Chapter 1: Wang and his Laws
"We are the fiery ones with arrows. While we can be pliable and as flexible as the smouldering gaze of the shadows, we can also hit and wound like the sharp spears," a group of men were chanting from the peak of the Sewalunga mountain where the young men were scurrying in a group of eight towards the top of the peak. They were leaving for Ilam in the north to repay the annual taxes in the forms of dried boar meat along with bags of paddies.
The mossy and slippery footholds were hardly a challenge for these quick-footed young men who ran through the hearts of the mountains and still sang for a new morning every day with their bows and arrows ever since their childhood.
Meanwhile, at the foot of the mountains, two girls were staring at the village sprawled before them. The enormous mountains stood like pillars that forever sheltered and hid the villages nourished by the river ChuWa.
"I nearly forgot the song that I was singing. Why are these men so noisy?" a dark-haired-girl named Mongoli murmured.
Teravati, the other girl, laughed and a gulf of gushing laughter escaped her lips.
Mongoli stared at her companion and tried to memorize the laughter and engulf it within her deepest source of memories.
"Mongoli, you never know when the soldiers can come in handy. Remember that war sixteen years ago when our powerful king Srijonga Hang first united our nation? Bows were pretty useful during those times of tumult," Teravati explained.
Mongoli sighed and nodded. Her friend had powers of reasoning and thinking capabilities that were beyond Mongoli's own comprehension.
"I agree with you. However, for now, my mind is drifting towards the mouth-watering fragrance of watsipa," Mongoli retorted and both the girls swallowed a tide of saliva at the thoughts of the chicken cooked in burnt chicken wings.
They were resting at the edge of fields bordering the river ChuWa and watching the sunset. The autumn was nearly upon them and in the skies, spirals of golden purple fruits were hanging to be appeased.
"Those fruits were sent by the God Tagera Ningwaphuma to punish us for killing his daughter," Mongoli remembered.
Beside her, Teravati gave Mongoli a stare. The latter's brown eyes lingered on the chapping lips and the dried flaky skin of her companion.
"Mongoli, why do you keep getting lost? Let's sing the paddy song," Teravati murmured to her friend.
"Okay. You can sing and I will listen," Mongoli replied and looked at her friend.
Teravati looked at the fields behind Mongoli. She seated herself on the edge of a golden terrace and listened.
Teravati sang, her high pitched voice melting into six different notes that reverberated through the nettle plants and the meandering river that drove through the heart of their country Limbuwan.
Each village in the kingdom had a king who ruled over his own vicinities. Sixteen years prior to Mongoli's birth, the villages had been united by Srijonga Hang. The palace of the supreme king was also located on the hills two mountains away from the ChuWa.
Mongoli's village was located at the southernmost part of Limbuwan.
When the song ended, Teravati gave Mongoli a smile before saying her farewells and parting for her home at the other side of the river. Mongoli caught a glimpse of the sickle that she was carrying as Teravati moved away towards the horizon where the sun was diving into the pool of mountain's greenery.
"Mongoli, we must rush home. We need to be there on time," a girl of sixteen called Jonjiri shouted from one of the fields across them.
Mongoli nodded her head and was about to stand up when she looked at the sky again. Mongoli's breath was stuck in her throat.
YOU ARE READING
Horses and Archers
Historical Fiction"In the receding skies of midnight, The silver-haired-ones had arrived, Their tamed horses neighing and holding each rider precariously. There had been eighteen horses It crossed the Sal Bridge near the temple of Tagera Ningwaphuma. Each strand of t...
