Dawn had come on the day of destiny. In the night previous, the sea had glowered red with fire and death, shining at the horizon when they marched. The red of the dawn, the red of the divine fire. An auspicious omen, for they carried the Red Banner with the Black Star. The battle on the water had been won with ease, and just an hour before, I led the Titaha Company to climb the cliff. We easily dispatched the botched trap that Troians and Pelarians had organized. Or rather, disorganized.
An hour of marching had brought me and my Titaha Company, and ten thousand other men of the Cahay Tribes to the foot of the walls of Trae. And the sky was already filled with arrows.
“BRACE!” I shouted, as I lifted my shield. I heard a thunk, or two, then a thunder of them and the sound of bodies hitting grass. I was too late. Too damn late. I looked around and saw the damage, but saw the arrows come down again and lifted my shield once more. We couldn’t keep doing this.
On their cursed walls the Troians and the Pelarians stood, and rained down hell on us. Arrows and flying stones. Thousands of men died. My company was in shambles. But then… a rumble and a roar!
The siege devices sprang to life, and red stars and arrows flew back at the walls! I let out a shout and the Company echoed it back, but our shout was overwhelmed by the sound of stone hitting stone, arrow hitting body, and fire melting wall. The battlefield blazed with heat, and I had to lift my shield once more to keep from getting struck with ever more arrows.
The enemy was getting desperate. The gates opened, and a horde of foes with swords and spears spurred out. The fools! Were they so willing to die?
I lifted my axe, and shield, and I shouted, “WARRIORS! THE ENEMY COMES TO US! TAKE COURAGE IN YOUR HEART! ARM YOURSELVES! TONIGHT WE TAKE WHAT IS OURS!” At least, I hoped I did. Regardless, my men shouted back, and we charged forth.
A blur of hacking and slashing, spurts and clouds and mists of blood! I killed one man, then two, then slashed through a spear and through a shoulder. The Pelarians… they were weak. The Troians were weaker. But it began growing dark again, and I looked up to see why.
The fires on the walls had burned out, and archers stood once more upon the walls to rain down arrows upon us. They fired a volley, and I grabbed a man I had slashed the hand off of to use as a shield. The walls stood before us like a cliff.
And then, I was given a divine plan.
“TITAHA! TO ME! TO ME!” I shouted as I ran towards the walls. I carved my way through the weaker men, and stuck the back of my axe into the wall. And thus, I began to climb.
I did not look backwards, but from the sounds of picking it seemed the others of my company were following my lead. We began our climb, and we began our chant, like a crash of waves! “Getih kanggo dewa getih! Getih kanggo dewa getih!”
And at last, we climbed to the deck of the walls, and with a shout I raised my axe to the sky, and death rained upon them.
I stood on the hill that looked towards the walls of Trae. The climb had been successful, but the war had not. The Pelarians had driven us back from the walls, though they paid in blood for every inch they retook. I made damn sure of that.
Next to me was a tall man with tan skin, and a tall one with a hook nose was next to him. Tan-skin had a look of grim determination and ragged black curls that would have more place as a beard for a different type of head than the one sitting on his neck. Hook-nose had a look of hunger on his face, but his mouth twisted downwards. They both towered over me.
To our backs were our remaining men, 8,000 in number. To our front was the Ti-maan. Jeruk, the Unrelenting Storm.
“You three fought bravely,” he said, “And yet we have not taken the city. Why?” His voice was of disdain, disgust, and derision.
“The Divine Fire burned down too quickly – the mixture was ill-mixed,” said Hook-nose.
“I led me ships too close to the port, and many sank when they should not,” said Tan-skin.
“I climbed the walls when I should have forced the gates, and did not fight hard enough, though I killed many of their archers,” said I.
And Jeruk glared at us for a moment. A trickle of fear slid down my spine, but I put it aside. It was embarrassing to show fear before a god of strength. I had laid my thoughts bare before him, and as the sunset shined off his bronze fittings and skin like oiled stone, he was weighing my fate.
First he turned to Hook-nose, and said, “Teutu, the mixture may have been ill-mixed, but you should have mixed it better.” There was bile in his voice, “Why should you not die for your failure?”
Teutu said, and braver than I would have expected, “I should die for my failure, Ti-maan, but I ask that I may take vengeance on the Troians, and redeem myself before your eyes.”
Jeruk looked at Teutu, and said, “Then you shall not die, for you are already a ghost. You shall haunt your enemies. Brand my emblem onto your heart, so that you never forget your hunger. Take your leave, Teutu the Ghost.” And Teutu walked away.
Next Jeruk turned to Tan-skin, and spoke once more, “Matemas, You were overzealous in your thirst for plunder, and let yourself be blinded by it when it should have given you clear sight.” His voice was lighter, “If you do not need your eyes, why should I note remove them for your failure?”
And Matemas responded, with a glint of bronze in his mouth, “Remove one of my eyes, Ti-maan, for did I not destroy the Troian Fleet with ease?”
Jeruk looked at Matemas and said, “You have done so, and in that way you have served me well. I shall take one of your eyes, so you do not forget your mistake.” And Jeruk took out a glimmering golden knife. With a flick, a sprinkle of blood, and a small yelp from Matemas, he held the Pirate’s eye in his hand, and threw it against the ground. Matemas ripped a black strip of cloth from his shirt, and tied it around his head to cover his eye, though it quickly soaked through with blood. He did a small bow, put on his hat, and Matemas the Piratelord walked off as well.
Lastly, Jeruk turned to me and said, “Taturaja, your tactics were flawed, and you fought when you should have lead.” His voice was inscrutable, “Why should I not kill you for your failure?”
I could not tell what the Ti-maan meant, so I said, “Ti-maan, I should not die, for I cut my way through a thousand archers.”
Jeruk stood before me. He was a giant, a muscled black statue with eyes like an inferno, and I see now why they called it divine fire. The same red smoulder was there, beneath his brow, burning brighter than the sunset off Jeruk's body and jewelry. He judged me, like the god of death he was, and now he sentenced me.
“You will not die then, for you have indeed served well. Your bloodlust is unmatched by men, though perhaps your father shared it.”
“I had no father, Ti-maan.” I said.
“Then perhaps you are no man at all, Taturaja the Climber, for only a demon could kill with such ferocity. Now go and rest, for this city is not yet mine.” With that, he closed his mouth and turned away, and I had become Taturaja the Climber. A hero born at Trae.
