3Lev dreamed of her parents. She barely remembered them at all, seeing them only in dream-images occasionally; a woman who much resembled her and a tall man with long hair. Both were laughing gaily and gazing at Levainne fondly when she saw them.
Levainne had been found alone in the forest near the village when she was just three years old, by Keía's older brother who was out on the hunt. He'd taken the child to Martha, who'd named her and insisted that she be brought up by Keía's brother Marc and his wife. The couple were infertile and were immensely grateful for the daughter they considered themselves blessed with.
She awoke with a start and found herself wondering yet again how she had come to be lost from her parents. Lev loved her foster-parents very much, but her heart ached for the hazy figures that visited her in dreams. She'd often considered running off to look for them, held back by fear and by the safe routine of the life she'd grown accustomed to.
Still, tears pricked at her eyes whenever she thought of them, the two people who had brought her into being. Was it that they hadn't loved her? Or did she get lost one day? Had she been kidnapped? Questions like these often plagued her, accompanied by desperately wild fantasies of her parents riding into the village on white horses and sweeping her away to a magical new life. Maybe she was a princess, stolen by witches and hidden in the forest, but her parents wouldn't rest until they'd found her. The most obvious possibility, and the most horrific, that they were dead, had long since been dismissed by Lev's hopeful mind.
Lev's vivid imagination, based upon the fairy-stories she'd read or heard around camp-fires at times of celebration in the village, took her often to magical adventures in dreams. She indulged herself in one for a moment now, disturbed only by the niggling worry that maybe something of the sort was beginning now; so much had already happened at the lake as it could be classed somewhat of an adventure. Levainne dreamed of adventure often, but the thought of those dreams becoming reality was all too frightening. She was a baby, she was scared too easily, but sense couldn't stop her heart from longing for a taste of excitement. Once, she'd tried to explain her restless feelings to Ashleigh, saying 'I know I'd be scared, I know I'd be bad at everything. I just want to know how bad. I want a chance to prove myself, discover what I can do-' she'd finished helplessly, not knowing how to explain a feeling she didn't understand. Ashleigh had merely shrugged, and replied 'I don't understand how you can dream of greatness and excitement when you're so timid, Lev. All I want is a simple, peaceful life.' They'd agreed to disagree, and ended the conversation, with Levainne feeling frustrated that she couldn't make Ashleigh understand her.
Ashleigh stirred now, a strand of red hair tickling Lev' neck. She smiled, and relaxed in the warmth of mid-morning, the yellow sun climbing up the sky above them. Ashleigh looked to where Keía had been sleeping beside them, and sat upright in shock when she saw the empty spot. "Where's Keía?" she cried, scrambling to her feet and looking around. The shore was empty, the lake still, the rocks quiet. She scanned the cliff- face and saw nothing. "Maybe she's gone back" "Why would she go back without us?" Ashleigh's voice was high and tight with worry, irrationally and unlike herself, she feared the worst, and gazed t the perfect surface of the lake, reflecting the blue sky. "Her packs gone," said Lev, "and look, footprints." Ashleigh saw that Lev was right, a set of footprints led across the sand to the base of the cliff. She squinted up and thought she made out a figure, but the glaring sun burnt her eyes and forced her to look away. "Let's go" She said, grabbing her pack. "Wait," said Lev, "What about the water?"
It was then that the pair noticed that the buckets were floating out in the centre of the lake. They were motionless, not disturbing the water. "Maybe we can reach them?" "Don't be ridiculous, Lev." "What can we do?"
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Keía stood at the top of the cliff, triumphantly looking back down at the lake, where two tiny figures were moving. Fatigue and weariness had slowed her down drastically, until half-way up she'd eventually given in to her body, and taken a rest and something to eat. The nourishment had given her much-needed strength; she'd reached the top by the time the sun was half-way into the sky.
She turned now to gaze upon the mountain range to her right; high, rocky, snow-capped mountains, sweeping away into the west and north majestically. Eyorus jutted out slightly, so tall that he disappeared into the clouds. His snowy slopes swept down into dense green woodland, and along his roots stood the village.
When Keía's eyes fell upon her home, she blanched and fell to her knees in shock, her mouth open as if to scream but emitting no sound. Where once had stood a village was a blazing fire, the violent orange flames curling menacingly upwards. Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, twisting, so quickly she might have dreamt it, into the death symbol Keía had drawn last night. Then it was gone; the smoke returned to thick black clouds that hung above the flicking flames. Her heart stopped beating. Her breath became constricted, fast and desperate. Her face contorted into silent, wretched sobs without tears.
She sat rigid in silent, stunned shock for long moments, her eyes fixed upon her burning home. Then, suddenly, Keía's mind cleared and became blank, her eyes like tunnels, seeing only the path before her. She stood up; dropping her pack. She drew her sword from its sheath at her side and held it aloft. With an anguished, strangled attack cry she began to run down the hillside, blinded by tears. Her legs were numb and carried by a new-found strength that pumped them mechanically into motion.
The village was almost half a day's walk away, a long way, but Keía ran every step, forcing her aching muscles to move as fast as they could. She grit her teeth and blinked away the tears, wishing she'd been born a man, wishing bitterly that she'd been allowed to train and hunt instead of cooking with her mother. Her mother. Keía let out a desperate cry, grimacing at the thought of the dying women and children, and pushed herself harder.
She ran and ran, her feet thumping the ground and aching painfully each time they did so. Her muscles were burning, her stomach twisted so painfully she felt she might vomit again, and still she ran on. Her focused mind blanked out the journey and it seemed that she stood outside her village just moments later, although the declining sun showed it to be early afternoon. The fire had died, leaving a smoking ruin. The once mighty gate was a pile of charred wood. The huts and houses were all collapsed; heaps of wood and rubble and dust. Exhausted, Keía wandered the empty streets, calling for survivors, despite the horrific knowledge in her heavy heart that there were none.
The houses of the priest and village leaders stood in ruins. Keía pictured the great and noble First House, where the chief lived; a tall and beautiful structure of green painted wood and stone pillars, hand carved with hundreds of animals. A new animal image had been carved by the villagers every year since the First House had been built. Now, all that remained was blackened wood and dust. Half a dear's head was visible in the ash, and Keía picked it up. The thought of all the loving, devoted work that had been put into the carving of the destroyed building brought tears to Keía's eyes.
She hurried down the empty main street of the village, feeling sick. To her right and left all was ruin; not one structure remained standing. All had been burnt to the ground. Yet Keía's mind's eye saw everything exactly as it always was. She saw herself strolling into the village, past the wood and stone buildings of the main street, through a friendly crowd of mismatched people, all of whom knew her name, and her mother. There was her brother, Marc's, house, where he lived with his wife and Lev. It was the house of an honoured warrior and hunter, which he had proven himself to be the winter before last. Keía's eyes welled up as the distant memory of that day of celebration flicked into her mind. As if from many years away she heard her voice saying to her father, 'Someday I'll live there, and I'll be a famous warrior too.' She now approached the steps of the house, two stone blocks that rose weirdly to nothing. Marc's sword lay on the top step, glinting slightly. She pictured Isabelle, his wife, trying vainly to wield it against the attackers. The thought made Lev sick. The sword was long, sharp, crafted from the silver found in the mountains to the usual style of Northern Village swords. It had been granted him as a mark of honour the day he'd moved to the warrior's house, it bore the inscription 'Live to breathe' scratched into the metal below the hilt. The saying came from a poem Ashleigh had written, and Keía had suggested it to her brother as it seemed to her to mean so much. More memories; more tears came to Keía's eyes. She picked up the sword and sheathed it, keeping her own in her hand.
The ground beneath her bare feet was grey sand and shingle, which Keía was accustomed to, for she never wore sandals. Now, though, it was hot, and thick with ash and shards of sharp stone and metal. Keía barely felt the pain, and ignored the blood that trickled from a wound in her ankle. Her heart ached with the knowledge that she had not shed blood for her people sooner; she was the only woman in the village who knew how to hold a sword, how to fight. Perhaps there would have been survivors if she'd been with them. If not, then at least her conscience would have rested easily, knowing that she'd died fighting. Now, she felt torn of dignity, for she'd not been with her people at a time when she was needed. Oh, why hadn't the men been at home?
In the centre of the village was a square with a well, usually the busy heart of the community. Now, it was full of bodies. When Keía saw them lying there in a heap her head swam. She ran to the pile and struggled through the bodies to find her mother. The stench of blood and burnt flesh was overwhelming, but she strived on. Strange feathered arrows stuck out at odd angles, and many of the faces were disfigured by burns. Keía's hand fell upon the body of her brother's wife, Lev's foster mother, and she blanched, her head reeling. She backed away from the dead and vomited, before collapsing in tears. For almost an hour she wept, long and loud, beating the floor with her fists angrily and wailing.
Standing on shaking legs, Keía wiped her tears away and held her sword aloft. The low, orange sun was casting weird shadows across the derelict village square. A chilly breeze had picked up, hinting at the coming winter and the decline of the summer days, and despite the warmth of the tired sun, the village was cold. Keía hugged herself and shuddered. The wind stuck to her sticky, tear-stained cheeks. In their culture, death was grievously mourned, and murder was always reviled by the entire village, whether or not they knew the victim. Now that her tears had passed, Keia's hand slipped to the hilt of the sword at her side. It was custom to perform a ceremony to pass the spirits into rest, and though Keía barely knew the ritual, she spoke: "Be glad of heart, and strong of mind, fair warriors. I send you now to resting, may you pass untroubled from this land." She improvised the next few lines "Your deaths shall be fairly mourned, and your murders justly avenged." She finished, and bowed her head. Then, remembering the fate her people had met, she swung her sword and plunged it into the ground, crying "I swear to avenge you." A burst of excitement shot through her, an odd feeling of strength, pride, and honour. As quickly as it had arrived, however, it left, leaving Keía as empty and lost as before. She sank the floor and hugged her knees, fingering her brother's sword. What should she do next? Ashleigh's rational practicality swam into her mind, and she realised, she needed to burn the bodies. She had flint in her pocket from lighting the fire last night, and set to building a fire around her villagers using the little wood she could find that wasn't already burned. Soon, the fire was ready, and she lit it. It took a long time for the bodies to catch fire, but eventually Keía stood before a tall bonfire, her hands over her face for the grotesque smell. She murmured a song of blessing, tears once again smarting at her eyes as she moved slowly around the fire in a circle. The rising smoke reminded her of the terrible death they'd received. She visualized her people, crowded together in the village square in a flurry of confusion, children wailing and women crying out. A little band of people struggling to see their enemies through the smoke and the twisting flames. They hadn't stood a chance, not against an obviously planned attack like this.
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