“High Priestess Caitel Jentaro is considered to have been one of the first spell casters of this age to ignore the Kings order that banned the use of magic across Levanthria. Caitel Jentaro refused to obey this order, despite the violence being shown to all spell casters and instead put her life in jeopardy in order to use her healing magic to aid others. This was not without fear however and Caitel had to remain hidden, setting safe, sterile areas for those who were sick or injured to heal. When the last Great War raged, Caitel joined the battle but refused to take lives only save them. It was after her death that The Great Temple elevated her status to High Priestess to recognise how she had continued to put the needs of others before herself.”
Boraf Voretti, Scribe to the Great Temple, 203KR
The night is dark and unassuming. There is no moon on this night, lending us plenty of darkness to remain hidden until the opportune moment presents itself. Ahead of us there is a dim light towards a cluster of tall trees, a perfect place for a camp.
“Is that where they make camp?” Dante asks, his horse panting heavily from the journey.
My own steed managed to make it here with little fuss following the burst of energy I gave it, but the others straggled behind me.
“We should leave the horses here, Morgana. It will allow us the element of surprise.”
“I agree. We will continue on foot. When we reach the camp, you attack on my command.”
Dante nods and we hitch our horses to the nearby trees before beginning our walk to the Barbaraq camp. It doesn’t take long before the sound of the wind is replaced with the sound of the Barbaraqs cheering and singing. They make no attempt to hide their camp at all, which makes them either brave or foolish. As we draw closer, my heart begins to thunder in tandem with the beating of the drums they are dancing to. Slowly their camp becomes more than a distant memory. They are here. The people responsible for altering my life forever are here.
It is a large encampment, with only a few sentries acting as lookouts on the outer edge. We are still not close enough to see what happens in the centre of camp, where the noise comes from.
“What now?” Dante asks. “They far outnumber us. It would be madness to attack their camp with so few.”
I have only one thing on my mind, and I do not care for the guards who have accompanied me on this journey. Their lives mean nothing to me. I stare at one of the sentries and I begin to search my mind for my magic. The spell I plan on casting is one that I have not yet fully harnessed, but I hope I can use this to my advantage.
My mind feels fluid, as if my vision travels on the breaths of the wind, like a feather. I maintain my focus as I mutter words under my breath, the soothing sensation of magic coursing through my body. My vision reaches the sentry and within a moment it is as though I am looking out over the field with his eyes. I breathe in the smell of smoke and meat that must be cooking nearby. The stench sends pangs to my stomach. This warrior must not have eaten for some time, possibly not since the attack on Uster. I exhale deeply and gather the bearings of my new body, waiting for a moment for the initial dizziness to pass. I have only cast this spell on a few occasions, mainly on small animals and once with a prisoner. On both occasions I was only able to keep my connection for a short period of time, so I know I need to move fast.
Behind me I hear the drums and song of the Barbaraqs as they celebrate their incursion. Looking down, I inspect the hands I am now in possession of. They are worn and heavily calloused. These are aged hands, experienced hands. I glance to my right where another sentry stands guard, his war axe strapped to his back. He looks like he’s half asleep, no doubt exhausted from the day’s fight.
I cast a quick glance around me and see that no one is in our vicinity, so I seize my opportunity and move towards the Barbaraq.
“Yuuri, what are you doing?” he asks, but before he can act, I grip him by the throat and swing behind him, bending my arm around his neck. The body I possess has much strength and the man tries to struggle against me but the element of surprise weighs heavily in my favour. He grabs hold of my arm as he tries to pull himself free, but I am too strong for him. I squeeze tightly until his arms begin to fall limp and I hear the crunch of his neck breaking under my brute force.
My teeth clenched and breathing laboured, I allow the Barbaraq to slump to the floor and I spit on his body out of disgust. My anger is rising, and I know I must make haste if I am to make good of this body. I head into the camp where I see a group of people in a large circle around a central fire. They dance and sing, taking part in whatever ceremonial savagery they wish. They drink wine and spirits pillaged from Uster, men and women grabbing one another as they make their way back to their makeshift shelters. Their clothing is as though they have been brought up in the wild. They wear slipshod leathers formed from animal pelts. Most are bare chested, with only a few wearing animal hides to keep warm. Some walk around with little covering their modesty and heavily tattooed skin.
My head grows drowsy, and I can feel the owner of this body begin to fight me for control as I continue to survey my surroundings. The only other sentries I see are on the far side of the camp. The rest have dropped their guard as they dance, drink, and engage in all manner of debauchery.
A large man pushes his way through the crowd, and something about him is familiar. He stands a good foot taller than most within this tribe, their ranking most likely brought about purely by who is the strongest. His bald head is tattooed with a thick black stripe that runs from his forehead over the top of his head and right down the centre of his back.
My vision shakes as I begin to lose control of this host. With little time to spare I spin away from the group and head back to the spot where the sentries have taken up post. Checking my surroundings again, I remove a dagger from my belt.
I stare at the blade for a second as my vision blurs. Taking in a deep breath, I plunge the blade into my abdomen. Searing pain engulfs me. I feel my skin tear as I slide the blade to the right for good measure before twisting the blade, leaving this host body no chance of survival.
Then it is as if my consciousness is sucked away and drawn back to my own body in a matter of seconds. It is most disorienting, and I find myself feeling faint as a rush of heat makes its way up my face.
“What was that?” Dante asks, his voice elevated. He is clearly not used to seeing such magic in close proximity.
“That is only a little of what I am capable of.” I hope this display of my power will encourage them to fight even though we are outnumbered. My eyes roll back suddenly, and my body convulses as if I myself have been possessed this time. This is not the first time this has happened to me however, and I embrace the sensation, I embrace whatever vision the gods bestow on me. However poor their timing is.
Screams ring out. The village around me is in flames. I am brought back yet again to the night of the Barbaraq attack on my village. This time I am stood outside my house alongside my sister and my father. I hold my sister’s hands tightly. She is younger than I, her brown hair braided as best my father could. We look around, searching for where our attackers are. Then the war cries reach us, a scream mixed with a roar. It hits me in my core, and I have never known fear like this. A man moves across in front of us, his bare chest covered in ink and warpaint. He holds a hatchet above his head as he strikes down a woman nearby. My father doesn’t hesitate. Already clutching his sword, he steps toward the Barbaraq warrior and brings his blade down on him. The warrior blocks this and kicks our father in his stomach, causing him to fall in front of us.
“Get as far away as you can!” he demands as he gets back to his feet. Our father is a farmer, not a warrior, but he fights with honour as he engages our enemy once more.
“No, father! We can’t.”
“Go!” he roars as he begins exchanging blows with our attacker. The war cries around us grows louder and louder.
My sister cries, terrified at the spectacle before us. We have never been exposed to such violence. I pull at her arm, but she is rooted to the spot, frozen in fear.
“Come, Ferelda, we need to leave.”
She pulls back against me. “But Papa!” Her face is coated in a layer of ash, small streaks forming where her tears run.
The sound of metal on metal rings out as our father battles to protect us. Hearing the cries of Ferelda, he turns. “Go, now!”
The distraction hinders him and the Barbaraq warrior spins before hammering his axe into our father’s stomach.
“Papa!” Ferelda screams and lets go of my hand, running into our house.
My heart breaks in that moment. The sound of the chaos around us dulls down to nothing more than muffled screams as our father drops to his knees and blood pools in his mouth. The Barbaraq pulls back his axe one last time and brings it down on Father’s head. He drops to the floor, his eyes wide with shock, staring straight at me. My body shakes. I am bereft with grief, my heart thundering against my chest like a wild storm. Then a scream calls from our house and it grabs my attention immediately. Ferelda. My eyes drift upwards and I see the cause of the screams. The roof has caught fire.
“Ferelda!” I have no time to grieve for my father as the smoke starts to seep out from below our front door. As soon as I enter, my lungs fill with smoke.
“Ferelda!” I cough and splutter, gasping for air. Thick smoke fills the room, making it difficult to see anything.
The ceiling above me grumbles loudly and I dive under the table as it comes crashing down on top of me, pinning me to the spot. The heat is unbearable. I call out my sister’s name over and over again, to no answer. Then I see something I have not noticed before in this nightmare, in this memory. The Barbaraq is near the front door, standing over my father’s dead body. He turns to leave, revealing a large striped tattoo that runs down the back of his head and his back.
I snap back from my vision and it is clear to me in an instant why the gods have brought me here. The man who killed my father, the man responsible for my sister’s death, is the leader of this tribe.
My blood burns, and every muscle in my body becomes taut with tension. A rage rises within me and I lose all sense of self-control. I clench my hands around the grass where I kneel and I take in a deep breath.
Then I stand.
“What is it?” Dante asks.
I don’t answer. With every ounce of my energy, I set off at pace towards the Barbaraq camp. My anger consumes me. I have no semblance of a plan. All I know is that the man responsible for my miserable life is just ahead of me. One of us will not make it through this night.