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By
the Light of the Full
Moon
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"Alright, boys, there it is: the Lorca camp." The speaker, a rough looking hooligan with a woodsman's axe in hand, motioned his men forward. All of them had similar axes, and similar starved looks about them. Their clothes, which had once been relatively fine as far as bandits went, were now little better than rags.
The group of men, about twenty in all, stole forward with murderous intent in their eyes. "Those Lorca bastards are the wealthiest of the tribes of Sacae, men. The way they flaunt that wealth everywhere. Just look at those necklaces, earrings, fancy horse tack... and the food. All that food… they don't deserve it, do they, boys?" The other bandits grunted in the affirmative; they were eager to bring the Lorca down a notch or two.
Never mind the fact that Lorca hunters frequently brought in so much game that Hassar, the chieftain, was always sending the extra meat and skins off to other tribes. Never mind that most of it was smoked and preserved. Never mind that right now, they were sound asleep like lords after a long party. Never mind that after a while, all that meat, dry or fresh, tasted the same. Never mind the fact that their only real crime was flaunting their wealth...
Never minding these facts, the brigands stole forth out of the night, murder in their hollow eyes. Minutes later, the screams began… then the burning…
Miles away Lyn of the Lorca, daughter of Chief Hassar and his foreign wife, Madelyn, rode her horse across the endless grass and laughed. The full moon was exceptionally bright that night, and she could see all sorts of things; rabbit burrows, badger tracks, horse trails, all the denizens of Sacae were open to Lyn and her laughing eye. 'I'd never give up this freedom. Never!' Her horse seemed to hear her, and he went faster. All the while Lyn was laughing fit to burst, laughing because she was free, because the moon was in her veins, and her sword was at her side.
The tribal elders shook their heads at her; Lorca women weren't supposed to have swords, only bows. But she was the chieftain's daughter, so she could do what she wanted. Besides, her skill with the sword was so great that only Hassar, her father, could stand and fight her head on. But with a bow she was abysmal; even the young ones could shoot straighter and faster than she could. And she would be nineteen come summer.
The moon was getting low, and it occurred to Lyn that she should get back to camp and get some sleep. No one minded her nightly excursions; indeed no one could stop her, especially during the full moon. For when the moon was full, the moon sickness took Lyn and she had to run, run across the endless plains of grass. No one knew what she ran towards, or from. Least of all Lyn herself.
She topped a low ridge and the laughter died off abruptly. For what she saw was such a sight that the sickness temporarily left her. Right then, she wished that her eyes weren't so sharp in the light of the full moon. But they were, and what they inexorably took in every detail of was the remnants of a camp. Her camp, the camp of the Lorca. Her home, desecrated and burned.
A strange anger filling her, Lyn rode into the ruins. Her eyes took in the damage; bodies piled here and there, tents flattened and burned. Personal effects and tools scattered hither and yon. Swords and bows strewn about haphazardly. But no food. No food...
"Help! Lyn, is that you? Help me!" The cries came from one of the elders, Tomasa. He was stuck beneath a smoldering canvas tent flap, and the wind was picking up. Lyn ran over, pulled him out, and stamped out the cinders. She turned to the old man she had rescued. "Who did this, Tomasa? Who did this?" The old man looked into Lyn's eyes and saw a terrible thing; deep within them, a red glow was flaring to life, a red glow that had nothing to do with the fire that surrounded them. He knew what it was; Blood Rage. He knew that it would come fully to life if she saw her parents...
"Tomasa! Who did this, where are my parents?" He sighed. "Come with me, child. We will speak as we walk." The two of them wandered through the camp, aiding the few other survivors; ten in all, including Lyn. Her parents were not among them. An old woman, Hassar's mother, wailed; "It was those Taliver bastards! They came through and killed all within their reach, they took our food, and when it wasn't to their liking they killed more of us and burned it all down!" She broke into tears. "Hassar tried to stop them. But they surrounded him and cut him down like a dog!" Lyn became quiet at this; Tomasa looked into her eyes and saw the red glow becoming brighter. "What about my mother?"
No one would meet her eyes then. Instead, they all pointed to the collapsed remains of the biggest tent. Lyn was afraid of what she would find. She didn't want to go over there and see, oh no. Anything but that.
But her feet chose that moment to take over from her brain and walk of their own volition. Then her hands rebelled and moved canvas around until a body was revealed. A body covered in blood, with a thick whitish fluid Lyn had never seen before drying on its thighs. The body was her mother's remains. She had a dark hunch as to what the fluid was.
She turned and walked back towards the people gathered, and they saw that her eyes were full of blood-colored flame. She walked past them to her father's body, where she bent down and took his sword. Plain iron, yes, but still her father's sword. Then, in a ringing voice, she swore this vengeance: "Upon the body of my mother and the hilt of my father's sword, I swear to Mother Earth and Father Sky that the monsters who did this will die by my hand!" At that moment thunder rumbled in the distance, loudly. As if the gods were witnessing her vow.
Lyn turned and walked away. The survivors cringed at the sight of her eyes, her burning, blood-filled eyes. She walked on into the night, not turning, not looking to the side. The survivors of the massacre never saw their chieftain's daughter again.
End