The Northern Tribes

1

The sky turns gray and it begins to drizzle rain as the wind swirls through the trees. The weather causes a silent ripple of dread through our large haggard group. The rain will make the trail much more difficult to keep pace, and those of us that can't keep up... die.

I try to avoid thinking about the last rainstorm. It cost at least 10 of us our lives. Sensing our renewed terror, some of the tribesmen near me smile.

"Better keep up," I hear a gruff, heavily accented voice somewhere behind me say. I don't even bother to turn and look. We're all too tired. Instead, we try to sit still and generate as much energy as possible while we still can. I can sense our much-needed, glorious break coming to an abrupt end.

So as I sit, I watch one of the tribesmen near me while he laughs and talks to his fellow tribesman in their native language. I imagine picking up an apple-sized rock that lies nearby and aggressively bashing his head in.

If I had the energy to do so, I might. Of course I would die for it. But what a glorious death it would be. Much better than the senseless end many have met in the past few days. Including Savilla, a girl I had met that was taken from our neighboring village. She was ill when they raided her village the same night they raided mine and three others near us. She was weak to begin with, and when she was finally too weak to move any longer, I tried dragging her along. I tried hiding it. But one of our captors saw. And he approached while I begged her to move. I begged and pleaded with tears in my eyes, the fear of being alone again overwhelming me.

"It's okay," she had told me, giving me a small smile. "I'll get to see my sister again."

They had killed Savilla's family the night of the raid like they had killed mine. And as I watched in horror, the tribesman stuck his large sword through her neck, spraying her blood onto my face.

My only comfort is knowing she died instantly. Not all of us captives were given quick deaths. For one of the men that tried to fight back, they tied him to a tree, cut open his belly and pulled out his innards. They didn't even wait for him to die, they just marched us ahead after they were done taunting him and left him to die slowly. His screams will probably haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. If I live long enough to get to sleep again, that is.

They've walked us for 3 days straight and the size of our group has been cut nearly in half since then. Death follows us all closely now, a dark looming shadow, reaching towards us slowly. A loud voice cuts into my silent reflection.

"BREAK OVER," he yells, his thick accent unmistakable. I had never heard a tribesmen accent before 3 days ago, but it is very distinct and I would recognize it for the rest of my life even if I could escape this hell.

I ponder for a moment if I should just quit. I wonder if I should just lie down and refuse to get up. Why even go on? My family is dead. My village is gone. They are, in all likelihood, marching us to slavery in the Northern Tribeslands, where we will be used and abused. What do I have left to live for? Why do I still fight for life?

While the others around me climb wearily to their feet, I remain for longer moments sitting on the ground.

"Get up," I hear a rough female voice near me say in their accent. I look over to see a woman captor approach me, and it appears that she is readying herself to deliver me a hearty kick. So I scramble to my feet like the coward I am and she gives an ugly smile.

"Good little girl," she mocks, pushing me roughly forward as we resume our grueling march. I stumble and flail in an effort to keep my sore, bloodied feet under me. The female tribesmen are just as nasty and strong as the men, some even more so. All tribesmen are warriors.

We all heard the stories growing up. I grew up believing the tribesmen were a fairytale, like the demons that spirit away bad children. The northern tribesmen are a savage nation of people, who value only fighting capability and physical attributes. They kill the weak or sick. They fight for fun. And they raid villages in all other nations and lands as an oppressive tactic. They raid and pillage because they can. And it is permitted. The other nations, including my homeland, allow some of their citizens to be captured and taken as slaves as an alternative to war. War with the Northern Tribeslands is something to be avoided at all costs. The raids are deemed a necessary evil. The raiding parties generally target only a small percentage of the total population, so the likelihood of being captured or killed is rather low.

But here I am. Being marched towards a future of enslavement. Perhaps I cannot yet ignore my will to live and survival instinct. Perhaps that is why I continue to march. But I wonder how much longer I can do this as I stumble through the mud, following the herd of my countrymen with similarly crushed spirits.

My body aches. My feet are in horrible pain. The only good thing about the rain is that it helps to wash away the stench of our body odor and blood. I am an empty mass of moving, pained flesh and bone. My soul cries out to be released but my stupid survival instinct won't allow it. I hate every moment that I continue to strive to live.