Now my birth is not one of a true beginning. For when I was born, I was already a woman. I had lived a life time in the glorious walls of Turia. So much in my long seventeen years. To say I was spoiled would be an understatement. I had beautiful gardens that belonged only to me, filled with scented petals delicate and velvety like the cushions I pressed my cheek against at night. They were long polished stone paths from the back archway of the doors from my sleeping chambers. I would walk out in my lush pink robes wrapped around my fine linen gown. Some days, brazen in my bare feet so I could feel the morning dew on the chilled blades of grass. My Mother was always in Venna. She would come back here perhaps once a year when the spring bloom of cherry trees exploded in the tender of pink blossoms. She had fair golden hair and light brown eyes. It was a bold comparison to my Father, who had deep tanned skin, rich almond shaped eyes surrounding black eyes. And I, who was clearly a delicate mixture of both in features. For my hair was a golden brown, with rich curls, a lighter brown, but the same bold exotic form of shimmering diamond droplets. To say I was vain, was to put it lightly. I loved the way I looked. I would have the girls dabble golden powder across the line of upper lashes to make my eyes seem more bold and daring over the layers of veils that rested along my face.
When the city Administrator announced me to be one of top girls at stake at the Love Wars, my Father was so proud. I was showered with gifts, and Warriors who lined up to share our table for meals, giving promises to my Father to win, and talk of companionship in honor of their victory. It was nice to be wanted. I bathed in its feeling.
The morning came, my Mother didn't arrive, it was the hot and dry season, she said it wasn't kind to her skin, but wrote me her best wishes and pride, even though she didn't understand fully these Turian customs. My Father placed a kiss on each of my cheeks and said, the Stakes will shine with such a priceless gem of Turia upon its post. There were many of us that traveled in very elaborate travel coach wagons drawn by a long row of plains slaves at the chains. This amused me to no end. The fury and emotion that was like a hot dry grass wild fire breeze from the girls that pulled our wagon grew in steamed lift of passion as we got closer to the gathering. I laughed with the other women, all between the ages of sixteen to nineteen, not yet touched by companionship or any man. The best of Turia's most elegant beauties. My best friend Deseree was there with me. I was jealous of her soft brown eyes, and rich Turian skin. Both her parents were Merchants like my Father but had a long history from the first days of the building of Turian gates. Lilliana was a fair skinned girl with blue eyes who no one liked. She was haughty and felt no others were good enough. She was looking to companion Johana, the First Sword of Turia. She would be on the first Stake. Deseree said it was only cause she had blue eyes, and Johana's eye. I had the second Stake, and Deseree the Third.
I didn't care for the feel of metal around my gloved wrist. They didn't give us time to prepare. No wonder my Father didn't attend. He didn't seem happy about me being selected for this event. We were drawn up by our arms on the stakes like common slaves! I was unhappy about this. I refused to show such when I saw the way of the Tuchuk woman placed beside me. Savage creature who taunted and yelled at the Plains Warrior to "Wash his blade" with the blood of the Turian named Larken, who was Second Sword of Turia and someone I was fairly fond of. He walked up to me, placing a kiss on my poor aching wrist, saying not to worry, soon I would be at his side, as a woman of high standing as I deserved. The Plain's woman seemed to laugh and say, I was a coddled slave since birth, she was sure Tyranan would find me an amusing skin to hang on his wagon entrance, for she was sure I would be pretty useless. So I was left assuming the man with the colorful face was named Tyranan, and he lived in a wagon. How shameful. As if!
I had no doubt someone who lived in the wagon would never be able to handle the refined skill of one of our Warriors. I watched the clash of swords, gasping for breath every time blood was drawn. How could such a savage wagon living man have such skill? I watched Larken grow tired, and the Plain's man grin remain though he was tired and bleeding also. I had to look away, glancing towards the first Stake to see another bigger Plain's man taking down Lilliana, who fainted before she was unlocked. The man threw her over his shoulder and walked away to cheering plain's people parting the way as Turian's ran to carry out the body of our slain first Sword. I felt a choke of breath stuck in my throat, telling myself, I would be safe...I would be safe. I heard a cry out of shock, and the woman beside me start to cheer and laugh. I was afraid to look over. I did. Slowly, I stopped seeing the hand on the ground in a pool of blood.
It was like this was unreal. This was just a really bad dream. If I would blink my eyes a few times, I would wake up. Yes, wake up! Amani, please....wake up! I screamed as I heard the splinter of wood crack beside me. It was like a sudden strike of dry plains lightening storms, as the flash light from metal striking metal gave a spark that burst like an exploding star. The woman jumped from the stake hugging the Warrior walking over me, before running out to the cheering crowd. He had snapped the thick chains instantly throwing the sword. He looked so young, perhaps even my age behind that strange ugly mask of colors. His eyes told of youth and pride. He didn't even remove my chains, just snaked his arm around my waist and lifted me enough to slip the line of links from the hook of the post. He placed me to my feet, where suddenly I felt my stomach tighten and dry heaves choke up across my throat. My head was feeling hazed. I thought I would faint myself, but he kept me moving and wouldn't allow me to think about what was happening as he dragged me by my chains across the makeshift area towards the crowd cheering and awaiting him.
Welcome home.
He said.
When the city Administrator announced me to be one of top girls at stake at the Love Wars, my Father was so proud. I was showered with gifts, and Warriors who lined up to share our table for meals, giving promises to my Father to win, and talk of companionship in honor of their victory. It was nice to be wanted. I bathed in its feeling.
The morning came, my Mother didn't arrive, it was the hot and dry season, she said it wasn't kind to her skin, but wrote me her best wishes and pride, even though she didn't understand fully these Turian customs. My Father placed a kiss on each of my cheeks and said, the Stakes will shine with such a priceless gem of Turia upon its post. There were many of us that traveled in very elaborate travel coach wagons drawn by a long row of plains slaves at the chains. This amused me to no end. The fury and emotion that was like a hot dry grass wild fire breeze from the girls that pulled our wagon grew in steamed lift of passion as we got closer to the gathering. I laughed with the other women, all between the ages of sixteen to nineteen, not yet touched by companionship or any man. The best of Turia's most elegant beauties. My best friend Deseree was there with me. I was jealous of her soft brown eyes, and rich Turian skin. Both her parents were Merchants like my Father but had a long history from the first days of the building of Turian gates. Lilliana was a fair skinned girl with blue eyes who no one liked. She was haughty and felt no others were good enough. She was looking to companion Johana, the First Sword of Turia. She would be on the first Stake. Deseree said it was only cause she had blue eyes, and Johana's eye. I had the second Stake, and Deseree the Third.
I didn't care for the feel of metal around my gloved wrist. They didn't give us time to prepare. No wonder my Father didn't attend. He didn't seem happy about me being selected for this event. We were drawn up by our arms on the stakes like common slaves! I was unhappy about this. I refused to show such when I saw the way of the Tuchuk woman placed beside me. Savage creature who taunted and yelled at the Plains Warrior to "Wash his blade" with the blood of the Turian named Larken, who was Second Sword of Turia and someone I was fairly fond of. He walked up to me, placing a kiss on my poor aching wrist, saying not to worry, soon I would be at his side, as a woman of high standing as I deserved. The Plain's woman seemed to laugh and say, I was a coddled slave since birth, she was sure Tyranan would find me an amusing skin to hang on his wagon entrance, for she was sure I would be pretty useless. So I was left assuming the man with the colorful face was named Tyranan, and he lived in a wagon. How shameful. As if!
I had no doubt someone who lived in the wagon would never be able to handle the refined skill of one of our Warriors. I watched the clash of swords, gasping for breath every time blood was drawn. How could such a savage wagon living man have such skill? I watched Larken grow tired, and the Plain's man grin remain though he was tired and bleeding also. I had to look away, glancing towards the first Stake to see another bigger Plain's man taking down Lilliana, who fainted before she was unlocked. The man threw her over his shoulder and walked away to cheering plain's people parting the way as Turian's ran to carry out the body of our slain first Sword. I felt a choke of breath stuck in my throat, telling myself, I would be safe...I would be safe. I heard a cry out of shock, and the woman beside me start to cheer and laugh. I was afraid to look over. I did. Slowly, I stopped seeing the hand on the ground in a pool of blood.
It was like this was unreal. This was just a really bad dream. If I would blink my eyes a few times, I would wake up. Yes, wake up! Amani, please....wake up! I screamed as I heard the splinter of wood crack beside me. It was like a sudden strike of dry plains lightening storms, as the flash light from metal striking metal gave a spark that burst like an exploding star. The woman jumped from the stake hugging the Warrior walking over me, before running out to the cheering crowd. He had snapped the thick chains instantly throwing the sword. He looked so young, perhaps even my age behind that strange ugly mask of colors. His eyes told of youth and pride. He didn't even remove my chains, just snaked his arm around my waist and lifted me enough to slip the line of links from the hook of the post. He placed me to my feet, where suddenly I felt my stomach tighten and dry heaves choke up across my throat. My head was feeling hazed. I thought I would faint myself, but he kept me moving and wouldn't allow me to think about what was happening as he dragged me by my chains across the makeshift area towards the crowd cheering and awaiting him.
Welcome home.
He said.
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