"You know I''m immortal, Nelius," she had said. "Flames did not destroy me, nor will this cage. Every second, every minute, every hour that you cage me there, you are only strengthening the wrath that I will one day unleash upon your people. And when I return, I shall be the end of you.
When that day arrives, sky will darken with the shadows of what you have forgotten. Seas will rise, drowning the lies you have lived by. Land will tremble underfoot as you try to grasp the last remnants of your false power. Nothing you have built will stand. There will be no refuge, no hiding, no escape. No weapon you wield will save you. Earth will swallow you whole. And I will rise from your ashes, not as your savior, but as your reckoning."
—–
The anointment had ended on a sour note, but the work of the day had only just begun. Chief Nelius Tuscan''s voice echoed through the clearing. "We have much to do," he said to his men. "Let us begin the construction."
The twenty-eight men followed him, to the spot in the clearing where they''ve already gathered materials for the Traveller’s Tomb. The air was humid, making them sweat profusely even before they lifted the first stone. Women had marked the ground with sacred symbols to ward off malevolent spirits, and the trees around had been felled, their trunks stripped bare. The scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the lingering smell of the Holy Fire.
As the men set to work, their wives and children gathered in small groups, setting up cooking fires and laying out food. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, warding off the solemn silence that had hung over the anointment ceremony. The aroma of tubers, bulrushes, and boiled rice wafted through the clearing, mingling with the scent of the earth and the faint smell of the Holy Fire''s embers. The women worked swiftly, their eyes darting to the construction site often.
"Why would he do that?" one of the women whispered to another as they watched their husbands and sons follow Nelius Tuscan, now no longer the Chief of Tuscanvalle, but a mere Traveller with a grim destiny.
"Who? Ibarius?" another woman scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she stirred a pot of bubbling stew.
The first woman hushed her, casting a quick glance at Freesia, who hovered on the outskirts of the gathering, her eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. "Shush, Rumana! Keep your voice down or you''ll get us in trouble," she warned. "I speak of our Chief, our old Chief. Why would he give up his position so easily? For what?"
Rumana, paused in her work thoughtfully. "For what, indeed?" she murmured. "But perhaps he knows something we do not. After all, the prophecy was clear—we are doomed. Perhaps he seeks to save us all in some way."
Hasana, the woman beside her nodded. "Or perhaps he is as lost as we are," she said. "Maybe he has accepted the fate, and this is his penance."
They fell silent as Freesia approached, her steps unsteady. They watched her, their whispers dying away as she neared. Freesia avoided their eyes, focusing instead on the ground beneath her feet. She must have known they were judging her, thinking of her as the cause of the discord between the brothers. Or perhaps her worthiness to be the Woman of the Tribe during such a tumultuous time. She dared not face them, fearful of what she might see reflected in their gazes—pity, anger, or perhaps something worse. Instead she kept her eyes on the task at hand, carrying a pot of water towards the men.
When Freesia was out of earshot, Hasana leaned in closer to her sister. "You know, when Ibarius shoved the priest like that, I thought for a moment that Chief will cancel the anointment," she said, "But he… gave in."
Rumana glared at her sister.
"What?" Hasana demanded defensively. "You don''t think I''m right?"
Rumana''s silence was her answer. She took the pot off the fire, her movements sharp and chiding. "Cancel the anointment and abandon us without a leader?" she hissed, "You know he''s leaving soon."
"That''s far better than leaving us at the mercy of that… " Hasana''s voice trailed off as she searched for a suitable insult, but none seemed to capture her feelings towards Ibarius.
Rumana gawked at her sister, her eyes pleading her to lower her voice. "You''re too loud," she hissed. "You never know who''s listening."
Hasana rolled her eyes, unconcerned. "It''s just us, sister. Besides, what does it matter? The damage is done." She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear them anyway.
Rumana sighed, her hand pausing mid-stir. "You''re right," she conceded. "Ibarius will not lead with the wisdom we''ve come to expect from our old Chief." She glanced around at the bustling camp, the children playing and the men toiling in the heat. "Our daughters and granddaughters will know a different Tuscanvalle."
"A different Tuscanvalle?" A child''s voice interrupted their hushed conversation. It was Calla, Rumana''s youngest, her curiosity piqued by the secretive tones of her mother and aunt. "Are we travelling again, mama? But I like it here."
Rumana forced a smile, gently pulling the little girl into her lap. "No, sweetling," she said, stroking Calla''s hair. "We''re not leaving. We''re just… preparing for our Chief''s journey."
Calla looked up at her mother with a furrowed brow. "Which Chief uncle is leaving, mama? The Good one or the Bad one?"
Hasana stifled a laugh with a pretend cough. Rumana silenced her with a glare. "Hush, Calla. The Chiefs are not good or bad, they are just… different." She hoped the child would not press further, but Calla''s curiosity was insatiable.
"But mama, why are they building that big rock place?" Calla pointed at the Traveller''s Tomb.
"It''s for the Chief to rest when he comes back from his journey," Rumana replied with fake cheerfulness, trying not to think of the posibility that Nelius Tuscan might not return. "Now, go play with your friends. I''ll call you when they are done building the rock place and then we can have fun placing tiny rocks inside."Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Calla nodded and skipped away, her laughter drowning in the sounds of the men grunting and shouting as they worked.
—–
Constructing the Traveller''s Tomb was an intricate task. The stones used for the tomb must not be cut, chiseled or even touched by metal, yet had to stay perfectly in place for centuries to come. And so building a Traveller’s Tomb required precision and patience.
When the sun was right above their heads and the shadows a splach of blackness below their feet, the last stone of the Traveller’s Tomb was set in place with a resounding thud. The men panted, sweat pouring down their faces and soaking their cloths. The structure was grand with several sections like that of the houses they had built back in their old homeland.
As if on cue, the women''s chatter grew louder, the smell of cooked food filling the air. They had finished preparing the feast for the men''s return. The timing was almost supernatural.
The clearing buzzed with excitement. Men wiped their brows, some even cheering as they stepped back to admire their work.
Women and children of Tuscanvalle gathered around the newly constructed Traveller''s Tomb, each carrying a small stone, selected from within the boundaries of their new homeland. This tomb was not for the dead, but for the living. The stones they held represented their hope and prayers for the safe return of those who would venture into the unknown.
Calla tugged at her mother''s skirt. "Mama, why are we putting these in there?" she asked, holding up a smooth, round stone, the size of an egg.
"It''s a special ceremony, darling," Rumana explained. "We put the stones in to wish Uncle Nelius luck on his journey. Each stone represents a thread connecting him to us. The more stones, the stronger the connection."
Calla nodded. She took her stone and walked over to Chief Nelius Tuscan, who was standing by the tomb, overseeing the final ceremony as one by one, the women and children placed their stones within the tomb''s chambers.
"Uncle Nelius," she hollered to make herself heard over the murmur of the crowd.
Chief Nelius Tuscan crouched down to her level, his face lined with fatigue. "What is it, little one?" he asked, stroking her hair with fondness.
Calla held out her stone. "It''s for you, Uncle," she said. "So you don''t get lost."
Chief Nelius Tuscan took the stone from her small hand, his eyes misting over. "Thank you, Calla," he murmured. He placed the stone in one of the smaller compartments of the tomb, designed to hold such offerings. "This stone will guide me home," he assured her.
Calla beamed up at him.
"You''re welcome, Uncle," she exclaimed.
Nelius couldn''t help but smile. He ruffled her hair with fondness. "Run along now," he said, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure as she joined the other children.
—–
"Sister!" Hasana nudged Rumana. "Did you see that?"
Rumana followed her sister''s gaze to where Chief Nelius Tuscan was still kneeling beside Calla. She nodded. "What of it?"
"It''s just… he''s recently become quite fond of her, hasn''t he?" Hasana murmured, watching as Chief Nelius Tuscan ruffled Calla''s hair with affection.
Rumana followed her sister''s gaze. "It''s because she''s young," she offered in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Or perhaps," Hasana said further lowering her voice, "it''s because she looks just like Poppy."
"Poppy?"
Hasana tsked and leaned closer to her sister. "Poppy, the one the witches devoured when they were first brought into Tuscanvalle."
No one dared to talk about Poppy anymore.
Poppy was barely a child when the witches were first dragged into Tuscanvalle for their execution. Tuscanians had been warned to keep their distance from the creatures, and adviced to not even look at them. But Poppy had been drawn to the commotion. Alas, no one noticed her curiosity growing to dangerous extents until it was too late.
Back then, the witches were chained like beasts, brought forth by the Yadoran guards. Tuscanvalle was their chosen arena for the gruesome execution. The villagers had gathered fearfully, watching the procession from either sides of the streets. The witches'' eyes were sleepy, their skin smeared with ashes and their clothes in tatters. They looked nothing like the myths and stories they had heard of. They looked… human.
The guards had warned everyone to keep a safe distance. The witches were said to be able to curse with a mere glance. Yet, there was something about them that didn''t quite match the horrors attributed to them. They moved with a grace that seemed to suggest a deeper understanding of the world than the villagers could never dream to comprehend.
Yet what frightened them more was the invisible shield that surrounded the witches. It wasn’t something they could see, but rather feel—a palpable force that seemed to push back against anyone who dared to come too close. Tuscanian warriors who had tried to lay hands on the witches had frozen in place.
It was a shield—maybe a frozen bubble, some thought—that kept them at bay. A force that was not visible, but oh, so present. When the late Chief Kalius Tuscan and his men had approached the witches, they had frozen the moment their feet had crossed the invisible line that separated the villagers from the condemned. No matter what they tried, they couldn’t move an inch closer to the witches. It was as if the ground beneath them had turned to ice.
Nobody could approach the witches.
Nobody except Poppy!
The little girl had slipped through the crowd. She had seen the witches before, of course, in the stories of the village elders and the paintings on the walls of the Great Hall, but never in person. And as she approached the invisible barrier, she had found that she was the only one who could pass through it unscathed.
Her father, the late Chief Kalius Tuscan, had watched in horror as his daughter fearlessly approached the witches. His hand had clenched around the hilt of his sword, ready to charge forward and save her. But as she stepped closer, something strange had happened. The witches didn''t cower or hiss like the beasts everyone thought them to be. Instead, they looked at her with… what? Longing? Curiosity?
Kalius had waited, his heart hammering in his chest, expecting the worst. But the worst never came.
Poppy had reached out a tiny hand and touched the nearest witch''s arm. The crowd had gasped as the witch leaned down, whispering something into Poppy''s ear. But before Kalius could act, the witch drew back, a smile dancing on her lips. Poppy turned and skipped away, her innocence untouched by the evil of the witch.
Kalius had watched her go, his thoughts racing. Perhaps, his own blood held the key to their salvation.
"Take this, Poppy," he had said to Poppy, that night, handing her a small dagger. It was sharp but not too heavy for her tiny hands. "You''re the only one who can do this."
He had shown her how to hold it, how to wield it and how to plunge it into the heart of the witches. He had made her practice on straw dolls, stabbing them over and over again.
Much to everyone''s shock and contempt, Chief Kalius Tuscan had sent Poppy to perform the grisly task of killing the witches. Despite the protests of his wife and the others, he had known she was the only one who could pass through the invisible shield untouched by its malevolent power.
Poppy, too, had crept near the witches, her tiny hand clutching the dagger with trembling resolve. She had paused just before the invisible barrier, looking back at her father. He had nodded at her with pride.
His blood. His legacy. His child was going to save the world from evil!
And then Poppy had crossed the barrier.
Everyone had held their breath.
Nothing happened, not until she was close enough. Not until she raised the dagger.
But the moment the little girl raised the weapon to strike.
Bam!
A strange explosion of light had filled the clearing, knocking everyone off their feet. When the villagers of Tuscanvalle looked up again, Poppy was gone.
What remained of her was a handful of her torn cloths, chunks of raw, pulsating flesh, a few strands of her bloodied hair and a crimson puddle on the dirt floor where Poppy stood moments ago.
The witches were still chained.
But Poppy was gone and so was the invisible force that had protected the witches from their assaulters.
Poppy had sacrificed herself to break the shield.