"Caylin" by Maleah Schmitke

Caylin

The day was hot, the sun high. A hawk circled the great dome of the sky, eyes searching the planes lands below for its meal, but seeing nothing save for a group of gambolling and capering human eyasses who had frightened away any quarry. The children laughed and chased each other through the great long grass. They all wore their hair tied back with leather thongs and wore leggings made of skins on their bottoms, whiling leaving their tops bare, all of them being young boys. Some of them pretended to battle, using cast off poles from tools and tents as pretend spears. Others played tag, but none of them, not one, paid a single thought to the lone figure watching off to the sides. Long dark blond curls left loose save for a single braid at her temples; she watched them as she toyed with the leather string that tied her hair. Her blue eyes were filled with dejected longing. She wanted to play, but the boys all sent her away, telling her that they played boys’ games and that she should go play at weaving baskets or mending with the other girls. Her father, though, had seen that she was different and encouraged her to do what pleased her. He took her fishing and, at times, even hunting. Sometimes when he wasn’t too busy he took time to play at weapons with her too. Her grandmother despaired at having a daughter and then a granddaughter more interested in manly pastimes than womanly.

“Ai, mother,” her mother would say to her grandmother, “times change just as the winds or the land; if you try to fight it you will not last.” Even so, the boys teased her for wanting to play their games so now she stood by herself off to the side neither fitting into either world, not wanting to spend time at such dull things as basket weaving, but neither being permitted to play with the boys. Finally she sniffed and headed off to find her own fun, skirting the area where the boys played.

She was the first to see the forms appearing on the horizon, headed toward their village

“Someone comes!” she cried and turned to run back to the village, “Someone comes!” People fast began to emerge form their huts to see what the fuss was about.

“Caylin?” started, her grandmother

“Someone comes,” she repeated still gasping for breath from her run. By then the boys had also returned confirming her claims and babbling about demons with the heads of animals. Right away a commotion broke out. The adults were aware of the strangers coming.

“Caylin!” The booming voice of her father caught her attention. He caught her up in one of his big strong arms and pulled her away from the crowd. He then thrust a short spear into her hands

“Take this, Caylin, take it and run for the woods. Hide there for as long as you can and don’t leave until we come for you or you know it’s safe.”

“I don’t want to, I want to -”

“You can’t stay here, Caylin, it will be far too dangerous.”

“But -”

“Do as I tell you, daughter!” She flinched away at his booming voice and then he was gone, back into the crowd. She stood there, conflicted and trying to think what to do, where to go. Could she even make it to the forest? It was a long way, on the other side of the plane beyond the river. She ran to the edge of the village to see what was going on. The strangers were much closer now, all had heads of ferocious animals and made sounds like them too. She quailed and drew back into the village, but knew it wasn’t safe there either. Finally she decided to run for the bluff. There she could hide until nightfall and so she went.

She ran, hearing the first cries and shouts of battle as she made her way toward the distant bluff. From there she’d be able to see what was happening as well as who was approaching. She climbed the bluff and then laid down on her belly facing the village. She watched as the attackers, many more in number than the men in her small tribe, slaughtered the men groups at a time. She watched as they scoured the village, still with the fire of killing in their blood but finding no more men, all were dead. She wondered what would happen to the survivors. She was still to young to know about the brutality of such a raid and what happened to the women and children, but the senseless violence in itself frightened her and sickened her. By the time it was all over the sun was nearly setting. In a few more hours it would be dark and she could make her run for the woods.

To a young child, laying on her belly unmoving, afraid almost to even death, listening as the bugs buzzed in her ears and crawled along the ticklish parts of her skin, the wait until full night fall seemed a hundred ages, but finally it was time for her to move. She drew on everything her father had taught her about tracking and moving in silence as she headed toward the woods, keeping her attention on the fires of the far away raiders’ camp. She didn’t expect for parties to still be out searching for ‘strays’ when she ran into one. Immediately she abandoned stealth and bolted, like a rabbit, for the trees, spear still in hand. It hadn’t even dawned on her to use it against her enemies, but then she was young and killing had not yet crossed her mind. The voices of the men behind her kept her going even after she would have thought her strength would have failed her. She almost dove for the cover of the woods when she was close enough. She escaped into the shadows like a wraith. Finally, as she hid amid the bushes that poked her in the back and arms and brushed against her face, as her heart beat as fast as a robin’s and so loud she thought that it could be heard all the way back at her village, as she listened, straining so hard to hear everything around her that it almost hurt, the voices subsided, but she knew they’d be back.

She spent the night in the woods in the safety of a tree, but when dawn came she knew she had to move. The reality struck her finally after she had left the tree and started moving away from the bad men, from the planes, from the place that had been her home since birth, as she pushed forward, always listening for her enemies -- surely they wouldn’t give up on her yet -- everyone was gone. They slaughtered her father and though she hadn’t see his dead body she had seen every last man in her tribe fall at the hands of their enemies. She didn’t know what happened to her mother or the other women or the children. Had they escaped as she had? Had they been murdered like her father and the rest of the men? She felt uncontrollable rage build up in her belly and begin to bubble up through her chest and she let out a sound that resembled a howl. She’d hunt them they way her family had been hunted. One day she would!