Zeda

Book One of the Chronicles of Ralanth

The sun rose on a scene of total destruction. The charred remains of houses lay scattered, the owners of those houses slain with their families. A figure dashed out of the surrounding undergrowth, looking left and right. The figure disappeared into what once was a cellar, emerging with a bow, quiver, sword, sling... and shovel.

She began the onerous work of burying family and friends.

As dusk fell, Amzeda Luke set the last stone marker at the head of the last makeshift grave, and dropped to the ground in pure exhaustion. From her seated position, Amzeda drew her father’s sword from its sheath at her back. She considered the needle-sharp point, wondering how it would feel, to have that point drive through her stomach or heart. Then she shook her head. Not yet.

A glance at the lovingly polished blade showed a hard-eyed eighteen-year-old woman, the dried blood from a cut on her forehead giving her a red-brown streak from temple to temple, and a stream of coagulating blood down her left cheek. Ragged black locks framed a face with high cheekbones, a strong, slightly hooked nose, and high forehead; deep, green-black eyes shone with suppressed tears.

So like her mother’s face, neighbors had remarked. But she had her father’s eyes, they would add. But now, joining her long-dead mother were her father’s and brothers’ corpses. The village green, in the center of Zeda’s tiny home, had become a graveyard for neighbors and friends, everyone she knew. Now, when her work was finished, she murmured the Death Prayer.

“Maiden, Warrior, Mother, Queen

Lady bring Thy children home to Thee

Child, Judge, Father, King,

Judge them fair, Lord of everything.”

Amzeda Luke raised her father’s blade, and with strength born from rage, thrust it into Luke Lukesson’s grave, up to the hilt. Her voice was hoarse. “Father, I swear it, I will not rest until I find the scum that did this. I will avenge you, all of you.” She closed her eyes. As hot tears welled from beneath her shut eyelids, a figure of light laid a hand on her head. But Zeda never noticed.

When the tears ended, Amzeda jerked the sword from the earth, wiped it, and sheared off her long black hair. She sprang to her feet, and thrust the sword toward the sky, where dawn’s light covered the blade with blood.

Amzeda keened her battle cry to the silence and destruction.

“Zeeeeee!”