The Trial III

Humans are fragile things, since the dawn of time, it has always been so. Some were blessed with cunning and smarts, others speed and strength, or magic for a few. But in the end, it takes very little for the race of men to die. 

A dagger to the heart, for instance. 

Every second brought another squirt of blood, every pump of the heart squeezed the last of the soul from its mortal coil. The fight was over; perhaps it had been over for a meter. Tolon didn't seem to notice; his fists hammered into Chagadai's chest, then the punches turned into slaps until all he could manage were weak grabs. Then, there was nothing but the wails of Maa, from her place on a nearby stage.

 Chagadai didn't move; his chest heaved from the exertion of his trial. For a moment, it seemed as if he, too, might be dead. Then, with a spurt of strength, he raised his blood-stained knife to the skies.

He threw back his head and roared in a tone so guttural and monstrous, so unnaturally loud that even the gods in their faraway heavens could hear. He stood and scanned the people that surrounded him. They were his people now, every one of them. The people, the animals, everything down to the smallest scrap of wood belonged to him.

"I have won the trial. Kızıl Kurtlar is no more, all people, herds, and objects now, under the eyes of the great gods and spirits of our peoples, belong to me." 

The cheer came as a trickle, then a flow, until at once a wave rushed over the spectators. Matched by the pained cries of the subjugated.

The crowd quieted with the signal from the Khan.

"They called him Tolon, Tolon the brave, Tolon the bloodied, Tolon the raider. He was a hero to our people once, on the morrow we will give him all proper burial rights and host a feast in his name."

He started towards his camp, shaking off the aid of one of his men. 

Bakar left for his tent to prepare. The fight was over, and the fate of his tribe was decided. He would not, NOT, be unprepared for what was to come next whatever it may be. 

"You were right. It seems you are always right." Maral appeared from behind a rack of drying clothes; tears clouded her eyes. 

"Not always." He replied coldly

Ghoa's tent was hidden amongst the largest trees in the forest. Black as tar were their bodies, with gnarly and twisted white branches that snaked across each other menacingly. The sickly scent of the trees overpowered the myriad of smells that came from the Yurt. 

"My son! Is the fight over already? I was sure that it would last at least a day." Her eyes darted from Bakar to Maral, and back, a smile crept across her face. "And you brought home a lady. I knew you were getting close to that age, so exciting."

"I... It's not like that." Maral blushed and nervously looked away

"Tolon is dead, Mother. Our tribe is no more." Interrupted Bakar. "Your position as a healer means no harm will come to you or Cotoah. Still, You should prepare just in case; I have already prepared a horse and supplies for myself."

"Always so serious, child, you place too high of a value on yourself if you think they need to kill you for stability." She poured mare's milk from a jug into two ivory cups and offered them to the pair. "Besides, on the bright side, I have just won a new bone necklace." 

"Gambling?" Bakar asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Judgment is bad for the soul, with how you think you could win much from gambling. Well, that's enough chatting I must prepare Tolon's body for the funeral." 

With a Nod, Bakar left the tent with Maral trailing behind

"Tell Arik I expect the necklace by tonight!" Ghoa's Words followed in their wake.

The camp was quiet and grim as the sun set, flickering torches illuminated their path. The Yurt was the second largest in their former tribe. Ghoa's tent produced queer smells and scents; this tent filled the air with smells of mouthwatering foods and rare spices. 

A dozen tables sprawled out across a small courtyard outlined with a fence made of gathered sticks. Near every table was sat with a score or more people enjoying their hearty meals. The inside of the mess tent had much the same layout; however, half the tent was a large cook station that kept the inside warm. Small openings in the roof keep the smoke from building up and suffocating them. 

The table was a circular small thing, Bakar's presence had a way of moving people. In a literal sense. He laid out the contents of his pack across the table for the aids that darted back and forth to see. A bundle of feathers plucked from a hunted bird a day ago, three small marmot skins he had earned at the hills of his first battle nearly a month ago, and a black stone tartar called obsidian he had gathered long ago. 

A fair-looking aide did not leave them waiting for long. With a sharp eye, she examined each offering piece by piece. Nodding, she said, "We have freshly cooked mutton seasoned with wild herbs or a stew of peas, carrots, and rabbit." The maid looked to Maral and back to Bakar in much the same way as Ghoa "I'll give you each a plate of mutton and a mug of ale for all of it. You can keep the stone." 

"Ale?" Asked Bakar.

"Yes, one of the other tribes raided a northern country called Costovo and made off with dozens of caskets of ale. We traded for a few of them, we will only have it for today and tomorrow then we save the rest." 

"Do you wish to eat or not?" She added impatiently

"I will, but Tartar can vouch for the stone's worth. Give us two extra cups of ale for it"

"Fine" she replied.

"I am wealthier than you I can pay for myself," Maral spoke after the maid had left.

"If it matters then you can make it up to me." At his assertion, Maral flushed red and smirked.

"Oh? And how would you like me to make it up to you?" She locked eyes with Bakar. For a moment he lost himself in the blueish-green hue of them.

"Tell me what your family is planning." He replied before he forgot himself

"You know, Most boys your age would have a different meaning." The disappointment in her voice was not lost on him.