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Authors: Khalid Uddin
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Isaan’s headless and lifeless body prevented him from getting up.
Darkness clouded his vision and thoughts. He could barely see Yasaman running toward him, the sound of her yelling garbled. She disappeared for a moment. Darkness. He blinked slowly. She crashed to the ground and didn’t move. His eyes closed again, too heavy for him to fight back, and the darkness consumed him.
Chapter 3
The Painted One
From The Book of Orijin, Verse Twenty-seven
Humility in all that you do shall guide your path to Omneitria.
“Just do it already, coward!” Marshall Taurean leaned against the wall of a broken-down house, bracing himself for imminent pain. He’d never pulled an arrow shaft from his own body, but having seen others do it countless times, he was sure it was better to remove it slowly. Dozens of splinters stabbed into the flesh of his shoulder. Even if he removed the shaft, there was no guarantee that it would be a clean pull. The arrows were made from a strange wood, used specifically to splinter inside the target’s body.
The sun had not fully risen yet, but the longer Marshall waited, the more likely he was to sweat and heat up. The sun had been uncharacteristically overbearing, even for summer. Most days, Marshall was able to manage the heat. But then, most days Marshall did not have blood pouring from his shoulder. The last thing he needed was to black out.
He started to feel light-headed from the pain and blood loss. He was a warrior, and warriors didn’t fear pain. If anyone else could see him, they would turn their backs to him in disgrace. But nobody else was around. They were likely all dead.
Marshall reminded himself that he was one of the best warriors of his people. His heavily tattooed head and body were evidence of that. He was courageous and wise. He knew he must remain that way whether or not anyone watched. Marshall’s hesitation had not been solely from the pain. His mind found difficulty focusing one on thing at a time, still confused, exhausted, and overwhelmed from what had transpired over the past hour.
Marshall clenched his teeth and broke off the portion of the arrow shaft stemming from the front of his body in one quick, definitive snap. He’d had worse injuries in his life, and he realized that the pain he presently felt was not the issue. Dozens of splinters remained in his shoulder, and would shift every time he moved his arm. There would be no remedy or elixir to heal this. Someone would have to cut open his shoulder and remove them piece by piece. That was assuming he survived this siege.
Marshall still could not fathom how his village had not been prepared for this attack. Most outsiders had no idea where the Taurani village lay, deep in the northern forests of Ashur. A short tower stood at each corner of the village, where lookouts kept watch throughout the night. Even if the lookouts spotted nothing strange, intruders still had to advance through the eastern or western gate of the village. Any type of attack would result in sounding the horn atop the towers, so that those sleeping could prepare. Marshall once again had been unable to sleep, and had heard no horn calling his people to arms. If this was a full-on attack, as it seemed, the gate would have been torn off, allowing for scores to enter the village at once.
The attackers had come nearly an hour ago. They had already advanced past where Marshall sat, most likely assuming they’d killed everything in their way. Marshall knew the stories and the legends, which were the reasons his people dedicated themselves to being warriors. His people descended from Taurean, one of the original three Harbingers, humans chosen by the Orijin to lead mankind and bring it back to righteousness. They had been proclaimed as Harbingers of the Orijin, the creator of man.
But men generally did not understand the ways of Orijin. Their god was not always fair to the righteous and, based on stories and
Darkness clouded his vision and thoughts. He could barely see Yasaman running toward him, the sound of her yelling garbled. She disappeared for a moment. Darkness. He blinked slowly. She crashed to the ground and didn’t move. His eyes closed again, too heavy for him to fight back, and the darkness consumed him.
Chapter 3
The Painted One
From The Book of Orijin, Verse Twenty-seven
Humility in all that you do shall guide your path to Omneitria.
“Just do it already, coward!” Marshall Taurean leaned against the wall of a broken-down house, bracing himself for imminent pain. He’d never pulled an arrow shaft from his own body, but having seen others do it countless times, he was sure it was better to remove it slowly. Dozens of splinters stabbed into the flesh of his shoulder. Even if he removed the shaft, there was no guarantee that it would be a clean pull. The arrows were made from a strange wood, used specifically to splinter inside the target’s body.
The sun had not fully risen yet, but the longer Marshall waited, the more likely he was to sweat and heat up. The sun had been uncharacteristically overbearing, even for summer. Most days, Marshall was able to manage the heat. But then, most days Marshall did not have blood pouring from his shoulder. The last thing he needed was to black out.
He started to feel light-headed from the pain and blood loss. He was a warrior, and warriors didn’t fear pain. If anyone else could see him, they would turn their backs to him in disgrace. But nobody else was around. They were likely all dead.
Marshall reminded himself that he was one of the best warriors of his people. His heavily tattooed head and body were evidence of that. He was courageous and wise. He knew he must remain that way whether or not anyone watched. Marshall’s hesitation had not been solely from the pain. His mind found difficulty focusing one on thing at a time, still confused, exhausted, and overwhelmed from what had transpired over the past hour.
Marshall clenched his teeth and broke off the portion of the arrow shaft stemming from the front of his body in one quick, definitive snap. He’d had worse injuries in his life, and he realized that the pain he presently felt was not the issue. Dozens of splinters remained in his shoulder, and would shift every time he moved his arm. There would be no remedy or elixir to heal this. Someone would have to cut open his shoulder and remove them piece by piece. That was assuming he survived this siege.
Marshall still could not fathom how his village had not been prepared for this attack. Most outsiders had no idea where the Taurani village lay, deep in the northern forests of Ashur. A short tower stood at each corner of the village, where lookouts kept watch throughout the night. Even if the lookouts spotted nothing strange, intruders still had to advance through the eastern or western gate of the village. Any type of attack would result in sounding the horn atop the towers, so that those sleeping could prepare. Marshall once again had been unable to sleep, and had heard no horn calling his people to arms. If this was a full-on attack, as it seemed, the gate would have been torn off, allowing for scores to enter the village at once.
The attackers had come nearly an hour ago. They had already advanced past where Marshall sat, most likely assuming they’d killed everything in their way. Marshall knew the stories and the legends, which were the reasons his people dedicated themselves to being warriors. His people descended from Taurean, one of the original three Harbingers, humans chosen by the Orijin to lead mankind and bring it back to righteousness. They had been proclaimed as Harbingers of the Orijin, the creator of man.
But men generally did not understand the ways of Orijin. Their god was not always fair to the righteous and, based on stories and
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