The pair walked together towards the village square, where a low stage stood underneath a wide tarp. The surrounding area was lit with torches. Front and center stage held an altar with two items: a papyrus scroll and a bowl filled with red clay pigment. Demeter let Esther’s hand slip through her fingers and stayed behind with the watching tribe members. For a moment Esther turned and looked at her childhood friend with a sinking feeling in her chest that she couldn’t explain. It made her want to reach back into that last second one more time.

Esther placed her palms on the table and closed her eyes to stabilize her mind. From this point on, she would live each day as a true member of the Balanced Tribe. Everyone over 31 wore their own design daily, beginning the nights with a simple meditation in which they painted on symmetrical lines while focusing on nothing but the darkness behind their eyelids and the soothing sounds of the desert. 

Esther opened her eyes and gazed out at her people before averting her attention to the scroll. It had been rolled out to the correct section prior. She looked up at the sky to the two moons and extended both hands towards them for guidance before she continued on to the reading.

“Said the Goddesses, there must always be two, for one can not balance itself. We must live in the harmony of our light and our dark. There is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Our ancestors walked this path so that we may follow until we travel ahead.”

In one voice, her people answered. “We will be with you.”

The response made Esther’s smile glow. She was too giddy to maintain proper focus as she returned to the bowl of paint. She closed her eyes once more, recollecting her balance before she would dip her fingers in and paint her unique marks. She let out her breath slowly, her arms lightened, she prepared to raise both hands and drop them into the bowl. 

“Esther! Get down!”

Her focus broke immediately. Her eyes opened, burning against smoke. She gasped in a breath of heat from the flames. The fluttering canvas roof above her head was singed and glowing orange. Something, or someone, had thrown a torch onto the tarp. The stage was catching rapidly. 

Demeter rushed forwards, reaching out to pull Esther down. “Grab my hand!” Before their hands could touch again a huge war-camel knocked Demeter from her side flat onto the dirt. Esther couldn’t scream, she just gulped in smoke with her breath and rushed to the side of the stage to jump off and roll the fire out of her dress.

Everything was a blur. She could make out the cracking of whips and screams behind her hiding place and crawled up to her hands and knees. “Demeter?” She called, desperately looking around. Her screams grew louder and strained. “Geppy! Demeter!”

Gasping for breaths, Esther stumbled to her feet and rushed for the crowd. The burnt fabric of her white dress crumbled in the wind. She saw her gepatro, wielding a large club, hitting the legs of the war-camels to slow their trampling hooves. Esther pulled the dagger from her leather sheath and ran towards a soldier who had fallen off his camel. His angry, golden eyes locked onto hers for one moment as she extended her blade towards his neck. With a smooth slice, his blood poured out.

These were Oktero soldiers from the mainland; a regular problem for the smaller tribes. Esther ran for Avihail who was beating another with their club aggressively. It seemed especially personal considering they had just ruined their child’s birthday event.

“Geppy!” Esther yelled. Momentum carried her forwards, but it was just as quickly blocked by a mountain of tan fur. Esther’s nose brushed the bronze boot of the army general and she stepped back, clutching her blade tightly. The bronze-armored general stood gleaming in the starlight. Confused silence fell over the village square, waiting to hear the reason for such an offensive attack.

The general spoke her demands. “Ones of the Balanced Tribe. We do not seek to harm you! We are in dire need of defense on the Eastern front. The Grand General of the Oktero army has commanded it. If we do not cross the sea and overtake them now, the territory of Oktero will fall into the hands of King Mordecai.”

The tribe studied one another’s reactions. It didn’t take long before one elder spoke up. “The Balanced Tribe will not fight pointless battles. We hold a treaty of peace with Sestero that will not be broken.”

“The war between Oktero and Sestero has been going on for generations!” Another protested. “We refuse to give our people over for nothing.”

“Children!” One gepatro of many cried. “You even send the children to die!”

The bronze soldier narrowed her eyes. There was a pause while she considered the… suggestion. “The children you worry about?” She spat. “Very well then. If you will not come with us, we will take you by force. And you will not have to worry about your children. For you, we will make sure they never see the front lines.” Her venomous smile was full of sadistic pleasure as she waved out an order to her soldiers. “Kill the young unpainted ones, chain the rest!”

Immediately, a war-camel trotted by Esther. The soldier swung their sword inches away from her face and she barely dodged it. She screamed, stumbling from shock and twisting her foot in the sand. A second blow from a sword knocked her dagger from her hand. Defenseless, she started to run in an erratic pattern trying to miss their attacks. She crashed into several shoulders, spinning and shoving her way through the crowd, trying to reach Demeter. With the makeup Demeter was wearing there was a chance she would be safe- but not for long.

Esther’s path was blocked by the bronze warrior once more. The general grinned devilishly and unsheathed a spear from beside her camel. “Hello, little one,” she threatened. In an instant, Avihail sent the entire beast down with two whacks of their club.

Esther choked on her words, dazed. Avihail grabbed her by her thick hair and dragged her far from the center of the fight. They took one last look at their daughter and thrust her down in the sand. Esther yelled in shock and struggled against their grip. “What are you doing?!” She wailed.

“Please forgive me. Oh my love, please forgive me,” they stroked Esther’s face with a shaking hand. Esther looked deep into their gaze, breath quickening, blank in thought. There were so many flashes beyond the night sky. The past, dreams, heat, blood. She looked past their face to the club, raised against the indigo clouds, and closed her eyes before the blow.

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Cool dirt. Esther’s cheek laid heavily against it. The back of her head felt like it was being pounded against with a mallet. Why had she fallen asleep down here? Wasn’t she supposed to get Demeter, go to her ceremony, and-

It came back in the same sparkling flashes. The night sky, the flames, the club. Her chest ached with the frequency of her breath. Where was she? All she could hear was the quiet brushing of sand grains above her. Back and forth.

Her dry lips trembled. “Demeter?” Her once-strong voice reduced to a broken whisper. The tears started falling, like streaks of paint she never got to wear. She pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her nose into the burned fabric of her dress.

Feeling was all she could do, and she hated that. It got nowhere, did nothing, and no amount of balanced meditation values would convince her otherwise. Her night had been ruined, but worse still, she had been left out of the battle. She had been deemed too weak to fight. In Esther’s mind, that was worse than the death sentence she would have received.

Esther refused to spend any more time on the ground. She took a deep breath, regained her stability and stood. The cellar air was dry and comfortable, cool from the darkness that enveloped her. Unable to see clearly, she used her hands to search each wall until she came to the steps. She crawled upwards and felt for the latch that led to the outside world. She shoved against it, trying to lift it up, but it was heavy with layers of sand. She cursed as she shoved harder until it eventually pried up, and the grains fell into her face in the process.

Coughing and brushing the sand away from her, she looked back down into the cellar, able to see it clearly now in the sunlight. She stepped back down, slipping on the last step and cursing again. The picture became clearer in her mind. Her gepatro, in a final effort to save her from the slaughter, had thrown her into the cellar and buried the door.

She expected to find more children hidden with her, but she was all alone. Her heart sank. There was only one reason that could be, and it rang in her ears with a fearful revelation. There was no time. The rest are dead.

Still, she conducted a search just in case. She lifted up the top of a basket and peered inside. Nope, just dried corn. A large crate seemed promising. She lifted the cover and coughed from the dust. She pushed aside crawling sand-ipedes and grimaced in disgust. At the bottom of the crate, uncovered for decades, was a box. It was long and slim, with no more room to fit anyone other than an infant, and there were no cries from the inside. The inscription on the top read the name of the rival state: Sestero.

Esther stared at it for a while. Why on Ekstertera would there be a box from Sestero here?. Her tribe had never fought in the wars between the states. She lifted the lid from the box and placed it aside. Inside was a black velvet cloth, which she removed to reveal a polished golden blade. It was so perfectly shined she could see her reflection in the metal. In awe of the sword, she lifted it out and ran her fingers over the hilt. It was also gold, twisted into an elegant design with red jewels encased in the swirls. A small carving on the largest stone read, for peace.

She knew even less about why this sword was down here than she knew about what she was still doing down here. She removed the leather baldric from the box and slung it over her shoulder, sheathing the sword inside just in case. She climbed out of the cellar, shielding her eyes from the sun as she adjusted to the outside brightness. The image came together in parts. As the blurriness subsided, she began to make out the details of the bodies. First they were outlines, then she saw the red, the wounds, the pieces.

She covered her mouth with her hand and gagged. The children- what was left of them, scattered the grounds. The small water-bearer had his neck twisted backwards. A gepatro with a slash through her back, laying on the corpse of her infant. She saw Althea, a growing huntress, now with her own spear through her stomach. Althea’s eyes were open, staring blank straight up at the sun. Esther bowed herself to reach and shut them.

Feeling too sick to cry, her breaths were weak cracks in her throat. She was the only one, the only one, and she hadn’t wanted it. Every ounce of fear left her body and was replaced with regret. Why was she any different? She should have died honorably. She could have gone down with a fight. Maybe if she had fought hard enough, some of the slaughtered children could have had the time to have taken her place. 

A warm, soft sensation wrapped around her foot. Esther felt the odd brush through her sandal and nearly kicked the creature ten feet away. Gladly, she hesitated and looked. It was a young sand-fox, with its big eyes and ears and eight little legs and bushy tail, nudging her leg to get her attention. Once it knew she had noticed it, it chirped and scampered behind her. Esther turned and followed.

Among the murdered victims, in the smallest ditch between the dunes, was the slain body of another sand-fox. Its fur rustled lifelessly in the wind, slowly becoming covered in crystals of sand. The young fox yelped and flattened its ears, awaiting Esther’s response. On closer inspection, she saw the outline of an armored boot at the center of the dead fox’s body. It had been crushed, carelessly in the midst of battle, by one of the soldiers.

Anger. Pure, terrible anger.

Esther kicked the sand at the side of the dune with all her force. She let out an aggravated scream, kicking again and again, until the sand slid beneath her feet. She fell and pounded it with her fists, trying with all her might to grab onto it, but it slipped through her hands.

“Why?” She sobbed. The sand-fox meekly came forward, sitting on the ground in front of her. She lifted her head and looked at it. Slowly, she extended her arms and offered all she had left; comfort. The fox nervously stepped forward until she could hold it in her arms. She buried her face in its warm tan fur until she could subside her panicked crying.

Esther looked out at her village. She placed the fox down and walked towards it, with the same confident stature she held the night before. The square had turned red, the beaten paths like rivers from the slashed bodies. When she reached the pool of blood at the center, she knelt and closed her eyes, reached forward, and dipped two fingers on each hand into the red matter. She placed her fingertips equidistant at her temples and swirled them down across her cheekbones. With one finger each this time she painted wings over her eyes, colored her lips, and ended with two small lines at her chin.

Her ritual was complete. She turned, looked at the fox, and unsheathed her sword. For peace, the gemstone told her. She cleared her throat and her antennae twitched, motioning the animal to follow.

“Come on,” she said to the other survivor. “Somebody has hell to pay.”

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