Slaughter of the Incanti

While on the return trip home after a few days of hunting, a group of tribal men inhale the smell of burning flesh and wood and pursue the source.

  Followed by his fellow hunters, the young chieftain ran through the dense woods, pursuing the taste and smell of burning timber and flesh. His powerful legs carried him swiftly and his agile frame allowed him to slip between the large oaks and writhing branches. His men were in hot pursuit, following his trail of dropped game and furs. Their bare feet crushed sticks and leaves, creating a river of rustling echoes as the hunting party made their way to the source of the billowing plume of smoke.

  The chieftain's bright blue eyes pierced through the night's darkness as he approached the edge of the wood, the flames of the large fire dancing about, creating ripples of light and shadow on the tree line as the man busted through and onto the flat grassland. His bare feet hit soft grass and he came to a sliding halt, dropping his spear to the ground beside him. His worried gaze fell upon his village, now aflame and crumbling to its very foundations. His moment of shock lasted only seconds before he sprang forward, yelling names and shouting questions. He ran across a scorched field of what was once corn and sprinted into a burning building.

  Embers and wooden beams fell all around him as he ducked and dove in order to make his way through the building. He had time enough to notice burnt corpses before he had to break through a burning wall in order to escape the collapsing roof of timber and thatch. The boom of air from the falling roof sent flames higher into the night sky as the chieftain looked around. He was on the main path, the one that lead to his home. He turned to his right and headed towards it. The structure was being pulled down to the earth by the powerful flames. He ran at full speed down the beaten path, dodging falling trees set aflame and collapsing houses as they tumbled down, their supports corroded by the fire. He came to his house and made his way up the hill and to the door.

  Upon kicking the door in, a wave of flames shot out, scorching the man's fur clothing and tanned flesh. He shouted in pain but pushed forward in search of his wife. He looked around for her but noticed no sign of her presence. Having little time to look for her, he barely managed to explore the entirety of the house as the roof collapsed. His wife was nowhere to be seen, dead nor alive. He barely made it out of the abode before the ceiling caved in, the burning beams snapping and further fueling the fire inside the house. He ran down the hill to the main path again, looking about for any signs of his love. He looked all around, seeing nothing until he happened to gaze upon a white object in the distance, laying on the ground, but not on fire. He ran towards it, ignoring the calls of his men yelling his name.

  As he approached the white object, it became apparent it was a person covered in white furs. The chieftain kneeled beside the body as he reached his destination and realized it was his wife. Her furs had been torn, exposing her breasts which were covered in bruises and handprints, and her thighs were in similar conditions. He pulled her close, propping her against his chest as he desperately tried to wake her. No matter how loudly he said her name, no matter how fervently he shook her, she would not arise to meet the living. The man's heart sank, all sound deafened, all sight blinded. He felt only two things: anger and pain. He gazed to where her shining green eyes should be, only to find two closed, bruised eyelids. He caressed her swollen face, remembering her beautiful smile he had seen just hours prior. Then the pain was gone. Anger had filled the void and his knuckles whitened. His teeth threatened to break each other as his strong jaw clenched shut to hold back his rage. His tears continued to flow, following his arms down to the wedding band on his wrist and dripping from his eyes onto hers.

  He gave out a loud roar of anguish and rage before crying her name into the night, "Rhaven!"

  He fell silent once more and his head sunk low, resting upon hers. The sounds came back to him. First the crackling of the fires behind him, then the creaking of the failing supports, and finally his clansmen's voices only a few yards behind him.

  "Rhotir! Rhotir, there are survivors! We must get them away from the flames!" bellowed his men as they approached him. But he did not move. He sat there, holding the corpse of his love. He held her tightly to him and never acknowledged his men. They understood and turned around to pursue the rescue efforts on their own, bringing water from the river to flood the flames and carrying women, children, and the elderly away from the fiery circle that was once their village. It took most of the night to put out the fires and afterwards all efforts were focused on helping the injured.

  Through it all, Rhotir remained on the beaten path, smoldering debris all around him, holding his wife to his chest, running his fingers through her auburn hair. His blue eyes stared at the ground, though their brightness had diminished. His tears had stopped long ago, his body having become too dry to exert more tears. The sun was almost to its highest point before the broken man stood up. He carried her body with him over to his hunters, all of whom stood ready for his commands. He looked between the fifteen brave followers and lowered his head once more.

  "Though it pains me, the gods have beckoned her back to the peaks. I... I need your help to send her home," asked Rhotir as he stood holding his wife in front of his men. They would never consider to refuse to aid their chieftain and so they built her an altar of small rocks from the river bed and covered it in dry grass and half-burnt beams. Atop the altar, Rhotir laid his fur clothes so that her body would be comfortable atop the rocks. He laid her upon the altar on her back and placed her hands one-on-top-of-the-other on her chest. One of the hunters used some coals from the village to start a fire beneath the altar, setting the grass and beams aflame. Shortly after, the whole altar was surrounded in fire and a large plume of white smoke, almost like clouds, ventured off into the sky, flowing towards the mighty peaks of the overlooking mountains. Soon her body began to burn, and that was when the funeral was over, Rhaven's soul soon to take flight and be carried along the smoke to the gods.

  The remaining thirty of the tribe began a long trek down the river, finally reaching the coast after eight days of sullen travel. They settled along the banks of the delta as Rhotir and his hunters began to prepare. Rhotir carried his rage for those eight days, denying himself food and drink, plotting and reasoning against the obvious attackers. The old clan of his bride, rivals to his, must have been the assailants upon his people. The thought of watching his enemies burn granted Rhotir some relief from the pain, replacing it instead with bloodlust. Rhotir did not crave the meat of deer or fish- he craved to drink the blood of his rivals, of the ones who stole his love from him.

  He gathered his men in the middle of the night and headed out to find the village of his foes. He settled along the delta because he knew his rivals were close. The trip took only a few hours, the hunters arriving right before the break of dawn. The party of sixteen was crouched in the tree line that hugged the village of his targets, eyeing the timber and thatch constructs of their unsuspecting victims. Rhotir's eyes lacked all color now, having become a dull grey, though still retaining a certain intensity.

  "We will not burn them. They will not be given a ride to the gods. Their souls can rot here with their corpses," explained Rhotir as he readied his spear. His men noticed his actions and copied their manner, preparing for the attack about to occur. Rhotir sprinted forward, his rage and excitement too much to control, and let out a long yell as he ran from the trees. His men followed behind him, spears thrust outward, ready to pierce. The residents, some of whom were outside beginning their daily chores, were unprepared for the line of spearmen running towards them. Rhotir's spear slammed into the stomach of a young Incanti, blood splashing all over Rhotir. The enraged chieftain withdrew his spear and stabbed into another, the body falling limp to the ground whenever he pulled the pole-arm out. An Incanti hunter ran towards one of Rhotir's men, spear thrust forward. Rhotir threw his spear and it careened into the knee of the charging Incanti, piercing through and into the ground, tripping the running combatant. As the man fell forward, Rhotir's follower shoved his spear forward and into the throat of the Incanti.

  The Incanti chieftain ran out from his hut and watched in horror as Rhotir led his men deeper into the village, leaving a trail of bodies and strewn innards. Rhotir spotted his father-in-law emerge from his home and picked up the spear of a fallen Incanti. Their eyes met across the clearing in the center of the village as Rhotir came closer to the rival chieftain. The old man turned to run and revealed a vulnerable back to his young counterpart. Rhotir let loose of his spear and the sharpened tip of the shaft sliced through the air and slammed into the target with a loud thud, sliding all the way through the victim and his internals, piercing the ground, holding the chieftain in place. The man slid down and fell to his knees, blood spewing from his lips as Rhotir strolled over casually and crouched in front of the father of his deceased wife. The fierce, grey eyes of Rhotir stared with a grand hatred into the eyes of the dying man, as his own became void of life. No words were uttered- there was a clear understanding between the two. Rhotir simply watched the man's body become limp as the blood flowed onto the ground and his eyes sunk. The other fifteen invaders went about claiming the women as their prizes and finishing off the husbands and young ones.

  Rhotir stood up and watched his men finish off the remaining Incanti. Blood covered the freshly dewed grass as the sun climbed the horizon and shined its godly light upon the gruesome scene. The fight had instilled a rage within Rhotir, a violent ecstasy that filled his veins and engulfed his heart as the beats increased in power and frequency. The pleasure climbed from his feet to his throat and he couldn't contain it any more. He let out a loud roar- an audible embodiment of his rage that resonated between the trees and empty huts. His men, filled with a similar passion, erupted in their own echoing roars, though none compared to the lion that was Rhotir.

  Rivalry had always been about hunting grounds or fishing rights. But now? Now was different. Blood was spilled out of hate, and this brought upon the spilling of more blood. This violence was strange, but Rhotir liked it. Through this violence, he found an escape from pain. He did not think of his wife while he drove his spear into his enemies. Through this violence, he found a sense of peace. Yet, as soon as the fight ended, he was overwhelmed with grief once more. He couldn't bear it. He fell to his knees, holding himself up with his spear, and began to cry. He desired nothing more than for the pain to stop. To bathe in the blood of his foes was his relief. His companions knelt around him, spears firmly planted in the ground, heads bowed down. Rhotir looked up, tears running with the blood on his face down to his chest, which was also soaked in Incanti blood.

  "Let them rot here, their souls forever bound to their bones. Let them hold onto their malicious deeds, and what pain it brought them. For as long as they remain bound to this earth, they will remember their mistake, and the misery it brought upon themselves. For us, let us return to our people as victors, and let us adorn our persons in the wares of the conquered. Remove their homes of their furnishings, their stores of their food, and their bodies of their furs and decorations. Their souls and corpses have no need of these earthly materials. Come, my companions. Let us return home as victors, the avengers of our fallen families," spoke Rhotir as he stood up, using his spear as a support. His men raised their spears to the sky in agreement and understanding and went about collecting their trophies.

  The wicker baskets of dried fruits, the furs from the bodies and beds, and the sunbaked meats and slices of fish were all gathered up, strung along yokes of wood and carried on the shoulders of the fifteen companions and Rhotir. They left the Incanti village full of corpses as the day began to heat up, baking the dead bodies of the fallen.

 

  That night, after returning to the delta, the clansmen and their families around a giant fire while Rhotir walked around the flames. They all sat quietly on the moist earth, breathing in the warm summer air, waiting for their leader to speak.

 

  "We have suffered a great loss. Our home has become ashes, our families suffering a similar fate. But we are alive. We have survived. The gods have tasked us with the endeavor of rebuilding our home. And we will accomplish this. The souls of our fallen brethren push us forward. We are safe now, to live in peace. The Incanti have been destined to return to dust. The event was gruesome, but necessary. There is balance now, as the gods have willed it. Our fallen foes have left us the western grasslands, beyond the woods to our backs. These fields are full of berries and roots, and apples hang from the trees that border the plains. We will have ample food here and our children will not hunger. We have suffered greatly, let us relieve ourselves of the pain for now. Allow us to dine on our spoils. These fruits and dried meats will fill our stomachs, and empty our minds for a time."

 

  The village ate the Incanti food and danced into the night as the fire died down. When the flames had ceased their dance, so did the villagers. They fell to the grass and slept well into the middle of the next day.  

Author's Note

I have edited the original a good deal, let me know what you think. I am still caught in the tug-of-war between under describing and over describing. I want to capture the detail, but avoid bogging down the story with too many descriptions.

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

Splendid...:).........................

[D. Cherry]

Thank you :)

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome...:)..............