Bukur had woken up that morning feeling stiff. He had spent the previous day standing in the meat market like an statue made by an uninspired sculptor. Naturally standing guard was part of a soldier’s duty, but the monotony could be soul-crushing. Today, however, he could spend the day working out, and tonight he would go hurum hunting. He had been on duty during the midsummer festival - he suspected his mother had made sure of that, which his stomach felt was a peculiarly vindictive betrayal. Maybe Misha will be free tonight, he thought.
Behind the towering monolith that was the barracks was the
training yard. It was squeezed between the
walls around the Rush and a mansion belonging to some merchant, but nonetheless,
since space was so precious in the Rush, it felt opulently open. Normally there
would be lishas wrestling, lifting weights, throwing javelins, or practicing
formations, but instead Bukur found a crowd hanging on the words of a lisha
wearing a black toga and holding a torch.
“Lishas are the strongest children of the Sun! They don’t
let hurums become soldiers, do they? Can you imagine if they did! Would you
feel safe if a hurum guarded you as you slept? So why then do some lishas care
so much about them? Kurush is ours!”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Bukur thought out loud
as he joined the crowd
“Makes sense to me”
Bukur realised he’d stood next to Kisha, a knowing smile
across her face. His mother had told him to keep an eye on her, but not to tell
anyone about Anka’s allegation. Since Kisha was close to the Ikarkur Gilkush,
an unsubstantiated accusation against her would create ‘political
difficulties’, as Tiuk put it. Being supposed comrades and unable to do
anything about it made Bukur’s blood seethe. The monster had tried to eat Anka,
her own adopted sister. She couldn’t be allowed to get away with it.
He turned and saw Etenkur, Tiuk’s perpetually smirking
lieutenant, leaning on the wall near the entrance to the training yard as he
listened to the preacher. He was unmoved when Tiuk burst through the doorway.
“What the hell is going on? Did you let him in?”
Etenkur shrugged. Tiuk glared at him as though she wanted to
burn him alive. Instead she marched into the crowd, pushing her soldiers aside.
Kisha stood in her way.
“I want to hear what he has to say”
Tiuk was only marginally taller than her niece. Their eyes
locked onto each other’s, the air between them quivered.
“I have no need for disloyal soldiers,” said Tiuk, “do you
want to listen to this parasite so badly that you’re willing to risk being
beaten to a pulp and thrown out of the Rush?”
Kisha scoffed, and without breaking her gaze, stepped out of
Tiuk’s way. She barrelled forward and seized the preacher’s throat.
“You can’t silence me,” he croaked, “I have every right to
speak!”
“You have no right to poison my soldiers with lies,” said
Tiuk as she tightened her grip, “if you come here again I can guarantee you
will regret it”
Keeping one hand around his throat, with the other she
grabbed the base of his tail and swung him into the air, making him drop his
torch. With his limbs flailing and his belly facing the sky like an upturned
tortoise, she carried him unceremoniously out of the training yard.
“Well that was interesting”, said Kisha as the crowd drifted
away
Bukur sighed. He had a horrible feeling that these lishas
would not be content with just starting a few arguments. Why can’t they just
learn to enjoy life?
Constructive criticism welcome
© Paul Bramhall
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