Chapter Four

  In the short time I knew her, she was never worthy of being called a mother. The only time I felt her warmth was when she still had hope I wasn't my Appa's daughter. I want to believe that I still remembered the warmth of her sweet words being whispered to me, but that would be a lie. Her warm words became as sharp as knives the second I was born. I wasn't who she had expected. I wasn't a constant reminder of her love; instead, I was a reminder of her obligation.

  She never held me close, not once. It was the whispers that taught me that she had changed from the loving kind Amma to the woman who wouldn't even look my way.

  Even if I didn't have her, I had my Appa. For the first years of my life it was he who took care of me while mother took care of growing up and learning her role, it was he who fed kind words into my heart and taught me to be gentle, kindhearted, and to hold no resentment towards her.

  When I was six years old, he thought it was time to explain to me in simple words, why she was cold only to me.

  He had met mother when she was already in love. He said he pitied her because she had fallen unconditionally in love with a young boy who accidentally stumbled across the tribe. It was a romantic story with me as it's tragic ending. Appa told me that he was unable to intrude when he noticed that they loved each other much more that he could imagine. That one day he followed her into the forest where she would meet with him and saw the way that even their silence was full on comfort.

  They continued to meet in secret and their love grew as much as it could before it was announced that she was finally as the appropriate age to marry. She was to marry someone else from her tribe and quickly meant to birth her child so that when she reached her age to succeed the position of the head, she would not have to worry of trivial things like baring a child, and that person was my Appa, who was special for having pureblood in him.

  He was the eldest son of the chiefs second in command. It was only natural for him to marry her, even if there was a big difference in ages. This only added onto the list of reasons why he pitied her. Because although it was normal for someone her age to get married, He was two times her age and felt it was wrong to him. He felt like an intruder to her life.

  She said it to him like a mature woman would. That she would never come to love him because she had given her entirety to someone else.

  As their wedding date came closer, she grew desperate to find a solution and not marry but the pressure had been too much on her. She couldn't choose between her love and her people, so he made the decision for her and told her he would never come back and she appreciated him deciding for her.

  They spent one last night together before parting ways, and on that night she gave herself to him in all the ways she could. They never met each other after that night. No matter how many times and nights she went back for him, he never came back for her.

  Despite her sadness she followed through with her duties, and of course a month later news of her being with child was celebrated. Things did not seem bad yet. Although it did hurt her, she had hope in her heart that perhaps the child she carried would have the same eyes her lover had, and that although she might not have him she would still have the seed he left her. Months went by and she cherished me and sang me words of love day by day, until I was born.

  She, who had the highest hopes for her love child; was left in the biggest state of deception and anger. Her child did not look like her lover. I was born with her red eyes but with Appa's pale white hair a trademark of the pureblooded in our tribe, something not even she had. But I was not the seed her lover had left so pureblooded or not, I wasn’t worthy. It was Appa who named me Neriza. Gods gift. Although I lost her love that day, I gained Appa's love who had already promised to love me unconditionally even if I hadn't been his daughter.

  After Appa told me the story, I wanted to paint her as a good person who had simply fallen in such a big love and it had been my fault for not being who she had expected. Had I been the daughter she loved, things would have been different. And I spent two years thinking that way trying to impress a selfish woman.

  When I was eight, Appa passed in his sleep. He had always been someone with poor health but there was a significant decline during that year. She who turned her face whenever she saw us together had a very dull expression on her face. She looked bored to even behold such a ritual for someone who was so insignificant to her. Appa was sent away with the flames the way he had wished, and I remained there wishing to leave along with him. Perhaps things would have been easier if I had let my body dance along with the flames the way I know she would have preferred.

  She didn't hate Appa, I found that out when I heard her cry privately. Yet she detested me, after years of a stupid love towards a man who still chose to leave her, she hated me, I was a part of her, I was a part of the good man Appa was, yet she hated me.

  I had run into her room and there she was, wiping her tears away for the friend she had lost. I couldn't help my anger.

  "Don't cry!" She stared at me intently. All signs of sorrow were washed away with her typical scowl when she realized it was me.

  "Don't cry for him! You don't have the right to cry for him! You hate us so you don't get to cry!" Her silence remained. refusing to break the silent vow.

  "You can only cry for him if you love me." She started to walk towards me to reach the door and get away from me.

  "Amma." She stood still.

  I thought she would leave immediately. My heart was trembling on the verge of breaking all it would need to mend was a single word coming from her.

  She turned to look at me. I tried to search in her eyes any sign of remorse. But she was a cruel selfish woman who would never love me. Her expression was a mean one. Like if she found it so funny that I would call her that.

  "Please Amma." I still begged because I was on the verge of breaking into pieces. Appa was no longer with me, and there was no one left, I thought we would see eye to eye.

  She didn't say a single word and she left me instead.

  I didn't speak to anyone. Appa was not my only family member, there were plenty others I could stay with and that's how I was taken care of. I was moved from home to home intruding their homes because there was no one else like Appa. During this time she took care of the village, she was the perfect leader, so perfect that everyone started to say that I was the problem, the reason why she couldn't love me. Slowly, they spoke to me less and less and I learned to enjoy my loneliness. I spent hours between the trees. I embraced nature and befriended animals. It got to the point that I stopped returning back to the village. Instead I made my own little shelter where my friends would stay with me and I ate the fruits the forest would grant me. I learned to be happy on my own and on occasions I would ask the gods to send my Appa my messages.

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  No one came looking for me.

  Not until the devil came for me.

  I wasn't going to go back but it felt like if my heart was begging me to go. I wasn't there for too long when multiple men in heavy armor barged in with their horses. I hid immediately. They felt intimidating and it was clear they meant to scare us.

  I was still curious to know what was going on, or at least I was until he appeared. He was a man whose presence made me start trembling in fear. He got off his horse and stood tall and strong. His hair was grey making his older age evident.

  The tribe, nestled deep within the forest, had just completed a sacred blessing ritual for our Gods . The air was thick with the scent of burning herbs and the vibrant colors of flower petals adorned the ground around the central ritual area. The flickering flames from the ceremonial bonfire cast an otherworldly glow on the faces of the tribe members, their eyes reflecting both devotion and serenity.

  He walked closer to our chief, her father. The clearing, surrounded by ancient trees and lush foliage, was a sacred space where generations of the tribe had gathered to commune with their gods. The sounds of rustling leaves and distant calls of forest creatures were abruptly replaced by the shocking swish of the man's sword.

  I expected them to speak. It wasn't the first time people from other lands came across us, but we always joined cultures. This time, there was no speaking when the man swung his sword across and slashed our chief.

  It was as if everything went completely silent. She, who was standing next to him, stared in disbelief at her father's headless body. The clearing, once filled with the harmonious sounds of the ritual, now echoed with the gruesome aftermath of the interruption. The sacred energy of the place seemed to wane as panic set in.

  Suddenly taking everyone out of the state of shock, her mother, who stood on the other side of the chief, let out a shattering scream, and everything seemed to move slowly. The tribal symbols painted on their bodies glistened with a mix of sweat and ritual oils as they attempted to comprehend the tragedy that unfolded.

  The men on the horses all moved in a synchronized, terrorizing way. A group moved towards the tribe's homes, set amidst the towering trees, and brought them to flames while others with their swords continued to kill the people, beheading them. The cries of anguish mixed with the popping and crackling of burning structures, creating a dissonant symphony of destruction.

  The cruelty was endless, but while all that happened, the only person I could really focus on was her. Amma’s mother was screaming and crying at the death of her husband, and before the sword touched her, Amma had already turned, running away.

  The man was decided. He simply hurried his step and reached out when his fingers wrapped around her hair and pulled her back.

  The King, a towering figure of dominance, held her by the hair, his grip ruthless as her desperate pleas echoed through the chaos of the tribal clearing.

  "Please! Please! You said you'd let us all go if I gave you the child!" She begged on her knees, the ground beneath her dampened by a mixture of tears and the spilled blood of her people.

  The flickering flames from the burning homes cast an eerie glow on the scene, emphasizing the terror etched on the faces of both captor and captive. The air was thick with the stench of destruction, and the sounds of crackling flames competed with her desperate cries.

  "What will you do now? Your people are dying." He almost laughed at her despair.

  "T-tell them to stop, please!" The agony in her eyes mirrored the destruction around her, a once vibrant and sacred space now reduced to chaos.

  The man maintained his cold stare. His armor gleamed in the firelight, and the twisted satisfaction in his eyes betrayed his malicious intent.

  "You don't have anything you can offer me; there is nothing of yours I could want." His disdainful tone resonated with cruelty, emphasizing the vast power imbalance between captor and captive.

  "But we had a deal! I gave you my very own blood, and it helped you!" Her desperate words hung in the air, a futile attempt to reason with a force that had no interest in mercy.

  "It wasn't strong enough to jeopardize my power." The king's indifference cut through the chaos, each word driving home the harsh reality of their situation.

  "Then-then let me live!" Her pleas intensified, her voice cracking as she fought to maintain a semblance of composure.

  He simply stared at her, his gaze an unyielding force. The clearing, once a sacred haven, now bore witness to a tyrant's judgment, and the forest seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

  "The child?" The king's question hung in the air, a sinister proposition that cast a chilling shadow over the woman's desperate resolve.

  "Yes, yes! I'll give her to you! She has the purest blood! The first pureblood in years!" Her admission, a sacrifice offered in the face of unspeakable horror, reverberated through the night.

  "If you bring her to me, I'll consider it." The King's voice, tinged with malevolence, carried the weight of impending doom, and the forest whispered with a sense of impending tragedy.

  "In the forest! That's where she spends her time." The woman's words, spoken through choked sobs, revealed the sanctuary where I, the innocent target of their cruel exchange, sought refuge from the merciless onslaught unfolding in her homeland.

  I could only understand some words. It was one of the languages Appa was teaching me. Yet seeing another group of men head into the forest helped me tie things together. They were looking for me.

  I tried to stay completely still in the place where I was hiding in. It was where I would hide every time Appa and I played. I begged the Gods and my Appa to keep me hidden from the eyes of those men, but it was too late; I was already in the devil's mouth. The barrel I hid in, meant for storing ritual supplies, became my sanctuary amidst the chaos, the scent of sacred herbs lingering in the air. The shadows of the surrounding trees danced with the erratic movements of the tribe members, and the once serene forest now bore witness to a tragedy that would forever scar its sacred grounds.

  Hours passed like slow, agonizing eternity. The once-proud tribe, now reduced to a mere handful, knelt in defeat before the ominous figure seated on the makeshift throne. The glow of the flames danced on tear-streaked faces, casting ghastly shadows that mirrored the haunting reality of their demise.

  My desperate bid for safety was within grasp, the dawn approaching with promises of a new day. But as my eyes met the twisted joy in her gaze, I felt the crushing weight of betrayal descend upon me. The firelight revealed a wicked delight, a stark contrast to the destruction surrounding us.

  In a frantic attempt to escape the impending nightmare, I burst from my hiding spot, yearning for the elusive sanctuary of dawn. But the cry of my name, haunting and desperate, chased me through the night air, marking the futility of my escape.

  "Neriza!"

  I skidded to a halt, the traitorous woman reveling in my capture. Rough hands seized me, pulling me back into the heart of the horror. I thrashed, screamed, and fought, only to discover that my resistance was a mere puppetry, a spectacle for the sadistic commander's amusement.

  "Here she is! As I promised! But let me live!"

  "Proditor!" echoed through the clearing, a venomous accusation hurled at the traitor. The realization struck hard—my perceived strength had only fueled the commander's sadistic pleasure. The woman, driven by years of resentment, delivered a resounding slap across my face, the sound echoing the finality of our betrayal.

  "Morieris" - the word hung in the air, an omen of death. The commander's signal released me from their grasp, but the nightmare persisted. An unseen figure, lurking in shadows, revealed himself as the true puppet master, his sword swiftly impaling our once-proud leader.

  "A good leader dies with its people."

  The grisly spectacle unfolded as lifeblood sprayed across my face. The ritualistic beheading, a macabre confirmation of our leader's demise, left a trail of carnage across the sacred clearing.

  Amidst the horror, I stood, trembling with fear as the inexorable approached. The commander, pausing with cruel reflection, spoke words dripping with malice and disdain.

  "The little mouse has finally learned her place." He wove a twisted narrative, painting my mother as the embodiment of cruelty. Yet, in my blood-stained face, he saw potential—a potential he intended to twist for his own dark ends.

  "Your mother was ready to throw you to the wolves, she was a bad mother, a bad leader, and a terribly bad woman."

  "Yet you seem to be the complete opposite. Like you will grow to be an excellent woman, a good mother, and even a good leader. But that's too bad."

  His sword traced a cruel path across my face, the swift motion and splattering blood creating a gruesome spectacle. Clutching my neck, I attempted to stem the unyielding flow of blood.

  Just as suddenly as my blood hit his lips, I felt the bleeding stop. I tried desperately to find the wound, but it was gone. When I looked up, the man's eyes met mine at the same time. I felt fear—fear that I would not die that day, because his sinister smile hinted at the malevolence to come, the once-sacred forest bore witness to the beginning of a harrowing journey into the depths of darkness.

  This was only the beginning.

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