Mourning The Sun

The Sun

  Written by: Melody Hewson

  Copyright: Melody Hewson 2012

  A bright summer sun shone high in an azure sky, warming the small village and it's cheerful inhabitants. Light breezes played among the fields of long grass, making them appear to dance with joy at experiencing such a day. The sweet songs of amorous birds filled the air, occasionally drowned out by the bellow of a kordox calling to it's companions.

  Inside the small village, tarous went about their various tasks, some humming cheerful songs to themselves as they hung out herbs to dry or ground grains, a tanner worked a freshly skinned hide from an old kordox bull, the meat of which had been traded in the city. Once the fur was scraped off, the hide would likely be used to mend one of the small dwellings that dotted the field. Settled near the remains of the communal campfire, the village storyteller prepared his props for the evening's entertainment. Beside him, an older bull sat painting the puppet he had just finished carving, which was in the shape of a large cat.

  Across from the campfire, a young mother looked out from the open doorway of her hut, smiling as she imagined the tale that would be told that night, before turning her attention back to the torn garment in her hands. Beside her, a milk calf played imaginary games with a crude rag doll. Too young to speak in more than incomprehensible babble, the calf happily played alone, watched over by her mother who worked on a basket of her mate's torn clothing.

  As the child was swinging her doll happily by it's limp arms, one of them suddenly came free from the doll's body, halting all play as the youngling looked at the separated arm in confusion. With the soulful mourning that only one so young and innocent was capable, she began to wail loudly over her broken toy.

  Her mother gave a small gasp as she looked up from her mending, startled and worried. Once she saw the source of her daughter's pain, however, she relaxed and smiled in relief. “Be easy now, my young mourner.” She cooed softly. “You're doll can easily be fixed. Here, let me see it.”

  The crying ceased immediatly and the young tarin looked up at her mother trustfully, offering her the ragdoll which had been given as a gift at her birthing ceremony and which she had never been without.

  Her mother took it and made a show of studying the problem carefully. “Well this is a simple matter to fix, my dear heart. The thread has merely broken.” She reached for her new bone needle when a warning cry filled the air, chilling her more than the coldest winds of winter.

  “Attack! We're under attack! Run! RUN!” Cries of alarm shattereed the once-peaceful village as tarous scrambled to gather a few precious items before fleeing, hoping to evade the attackers, trusting thier protection to the guardians. The sounds of battle seemed to come from everywhere; the clash of weapons, the screams of pain, the stamp of hooves and the falling of bodies. “They're breaking through! Hold fast! Give the others time to esca-” and then the voice was cut off, turning instead to the horrible gurgling cry of a cut throat.

  The young mother stared at her open doorway, frozen in horror and indescision as the sounds of fighting came closer and closer. Finally she turned to her daughter, who stared back with eyes wide with fear and confusion. Swiftly she upended her basket over the calf's head and held up her hand, begging for silence. “Shhh, wait here my darling, and stay silent.” She tried to make her voice as soothing as possible, hoping her daughter could not hear the terrified tremble that she herself heard there. “Wait here for mommy and be a good girl. I promise I'll be back for you as soon as it's safe.”

  Confused and frightened, the calf obediantly hid under the basket, peeking out in terrified fascination. She could still hear the unfamiliar sounds of fighting growing closer and closer, cries of pain and death, clashing weapons, splintering wood, battle cries and what sounded like a hunting horn.

  Through the open doorway, the calf could see the old storyteller and his companion fighting with nothing more than puppets and a whittling knife. They fought bravely, but the enemy overwhelmed them, finally managing to overpower the old bulls. The calf watched helplessly as the storyteller fell first, his usual cheerful smile replaced by a twisted mask of rage.

  She continued to watch, held frozen by a mingling of curiosity and fear, as her mother grabbed a small knife, used primarily for the slicing of thick hides, and rose to her feet, dashing out of the doorway and leaping onto the back of an assailent just outside of the calf's vision, stabbing violently with the short chipped blade. When the enemy fell, she turned on the next one, baring her teeth in a snarl as if to intimidate the enemy, but they showed no fear of her as she too was cut down.

  The minutes seemed to stretch into eternity for the youngster, who refused to leave the safety of her hiding place, waiting for her mother to come and tell her that it was safe again. Eventually the screams stopped and there was only the mumble of unfamiliar voices and the crackle of fire. Soon even the voices went away, but still she refused to move from her hiding place, for although she could see her mother from her hiding place, she had not yet moved.

  It was hunger that finally drove the small calf into the open again, her belly rumbling furiously. The sun was still shining warmly and the songs of the birds had returned, so out of place amid the carnage and destruction that surrounded her. Most of her village had been left in ruin and fires still blazed, set by the mauraders as they left. The acrid smell of smoke make her crinkle her nose and brought stinging tears to her eyes, but the fire had not yet reached her hut, allowing her some small feeling of safety.

  The calf's voice was choked as she called out, babbling nonsense as she approached her mother's still form. When the cow remained still, the calf tried another tactic. “Awa!” She cried. “Awa!” The word meant sun in her native tongue, and it had never before failed to cause her mother to hug her and praise her excitedly. It was the only real word she had learned to speak of a language that felt like magic to the youngling, but now the magic was gone as her mother remained where she was, unmoving. “Awa?” She said one last time, nudging the cold corpse that had always been so warm and comforting before, her young mind still unable to process the concept of death.

  “So, dere be a survivah here afterall.” The voice was strange and unfamiliar, the language alien to the young calf's ears. Giving a cry of surprise, she turned and bolted back to her hut and hid under the basket again, terrified that the unknown enemy had returned. The stranger's footsteps followed her and she cowered in fear as a shadow crept closer and closer to her doorway. In desperation, the calf hid her face in her arms, thinking herself invisible as the dreaded enemy entered her home and crept closer to her hiding place.

  “It be a'right young one.” The strange voice came again, speaking words she couldn't understand. “You be alright. Jaegia not harm yah none.” The voice was soft and soothing, even if the words were strange to her, and she finally dared open one eye, peeking through her folded arms at the stranger, who was kneeling beside her, lifting the edge of the basket to look in on its occupant.

  The stranger was a creaturer she had never seen before. Its skin was a greyish blue like the sky before a rainstorm, and it's mane stood up stiffly from its scalp. Rather than sprouting from the sides of its head like proper horns, the creature's horns seemed to come from the sides of its mouth. Its eyes were a goldish brown with no whites, the black of the pupil like a sideways slit. The calf stared at the seemingly misshapen creature for several long seconds before finding her voice again. “Awa!” She screamed, as if the word was a magical ward of protection. “Sun!”

  The agwa looked down at the frightened calf with sympathy before turning his head to look at the still form that she had been standing near when he'd first seen her. “I be sorry, littal one, but your Mamma... she be gone now. Back to de spirits.” He th
en turned his attention back to the tiny calf and held out his hand in offering. “It be a terrible ting dat happen here, young one, and Jaegia undastand you feah. But you can't be stayin here all alone. You be safe now wit Jaegia. Come. Come say you goodbyes an' den we go.”

  The calf continued to watch the stranger warily a moment. His voice was rough and gravelly, but it didn't hold any threat, and despite his strange appearance, there was something comforting about his presence. Finally, the calf took his hand and allowed him to help her to his feet. Together they walked to the still form of her slain mother and she was allowed to hold the cold corpse while the agwa spoke a strange chant, but finally she was gently pulled away.

  As she began to cry, the agwa swept her into his long arms and hugged her to his chest, making soothing sounds while gently stroking her short mane. She felt safe in his long, powerful arms and was quickly lulled into a much needed rest by the rythmic pounding of his heart. Had she known that she would never again see her home or her mother, she might have stayed awake a little longer to take one final look at all she was leaving behind, but her youthful innocence saved her from memorizing the devistated ruin that her beloved ruin had become. For the rest of her life, she would only remember her home as it had been; a place of peace, of love, and of joy.

  Thank you for reading this short story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This short is part of a series that I will be releasing as a prelude to my upcoming series, The Wolfcaller Chronicles, which take place in a strange and faraway land full of alien creatures and interesting races like those mentioned in this story. If you enjoyed this tale then keep an eye out for book one of The Wolfcaller Chronicles, coming soon!