken to, Mikele managed to angle her head so that she could see him. He was a fat man, his belly protruding out from his unattractive figure like a bowl. He wore red paint upon his thighs, forehead, and cheeks. Upon his neck faintly jingled a necklace of teeth. He stared at the young women, slowly craning his short neck to look at each of them in turn. Mikele was quick to lower her head when he looked at her.

After a long silence, Tatalguo spoke. "Listen to my words!" he boomed. "Today, you have brought your daughters here to ask for blessings in their upcoming marriages. I call upon the gods for their blessings, the god Oaka of fertility, the goddess Laribe of the virgins, and most of all, the high god Lombura, Lord of the heavens and of the earth. May they bless these unions and bring prosperity to your daughters. May your daughters produce many sons, and may their husbands harvest much grain. May the gods smile down upon you and your descendants, now and forevermore."

Now began the next part of the ceremony. Drums were brought forth, and the men who were gathered began beating on them. The shaman's assistant brought him the leaves from the sacred kishnu plant, which had been burned. Mikele felt the pungent and sweet aroma wash over her, as Tatalguo began wafting the smoke from the leaves in the direction of the maidens. Then Tatalguo began to chant the sacred song, and Mikele felt herself falling under its spell.

"O, gava jingala,

Likotura punaka,

Homiye ngastawa,

Ustanta rewiloba…"

The drums beat faster and faster. The maidens rose and danced, slapping their thighs in time with the music. Then when the traditional dance of the virgins was over, all the people danced together, as they called upon their gods for blessings. This lasted for several hours until, finally exhausted, the drummers stopped their rhythmic pounding. The people thanked Tatalguo profusely and prepared to return home.

Bayusho walked up to his wife and daughter and smiled at them. "So, how fares my mukita?"

"I am well, Father," Mikele replied, smiling shyly in return. She had always possessed a fairly close relationship with her father—something her peers considered astonishing, as everyone knew a father should be harsh and authoritative. "I am glad to be able to honor my family in this way."

"That is good. Come, we must go." He led them back to their hut, while Mikele pondered over the events of the day. It was true that she was happy to honor her family, especially seeing as how her father's business had not been good lately. He needed a son-in-law to help him. But she did not relish the idea of leaving everything she had ever known to be married to a man she had never met. Her intended, Ngomji, lived in the town of Ragawiya, north of Jambola. He was a wealthy man, already possessing two wives. Mikele thought bitterly to herself that if her family was better off, they could afford to save her to be some wealthy man's first wife. As it was, she knew she would never come first again.

Mikele and her family did not go straight home. They instead went from hut to hut visiting their friends and relatives, as was custom for the day before a wedding. Mikele's family was congratulated on their good fortune, and her beauty praised. "She will make Ngomji very happy," they said, and Mikele hoped it was true. She silently admitted with a little smugness that she was indeed attractive, though far from truly beautiful. Unlike most Ulakans, her hair was soft and shiny, not brittle or dry. Her dark brown eyes blazed with intelligence and fire, and her features were pleasing to the eye. She was rather short for her people, but that was not considered a fault.

After much talk and even more food, Mikele and her parents walked home. She was greeted by her younger brother, Maskit. "Hello, Mikele!" he exclaimed, and she grinned and ran to hug him. "Hello, little brother," she said. "How was your day?"

"Well," the ten-year-old replied, "Jonge taught me how to tan a hide, and I did one all by myself. He said I did a really good job, too!"

Mikele smiled as Maskit continued chattering. She had three older brothers and one older sister, but Maskit was her only younger sibling. He had recently begun to learn a trade, and was now apprenticed to her eldest brother, Jonge the tanner. He seemed to truly enjoy his work, and Mikele was glad for this. At any rate, it kept him out of her hair.

Mikele helped her mother prepare the evening meal—bread, goat cheese, dates, and soup made with the meat of an antelope. After they were finished, Mikele cleaned up. Then she went outside.

The sunsets in Jambola were nothing short of gorgeous; they always took her breath away. The sky was ablaze in a brilliant display of crimson, orange, salmon, and gold. She saw her brother sitting there, playing absentmindedly with a pebble in his hands. She wondered about his moodiness; normally he was not reflective, choosing instead to always be doing something. She sat down next to him and pulled her knees up to her chest.

For a time, neither one spoke. Finally Mikele said, "What is on your mind, bakito?"

He hesitated. "Mikele?" he said. "You're going away, aren't you?"

Mikele sighed sadly. "Yes, Maskit," she said, "I am."

"Will I… will I ever see you again?"

A wave of pain washed over her, wrenching her heart. "Oh, dear brother," she said, "I hope so. I do. And I think so. After all, Ngomji will have to travel south sometimes, won't he? And surely I can come visit then. Don't worry; everything will be fine."

He turned then and gave her the oddest look. In that moment it seemed as if he were the adult and she just a child, and he knew something she did not. His eyes held great sadness. But in a flash, the moment was gone, and he was just her little brother again. He shot her his cheeky grin and then ran off to play.

Mikele lay in bed long before sleep took her that night, thinking about all the changes that the next day would bring.

"Usta punaka, muki!": "Come now, daughter!"

mûmak: An oliphaunt. (This word is actually Tolkien's, not mine.)

kishnu: A plant similar to marijuana, used by shamans for sacred ceremonies.

mukita: Literally, "little daughter." Used as a term of endearment.

bakito: "Little brother."

"O, gava jingala,

Likotura punaka,

Homiye ngastawa,

Ustanta rewiloba…"

"Oh, great deities,

Hear our humble plea now,

As we gather in this sacred place,

And grant us mercy and peace."