Spring Nears

I have always regretted my actions against those men. I was no different than those people; like a barbarian, I ripped the life out of that man. Those two men were the first men that I ever killed; it was the first time, I ever watched the light leave another's eyes. My fury overtook me, but what choice did I have? If I had not killed them, they would have reported the sighting of me and Yarik; which would have led to the discovery of our camp. From that moment, I began to refuse to kill other people despite the danger they may represent me.

These were the thoughts that flooded my mind.  I failed, to notice the girls tailgating us. Yarik told me; we should scare them off, but I disagreed. Again, Yarik warned me, not to let these girls trail us; he believed they were a threat. To prove him wrong, I offered the girls, my hand; a gesture of peace. If they accepted my hand, it proved they had no malicious intent. They were starstruck at first, but Boudiaca approached me; her sister followed. They accepted my hand. Yarik disapproved of it, but did not say much. Instead, he was figuring out; how to explain this to Stanillo.

It did not take long, for us to arrive at camp. We got a couple of weird looks. A mix of three things must have made the people curious: my clothes were covered in blood, Yarik held captive one of the men that we did not kill, and the two girls walked beside me. This occurred at noon (this is around the time people gather: to get their rations). We did not escape their sight, and it sure must have been an odd sight!

I noticed, the girls were uncomfortable by the odd gazes; likely feeling out of place. I gave the youngest, Boudiaca, my fur coat to cover herself with. This action of mine brought a smile, to her elder sister, who seemed grateful for my kindness. I escorted them, to my tent; trying not to put them through more spectacles. I was also hungry.

I had somebody fetch some rations for myself and the girls. They sat there trying to figure out, if I was being genuine or not. I cannot blame them. Most people in my position would have enslaved them; believing that they had the right to. I did not think so. If they followed me out of their conviction, I also do not mind. I thought of asking them, if they liked our food, but I remembered the language barrier; so I did not ask.

I grabbed, a couple of bowls and poured some stew for them. During winter, there was nothing better than homemade stew. Testing its warmth, I took a slight sip, reminding myself of my Mother; how I miss her. I thought, the warmth of the soup was great, so I went to give the girls their bowls of stew; in the process, I handed each of them; a spoon. They took it. The eldest was the first to try it; she told me: 'This is a bit cold still. How about I take care of it?’

“You speak my language,” I replied, “how can that be?”

“It’s a long story, friend,” Coria said, “how about I serve you? It’s the least that I can do. It was you, who took the time to save people, like, my sister and I."

“Okay,” I said, “just do not overheat my stew. I do not like it too hot.”

It was the first time, an outsider was kind to me. We were from two different worlds, yet there was mutual kindness among us. Coria did not speak the language perfectly, I admit, but it was just good enough to communicate. Throughout dinner, we exchanged names.

I asked, a couple of questions, like, how they speak our language. Coria revealed to me, that she was a descendant of Belomian women, her paternal great-grandmother was a woman from Belomas, who was abducted four generations ago, by the Nori. Her explanation made sense, but this made me think: how many people of these tribes are descended from our very own people? We may have crossed swords with one another, not knowing that the other might be a descendant of Belomas or Rus.

The cycles of war are a curious thing. I wondered, if Coria and Boudiaca had any relatives in our village. I thought of asking her the name of this great-grandmother, but that would have been intrusive of me. After dinner, Coria grabbed my hand, peering into my soul. This frightened me, a bit, so I asked: ‘Is everything okay?’

She did not reply; instead, she kept staring into my eyes. Remembering this still creeps me out, but at last, she asked: Can you swear to me, Younger Illya, that you will provide me and my sister safeguard against your people? It does not have to be forever. We will leave in the spring, and you will never have to hear about us again. I promise.’

I firmly grasped her hand, promising that nothing would go wrong. I also told her, that she did not have to rush this, if she did not feel ready. However, I told her, I could not promise that my people would not act hostile to her and her sister. My people would not dare to harm them, if they stayed near me. They had to understand that our people have been fighting each other for generations, and that their appearance here is not likely to be welcomed. On both sides, I acknowledged that there were hurt families, but I wanted them to know that I could not harm them, for the actions of their ancestors.

I understood, the thirst that made both sides fight. Each trying to protect a legacy. Our hands are covered in blood, regardless of the side that they were born on. I told them, I hoped to bring this conflict to an end; by bringing the tribes under control, we can prevent further warfare from tearing us apart.

I should not have told them this, I admit; they were still strangers, but something within told me, I could trust them. I never condoned the violence amongst these tribes, especially the casualties, it brought about on both sides. For many years of my childhood, I watched the mothers of many promising boys mourn the death of their sons, and some of them did not even have a body returned to them. Armies returned in triumph of their victory against the enemy abroad, but what victory is there to be; if fathers and mothers mourn the deaths of their children?

Coria was a bit surprised, she wondered, how I planned to do that with the little men I had here at the camp. She pointed out, how my forces were unable to combat the entire region. I told her, I did not call the shots. Most of our forces were still at the village. Her mention of my inadequate number of troops made me wonder, how will my Father solve that? I could only hope that he brought a great army with him.

To get my point across, I assured her that my Father and I wanted peace in this region. We did not intend to commit genocide; we understood that it is better to live amongst each other, instead of resorting to such barbaric measures. I had said; what I wanted, but after I finished, Boudiaca asked me: ‘Will my sister and I be safe from this upcoming war of yours?’

I said, they would be, but also advised them; to stay nearby and not leave the tent under any circumstance. If they did not wish to face hostility, it was the best course of action, in my opinion. They would have food, shelter, and my protection; what more could they need? I hold nothing against them, but if I knew anything about people; it's that grudges never leave.

Two and a half months passed, the Elder Illya was finishing some last-minute preparations. He decided, to leave two weeks earlier, trying to catch the enemy off guard;  but also because the Elder Illya worried for his son. He awoke, to do the same as before: having his breakfast and playing around with his children, as their mother prepared their meals. Illya resented his leave; Illya had to leave when the birth of his daughter was on the horizon. There was no return date, for his campaign abroad, meaning, he likely will miss the birth of his daughter.

That bothered him, a bit, since he prided himself on being an attentive father: to his children. You can imagine, it hurt him, to miss the birth of his first and only daughter. This daughter would be the final child between the two of them, which meant that I had five siblings, and my mother and Father had six children altogether.

Illya would never get to experience her birth again; however, his duty, to establish control of the western part of Rus would improve the quality of life, for his daughter in the long run. He grabbed his coat, proceeding to equip his axes around his torso, for they were his signature weapon. These same axes had brought him great victory; so he brought them out of habit, and for good luck.

He addressed his kids, leaving them in the care of their second eldest brother, Iziaslav. Awaiting him was his wife, at the doorstep, who teared up at the sight of his departure, asking him: to take care of himself and their son. He promised too, as he grabbed her by the waist, leaning towards her, and giving her a kiss; hopefully, not a final kiss. Iziaslav broke the two apart, telling his Father, to focus on the task and to bring glory to the family. Illya chuckled at this; those words reminded him of what his wife told him: Iziaslav is 'ambitious'.

Afterward, Illya opened the door, heading out of his home. The winter was brutal, he thought, shivering at the thought of what his son must be going through. He walked towards the village gates, where most of his personnel awaited him; however, his friend, Fedor, did not look to please. Illya greeted his comrades, proceeding to greet Fedor. Fedor had to tell him the truth: the mercenaries had some travel difficulties, which delayed their arrival.

This sudden news of delay infuriated Illya, and rightfully so. He was anxious about his son, but this delay brought further trouble. Elder Illya exclaimed to Fedor: ‘My son and the others are in a wolf den. They are at risk of being caught at any moment of the day, and this is the news that you bring me, Fedor?’  Fedor lamented the situation, but there was no other choice, but to wait,  for the arrival of their mercenaries. They had given the money upfront for their services, and they could not go on this campaign without these men. Without them, the campaign would be literal suicide.

Illya demands that they return some of the money, for their audacity not to plan their voyage ahead of time, but his fury soon piped down. This inevitable delay gave Illya an idea.  An idea that Fedor was not too keen on. Nonetheless, Illya suggested, that with the postponement of the mercenaries, they should send envoys to the Earl of Stalavat, a neighbor of theirs. Fedor wanted to shut this down, but Illya insisted, that she and her shield maidens could help on this upcoming campaign; not to mention that the conquest of the tribes benefits her borders too.

Once more, Fedor suggested otherwise, not wanting to give her; a share of the plunder or potential territory acquisition. By their law, she had the right to dictate how things went due to her status of Earl, which was not a status that Illya possessed. Petitioning for her support on this campaign, also meant subjecting themselves; to the figure head of the western region of Rus.

Illya had no care for this, he told: Fedor that they would settle those issues of politics when the time came. Their priority should be: to gather the best army they can to ensure a successful campaign abroad. Fedor gave way to this, calling his subordinates to be sent to this Earl, and invite her: to campaign with them. As all this went on, Illya thought:‘ What has become of you in these months, my son?’

In the months that passed, Acco, the Chieftain of Nori, struggled to find an explanation of his personal guard’s annihilation. The worst part of it was that not one of the sisters was found dead or alive. It made him grow anxious. If those bastard daughters of Abulla killed his guard and found refuge amongst other tribes, what would stop them from gathering their support? This impending peril would make it difficult to wage war against the Belomians, which the tribe's elderly advisors insisted on to continue. By no means, should Acco stop their wars abroad against their foreign neighbors.

They could not fight two wars at once, especially against two skilled armies. Acco succeeded in bringing the people under his control, but these bastard daughters of Abbula, did not let him rest. He needed to find these girls and deal with them. While, Acco is anxious about the bastard daughters of Abbula, the Younger Illya paraded through the forest with the two, holding the hand of the eldest daughter, Coria.

Love was there. Coria was seventeen years of age, two years older than the Younger Illya. The youngest ran around the two lovebirds, trying to get in the way of their time together. The last two months were unlike anything he had lived before. Illya had never felt such an attraction towards a woman before. Her lavish silk golden hair, white skin, and blue eyes were something outside the mortal realm of beauty. Noticing his glare, she laughed, ‘Such curious eyes, Illya, but I have to ask: why do you look so different from your people despite being one of them?’

The truth, I told her, was that my mother was not from this country. His native homeland is a place called Uburaria, he told her. She was a bit surprised at this reveal, asking him, if it made a difference, whether he lived here or over there. I told her, it did not. After all, I said, stopping there for a moment, to spin her towards me. I clenched onto her waist, I kissed her.

However, I could not help asking; ‘After this ends,' I said, ‘Would you come to the village and be my wife?’ She blushed, not expecting this. Doubting his sincerity of marriage, considering his age. Young Illya pleaded with her that he was being honest. If their indifferences worried her, I told her, not to worry. She would be the daughter-in-law of the village Chief, so who would go against her?

She laughed at this, finding his plea to be desperate and adorable. Illya waited awkwardly, for a response. Coria pulled the boy, for a kiss, saying, ‘Son of Illya,’ Coria said, 'I accept, to be your wife. If you are willing, to do as you say.’   This brought the Young Illya great joy; once more, he pulled her towards him. He kissed her, and kissed her, until the two started laughing.

If joy could be long-lived, moments of bliss would not be so abundant. As the youthful couple lived it up, little did they know that they were being watched. Creeping from behind, a lackey of Acco watched the three together. The sight of Coria and Younger Illya, led him to theorize; the idea of this being an alliance between the daughters of Abbula and a foreigner of Belomas, for that clothing of the Younger Illya was unmistakable!

The man was sure that the Younger Illya was not alone. It led him, to urgently get this report to Chief; trying to prevent a surprise attack from this terrifying assumed alliance. War was on the horizon between the Nori and Belomians; the worst of the Elder Illya’s had come true.