The flame of the sword never wears out. It brightens like the rays, a swirl of sunrise. The colors of the rise of flame. It dances with you from dawn to sundown. The more you swing, the more the flame enlightens, the higher your blood will run, and sweat will pour from your body. Not from the fast movement of your body, but the heat. The sword burns, it's a fiery furnace that can destroy the user if not taken into proper care. The central ridge will lock the inferno inside the iron, putting all the energy of the fire in the point. And when you strike. You unleash a flaming hell on your opponent.
Become one with the sword, and it'll protect you. That's the lesson Papa taught me.
The air is hot inside the abandoned temple cave of Wihacannon. No one visits the temple, it's forbidden under the laws of the Lord. The caves drip with cold water, but the air feels sticky and hot a terrible combination. I sway my sword left and right, kicking my feet in the air, moving steps back, swinging and dodging as if I'm fighting a person who can kill me at any second. Their attacks come forward in swings and kicks. I dodge as best as I could, but when their sword reaches near my abdomen, I topple onto the floor from trying to dodge.
Finished, is what Papa would say.
I get up from the wet dirt in exhaustion. Dragging my body to face the stone monument written in Kustalian imprints. The memorial is glass, with the stone placed on the floor, evergreen flowers, and franken-scented coal decorating the center.
I fall to my knees, placing my sword right in front of me. I bow my head letting the cold water drops fall on my locs. I reek of sweat and mud, Aiyi will nag about my robe and pants.
Papa's memorial isn't fancy, it's not the memorial you'd see for a high-ranked warrior who's fought in the war. Who died fighting for our empire. His name, the day of his rising, and the day of his falling are the only imprints on the stone. The brown wooden pot that holds his cremated remains sits in the middle.
When I was ten years old, military asklanders from purgatory came into our village. They wore their dirty military rags and their steel swords at their hip. They went into all the warriors' homes, all the men that served, and handed their families pots, pots filled with their remains. Mita and her sister prayed that day, praying that they wouldn't come to our door. Mother was sick, she didn't know how long she'd last, but she wanted to see Papa before she fell, to know that her children would have someone to care for us. Eventually, the asklanders come, handing us this wooden pot right in front of me. He had died that day, an explosion killed him on the battlefield.
It's been seven years since, but I remember it like it happened yesterday. The weeps that filled our home, the sorrow, the saddened aura that corrupted the village. The flames in our hearts died that day, along with Papa.
The last words he said to me before he was taken to the military were 'to be courageous, the most courageous have the brightest hearts'.
I get up from the floor, picking up my sword and placing it in the case at my hips. I walked down the cold cave to the entrance, but I stopped when I heard a creaking sound and loud footsteps. My hand lies affirmed at my case, ready to use it at any moment. Circling, I look at all the entrances of the cave, all the ripped banners on the walls, the broken stone gods that tower over me. The footsteps get louder and louder, the rock marble increasing the sound. The shadow of the figure comes in place, and I strike near the banner that covers the entrance in a threatening blow. The figure falls quickly, tearing down the banner along with them, dodging, they roll on the floor with the banner covering them. I quickly tear it apart. Before I can get a good look, the person pushes me to the ground, revealing their face.
"Mari!"
Mari gives me a scowling look, the kind you give a person when you're gonna punch them. "Were you trying to kill me!" she shouts.
My cheeks flush as I sink deeper into the mud. She sighs helping me up, I pick up my sword along the way and put it back in my case. "Why are you here?" I ask her as we walk through the entrance.
She throws a small patch toward me and I catch it quickly. It's a patch filled with silver coins. My eyes pop wide as Mari smiles. "It's the pay for this year's harvest," she says proudly.
"We made this much," I ask, shocked. "I thought those shinwa wouldn't give an ounce of their pesa to us."
She nods giving me a pleasing look. "Seems not. I just came back from the dock, Elder was pleased he even gave us extra just from gratitude. The harvest tamasha was never this profitable. And our wheat never sold this much."
I nodded happily. Grateful that we won't have to worry about the winter. Food won't be a problem for the whole village. Not after everything we've sold for the tamasha. Even though the town square dislikes the next-door village, they surely don't mind throwing their pesa at us for our wheat and honey.
We walk out the entrance of the cave to be greeted by the red sky and yellow clouds. The waves crash against the rocks of the cave. The water splashed to our feet. An orange color against the yellow sun as it rises. It's only dawn as we both walk through the high mountain coast of the Wihacannon Village. The cave rains like a high mountain, and as we walk down I get a beautiful view of the village. The orange-white cube figures tower on each other like blocks and the feathery racks that hang clothing. The houses lay in the mountains, the stone rocks supporting them. The village's waterfall lies in the forest, at the east of the mountains, it flows downstream towards a river that leads to the sea. Many never go there, there's a forest that lies beneath the waterfall, and everyone says it's too dangerous there. Creatures and wild animals roam around the forest free, it's their home, their natural habitat. The village leaves the water supply to the Ganga women.
Mari and I carefully climb down the mountains, watching our step. We reach the surface of the coast and start walking on the rocky sand. The feeling is ruff and wet, I regret not wearing my sandals, I wince when I step on cracked shells.
Mari seems to be well prepared, her sandals wrapped around her leg as she leaves me behind and walks further. "Catch up little sister," she teases, walking faster.
Even though we were twins, Mari's always been ahead of me in everything. She'd soon get married to an asklander from the town square. Her skin was the color of wilted chestnut, much lighter than my dark oak skin, her eyes were chuck hazel, hair the colors of brown and black. Her only flaw was her gapped teeth that she so dearly hated. Even with our unique family genes, Mari was the one named the flower of the village. Her hair is straighter than mine, more fluid, while mine is kinky and tangled, always in tucked locs. Her skin is soft and mine is ruff. I have a few scars on my body from harsh self-training.
Mari and I used to come to the banks and spar, Mita used to teach us the ways of the sword before she fell ill. We were both talented, according to Mita. We could've been asklanders if we were men and weren't considered demisons. Even with that fact, Mari and I were still sparing for fun. We had plans to become Ganga women, to protect and feed the village. But after Papa died, she never picked up a sword again.
We finally reached the tall wooden gates of the village. Pisok sits on the east of the Wihacannon's, lying on the edge of the Silver Sea. A fish and waterfall village. The village is mostly known for its tamasha during the fall, fresh fish, and fruits. It sits next to the village of Khrâng that houses the town square, filled with asklanders and nobles. They didn't like our village very much though, but we've lived in peace for years.
With the never-ending war between the empires of Kustal and Al Mania, the drafts for warriors have been a never-ending river of blood and sorrow. Many were lost when the Al Manians first attacked the other Empires of Cannan over decades ago, but I'm sure our country Kustal suffered the most, with our border sitting right next to theirs.
Mari enters the gates, walking over sandy rocks, I'm more careful, jumping over spiky and slippery ones. The door gates are open. Wagons go through and out with merch, food, and other things that are transported by sea or land. I spot two asklanders guarding the gate. They give me a nod as I walk past. Asklanders with less talent and no connections are placed in villages like ours. To guard gates and poor noble homes.
We enter the village, with traffic of wagons and people. They all rotate in circles, going different ways on the sidewalk. All in their robes and cotton, women with their Ukhambas on their heads, carrying the harvest food. The sand turns into stoned concrete as Mari and I keep walking.
We pass by Unkoko, an old lady who sells corn at her stall. She gives us a wave, and we bow in recognition as we walk to her. Many women in the village believe she may be the next to fall. She's one of the eldest, but with her illness, it's no doubt she'll last the next winter.
"One ratli," Mari says.
Unkoko puts four fresh corn on a leaf basket and hands it to Mari. "Mpende mume wako," the old lady says. Grace your husband.
Mari smiles, taking the leaf basket from her. "Neema nafsi yako." Grace your soul.
When Mari turns to leave I follow after, but I'm stopped by Unkoko's wrinkly hands. "Come, I must show you something," she says.
Her accent was heavy. The village speaks a mix of our empire's language, Kustalian, and the village's native tongue, Pisokan. But many elders prefer to speak their native tongue.
I stare at her dark skin and pale brown eyes. Her eyes look close to gray, and her skin is like a withered rag. She's getting old, but older than people assume. "Of course," I say, following her inside the stall, where we go through a draped blanket. I look towards Mari who stares at us blankly. "I'll be back." She does nothing but nods.
Unkoko's stall was huge, covered in decorated blankets that smelled like the sea and burned wood. It's filled with vegetables and shekla pots. I wait near the fire as Unkoko looks through boxes, she's mumbling something I can't hear, it's when I hear the melody that I realize she's humming. "When I was vijana," she says. "I used to sing with the seabirds with your bibi."
I smile. "You and grandma were close, Aiyi told me."
She flutes humorously. "Close? Your bibi and I were dada wu dama, just like you and Marima." Blood sisters.
"It's a shame she fell before I did."
Her words saddened my smile, I felt the twinge of happiness float away. I didn't know much about my grandma, just that she fell right when I was born. Mita never talked about her because it saddened her. I heard stories about her from Aiyi and Unkoko. They told me she was a beautiful and poised woman. A woman that I should look up to.
Unkoko brings a shekla pot forward from the bunched rolled rugs and pots, putting it on the table and taking out a white, blue, and yellow bead necklace from inside. "Here child, I'd like you to give this to your dada."
I furrow my eyebrows, confused. "But shouldn't you give this to Mari yourself."
Her grin widens, thinning her eyes. "This was your bibi's, she wore it on her wedding day. When your dada becomes married, you must give this to her, as her dada wu dama."
Unkoko's words were slow but charming. There was a harmony to her voice that calmed me. "Yes, Unkoko."
I take the necklace from her and wrap it in my back kit. I kiss her on her forehead and start walking out of the stall.
"Zuri."
Her voice was stern, and I turned quickly, afraid that something happened. "I'd want to show you something later," she says, her words deep and serious.
I stare at her dazed before nodding and walking out of the stall. I'm met with Mari outside the stall. She looks at me worried. "Is everything ok?"
I give her a grin and nudge on the shoulder, before taking the basket from her hands. "Of course, let's go."
I walk fast, bumping into wagons and carts up the slope, but not giving a care at all. Only the weight of granma's necklace in my kit pulled me down.
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The Ganga women always arrived from the forest in an honorable tamasha. With their animal clay masks that were colored with squashed berries, they walked through the gates with wheat, beans, and leaves being thrown at them, the elder women cheering and murmuring Pisokan words of gratitude. Golden lanterns were lit and hung on rondavel and mud houses. Aiyi led the pack, her mask long and red. Many villagers believed it was colored in the blood of monsters that roamed in the forest. She was half-naked of course, her bare chest showing, showing the symbol of her frugality and fearlessness. She flourished in her bead skirt that showed parts of her long legs. Ganga women weren't considered huntresses, in Kustal, huntresses were considered witches, they weren't allowed to fight in the war, nor could they kill. But the Ganga women were healers, they were respected and cherished, and they brought peace to the forest and village.
It was once said that the first-ever Chini was a Ganga woman. She bore frugality and honor. And on her back, some ridges went down her spine that looked like small spikes. To this day she was spat upon because of the laws of the Lord, but I admired her. Auntie Aiyi reminded me of her.
The Ganga women went to their family members after letting the men load the pots of water into the wagons. Aiyi walked toward Mari and me, a wide grin on her face. "Hello, girls."
Mari and I hugged her tightly, not minding her bare painted body. "Aiyi!" Mari squealed.
Aiyi was away for two days on her journey, it wasn't an easy task to pick up water from the waterfall, it was a long journey, even for Ganga women. We let Aiyi's arms rest on our shoulders, as we walked up the hill to our house. "How are you!" She asked, rejoicing.
"Happy that you're here," I said blissfully.
She kissed me on the head.
It was already nightfall, I had helped Mari make shrop for dinner, and knitted Mari's reunion dress for tomorrow. I changed out of my training rags and into a proper robe, I even decided to put my locs in a braid, letting Mari clip it with wheat sticks for the Ganga tamasha.
"I take it you two have been eating well," Aiyi asks.
Mari nodes. Mari was very short compared to me and Aiyi, but much more graceful unlike our ruff walks on stone. "I made a special shrop for your return, I was hoping you could rest when we get home. I heard the cold has been brutal in the forest."
"I heard the forest is filled with frost monsters that can freeze you in a bite." I wiggle my hands in a sinister way.
Mari laughs. "They'll take you in their cave and hang you like a mapambo with the rest of the captives." Mari intakes my hand wiggles, getting a laugh out of Aiyi
Aiyi smiles, kissing Mari on her head. "A shrop does sound refreshing," her smile fades. "But I have a meeting at the dock house with the elders."
I stop in my tracks, causing Aiyi and Mari to look back at me. "Did something happen?" I ask.
Aiyi's face is placid, and I watch as the wrinkles in her skin start to appear. Even for a Ganga, she was getting old, and I could tell by her graying hair and wrinkly wrist. Her face changes into a wide smile, as she shakes her head. "Nothing at all. Just a discussion about the winter."
I stare at her for a moment, before slowly walking down the trail with them. "Ok."
Our rondavel was up the hill, at the top of the mountain that sloped down like a triangular square. I felt my legs already tiring from the walk. I watched a young girl in a carpenter's stall holding a lantern as she waited for her Ganga mother. The mother in painted white dots ran to her causing the girl to drop her lantern and run to her mother. They hug tightly, for moments long. I smile as I watch them.
The village was at peace in the lovely nighttime as families got together lighting lanterns and sweeping the wheat from the ground.
I never understood why Mita called the village colorless. It was full of life and color, with loving people and loving families.
Peaceful. That's all it ever was.
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I woke up to chaos.
Several Ganga women were in our rondavel carrying pots of water and oil. I was half asleep when a random Ganga woman dragged me out of my bed and into Mari's room. I spotted Aiyi talking to a young farmer from the docks when passing through my curtain. She gave me a quick nod when she saw me. I had no idea what was happening.
The Ganga woman pulled me to Mari's room. Half her things were gone. Her blanket cot was moved, replaced by a long rusted tub that smelled like honey. Two Ganga women were washing Mari's hair and cleaning her with sponge grapes. When she saw me, her eyes brightened. A Ganga woman with short-cut hair gave a quick smile. "You're next after her."
I nodded.
Today was Mari's Muungano, it was a tradition for gangs women to help the bride get ready to meet her soon husband
"Aren't you sitting in what the horses drink out of?" I asked, acting disgusted.
Her eyes widened, and then she turned to the Ganga women who were scrubbing her back. "Am I?" She asked, almost horrified.
I laugh, causing her to look up at me with wide eyes. "Don't do that."
I sit on the floor right next to the tube. "Are you nervous?"
She slouches, letting her weight rest on the side of the tube as she takes my hand. "I wouldn't call it nervous . . . just, uneasy."
I intertwine my hand with hers, feeling her soft skin. "Uneasy for what?"
She looks straight at the drawings on the wall. All of the dried smashed berries that were swabbed into godly figures, the smell of coal outline still lingered in the air.
"Even though he will be my husband, I've never met him. Aiyi says he's a handsome, good man, a warrior, but . . . what he takes one look at me and then runs away."
One of the Ganga women hesitantly stopped scrubbing, but she quickly went back to it when I noticed. It didn't take a second for me to put my hands on Mari's wet hair and brush it softly, not minding the wetness. "Mari. Any man will kill to even glance at you. You're beautiful, and he'd be a madman to not love you."
She smiles that smile that reminded me of Mita. "You say that because you're my sister."
"I say that because it's true."
Even bare-chested and wet, I didn't flinch when she hugged me tightly. The Ganga women seemed to have stopped scrubbing to let us have this sweet sisterly moment.
"You should be an enchantress," Mari giggled on my neck.
I sighed. "You know I'm too ugly for that."
We both laughed, but my smile faded when I realized she was crying. "What's wrong?'' I asked, pushing her away.
She smiled, even with the tears falling on her naked body. "They're tears of joy," she said. "I'm just really happy."
She hugged me again, pulling me close.
I saw the faces of both the Ganga women. I expected annoyance or a scowl, but they looked uneasy, upset maybe. Mari hugged me tighter. It wasn't until I felt a small droplet on my shoulder that I realized that something was wrong.