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Their eyes first met across one of the fire pits. Their village celebrating the spring's harmonious day. When the night and the day were in balance. When they were perfectly equal.
Bodies danced around the cackling fires. Some alone and swaying to the pounding of the drum, others in pairs or groups. She kept mainly to herself, still trying to figure out navigating her new villagers. Mere days after her father succumbed to his illness, her mother dragged her away to the lands of Louwoda Kliron Kru . A means to start over. She watched as others guzzled down their tankards of mead and wine, she slowly nursing hers. Several members of the clan who looked to be around her age slipped out into the woods, hidden in the darkness of the night. That’s when his eyes met hers once more before he darted off after his friends. Maybe it was the flicking of the flames reflecting in his dark eyes but he seemed almost inviting her to follow.
Glancing around quickly, she noticed her mother nowhere to be found. No harm in making friends, right?
When she finally caught up to them, deep in the heart of the woods, they sat around a small fire. He strolled up to her the moment she broke through the treeline. “Where are you from?”
“Delfikru.”
The group around the fire chatted amicably, one of the girls waving her over to sit beside her. They asked her a million questions: what life outside the village was like; why she had come to the village; what she liked; what she disliked. Everyone wanting to know about their newest villager. From what she understood, they haven't had someone from a different village let alonea different clan join theirs in over three decades. Her head spun after a half hour, maybe an hour of answering everyone. Her cup never once touched.
He sat not too far from her with a large glass bottle in his hand. Digesting everything she said. One of his friends grabbed the bottle, placing small amounts of the liquid into their friends awaiting cups. "Alright Delfi, show us your tolerance." his friend tossed back the liquid.
That didn't look too bad. She drank more wine than that usually. His friend holding out the bottle daringly. Several of the others turned their gaze towards her, almost seizing her up. A means to understand the outsider. He stood from his seat, taking back the bottle back. Almost immediately, the attention of the other averted away from her. Instead the others focusing on their friends. No longer did they find her entertaining. "Have you had whiskey before?" his voice a low timber. "I know it's not everyone's favorite choice. Franko over there hates it." he nodded his head to one of the girls sitting a few feet away. "Like I said, not everyone enjoys it." He raised his glass to his lips, tossing back the drink. His face contorting for a second as the alcohol burned down his throat.
He held the bottle out towards her, giving her the option to try the drink. Her eyes darted to his mouth as he said something to her but she wasn't paying attention to his words. Should she try the whiskey? Without thinking she pressed forward, her lips brushing his. It took a moment for him to react, his lips parting for hers. As quickly as it started, she pulled away.
"Whiskey tastes weird."
"If you're going to kiss me fucking commit." He muttered jokingly. Raising onto her toes, she pressed her lips firmly against his once more. Long fingers coming up to lace into her hair, tugging her closer. Maybe the new village wouldn't be so bad after all.
-
By the winter solstice, she had wed the most promising warrior in the village. Standing under poorly constructed arbor, numb fingers laced with her now husband's. Snow had fallen the night before, bathing the ground in a white glow. A shy smile on his lips as he stumbled reciting the words of their chief.
Madi kom Louwoda Kliron Kru was born on the night Luna disgraced the clans and ran from the Conclave. She held her baby close to her bare chest, at the time unaware of the novitiate who chose peace, knowing she would never let harm befall her daughter.
-
Madi was beautiful. Pale blue eyes contrasting with her dark tresses. Even at such a young age, the baby had a lot of hair on her head. Pulled back into a small ponytail that stood straight at attention. Her infant was perfect, absolute perfection.
Yet her world came crumbling down mere does before Madi turned a year old. Madi was adventurous. She’d run on teetered legs to and fro through their cabin. Often, her legs moving faster than her body would allow causing Madi to fall onto her backside. Normally, she’d proudly smack both of her hands onto the wooden floor, and propel herself back up onto her feet. But that day, when Madi fell her arm snagged a piece of the flooring that began to splinter upwards - they had a substantial amount of rainfall this summer, leading to the flooring needing to be replaced in most of the cabins throughout the village. Their home not excluded.
“Uh oh.” Madi muttered, plopping backwards onto her rear. Her little voice sounded off. Placing her stack of cutlery back into her basket, the woman turned around. “Uh oh.” Madi repeated, holding her palm upwards. A thin slice tarnished the soft skin of her daughter’s palm but that wasn’t what she found jarring. Instead of red blood, her daughter bled black.
A Natblida.
The woman fell to her knees, hands coming up to cover her mouth. Her baby- her perfect baby was a Natblida. They would come and take Madi, force a weapon into her hand, and make her fight to the death upon the death of the Heda. Shaking fingers reached up to gently take her daughter’s hand in hers. She knew she needed to care for the wound but looking at the black blood made hers run cold. Sluggishly, she rose. Her legs trembling as she fumbled for something to cleanse the wound.
Madi was a Natblida.
When her husband returned home early in the evening, he found her sitting at their table. Her arms folded onto the table and her head tucked into the small opening between the appendages. Calloused hands found home on her shoulders. Slowly, he kneaded her tense muscles. Hands trailing further and further down her back. “What’s wrong love?” He whispered. Hitting mid-back, he began his ascent back up to her shoulders.
A girl from her village had been plucked from her family by Fleimkepas. She couldn’t have been more than five years old. A sword forced into her small fists. The little girl had been so jovial back in their village. Smiling at everything; singing songs she made-up as she splashed about in puddles. The little girl loved the rain, she remembered. Every time the sky opened up, so did the door to their hut. She’d come racing out, typically barefoot. Arms held over head, she’d bask in the water droplets as they fell onto her skin. But the world was a cruel beast. The Fleimkepas forced a sword into her small, unknowing fists. They trained her to become the next Heda for seven years only for her to die within the first round of battles.
They broke that little girl and she would never let that happen to Madi. Never.
She recalled her husband’s face watching her woefully. You could see his mind whirling, imagining a million scenarios which would lead her to her crestfallen state. Her husband was a warrior. He’d rejoice when she’d tell him. What high ranking warrior wouldn’t revel at the possibility of fathering the next Heda? Madi’s training would commence earlier than the other children in the village to ensure her victory. And forcing blood on their poor baby’s hands.
Her pinky twitched nervously against the wooden back of the chair. She opened her mouth to say something, anything but her words failed her. The woman could feel her throat constricting. ‘Madi’ she tried to say, but she couldn’t, ‘Madi’s a Natblida.’ All that could be made out were with phantoms of sounds. Her voice trembled as did her legs once more. The woman hadn’t realized she started crying until her husband reaching out, rough pads of finger coming up to gently wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong love?” he repeated, squatting down to be eye-level with her. Everything, she wished to say, everything was wrong. His larger hands wrapped around hers in a vain attempt to still them. “Breathe please.”
Instead of responding to her husband, she stood from her seat. She hid the cloths used to clean Madi’s palms. She intended on burning the vile strip of cloth that night. Lifting the material from its hiding place, she held it out to him. As he walked over to take the cloth, she averted her gaze, unable to look at her husband. She knew what his response would be, she knew he’d want Madi to be trained but she couldn’t. Even at a young age, she had always hated the idea of the Conclave. Forcing children to kill their peers just to secure a throne. It was ghastly and one of the reasons she chose not to take up a weapon. There were other ways to ensure who sat atop the clans. Rotating through the clans for instance. Every time a Heda died, they could select one individual from a different clan to act as head and then on their passing, they’d move onto another clan. There were other options to their leadership, ones that didn’t have to break Madi physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Her husband unfolded the cloth. He stared down for a beat. Silently, he folded the cloth back up, rolling the material back and forth in his palms. “Madi’s a Natblida.” His voice stoic.
Bracing her hands on the edge of the table, the woman anticipated her husband’s cheer. She shut her eyes tight, unable to watch the look of joy that would grace his handsome features. The air between them quiet. The silence broken when her husband fell back unceremoniously into the chair. “We need to hide her.”
Her eyes shot open at that. Hide Madi?
His dark eyes glared at the offending material in his now tightened fists, “I do not want this for her.”
The woman felt like she could breathe again Dropping to her knees in between her husband’s legs, she grasped his hands firmly. Words found her once more as she said, “The Fleimkepas will never find out what she is.”
"She will live."
-
Surprisingly, it was fairly easy for them to hide Madi in plain sight. To their fellow villagers, they came off as scared new parents of a daring toddler. Being overprotective was bound to happen, they would say, Madi’s curious nature will probably put you into an early grave. The woman would force a smile in response. She'd end up in an early grave if her daughter was caught. The villagers never knowing they had their very own Natblida running through Doah. As the village’s apprentice healer, it was even more easy for them to hide her. A healer was anticipated to carry cloth to bandage wounds or herbs to heal the sick and injured. Some of the other mothers in the village joked she had the best career for an overprotective parent. Again little did they know, she had the best career to hide a goddess among men.
She and her husband rotated who watched over Madi. She took on less hours as a healer and her husband could bring Madi with him on certain days, walking the toddler around the perimeter of the camp. Soon her husband was trailing after Madi, chasing her through the cabins. Others chuckling as they passed.
For Madi's third birthday they brought her down to the river, not too far from their village's limits. They made their camp above the rocks lining the shoreline. Their small tent hidden in the shade of the foliage. Madi sat at the water's edge with her father. Tiny bare toes dipping under the surface. The toddler sang happily, making up lyrics to fit what she saw: a fish sprung from the river; the breeze made the water's surface ripple; the caw of a predatory bird rang clear through the land. It all ended up in jumbled into her mess of a song. Her husband shook his head fondly, a lazy smile on his lips.
Her husband grasped a sturdy wooden spear in his right hand. Gently, he instructed Madi on what he was doing. They were teaching Madi to fish, well more her husband was teaching Madi to fish. The woman sat down behind her daughter wrapping her arms around her daughter's waist. She had asked her husband to teach Madi earlier than the other children. A fleimkepa scout found a strong novitiate several villages over. All of Louwoda Kliron Kru, sans one small family in one small cabin, rejoiced at the prospect of their future Heda being from their clan. She and her husband agreed to prepare their daughter for surviving, for living a full joyous life. The first step was to ensure their daughter had a basic grasp on survival tactics, Bekka Pramheda forbid they were ever separated while fleeing the fleimkepas. They'd teach her to find food, water, and shelter.
Currently, they were teaching her lesson number one: food. The day the news rung through the valley of the novitiate, they had brought Madi out into the meadows to instruct her on which berries were safe for her to eat and which she should never touch.
"Catch anything? I'm starting to get hungry."
Madi twisted in her spot, a finger raised pointedly. "No mommy, wait." Her daughter chided. "Pay-tent."
"Your mother never liked coming fishing with me. No patience." Her husband teased. There was nothing wrong with disliking the dull pace of fishing. Sitting idly for hours, only to toss the spear once you see movement in the water. When her own father took her fishing, the woman forgot to hold onto the rope allowing them to draw in the spear, and the fish adorning the point, to shore. She had to climb through the river to get it back and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on a rock waiting impatiently for her clothes to dry.
The surface of the water rippled as a fish sped just below it. Her husband threw the spear forcefully, the group watching as the spear latched into the riverbed. Madi firmly grasped the rope, determined to hold on. It was adorable, her daughter's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Which made her segue off, "Moira's mommy is having another baby."
Madi swung the rope from her left side to her right, creating patterns on the water's surface. Moira was the only other three year old in the village and the pair were inseparable. They could been found whispering secrets to one another, stealing snacks for each other, attempting to braid their friend's hair. Madi loved Moira and if Moira's mom was having a baby, the woman knew where her daughter would steer the conversation. Dropping the rope, Madi hopped to her feet. Her small fists placed firmly on her waist, "I want a brother." She declared proudly. "A little one."
Her husband scrambled to grab the rope before they accidentally lost the material. "It's not that easy Madi." Her husband said as gently as he could, "Babies take several months just to be born. And do you really want a brother?"
"We could all go fishing! I could teach him." Her daughter adamant on getting a sibling. How did you tell a the year old you feared having a second child?
Her husband gave her a long look. His shoulders dipped. "How about you let mommy and I think about it? We'd have to figure out how to share your toys and where in your room their bed would go."
Madi looked ready to stand firm, but she stopped for a moment. At the notion of losing her toys and space in her room, Madi backed down. No longer as determined to have a younger sibling. "Maybe we should all think about it."
Later that night, after their stomachs were filled with the fish her husband and Madi caught and they put their daughter to bed, they sat in front of the dying fire. She curled into her husband's lap, head tucked under his chin. "So Madi wants a sibling." Her husband started. His fingers rubbing gentle circles in against her thigh. "A sibling could be nice."
He knew why they couldn't. She moved to shift away, to face him. But her husband pulled her closer. "I know you're nervous, I am too. But there's always the chance her brother or sister wouldn't be a Natblida."
"What about Luna's parents? Their daughter forced to kill their son to secure a Heda." They lost two children that day. She couldn't go through with that. What if she and her husband failed at protecting their children? What if they were caught? She couldn't put Madi or their imaginary child through what Luna was forced to do. That poor girl.
They sat quietly in the glow of the dying fire, "If we just have Madi, we just have Madi." Her husband mumbled into her hair. "But please don't live in fear. It's not healthy for you or for Madi."
A twig snapped behind them. The pair shooting to their feet, her husband gripping his hunting knife. Madi's head popped out from behind the tree beside their tent. Her eyes curious. Immediately her husband sheathed his weapon and extended his arms out towards the toddler. "Hey baby, what happened to sleeping?"
She ran over, quickly hoping into her father's awaiting arms. Resting her head against his shoulder. "What's a Natblida?"
Her husband's eyes shot up to meet hers, wordlessly asking how they should proceed. The woman brushed the hair that freed itself for Madi's braid. They planned on telling Madi about Natblidas when she was a little older. And they agreed if she chose to participate in the Conclave, they'd walk their daughter to Polis - not without asking her a million times to rethink it while her husband hung onto one feet and she on the other.
"You know how when you get a cut, the blood that comes out is black?" Madi nodded, her daughter probably didn't understand the term blood but they watched as she thought it over, "That's because you have a special type of blood. Your mother and I and the rest of the villagers have red blood."
Madi lifted her head off of her father's shoulder, "I'm special?"
"Always were." Her husband smiled softly.
Her husband walked over to the fire, carrying Madi with him. He sat down and patted the ground beside him. Shaking her head, she sat down beside them. "Because of your blood," she stopped for a beat. How did she word this for a toddler to understand? "There are people who would like to bring you to Polis."
"Where's that?"
"Pretty far away." Her husband responded, his voice melancholic.
"Do you wanna go there?" Madi asked, her blue eyes full of hope.
"They only want you baby, not your dad and me."
Madi curled herself into her father, hiding her face into his shoulder. "No!" She yelled, grasping the fabric of his shirt. "I don't want to go!" The toddler's voiced cracked as she began to cry. "Not without you." She mumbled quietly.
Her husband's hand came up to cup their daughter's head, trying to soothe her cries. "That's what your mom and I are trying to prevent. We don't want to lose you either. We'll keep you safe from the fleimkepas."
Madi turned her head to the side, watery blue eyes turned to face get mother. "I hate them."
Her husband gently rocked Madi back and forth, "All your mother and I ask is that you be careful okay? No need for you to hate anyone." Madi placed her hands firmly against her father's chest and pushed herself slightly away, allowing her to look up at her father. "Let your mom and I worry about the fleimkepas."
-
The night the world ended, their small family joined the village inside of the old church. Their fellow villagers huddled close to each other. Families blending together in the enclosed space. Small children given furs by their parents who quieted lulled them to sleep.
None of the villagers of Doah would forward the human race in a bunker under Polis. The clan elders and the ambassador himself came to Doah, a few days prior to the end of the world, to offer a spot to one villager but he declined. Her husband had been selected to carry on their clan. When he pleaded for two extra spots, the ambassadors angrily told him they could only spare one hundred lives, they needed to be worth it. That he should appreciate the chance he'd been given. When her husband asked the elders to give his spot to Madi, the elders of the clan and the ambassador laughed right in his face. They told him he chose wrong, even going as far as to say he could marry an actual clans member and bred a proper bloodline. Even several years after the formation of the Coalition, some of the elders stood stauch in their prejudice against other clans. Their chief stood awkwardly to the side, unsure if he should interrupt the conversation.
Funny how they would grovel at Madi's feet if they knew she and her husband produced a child of Bekka Pramheda.
Madi sat quietly in between her parents phantom miming brushing her doll’s hair. She chatted happily, unknowing of what would happen. None of the parents told their children why they hid in the church. Most saying it was a village wide game. Madi muttered to her doll that she’d protect it, just like how her parents protected her. The woman felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. She hadn’t protected Madi. She wished the elders passed the spot onto Madi. Opened up spots to the children of the village. Let the new generation live on since hers mucked up the world. Her husband tucked Madi into his side. He placed a kiss to the side of their daughter's head.
“In the morning, we should go to the sea.” His eyes met hers. “We never left the village for pleasure. Only when our work dictated that would should. I think you’d like the sea.” It would be nice to see the world. She’d seen the inside of two villages, more than most of her neighbors probably ever would. But seeing more than the forest would be nice.
“Can we go fishing?” Madi asked excitedly.
Pramfiya hit three hours later. Tearing apart their village. Most died immediately, herself included. A few died agonizingly slow. Screaming as their skin boiled and bubbled. Madi cried through the night, her body covered in welts. In the morning, Madi was the only surviving member of her clan. And since that first morning, when she woke tucked in between her parents, Madi never stepped foot into the church again. Nor did she return to their cabin. The child instead choosing to sleep under the stars.
She and her husband spent the last five years fearing their daughter's blood would bring about her death, yet ironically it was what kept her alive. They spent so long trying to prevent losing Madi that they never anticipated Madi losing them. For fifty-seven days their baby sat alone on earth adhering to the lessons of her parents taught her. Without having her parents there to tell her to bathe or brush her hair, Madi looked like a feral child. Her face a mess, her hair wild. How she longed to tame the bushy looks back into a braid. For fifty-seven days their baby spoke to herself, angrily muttering about the Fleimkepas who took her parents away.
But on the fifty-eighth day, a blonde stumbled into their old village. Fingers trailing across the bright colors of the structures. The same colors that enticed her all those years ago. Armed with berries and a weird contraption, the woman sat at a table. She spoke to someone though no one else ventured out from the treeline. For the first time since Pramfiya, their baby wasn't alone and they could finally rest.