Editor’s Note: this chapter is non-erotic and contains no sexual content. Chapter does contain violence.
*
“Bring water! Quick!”
“Water!”
“Water!”
Shouts for water permeated through the dry summer night. Panicked villagers rushed out of their huts as their screams grew fiercer by the second.
The village was on fire. In the dark night, with only the light from yellow moon, the blazing huts appeared as a work of artistic brilliance. The thin layer of snow was rapidly melting under the assault of vicious flames. The reddish hue of the fire was reflected on the high peaks surrounding the village which were covered by snow, and it looked alluring, incredibly so. But not for the villagers, it didn’t. Their cries for help grew louder by the second.
A mother crying for her son left inside the hut; A father rushing into the orange flame to rescue his daughter. Siblings, barely of age 5, shivering in each other’s arms. It was a pandemonium, nobody was able to make sense of, or rather, make conscious decisions to remedy the situation. They lacked the voice of reason, a leader to lead them out of this hell.
The cackling noise of the burning huts drowned out the screams for help. No amount of water proved to be enough to douse the fire. It was as if, the gods had abandoned them, nothing they did calmed the hellish inferno.
A person or two, or maybe even more, had realized by this time that it was not natural, that it wasn’t possible for the whole village to catch fire at the same time. No, it was something else, or more accurately, it was someone who had done this, poured the oil and lit the flames, the flames of abomination.
“Here, quick!”
“That place seems safe, come on!”
In the infernal night, with their homes trampled beneath the angry blaze, the few of the young men realized that a single hut, the largest in their little village of over 100 residents, was left untouched by this hellish scene.
“Chief, where is he? Chief!”
A man jumped out of a falling, blazing hut, with his daughter in his arm and called for the village Chief, the leader and the hero of their village. Alas, there was no one to answer him. In their panicked state all the villagers, from elderly to infants, were hurriedly making their way towards the Village Chief’s place of rest.
“Everybody please remain calm!”
A woman was calling for the frightened people to gather before her hut. She didn’t seem panicked, or maybe was doing an excellent job of hiding her fear, however at the time she did seem like the leader everyone was crying out for.
“Get them inside, whoever is injured let them come inside.” The woman was standing infront of the Village Chief’s hut and guiding the rest of them as a shepherd would do so his cattle. The people listened to her and followed her commands. Finally they had someone taking charge.
Theirs was a Village which ran on severe hierarchical system. The people weren’t equipped for this sudden attack, they need their leader to get them through this, and they had that in her. She never talked much, still, her words carried weight, and not just because she was an otherworldly beauty or a model wife and mom, no, it was because they saw the shadow of their true leader in her. Right now, she had the same aura as her husband, the Village Chief.
“Rub ice over the wounds! Rub ice over the wound!” She instructed even as she did so herself over a severely burned man and at the same time cursing that non of the guards on duty came forward. Where are they?!
Her little boy was clinging to her back, his eyes filled with tears and his fists clenched tight.The boy couldn’t be more than four years old and behaved just like any child of his age would under the circumstances as he refused to let go of his mother’s hemp clothes. He had the same black hair as his mother’s glossy black hair and had the same black eyes as her. Any stranger could tell from a single glance that they were mother and son.
He kept sticking to her even as she went from one injured to another to rub the now melting snow on their burns. The temperature had risen and the snow was melting. Most of the huts had burned down and all the villagers had huddled close to the one safe place.
It happened then, an arrow sailed towards the villagers and struck one of them.
“Aaah!!!” An inhuman scream echoed out as a man thudded down with an arrow sticking out of one of his eyes.
***
“Father, how much longer?”
“Just a bit more, Rudra,” Hemant smiled and patted his son’s head. He was carrying a buck, his trophy for the week’s hunt, on his back, however, one couldn’t tell this by looking at his gait and his swift speed.
Rudra, eight years old this past winter, glanced back to find that his father hadn’t left any footmarks in the snow. He felt proud at the discovery. His father was strong, the strongest even I the whole tribe, and also all the neighbouring tribes. Suddenly, though, his face scrunched up. He remembered the day he had asked his father to teach him magic, and his father had refused.
“You are still young,” he had said at the time, and every time after that as well. He didn’t understand it, why he was always rebuffed with the same excuse. And it wasn’t like it was a secret, his father did teach and trained the village young men all of whom could use spells and mana. He wanted to be like them, like his father, strong. He wanted to be strong so as to protect the tribe, protect his mother and protect his little brother. After all, even if there was still time, he was to be the next chief, and no chief should be weak and helpless.
Lost in his own thoughts he bumped into the tall, muscular figure of his father. He glanced up to find his father looking pensive and stunned. Before he could ask Jim about it, his father roared and started running at full speed towards their village. He frowned and followed behind him, however, he stopped in his tracks when he saw the flames rising up from the direction of their village.
***
Hemant charged straight towards his hut, his feet leading him rather than his mind The dead deer, which was to be a week’s ration for his tribe, still tied to his back. His eyes opened wide as he took in the scene of the place he called home.
The ground, the snow, was dyed red. The entrails of bodies were scattered everywhere haphazardly and cruelly.
“No! No! No!”
The worst that he could have imagined was laid bare in front of him. He was stupefied, shell-shocked. The despair and the fear was eating him alive, even as his feet carried him forward. He nearly broke down as his eyes fell on a severed head. It still had the vacant, hollow expression, as If asking him the question about why he wasn’t there for them.
Tears ran down Hemant’s eyes as he found himself in the middle of the horror show that was the annihilation, cruel and merciless extermination of his tribesmen.
Still in a daze, and blaming himself, he found that he had reached his hut. On the way he had watched numerous of his friends and acquaintances’ severed and mutilated bodies. He hated it, he hated the color red, as it was the only color visible.
“Oh! Look who’s home!?”
A mocking, heavy voice filled with malice woke him up from his torturous stupor. Hemant lifted his head to find 20 or so men encircling him.
“Tejab! You!” Hatred filled him as he locked eyes with the supposed culprit of this hellish scene. “I’ll kill you!!!”
“Oh yeah?” Tejab laughed uproariously. “With you alone?” He spat and then gestured with his hand before he ran his finger over the deep gash over his right eye.
Hemant was stunned when a row of men presented themselves before him. He knew them, he knew each and every one of them, why he had trained them to the level they were at from whence they were just little brats.
This shock was too much for him to bear. He couldn’t fathom why those young men had betrayed the village, betrayed him and their family.
“Why? Why do this? What did I do wrong? Wasn’t my love enough? I raised you up like my real sons when you were orphaned? WHY!?” Hemant’s mutterings became hysteric scream towards the tail part of it.
There was an eerie silence which was shattered by the mad laughter of the men surrounding Hemant. The young men whom he had asked his question joined in with a gleeful, slightly unhinged expression on their face.
The leader among them, Jack, took the lead and spat towards Hemant. His eyes filled with hatred he began, “Did you really think of us as your son? Really? Then why not teach us the secret technique of your ancestors?”
His voice climbed in decibels as he became more and more agitated. “The truth is you never would’ve taught us that! You never wanted us to become strong enough to challenge you and your family for the Chief’s position!”
“What! That is a lie!”
“You are a liar!” Jack screamed with bloodshot eyes. He laughed a gloomy laugh yet also mirthfully. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. We have found the one, the one who would teach us, teach us the real secret to become strong. Hahaha!!!”
Hemant couldn’t find the words to counter him or defend himself. The deranged laughing around him made him despair. Tears rolled down in droves as scenes of past harmony and sweet moments reeled across his eyes.
The winters were tough I the north. There wasn’t enough food to go around for everyone. To hunt for their meals, men and women, went deeper and deeper into the forest. Some times they went so deep that they never came back, leaving behind their children. The children left behind were the final sign of their existence.
It became the responsibility of the Village Chief to raise and look after the orphaned children. Hemant had inherited the will of the past leaders before him and women to never let the children feel the absence of their real parents. He had done a splendid job, in his own opinion, of making them feel loved and at home. He had taught them everything, trained them up to become exceptional warriors, he left no stone unturned for them. But…
The sense of betrayal was painful. His “sons” had betrayed him. He had loved them so dearly but they still betrayed him, his love and his efforts. He felt as if his heart was being stabbed again and again as he looked at them. The only thing he found, however, was the sense of alienation and unadulterated hatred reflected in their eyes.
Hemant’s feet trembled and his lips shivered. His shirt stuck to his back, the deer left behind somewhere among the corpses. The dry wind felt like thorns on his skin and the vicious, barbaric, scenes kept repeating themselves. He was broken, broken in mind and broken in heart, even breathing in became a torture from the depths of hell. He realized he had lost, lost everything.
“How does it feel!?” Tejab who had been conspicuously silent till now laughed and taunted. “How does it feel to lose everything? Where is your power now? Where is your kindness?” Maniacally smiling to himself he continued, “Do you remember when you gave me this present, this wonderful present over my eye? I swore I would take revenge. Hahaha… now it’s time.”
Anger.
Anger filled Hemant’s mind. He couldn’t control his emotions any longer. The sadness and the betrayal gave way to anger. His eyes changed to that of a hunter. He was outnumbered 40 to one, but there wasn’t even a shred of fear in him. The worst had already happened and nothing could change that anymore. He was ready, he was ready to accept his death, the inevitable outcome. But before that his enemies would have to pay. Pay for what they did to his tribe, pay for betrayal, and pay for the desecration.
“By his will!” Everyone joined in Tejab’s chant. They screamed and charged ahead towards Hemant, the renowned Hemant, giant of a character in battlefield.
***
Hours Later
Rudra came out of his hiding place in one of the burnt down hut. He had watched it all, the scene of his father heroically fighting 40 men all by himself, and taking down nearly 30 of them. He had watched how his beloved “brother Jack” twisted his sword inside Hemant. He had nearly jumped out at that moment, but the imperceptible stare from his father made him rooted to his spot. He had watched how the damn traitors had ganged upon his father and how his father had heroically fought till the end without a thought of retreating.
“Father! Mother!” Rudra sniffled.
He walked through the village in a daze. He threw up whenever his eyes fell on the mutilated corpses skewed all over the place. His eyes were wet with tears, the blurry images still haunted him. He wanted to close his eyes, to turn away from the gruesome scene, but he didn’t. He wanted to etch this scene in his heart. He couldn’t forget it even if tried.
He laid down before his hut, the only thing left whole in the village. His clothes became red as well as his skin. His tears dried up, eventually, after hours of crying. He felt lost and alone. Crying to himself, he performed the last rites and cremated his father. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t found either his mother’s or his brother’s corpse.
He searched around only to find a headless corpse which seemed like his mother’s. He had already grown numb to blood and death and everything in between that he didn’t feel any aversion to performing the last rites for his mother’s headless corpse.
“Where is he? Why can’t I find him?”
Rudra mulled about his brother’s disappearance. Bhairu was also a smart boy much like himself. And it was this smartness that led to Rudra being spared from the evil clutches of Tejab and his lackeys along with the traitors. After all it was his own decision to hide himself, even if his father has always told him to do so if ever their village was under attack.
He searched everywhere but couldn’t find him in the village. “Maybe…”
He ran on the snow to the one place he hadn’t already checked. It was a place know only to the two brothers. He ran and ran, just so he could reach there quicker even if by a second.
“Bhairu?” He called out between his panting. He didn’t wait for an answer and barged in by removing the rock from over the cave’s mouth.
He was stunned by his discovery.
There sat all alone in the dark cave was his brother. He seemed as if all emotions had left him, vacantly staring at his elder brother. His clothes were bloody and there was a gash over his thick outerwear. But most surprisingly he was holding on to a severed head, their mother’s head.
Rudra went inside and tried to take away the head to perform last rites on it but Bhairu refused to let go. Rudra tried again but gave up when he realized that it was a fruitless effort. If his little brother wanted to keep hold of the head, then he could do so.
***
Next Day
Rudra and Bhairu, with his mother’s head in his arms, left the village with heavy hearts. There was nothing left of the bright and cheerful place anymore, and importantly, it was not suitable for two little kids to stay in.
Rudra consoled his little brother and told him the plan. “We’ll go south. Father once told me that South has many sects where we can train and they have a lot of food, we won’t have to go hungry, ever. It’s a wonderful place, so let’s go.”
Bhairu held his elder brother’s hand and walked while glancing back every second step. He hadn’t said much since yesterday and Rudra was worried if he had lost his voice. But that was something to worry about later. First they had to cross the peaks and valleys laid ahead of them. It was going to be a long journey.
“I’ll be back!” Rudra murmured in a low voice with a conviction so strong that no 8 year old would ever know.
Only a pair of small footsteps remained in the snow.
***