The Cry of My Heart (Taoris)

Prologue

Fire.

That was all he could see.

Fire and blood.

"Run, Zitao! Run," his mother screamed, pushing the young boy of only the age of 12 into the tall grass as she took his place of the knife that glided through air, landing in her back.

The young boy turned his path, desperately running through the tall grass to look for his father. The night of the sky only made the fire brighter, and only made it harder to see through the burn of the ashes.

"Father! Father, where are you!?"

The sharp of a knife brung him to his knees with a wretched scream, the carved rock piercing into the back of his shoulder. Tears ran down his face as he was tossed limply over the shoulder of a man of the savaged tribe that burned his village with fire and knives, outnumbering them with fear.

Zitao struggled in the man's hold, and he screamed for help, his protests being ignored by all. His heart ached at the sight of his beloved family and friends covered in blood, the screams of war still erupting around the forest. Zitao's frantic eyes searched the area, his sight trained on finding his father among the fire and increasing number of lifeless bodies piled of both bloods.

"Father!-"

"Zitao!"

Zitao jerked in the man's hold, eyes filled with hope at the figure of his father running to him, his eyes filled with fury. His father ran fast to him, a spear in his hand that he threw at the man who kept him from his father's safe arms. It sank into his chest and broke through the bone, stabbing into his heart and ending his life quickly. The man dropped to his knees, and Zitao fell from his hold and landed on the hard ground with a yelp.

"Zitao," his father yelled again, and he brings the small boy into his arms. "Oh, I'm so glad you're okay. But we mustn't stay here. We must go quickly."

Zitao's father stood tall and ran through the protection of the tall trees, holding Zitao tight against his chest. He turned behind the girth of the sacred tree when the sounds of footsteps made known of following, and Zitao whimpered against his father.

Zitao shivered in fear as his father sat him down on the ground and took him by the arms, looking him sternly in the eyes. "Zitao, I want you to hide, and do not come out until it's safe."

"Father-," Zitao cried.

"Be strong for me, son. Stay safe. I love you."

Zitao's father pushed him into the shadow of the bend of the tree, tucking him behind the spare weeds.

"He's here," a man of different blood cried loudly, a sly grin on his face as he grabbed the thick hair on Zitao's father's head and pulled him back and down to his knees, facing him to the approaching chief of savaged blood.

"Well, well, well- look what we have here," the man covered in blood-dirtied feathers purred, the sharp curve of his knife grazing the skin of his father's cheek, barely pressing into the skin enough for it to begin to slowly bleed.

Zitao's father's eyes shut in the slightest before he turned to give a sharp glare at the man who slaughtered his pack (the Lee's, Zitao realized). The man only laughed loudly, and what was left of his people joined with their chief, watching as he suddenly cut himself off and presses the tip of his knife to his father's neck.

"Let's make this quick, shall we?"

Zitao shivered harshly against the cold ground, using all of his mental strength to refuse to scream out for his father.

"Stay still. Don't move. Be quiet," Zitao chanted in his mind, fists clenching against his chest until his nails drew blood from his palms.

Zitao brought his hands to cover his mouth as the Lee pierced his knife into his father's skin and drug it against the curve of his throat, blood spilling from the crease. Tears strung down his cheeks as he fought to cry out, and Zitao's father turned to give one last glance to his son, a proud smile curving to his lips before his face fell of life. He fell forward and slumped against the ground, his eyes falling shut only to never open again.

Zitao cried harshly to himself and watched as the savages laughed maliciously, blood drenched in the fabric that covered their gender. They eventually settled down, pleased with their doings, and began to scout the area for spare goods. The younger boy flinched when a man, no older than his father, slapped against the tall grass near the tree of where he hid silently.

"Fuck, there's nothing here," the young man cursed, about to give up his search when he suddenly stilled at the sound of Zitao's reluctant whimper.

His face turned dark as he bent to his knees, eyes brightening with the promise of blood at the sight of the shaking boy hidden within the tree's shadow, but before he could reach out and grab him, a sharp stick with the sharpness of rock at the tip was sheathed through his throat, and blood spat from his mouth and onto Zitao's face. He fell onto the hard earth without a sound, exposing a young boy behind him with frozen posture, a longbow in hand. The other boy's brows furrowed at the sight of Zitao, and his gaze snapped to the side before he took off running to take care of the rest of the Lee's, the sound of mans' screams then silence the only sign that he was strong enough to take them down.

Zitao relaxed against the earth when silence filled his ears, only to snap up when the crunch of a stick alerted him of the previous boy's presence. Zitao shook in fear of his own life, but the other simply looked at him long and hard before taking off again. Zitao looked around wearily then shut his eyes for rest, figuring that he was safe now that everyone was gone.

He would leave in the morning for the river, Zitao thought before he let the darkness overtake him.

Voices awoke Zitao from his slumber, and he crawled out from the hole of the sacred tree to see the area surrounded with men not of his own blood. Among the many people, he spotted the boy from the night before, and he started to shake again.

Were they going to get rid of him now that he was the only one left?

A man of old age stood from the rest and stepped closer to Zitao, his face covered in speckles of blue and green paint. "Are you alright?", he suddenly asked, eyes softened in sympathy.

"W-what?", Zitao stuttered, confused of the care in his soft voice.

The elder's eyes furrowed in a look of pity as he reached out a hand for the young boy to take. "We're not here to hurt you. I promise."

Zitao wearily eyed the wrinkled man, and he glanced over at the others with a look of faint fear. The elder noticed and sighed under his breath, "They won't hurt you either. We're here to help you."

Zitao perked up in confusion, "H-help?"

The elder nodded at Zitao and smiled when the boy suddenly took his hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet and picked up by a middle-aged women. She tucked him to her side and let him bury his face into her neck, smelling the faint smell of mother.

Zitao fell asleep with tears staining the woman's collarbones a few miles from the river, where they were headed, and was woken up by the screams of water clashing against the rock. He peered around, a faint smile on his lips, and looked at the woman carrying him, mentally begging to play. She grinned and sat him on the ground, Zitao's new pack watching him as he splashed around, stark bare, and drank from the clear waters.

Zitao finally dried off within the air and allowed himself to be dragged up into the mother's arms again. They head back through the forest, a different direction than Zitao's home, and the young boy faintly holds out his hand as if trying to reach back home, tears burning the back of his eyelids.

And with fluttering shut eyes, Zitao lets go, accepting himself into his new family.