In the sixteen summers that we have shared I have always felt apart from them. They revered me, yet I have found reverence akin to the status of an outcast. The villagers look at me for scarce seconds, quickly averting their eyes as if I am a stranger. When they come to me to wet their lands or save their children they seem unsure that their bond to me warrants my grace.
Since the attack, on the days that I see the elders I cut my eyes at them aggressively, wishing to burn them with my hate. I want to hold them accountable for their decisions.
Shari made me privy to the elders' deceptions that night in the midst of the mayhem; it was a flash that lasted less than a second and in that moment it was as if I remembered things that I am far too young or had not been present to recall. I am no foundling; the elders conquered my village and they, who at that time had not yet inherited this land saw my mother and father fall by their swords.
A seer had told of Oya's homecoming; that she would return to this earth a mortal, a child with an aged mane and eyes the color of her skies. The prophet foretold that the goddess would not deign to bless this village but another. Our elders who were then warlords came for me, leaving no trace of the people who were oncemine.
"I will need ten of the most skilled fighters of this village!" I announce; the villagers have gathered to hear me speak.
"You will not take them!" Markus yells from the bustling crowd that now parts for his approach.
My vision narrows and the skies grow dark, mirroring my anger.
"Go off," he gestures in a shooing manner. "Enjoy your fool's errand but you will not leave this village or its people crippled from your zeal!"
Old man!
I can only stand stock still, nearly failing in my practice of temperance; I cannot beat the village's leader to death and expect any allegiance from his men onthe battlefield. My body shivers against my restraint and Iconsider whether or not their allegiance really matters at all.
He stares at me and all that I can do is return his gaze.
I pass him, allowing him to speak to the crowd; I cannot hear him, my mind buzzes with anger.
He lay asleep in his bed and I watch him from a glassless window; his was the first hut to be rebuilt. Almost immediately, I have him straddled, waking him with my hand tightly gripping his throat.
How is it that I have been found so different than the person I thought myself to be: It has become increasingly easy to abuse this tyrant. This man who ripped me savagely from my mothers arms; the only quarter he deemed her worthy of was a swift demise.
My eyes are white fire and I can hardly control myself.
"You took my family from me and you dare contradict me with that on your conscience?" I have leaned mouthclose to his ear, "you think I owe you or your sycophants allegiance? Dare to contradict me again and when I finish with you there will be no worldly proof that you or your line existed!"
My voice quivers; there is a lump in my throat andI silently call out to thegodsfor retribution, yet I cannot cull it's fruition. I lift myself off of him and move for the exit, I pause and turn my head so that he sees my profile.
"My promises are not empty, I will make good on my word, fool." I tell him, standing at the doorway, my left hand resting against the gnarled wood.
I hope you test me.
Markus, who was once the fiercest warrior of this village, trained me personally, and I wonder if the task was as harrowing for him as my sessions with these men are for me. We are two weeks in and improvements are miniscule; some of the men are simply not warriors at heart.
Shanti approaches and I pretend not to notice; instead I maintain my concentration on training.
"Parry!" I scream, unable to believe their clumsiness. "What are you afraid of man? Strike back!"
"Ororo," her tone is light, almost inaudible.
"Strike back!" I scream again, pretending not to hear her.
"We haven't spoken since the attack."
I turn to her, trying to keep my gaze lazy.
"Much has changed between us since that night," I say dryly, watching my pathetic warriors.
"I understand your …"
"You understand nothing! You knew of my families fate yet you allowed me to love you despite your deception!" I scream; my men stop to watch me, momentarily. "You are lucky that you still live."
"Is that it?" she asks, her eyes are turned to the ground. "Would my death return your love to me?"
"Your death," I say coolly, taking no time to consider the severity of my answer. "Would satisfy the cannons of justice."
"And what of you? Would my death satisfy you?"
"Only vengeance can satiate my thirsty soul, a soul that you and your machinations have left as dry as the lands to the north."
She leaves my side in quiet devastation; her eyes are dry and she accepts my anger but her pain is as evident as white clouds in the skies.
Rahma, one of my men continues to hesitate and I explode, approaching him swiftly. I snatch the stick from his sparring partner.
"Fight back!" I scream, entering my stance and attacking him. "If you continue to take the defense you will never win a battle! Assert yourself! Be aggressive!"
My mood is lightened by his attacks and I smile when he forces meinto the defensive.
"Show me that you are not going into that jungle to die, Rahma. Show me that your children will sleep in their beds and awake unscathed!"
Improvement.
The night air is cool on the eve of our departure; I cannot sleep knowing that tomorrow my journey begins towards death or liberation. I consider that the former and latter could be selfsame.