Before I am Famous

literature is something we infer after the story is told

Blood for Peace

Posted on | August 3, 2008 |

Come. Come by the light and warmth of the fire and I will tell how of the time before peace reason ruled our land, a story of Valya Miskina and her father, Horatio, a man who loved power and the weighted smell of blood. It was because of Valya that we are at peace. Close your eyes and imagine our world without green, a harsh unbearable desert. Now smell your surroundings of spilt blood mixed with earthy sands. Can you smell it? Imagine this fire, you sit before, imagine it is burning you flesh from the heat. Before you open your eyes, hear the screams of men, of women, of young children surrounding you mixing with the whirring of arrows.
Open your eyes and here were at a dusty, gray tent, the flap is open slightly only to offer some reprieve of the desolate heat. And there she is over a small pot dipping crude arrowheads into a poisonous concoction. She is beautiful as the desert at sunset, her hair as black as moonless sky and deep dark sandy skin. Her white dress is tattered and dingy, sweat pours down her face, no longer does she look like a princess. And even though she is a princess, she is not spared from war as Horatio needs her poison skills. Footsteps are approaching from a heavy man, Horatio dressed in head to toe of metal armor. Let us listen for a moment.
“Valya, tell me you have prepared a new batch of arrowheads,” he says with grit in his voice.
Her eyes are downcast and she hands him a basket gleaming green, “yes father,” she says. Then she looks up and into his eyes. “Why can’t we just stop this nonsense? What is the use? Why do you need more land? We have land that you have never been too. We’ve always been at peace with them. Why father?”
His bear-sized hand grabs her wrist and drags her out into the wasteland, “Must I tell you time and time again? You, my daughter, were promised the whole world, the day your mother passed her life into you. I intend to keep that promise. Every thing should be yours. It is what I want for you to be happy.”
Her muscles tighten and she looks into his stern eyes, “I have enough, father. This blood spilt from our old friends is not what I want. The Markels have been nothing but kind and loving. Why are we doing this to them?”
He frowns and shoves her back into the tent, “do not be ungrateful daughter. You will see when you are not blind by youthful insight that you want this. I want two more batches.”
She falls onto the cot and silently cries as the poison bubbles.
Let time pass, when the sun sets for another day. There is a half moon out tonight. The arrows whiz but a quiet whiz. The screams die down. The tent opens and dressed in a black cloak, Valya slips out into the darkness. She glides across the sand to a small dune where a man also dressed in black awaits for her. Their hands clasp together and he draws her in. Their dry and needy lips meet.
“Valya, my love. I am glad to see you are still alive,” he whispers no louder than whizzing arrows.
“Oh Dradin, I’ve tried talking to him but he just won’t listen. I don’t what I would do if I saw you hung from your feet with your head in a basket.”
“Seven years, Valya we have waited to join our love and now we will never be able to,” he says with his head on her shoulder.
“We can run, Dradin. Right now. My father he is busy planning the next attack. He thinks I am resting. We can run at night and we will find a place to be together.”
“Yes, Valya, that’s it.” He says with renewed passion, smothers her face with his lips and grabs her hand and runs into Markel’s territory. She trusts him and believes they will run until the sun rises.
Yet, Dradin has another idea. He leads her to a blazing fire deep in the Markel territory.
“What are we doing, Dradin?”
He doesn’t answer her. His father takes her by the arms. She struggles against his strength. Her eyes fall upon Dradin though he doesn’t return her glance. “What is going on?”her pleas pierce the crackling fire.
The great and wise King Fortitude holds her tight while men grab her legs, “It is a shame, such a shame that you and my son cannot be happy together. War is war, I think your father says that enough it should be your mantra.”
“I want this to stop. Please King Fortitude, please let me live. I will try harder,” she begs in between tears.
The men lift her up by her feet and onto a wooden beam across the fire, “I believe it will end tonight,” he says. Then to his son, her love he hands a shimmering sword, “you make the choice, son. It is either her or us.”
“Please, Dradin. I love you.”
The air is silent except for the cackling fire and lightening fast swooshing sword, slicing her head. It thuds to the ground.
It is when King Horatio receives his daughter, he falls to his knees and cries defeat. When his pitiful moans ring through the air, the arrows stop and cries not of sorrow but of exaltation overpower his cries.
Every year on this very day, we owe our very freedom, our very peace to Valya Miskina, a princess who fell in love with our prince. Without her fervent love for Dradin, I would not be here to share the story of our freedom, her blood for our freedom. Let us raise our voices and praise the dead the princess.

A special thanks to Sheetal at Revolution for help with this story!!

Category: weekly shorts

Comments

No Responses to “Blood for Peace”

  1. shea
    August 3rd, 2008 @ 5:16 am

    Very good.
    but just one question here……
    Is this story referring in allegory to George W. Bush?

    sheas last blog post..How to thin oil paint and The best way to thin oil paint

  2. Steph
    August 4th, 2008 @ 4:47 am

    My, that was an interesting turn of events. Cool. :)
    By the way, I found your blog on blogcatalog.com and since you’re obviously into writing, I wanted to let you know about a new e-zine me and a few writer friends are putting together.

    It’s called The Oddville Press.
    http://www.theoddvillepress.com

    You should check us out if you’re interested–it’s free to subscribe, hey! Or better yet, submit something!

    Thanks a bunch and good luck with your writing!

    Stephs last blog post..of eclipses, voyages, and worlds…

  3. If a writer writes . . . | Colloquium
    August 25th, 2008 @ 7:02 pm

    [...] Jennifer M. Scott - Blood for Peace [...]

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