Outer Wagons

We wore exhaustion like heavy capes when we finally filtered back to the clan fires. One by one a body would slump to the furs unable to find energy to move a muscle. Adorned in soot, grime and blood, we had no care of our appearances. Lela among several other kajira ran here and there filling the requests for paga, blackwine, fresh water or whatever came to mind that seemed it may liven the weariness. Other than the low mumblings of tired voices, it was quiet. An eerie kind of quiet that disturbed the senses. Adrenaline was not going to allow any of us to find rest or sleep but we were all too tired to drag ourselves up the wagon steps to turn in for the night.

I glanced up in the direction of the Kassar encampment. In the dark I wouldn't be able to make them out but I knew they were there. They had left enough evidence behind as proof not to doubt them. I had this feeling that I'd been given a reprieve, that all this was supposed to have gone differently and if it had ... I would know the blood people in a much clearer light. A brisk wind blew against the loose swag of my wind scarf bringing a chill as if it marked my thoughts and made them public to everyone there. Its presence made itself even more tangible by the eddy it formed picking up debris and dry grass, skipping, sliding, moving round and round. Paschal smirked as he watched and suddenly punctuated the surreal moment with a rat-a-tat tat-tat-tat on his slave's bottom with the flat of his hands. An answering echo came from across the fires by none other than Barhk and filled in somewhere near me by Myzon and Vao. We all grinned at the same time.

Petra rose from her spot, grabbing the hand of the woman next to her. The scissored steps keeping time to the haunting melody .. three forward and two back ... we all knew well. Magda prodded my side hard enough to make little blue imprints trying to encourage me to join the others. Vao didn't give me any choice as he swung by and snagged my refusing wave of hand and drug me to fill in a gap as the circle went by. Someone thrust a cymbaled ring in my hands and I began to tamp it with the heel of my palm to add to the percussion of hand held drums. The sweet strains of a flute wafted into the fray as well as the thrum of a kalika taken in a raid. As we made our way around the fires, we would add another then another. Men, women, children, slaves. It made no difference. We were lit by the glow of flames both inside and out. We were Tuchuk. We were the Kaiila Clan and this was our victory. The night burst open into a celebration of laughter and living .. of being who we were.

It was far into the night before the last of the revelers stumbled triumphantly past their weariness up to their platforms and disappeared beneath the flap. I was one of the last, wanting ... needing in my own way to watch over them all. I only remember ruffling the top of a guard sleen's head then the soft feel of my furs enveloping me.