Nubia’s Revenge She waited for them atop the steep hill, a battleground of her choosing. All her life shed prepared for them. All her life she pursued them. Now she stood alone, the hooves of their mounts shaking the ground beneath her feet. They killed her parents. They slaughtered her people. Hatred rose in her mouth like a foul liquid and she forced it down. This was no time for emotion. It was a time for concentration, a time to release all she had learned. An undulating line of conical helmets broke the jagged horizon and she raised her bow. They would all die by her hand. Every last one of them. The closest rider’s brow appeared and she released her arrow. It struck him between the eyes and he tumbled backwards from his horse. Her second arrow struck another rider in his mouth, stifling the battle cry he intended to yell. Her third arrow passed through the jowls of the third man attempting to turn away. He remained on his mount, his hands attempting to stop the blood flowing from his cheeks. He was alive, but the poison would kill him eventually. The other riders milled before her, circling the one who led them. He was a man almost too big for his mount, a hard face brute covered in the shaggy coat of some animal she did not recognize. A golden helmet bordered with precious stones rested on his bearded head. He stared at her intensely, as if seeking some recognition. He would find none. She was a babe when he last saw her, if he saw her at all. Her village was one among many his horde raided and razed, a settlement whose memory was washed away long ago in blood. But she remembered. She would never forget. (She stood before the temple walls with the others, each seeking entrance for their own reasons. The Dogon held knowledge beyond all others; it was said that the came from another world and they hid their knowledge within their simplicity. Those surrounding her sought what the Dogon possessed for various reasons, but she was sure her reason was the most ominous of all. Acolytes emerged and a clamor rose among the applicants. She said nothing. The servants of the teachers approached each person asking them one questions: What do you seek? When the acolyte reached her she answered simply. Revenge.) The riders charged in unison, their leader lagging behind the wall of horseflesh and steel. She ran toward them, loading her bow as she ran. She shot the horses one by one, bringing down three before they were upon her. The first man was the first to die. She leaped on his horse, stabbing him in the neck with an arrow then pushing him from his mount. His cohorts swarmed her, and then discovered her prowess with a scimitar. Two more died, tumbling to the grass with slit throats. A blade stabbed her thigh and she ignored it. Pain was temporary, vengeance complete. She tired of the mounted duels quickly. With a sudden effort she leaped from the horse to land on her feet. They were outmatched. It was obvious with the first arrow loosed that she would eventually kill them all. Yet they persisted. If men as vile as these could have a positive trait it would be their relentlessness. It was the reason for their conquests. It would also be the reason for their deaths. (When the others left, she remained. She made no attempt to feed or bathe herself. She sat before the temple, moving only to relieve herself. Even that necessary function ceased as she began to starve. But she would not leave. The acolytes peered over the walls and shouted at her. Their masters had made their choices. There would be no more selections. She was wasting her time. When she could no longer sit up, she lay in the mud, staring at the walls. The doors finally opened and a robed man approached her. He knelt before her dying form, curiosity in his eyes. “Why do you persist?” he asked. “You are dying.” “Everyone I love is dead,” she replied. “Then join them,” he replied. She forced herself up to stare at him. “I will not die until they die,” she said. “Revenge serves no purpose,” the man said. “Revenge keeps me alive,” she retorted. The man clapped his hands and acolytes appeared. They lifted her to her feet. “We will accept you, only to prove that you are wrong.” She managed to smile. They would fail.) - Excerpt from Nubias Revenge by Milton Davis. From the Ki Khanga Anthology.
Posted on: Wed, 26 Nov 2014 03:00:51 +0000
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