Bandits huddled on the outskirts of Tlaxoa planning their next raid while a nearby farmer was attending to his usual duties: ploughing and preparing the soil for next year’s crops. The farmer had shaky knees, a built upper body, dark wiry hair that looked dead, and leathery skin. As the farmer hunched over to pick apart the weeds from the soil, he heard a loud shriek. Nearby a woman screamed “Help!” and then it went silent. His eyes shot up. The farmer looked back at the brownish yellow straw roofing of his clay house. He paused for a minute, then darted into the skyline of tall greenish-red pine trees, where he encountered a group of eight men encircling a girl. The girl was gagged with a piece of clothing torn from her own simple linen dress. The group was smelling her body as she was passed around. They were enjoying her fresh marigold scent. It had been a long time since the men smelled the arousing scent of a woman.
Each bandit was distinct. One wore a faded leather loincloth and a diagonal line of red paint across his right eye that reached his lower lip. Another’s face was completely masked in black paint. But they all wore brownish fiber sandals with a loop around the foot’s heel, allowing them to run with haste during raids.
However, one bandit in particular stood out- he had a jaguar skin cape draping over his shoulders. The oblong obsidian sword that hung at his hip was decorated with red gems on the upper handle that illuminated under the moonlight, and a thin chain of red rose petals hung on the bottom handle, swinging gracefully beneath. One bandit looked over his shoulder as the old farmer said “Stop!” The group of men looked at each other puzzled and then laughed. Who was this guy that so foolishly thought he could protect this woman, despite being outnumbered? The leader with the decorative jaguar cape lifted his sword, pointed it at Haldwin, and said something indistinguishable to Haldwin, but was understood by his minions. A pair of minions leapt from their positions, and headed towards Haldwin, who, unfazed, was waiting until the bandits were within arm’s length before grabbing an arm that was nearing his face. He quickly twisted the arm backwards, and snapped it like a plant’s stem. The minion dropped his unshapely wooden club next to his body, howling in pain, like a wolf at the moon. He began clutching his arm. The other minion became hesitant with fear and started creeping backwards. Haldwin picked up the club from the ground and started swinging it in the air to get accustomed to the weight.
The commander, standing on a rock above his subordinates, again repeated “Get him!”, to the rest of his men. A lowly minion released the girl- who ran off hysterically towards the farm, which happened to be the direction of Tlaxoa-, before charging Halwadin and mustering all the courage he could conjure tried to swing his short, narrow, dark obsidian blade at Haldwin. The blade was blocked and stuck intoHaldwin’s club. Both men were tangled in a struggle, as the minions looked onwards observing the warrior-like farmer. The minion flew backwards as Haldwin kicked his uneven wooden shield, causing it to drop. Haldwin was now equipped with a shield and a club. Scared, the attacker retreated to his leader.
“Leave now or there’ll be consequences,” said Haldwin with great authority.
The group of attackers traded looks of confusion, unsure of their next move. As the group was coming to a consensus, the jaguar man replied “We came here expecting fun and games, and yet this is an even greater surprise- a farmer that can fight. You must have been a warrior before becoming a farming peasant.”
“That’s true. But it is of no concern to you,” replied Haldwin.
Unbeknownst to the bandits, Haldwin, had once been a famous commander and an heir to the Tlaxoa throne, helping repel the advancement of the Queztil kingdom from invading Tlaxoa during the great War of Famine. But now, age crept upon his body and wore him down like a pile of sand on his shoulders. He was hardly able to move without some form of ache. After fighting for many moons, and declining a noble post, he opted for a life among the common class, becoming a peaceful farmer- living out his days creating life and maintaining them instead of acting as a destroyer.
“Tell me, do you want to fight us?” The jaguar-caped bandit said.
“No, I want you to leave me and Tlaxoa’s citizens free from your violence.”
“Violence? No- this is entertainment,” the leader restated. “Why don’t we make this more interesting? My soldiers are too afraid to fight you, so how about we fight?”
Suddenly and in staggering unison the men responded “No sir, don’t- we will,” they said unconvincingly.
“Shut up you useless fools!”, he scorned. The men instantly burrowed their chins into their chests and avoided their commander’s eyes. “That’s what I thought. I always have to do everything myself.”
Haldwin thought wiser to fight one warrior instead of eight, for strenuous exercise was not a friend of an old man that was more worn out than the cattle that helped plow the fields every sunrise. Although Haldwin noticed the jaguar man’s tone of displeasure and attire were obviously different, he still decided to take the risk, hoping that killing the leader would take off the head of the beast, and as a result, dissipate and scatter the rest of the body.
“Fine,” Haldwin said as he stepped over the two warriors lying in pain, closing the distance between the himself and the jaguar warrior. “If that’s what you want.” The two fighters eyed each other, trying to assess their adversary. The colorful leader wore a grim smile as he surveyed the old farmer’s tired and shaky body, then ran towards Haldwin. Not having the strength that he once held in his prime, Haldwin decided it wise to avoid the charge. At the last second he sidestepped. Haldwin breathed a sigh of relief as the black obsidian blade in the leader’s right hand, sparkling in the moonlight, was inches from descending on his face. Following through his miss, the leader spun and swung the sharp blade in a circle. This time Haldwin was unable to evade or block the attack with his shield. The sword hit its mark. Blood started to seep through a thin gash on Haldwin’s upper left shoulder and bled through his outer garment. The leader finished his circular twirl and saw over his left shoulder that his swing, hit his opponent. The leader, for the first time, flashed his teeth. He could not contain his enjoyment. The leader laughed. Haldwin stepped back and observed his wound. It wasn’t serious, but he was worried. Haldwin’s previous injuries were much worse, contributing to the subpar performance his body was giving.
Haldwin was beginning to believe this was probably going to be the last moon he’d ever see. He hesitated to look over his shoulder in fear that his opponent might jump on him, but did so anyways. He spotted his farm in the distance, sitting quietly in the misty fog, the piney smell of the forest with the thick moist air made Haldwin reminisce of the previous battles he fought in the forests. Haldwin needed to protect his farm. One thing in particular Haldwin was worried about was his son- Nestor. Haldwin remembered he was in a battle, and turned his head back to face his opponent. But it was too late. The jaguar-skinned warrior was mid-air lunging at him. The sword pierced through the front of Haldwin’s leathery flesh and missed the spine as it penetrated his upper back. What seemed like an eternity, but was merely a couple seconds, time froze. Haldwin lowered his eyes, removing any doubt that the blade thrusted through his body. The two men stared at each other. Haldwin noticed how beautiful the red rose petals were that dangled aside the bedazzled re gem blade handle.
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“Well, what fun I had,” the jaguar warrior said. “You don’t know how much I’ve enjoyed this. With all the war preparations underway at Queztil, this really gave my nerves a vacation.”
Haldwin began to flex his abs, trying to push the words from his mouth. “What is Queztil doing now?”
The jaguar soldier’s annoying grin came back.“King Deumus believes it wise to expand the empire for his people. Which means Tlaxoa and Itoaxa will eventually be subjugated by our kingdom. But don’t worry your people will be fine. We’ll need your people to please our nobles and gods, mostly the gods though.” Haldwin was furious, leaving behind the people he loved, especially the one back at the farm.
Since King Deumus took over the throne of the Queztil empire, he has continued his parade of non- stop raids on the surrounding kingdoms and tribes. King Deumus is an evil man, killing his father at the age of sixteen, in order to take over the kingdom. Queztil was once part of the Triple Alliance between three kingdoms, but now each kingdom has lost some sense of stability and became independent from each other. King Deumus claimed his attacks were to obtain more sacrificial victims to please the gods, but the encroachment and breaking of formality had proven otherwise.
Life was slowly leaving Haldwin’s body. He mentally started praying to the gods, hoping to be reincarnated into an animal or insect and become part of the the world again. In an attempt to display courage, he grabbed the gemmed handle and pushed it further into himself as he whispered in the man’s ear. “Death does not go unnoticed.” The leader’s eyes were beady and his body began to shiver from the eerie words. The ragtag bandits behind him asked what was said. “It doesn’t matter,” he responded. The men from Tlaxoa, although few, were known to be brave. The sword was pulled out of the lifeless body that was already becoming turning ghost-like. Blood continued to drip out the of the body’s orifices. He then shook his wrist to shake off the blood from his blade, splashing the dirt and fallen leaves. Bringing up his head, the jaguar leader walked towards Tlaxoa and the farm.
The leader pointed his sword at the farm and said “Do what we came here to do and raid the farm. Find anything valuable and bring it back. Don’t try taking anything for yourself or I’ll cut your hands off, you useless fools.”
The group of bandits ran to the farm.
Inside the old farm house was a teenager, Haldwin’s son. Nestor, had a slim face, dark eyes, and was quite big compared to the other kids his age. He had developed strong bulging arms, a thick back, and oak like legs that gave him impeccable balance- all things useful for a fighter. However, Nestor was gentle, and prefered to keep his hands down and to his side instead of raising them to people. Nestor, having royal blood, albeit diluted, led a commoner’s life. Because of Nestor’s big stature, it was too much for his mother to handle, when giving birth. She died that same day. It was said by his father that he had inherited his mother’s kindness and at times known to be too soft. Haldwin, was content with his son’s personality. It reminded him of his deceased wife. Haldwin knew to toughen Nestor he needed to attend a school where fighting was taught. Nestor attended school with all the other people of his class- other children of farmers, tailors, artisans, and low-level priests. As Nestor turned the gentle age of 15, the school had taught him, and other similarly aged students, how to become a warrior. Nestor was already at the top of his class and was shown to be a promising warrior of the state thanks to his father’s idea of extracurricular- fighting, and his stature. There was another school that was available, but only for upper class children. The school had a more diverse agenda, which included intellectual studies to supplement warrior training. The nobles school was known to be tougher on their students because the upper class was held to a higher standard than the commoners. But Nestor was happy in the commoner school since it was more lax and free, and his best friend Olena was there. Although, Haldwin had proper training in fighting, he knew as the men approached the farm that his only choices was to fight or hide.
Suddenly, a the cracked wooden door bursted open, and the group of warriors flooded into the room, fully prepared that someone inside would resist their pillaging. They were wrong. Nestor decided to hide on the straw roof, where he could view the pillagers. Peeking through the straw, he saw the men arguing with each other and pointing at objects inside the house. The men’s stomachs began grumbling after their traveling and their mouths began to salivate as they began to pick up the leftover food that Nestor and Haldwin ate earlier that day. Fresh vegetables- corn, beans, and squash sat around the floor in woven fiber baskets. The pillagers started to eat the food, enjoying the crunchiness and the sound of corns between their teeth before they swallowed it. It had been some time since they ate proper food. Life in the military for the lowly soldiers was horrible when it came to food. Military food consisted usually of flat bread with little vegetables. As they finished gobbling the leftovers, one of the robbers said to the other “I doubt we will find anything worthy in a farmer’s house.”
“That was no plain farmer. There must be something here,” the short, beefy robber said, seemingly taking charge of the group as the jaguar skin man stayed behind, waiting in the skyline of trees.
The men became anxious as they continued to search the room. They started to become scared, knowing if they could not find anything their upset leader would punish them. Being berating was more than enough for the minions. One of the unimportant warriors flipped over a blanket, and his eyes began to grow. “Come here, I found something!”
The short beefy robber headed over and peeked under the blanket, “Wow, what a great find. This will be enough.”
Nestor watched in disappointment. The robbers found Haldwin’s sword- a gift that had been in the family for generations and was suppose to be passed down to him after he had proved himself in battle. The sword, like the jaguar man’s, was decorated. It contained green gems around the handle, the blade had perfectly cut obsidian, and white feathers dangled from the handle- this was a classic sword of the King’s guard. Nestor was jealous the pillagers were able to hold the sword in their hand. Haldwin disallowed Nestor from touching it until he was ready. He was anxious as the men began packing the sword in the blanket they found it in. Getting into a leaping position, Nestor was ready to pounce on the men. He did not want to admit to himself that he was scared, but he was. His training was insufficient. He needed more. Nestor froze. He could not bring himself to fight. Nestor felt a sense of defeat from within. He lacked the courage to fight against injustice. He put his head down on the straw roofing in shame, while thick salt water dripped from the corner of his eyes.
“Our work here is done,” the self- appointed second in command said. “Let’s go.”
Together the men left through the front door and disappeared into the thick alpine forest. They presented the sword to their leader, who was pleased, very pleased- so much so that he wore the sword on the vacant side of his hip.