A Cliff-top Duel
III
Lessons of Restraint
(Shard I)
(Shard I)
The twin suns beamed their intense light and combined heat down upon the rocky plateau below. Here, on the topmost levels of the canyon city there was no place to run to for shade, so those caught out in the heat had to endure it. The Summer winds were dry and seemed to leech the life out of everything they touched as they blew across the land. The rocky ground was hot enough to burn uninsulated skin as the hours of the unbearably long days stretched on without any darkness to quell the growing heat.
Ghelta sat upon a blanket of furs draped across a large rock that overlooked the cliffs of the canyon city below. She fidgeted with the emerald-hued lenses held in place by a leather strap across her face as the feeling of restrictive clothing always bothered her over-sensitive senses. The world took on a stark green hue beneath the filtering glass. The shadows of the lower buildings and dark areas beneath the earth seemed deeper, while the brilliance of the twin suns light seemed unearthly in their glow.
She looked up at the sky to see the black rings that circled the larger and smaller suns in the sky, where the upper atmosphere was weakest. Wearing the lenses let her see a few stars peeking their light through the black shadows far above. The otherwise blue and orange skies were a mass of green waves flowing overhead with not a single cloud to be seen. She lowered her gaze back to the world around her as she pulled her linen hood over her head and enjoyed the shadows it cast over her face.
She hated the feeling of the harsh, thick clothing on her skin as it seemed to leech the sweat from her skin and trap it against her like a wet towel. Heat and untapped energy roared through her veins with such an intensity that any clothing covering her felt unbearable after a time. Being covered head-to-toe in giant blankets in the outside heat was too much for her, but she knew that to take them off would cost her health during these hot Summer months.
Ylethus had told her before he left that she would have to wear the thick, hooded robes and her leather armor every day that she was outside of their home. He had left her in the care of one of Alsira Thaenat’s most esteemed broden groups. He had said it was for her benefit in getting to meet other children of the city and learn to socialize. He was worried she would end up stunted in her growth if she didn’t get out of the house. Honestly, it was simply because he wanted more glory with his warriors and couldn’t be bothered having to take care of her anymore.
Ghelta stretched her legs over the rock and lifted up her knees as she pressed against them with her chest. She leaned on her heels and wrapped her arms around her legs as she sat. She lifted her shoulders up and sighed long and hard at the situation she found herself in.
As she mulled it over in her mind, she felt that the broden groups were a ridiculous idea. Members of the tribe would give their children, some of very young age or even infants, over to be cared for in groups that were watched over by old women called broden-mothers. Large groups of children would be overseen by assistants called broden-nurses, and each group would also have at least one skaell-father to give them lessons or tell them stories to keep them quiet. The idea of a bunch of children not committed to each other by blood, all of different ages and personalities, being corralled together like livestock was absurd.
Ghelta remembered how Ylethus had mentioned how absurd he had found the tradition from when he grew up. He complained about it often over dinners as he remembered back to what he endured as a child many decades ago. He had said it was all a scheme put in place by fearful members of the local Elder Circles, and the Grand Circle back in Morrthault City, to weaken the potential of the Hoelatha people. She didn’t fully understand all of what he said and who these groups of people were, but Ylethus had been adamant in his hatred of their meddling ideas.
It was hypocritical that Ghelta now found herself cast into the system that her adopted father had hated so much. It was his choice to abandon her here with a group of people that didn’t know her and that she couldn’t be bothered to get to know. She was cast out from her home and had to sleep on cots in communal rooms with the other children who all stunk and snored too loudly. She hated having to be around the other children and despite the chastisements of the broden-mother, she would escape to any quiet place she could to be lost in her thoughts. The activities and lessons given to the simpleton children were beneath her.
There came a sound from over Ghelta’s shoulder that made her tense all of the muscles in her body. Her left hand instinctively shot to the belt around her waist. Her fingers grabbed at the leather and were unable to seize upon what she sought. She sighed once again and curled up into a tighter ball on the rock as she punched the furs beneath her with her left hand.
No weapons were allowed in the broden groups and it had become a source of severe resentment that the broden-mother had taken Ghelta’s klaive. The instincts and training that Ylethus had given her were atrophying as she was expected to while her days away doing chores, learning lessons, and playing idiotic games with the other children. She longed for the security of the blade against her hip. She longed for the days spent running and fighting at the Vhulkovyr barracks on the other side of the city. She missed the days spent at home lost in her own imagination or teaching herself to read the books filled with epic tales and mythology that Ylethus hoarded away.
A dull impact struck Ghelta on the shoulder, snapping her from her thoughts and causing her to tense up for a moment. She curled forward into a roll and sprung back up into a crouch on the rock. She turned to face the source of the impact with her hands held before her and ready to fight. Every muscle in her body was tenses and primed to lunge forward at whatever threat presented itself. She could feel the tails of her hooded robes being lifted up on the hot winds as her eyes darted around the cliff-side around her.
“Whoa, there-” The voice came from an older boy that stepped forward from a mass of children huddled together. He was tall and lean with a small amount of refined muscle around his arms and legs. “No need to get hostile.” The older boy lifted his hands in the air while smiling and chuckling to himself. “I’m sorry that we disturbed you. I’m just going to get the ball, okay?”
Ghelta’s eyes darted from the boy to the mass of other children and then down to the small wooden ball in the sand beneath the rock she was perched atop of. She flexed her fingers and scurried to the edge of the rock. She looked at the ball and then back to the older boy as he took two cautious steps toward her.
“You’re Ghelta, right?” The older boy held his steps and looked Ghelta from face to foot and then back. “I’m Aethel. I’ve seen you in the broden a few times in the last two months.” The older boy lifted his heavily tanned and bare right arm up and over his head. He wore a pleated green tunic and silk pants that billowed in the breeze. “I was just teaching these mongrels how to play Svatcha. Would you like to play?” He scratched at the rakish mess of brown hair atop his head and then raised both of his hands out in supplication.
Ghelta shook her head and continued to watch Aethel as he took one more step closer. She adjusted the emerald goggles around her eyes with one hand as she quickly snatched up the wooden ball with the other. She broke eye contact with Aethel for a moment to look at the red-and-green painted ball in her hand and then quickly locked her gaze on the older boy as he took one more step toward her.
“I can teach you; it’s a pretty easy game and it’s fun.” Aethel closed the distance and stood right in front of Ghelta now. Even with the height given to her by the rock, the older boy was taller than her. If she stood up from her crouch she might only be a few inches taller than him. “You’re the Vhollen’s daughter, right? My father and your’s are old friends. I’m the eldest son of the Chieftain.” Aethel leveled one of his outstretched arms toward Ghelta. His heavily tanned skin was slick with sweat but his hand was covered in sand and dust.
Ghelta looked Aethel from foot to face and measured him up. She had noticed him several times over the last few months. Despite his lean physique and opulent clothing giving her a bad first impression of him, she had noticed that he was kind and calm when he interacted with the other children. He was the oldest in the broden and had boasted several times that this Summer he was able to be granted his Kollishi Thaulp. There was something about his height and demeanor that attracted Ghelta to him, but she remained distant as he was the most sociable of the boys in the broden.
She realized that Aethel was outstretching his arm for her to take it, it was a common gesture among the children to invite others into their play groups. Ghelta slammed the wooden ball into Aethel’s outstretched palm and pulled her arm away quickly to avoid any more chance of human contact. She pressed her weight on the knuckles of her right hand and took a step back from the older boy.
“Thank you.” Aethel smiled while flicking the wooden ball into the air and snatching it in his dusty hand once more. “I understand you were born in another land.” Aethel gestured to the heavy robes and leather goggles that adorned Ghelta’s body. “I don’t care. You’re welcome here with us. Let this be your home and hopefully one day we can be friends.” The smile on his face broadened and seemed genuine.
Aethel remained in front of Ghelta for a few more moments, but after the realization that she wasn’t budging, he stepped back. He remained facing her for a few more backward steps then gave a sarcastic bow as he turned on his heels and ran back to the group of huddled children nearby. She could hear them all gawking amongst each other about what had happened, but Aethel remained silent. He soon held the wooden ball aloft and commanded the children to follow him back to their play area.
Ghelta let her chest and shoulders slump slightly as she gave a silent breath of relief. She let one of her long legs drape over the hot rock that she sat on and kick at the sand beneath with the toe of her boot. Aethel continued to call out to the children, causing them to follow him like a shepherd. With each more distant shout, the slack-jawed multitude trickled away. She watched each of them as the lack of interest in her dawned over their snot-stained and bleak-minded faces and their short attentions returned to the wooden ball. That is, all of them except for one opulently-dressed boy and two of his friends.
Ghelta sat upon a blanket of furs draped across a large rock that overlooked the cliffs of the canyon city below. She fidgeted with the emerald-hued lenses held in place by a leather strap across her face as the feeling of restrictive clothing always bothered her over-sensitive senses. The world took on a stark green hue beneath the filtering glass. The shadows of the lower buildings and dark areas beneath the earth seemed deeper, while the brilliance of the twin suns light seemed unearthly in their glow.
She looked up at the sky to see the black rings that circled the larger and smaller suns in the sky, where the upper atmosphere was weakest. Wearing the lenses let her see a few stars peeking their light through the black shadows far above. The otherwise blue and orange skies were a mass of green waves flowing overhead with not a single cloud to be seen. She lowered her gaze back to the world around her as she pulled her linen hood over her head and enjoyed the shadows it cast over her face.
She hated the feeling of the harsh, thick clothing on her skin as it seemed to leech the sweat from her skin and trap it against her like a wet towel. Heat and untapped energy roared through her veins with such an intensity that any clothing covering her felt unbearable after a time. Being covered head-to-toe in giant blankets in the outside heat was too much for her, but she knew that to take them off would cost her health during these hot Summer months.
Ylethus had told her before he left that she would have to wear the thick, hooded robes and her leather armor every day that she was outside of their home. He had left her in the care of one of Alsira Thaenat’s most esteemed broden groups. He had said it was for her benefit in getting to meet other children of the city and learn to socialize. He was worried she would end up stunted in her growth if she didn’t get out of the house. Honestly, it was simply because he wanted more glory with his warriors and couldn’t be bothered having to take care of her anymore.
Ghelta stretched her legs over the rock and lifted up her knees as she pressed against them with her chest. She leaned on her heels and wrapped her arms around her legs as she sat. She lifted her shoulders up and sighed long and hard at the situation she found herself in.
As she mulled it over in her mind, she felt that the broden groups were a ridiculous idea. Members of the tribe would give their children, some of very young age or even infants, over to be cared for in groups that were watched over by old women called broden-mothers. Large groups of children would be overseen by assistants called broden-nurses, and each group would also have at least one skaell-father to give them lessons or tell them stories to keep them quiet. The idea of a bunch of children not committed to each other by blood, all of different ages and personalities, being corralled together like livestock was absurd.
Ghelta remembered how Ylethus had mentioned how absurd he had found the tradition from when he grew up. He complained about it often over dinners as he remembered back to what he endured as a child many decades ago. He had said it was all a scheme put in place by fearful members of the local Elder Circles, and the Grand Circle back in Morrthault City, to weaken the potential of the Hoelatha people. She didn’t fully understand all of what he said and who these groups of people were, but Ylethus had been adamant in his hatred of their meddling ideas.
It was hypocritical that Ghelta now found herself cast into the system that her adopted father had hated so much. It was his choice to abandon her here with a group of people that didn’t know her and that she couldn’t be bothered to get to know. She was cast out from her home and had to sleep on cots in communal rooms with the other children who all stunk and snored too loudly. She hated having to be around the other children and despite the chastisements of the broden-mother, she would escape to any quiet place she could to be lost in her thoughts. The activities and lessons given to the simpleton children were beneath her.
There came a sound from over Ghelta’s shoulder that made her tense all of the muscles in her body. Her left hand instinctively shot to the belt around her waist. Her fingers grabbed at the leather and were unable to seize upon what she sought. She sighed once again and curled up into a tighter ball on the rock as she punched the furs beneath her with her left hand.
No weapons were allowed in the broden groups and it had become a source of severe resentment that the broden-mother had taken Ghelta’s klaive. The instincts and training that Ylethus had given her were atrophying as she was expected to while her days away doing chores, learning lessons, and playing idiotic games with the other children. She longed for the security of the blade against her hip. She longed for the days spent running and fighting at the Vhulkovyr barracks on the other side of the city. She missed the days spent at home lost in her own imagination or teaching herself to read the books filled with epic tales and mythology that Ylethus hoarded away.
A dull impact struck Ghelta on the shoulder, snapping her from her thoughts and causing her to tense up for a moment. She curled forward into a roll and sprung back up into a crouch on the rock. She turned to face the source of the impact with her hands held before her and ready to fight. Every muscle in her body was tenses and primed to lunge forward at whatever threat presented itself. She could feel the tails of her hooded robes being lifted up on the hot winds as her eyes darted around the cliff-side around her.
“Whoa, there-” The voice came from an older boy that stepped forward from a mass of children huddled together. He was tall and lean with a small amount of refined muscle around his arms and legs. “No need to get hostile.” The older boy lifted his hands in the air while smiling and chuckling to himself. “I’m sorry that we disturbed you. I’m just going to get the ball, okay?”
Ghelta’s eyes darted from the boy to the mass of other children and then down to the small wooden ball in the sand beneath the rock she was perched atop of. She flexed her fingers and scurried to the edge of the rock. She looked at the ball and then back to the older boy as he took two cautious steps toward her.
“You’re Ghelta, right?” The older boy held his steps and looked Ghelta from face to foot and then back. “I’m Aethel. I’ve seen you in the broden a few times in the last two months.” The older boy lifted his heavily tanned and bare right arm up and over his head. He wore a pleated green tunic and silk pants that billowed in the breeze. “I was just teaching these mongrels how to play Svatcha. Would you like to play?” He scratched at the rakish mess of brown hair atop his head and then raised both of his hands out in supplication.
Ghelta shook her head and continued to watch Aethel as he took one more step closer. She adjusted the emerald goggles around her eyes with one hand as she quickly snatched up the wooden ball with the other. She broke eye contact with Aethel for a moment to look at the red-and-green painted ball in her hand and then quickly locked her gaze on the older boy as he took one more step toward her.
“I can teach you; it’s a pretty easy game and it’s fun.” Aethel closed the distance and stood right in front of Ghelta now. Even with the height given to her by the rock, the older boy was taller than her. If she stood up from her crouch she might only be a few inches taller than him. “You’re the Vhollen’s daughter, right? My father and your’s are old friends. I’m the eldest son of the Chieftain.” Aethel leveled one of his outstretched arms toward Ghelta. His heavily tanned skin was slick with sweat but his hand was covered in sand and dust.
Ghelta looked Aethel from foot to face and measured him up. She had noticed him several times over the last few months. Despite his lean physique and opulent clothing giving her a bad first impression of him, she had noticed that he was kind and calm when he interacted with the other children. He was the oldest in the broden and had boasted several times that this Summer he was able to be granted his Kollishi Thaulp. There was something about his height and demeanor that attracted Ghelta to him, but she remained distant as he was the most sociable of the boys in the broden.
She realized that Aethel was outstretching his arm for her to take it, it was a common gesture among the children to invite others into their play groups. Ghelta slammed the wooden ball into Aethel’s outstretched palm and pulled her arm away quickly to avoid any more chance of human contact. She pressed her weight on the knuckles of her right hand and took a step back from the older boy.
“Thank you.” Aethel smiled while flicking the wooden ball into the air and snatching it in his dusty hand once more. “I understand you were born in another land.” Aethel gestured to the heavy robes and leather goggles that adorned Ghelta’s body. “I don’t care. You’re welcome here with us. Let this be your home and hopefully one day we can be friends.” The smile on his face broadened and seemed genuine.
Aethel remained in front of Ghelta for a few more moments, but after the realization that she wasn’t budging, he stepped back. He remained facing her for a few more backward steps then gave a sarcastic bow as he turned on his heels and ran back to the group of huddled children nearby. She could hear them all gawking amongst each other about what had happened, but Aethel remained silent. He soon held the wooden ball aloft and commanded the children to follow him back to their play area.
Ghelta let her chest and shoulders slump slightly as she gave a silent breath of relief. She let one of her long legs drape over the hot rock that she sat on and kick at the sand beneath with the toe of her boot. Aethel continued to call out to the children, causing them to follow him like a shepherd. With each more distant shout, the slack-jawed multitude trickled away. She watched each of them as the lack of interest in her dawned over their snot-stained and bleak-minded faces and their short attentions returned to the wooden ball. That is, all of them except for one opulently-dressed boy and two of his friends.
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