Chapter 2: The Sacking of Kolcita
The day dawned like any other. The sun sluggishly unveiled its rays against the might of the darkness that ruled the night, in a battle with a foregone conclusion. On this day, Uzman had decided to go hunting on his own. At fifteen years old, he stood at almost six feet and was as tall as most men in the village. His pale complexion and ruddy hair were usually a point of consternation as he did not resemble anyone in the village. On some occasions, he had been mistaken for one of the northern barbarians by some of the well-traveled soldiers.
It was not the first time he had ventured into the Vinaya forest alone to forage and enjoy the ambiance. He felt comfortable in the forest and could defend himself from the smaller predators that roamed the outskirts of the forest with his bow and spear.
Uzman walked silently in the forest tracking a hapless rabbit that had been unfortunate enough to cross his path. The rabbit continued frolicking in the forest stopping sporadically to feed on clumps of vegetation and nuts. When Uzman got in range, he unstrapped his bow and nocked an iron-tipped arrow. He stood stock still and followed the breathing exercises he had learned from his grandfather. He allowed his mind to clear sharpening his focus. In that moment of absolute concentration, he could feel the flow of the wind and precisely gauged where to aim to hit the rabbit. He held his breath and released the arrow on the exhale hitting the rabbit in the neck. It died instantly, not having known it was in danger. He dressed his kill and started making his way back to the village.
Walking back to his village, Uzman felt a sense of unease flooding into him. He subconsciously quickened his steps. As he neared the village Uzman started running as the sense of unease spiked when he saw flames and smoke rising in the distance. It seemed as if the village was on fire.
He dropped his kill and started sprinting flat out towards the village only to stop short on arriving at the gate as he beheld a macabre nightmare scene that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Zimri had been crucified upside down on the gate. On his body, a parchment with an imperial sigil had been affixed.
“The law requires that all who harbor deserters and malcontents against the Imperialty be executed. This is a lesson to others who may harbor ill will to the empire and seek to challenge the entrenched divine rights.” It was signed by a Centurion Praximus.
The streets were awash with fresh blood as Uzman walked as if in a trance toward his home. The fresh blood indicated that the villagers had been killed within the last three hours. Uzman had lived within the safety of the village and could not come to terms with the brutality he was witnessing. Some of the men and old women had been dismembered while all the children and young women were missing. It seemed that the marauding force had also taken prisoners who would be branded as slaves and forced to work for the imperials or one of the Great Duchies.
Uzman walked unseeing towards his home. He had become numb from the blood flowing in the streets adorned with corpses. As he neared his home, Uzman noticed that it was one of the houses that were not burning, even though the door had been blasted apart through some form of inhuman force. He forced his legs to stagger inside dreading what he was about to see, yet having a shred of hope that maybe the heavens had conspired to safeguard his grandfather.
Once inside, Uzman saw Sulmani lying on a pool of his blood, his hands pressed against his stomach as if to keep his entrails from spilling out. Uzman felt bile rise to his throat but steeled himself and approached his grandfather. The old man looked pale due to the loss of blood. He seemed at peace, with his eyes closed, as if in a meditative trance. Uzman sat down and held Sulmani’s head and allowed his tears to flow freely. The old man had filled the role of a father and mother, teaching him to survive in the harsh and unyielding world of Tanga.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
A wave of anger and rage washed through him as he looked at the man who had been a bastion of hope and safety. What was to become of him? He had grown up an orphan but surrounded by love. The village and his grandfather had filled a void in his heart. The sacking of the village, the death of the villagers, and his grandfather had torn open his soul. He was now truly alone. On many occasions, he had heard that Tanga was a brutal land. Now, he knew just how unforgiving this plane could be. It was not a land for the weak.
Suddenly Sulmani’s eyes snapped open and he gripped his grandson’s hand letting go of his midriff and allowing blood to gush out. “Listen carefully," he garbled. "under the bed, there is a buried box. Inside you will find an amulet and other important items. It was passed to me by my father when I turned 16. It has always been so; passed down from father to son at the age of 16. I passed it to your father when he turned sixteen. He charged me to give it to you when the imperials conscripted him and sent him to be killed by the demons in the eastern contested lands. I promised I would pass it on to you on your 16th birthday. Taking care of you has given me the best years of my life."
Uzman was shocked into silence and quickly jumped to place his hands on the open wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. His mind registered unconsciously words from his grandfather as he hoped by some miracle to save him. He looked into Sulmani’s eyes and tried to convey all his love through his tears. The old man tried to smile through the tears and only managed to spout blood through his mouth.
“Always remember that you were loved and grew with love. Do not let hate fill your heart, strive to be worthy of your name and heritage Uzman bin Vitari bin Sulmani al Faysal of the Dragon Fire Clan. Much has been lost and much will be gained. Take heart for through our line will the guardians be reborn,” croaked Sulmani as he breathed his last.
Uzman sat holding Sulmani and cried for a long time. His tears flowed until he could cry no more. His mind was numb with anger, desolation, rage, sorrow, and loneliness. Finally, he forced himself to get off his feet. He picked up a shovel and went to dig grave pits for the villagers. It was only right to honor them by returning them to the land; to nourish the earth and join the wheel of reincarnation. Using the last of his strength, Uzman buried 88 bodies in three mass graves and finally keeled over from exhaustion and impotent rage next to where he had interred his grandfather.
After sleeping on the ground for close to 10 hours, Uzman awoke to a light drizzle as if the gods had deigned to send cleansing rain to wipe out the horror that happened in Kolcita. The light rain quenched the smoldering houses and covered the air with smoky humidity. Uzman shambled towards his home and leaned on the door frame to anchor himself and overcome the trembling in his legs. He used the calming breathing exercises that had served him well when hunting to improve his mental focus and overcome his virulent emotions.
He remembered that Sulmani had told him to excavate an amulet, his last link to his family heritage. The box was ornately carved on the outside and did not seem to have suffered from the vagaries of age. Inside was a pentagram-shaped medallion, with a hollow center. It was made from a combination of bone and some rare metal that Uzman had never encountered. The medallion was set on a small silver chain that had been crafted to allow wearing on the neck. In addition to the medallion, the box contained a map of Tanga and a pouch filled with coins.
Uzman took his grandfather’s traveling pack and filled it with food rations scavenged from the homes that had not been razed to the ground. He wore the medallion on his neck and stuffed the coin pouch into his britches and faced north, resolved to grow strong and survive.