Seven Petals
April 21st 2011 01:16
“Abyzou? Abyzou?” Tomasz asked.
His brain worked as hard as it could trying to recall why this name was familiar to him. Exhaustion and dehydration was screwing with him hard. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
She didn’t answer him, only blew him a kiss and danced her way out of the cell. He jolted awake. He looked around his cell frantically and saw someone in the doorway. It was one of the guards. The guard began jabbering in his bizarre language again and held a bowl in his hand. He handed the bowl to Tomasz, which was filled with dirty water. Tomasz drank the water greedily, not caring that it probably had a bug in it that would make the water come out the other end as fast as he was drinking it. His throat felt instantly better as the water soothed his cracked and bloody lips. He looked up at the guard and nodded to him, saying thank you in his own bizarre language.
They nursed him back to health, feeding and watering him every day for the next month. Vitality returned to his muscles and bones. He almost felt as good as he did when he was home. Almost. One day three guards came in and grabbed him, forcing him out of the cell. They pushed him into a line of other prisoners and they all were shepherded into an armory. The prisoners were beaten and made to put on armor and grab weapons. Some prisoners were stupid enough to try and overtake their captors and these foolish men were promptly killed. Tomasz saw no way out of this.
After he got his equipment he was pushed outside to meet many others who were ready to go into battle. They marched their way back to Tomasz’s village, ready to lay waste to the entire countryside. The men of his own village were there waiting, standing strong and ready to defend their homes, their people, and their lives. Tomasz was forced to fight his own people. Men he knew and respected came charging at him, weapons ready. Tomasz was no warrior, but he did manage to overcome many of these men. He subdued them, and as they fell he whispered to them that it was he, Tomasz, and he did not want to kill them.
They understood and fell to the ground, waiting for Tomasz’s signal to get up and fight again. He told them he would be back, but first he had to go to his house and make sure his wife and children were safe. One man looked at him and shook his head. Tomasz knew what this meant, but he had to go. He ran to his house to find it had been ransacked and his children were dead.
His wife was screaming and telling someone to get off of her. Tomasz ran into his bedroom and saw someone on top of his wife. She looked up, terror on her face. She saw Tomasz and a glimmer of hope crossed her eyes. She hesitated in her screaming and the man on top of her raised his head and saw Tomasz standing there. He pulled out a knife and smiled at him. Tomasz thought he would get up and come for him, but instead, the man plunged the knife into the woman’s chest. Tomasz screamed so loudly and completely that the man faltered. Rage was in Tomasz’s eyes and he pulled out his own knife and charged the man. He moved so quickly that the man didn’t have time to react. Tomasz cut his throat and the man collapsed on top of Tomasz’s wife.
He moved to him, trying to roll him off her as fast as he could. The man was big and heavy. When he finally managed to move the man he saw it was the guard that gave him the water. Shock hit him for a moment. Then, he looked at his wife, still alive and gasping for breath. Blood poured out of her chest and it was covering her dress and the bed. He knelt by her and put his hand on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. It was no use. The wound was on the left side of her chest where her heart was. He wailed and screamed, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. His wife’s eyes began to glaze and he shook her, pleading with her not to die. Their eyes met and in the moment before she died, her eyes told him she loved him and she was sorry.
He ran out of his house, past his dead children and returned to his village’s men. He was in a fury now and told them to stay a little longer while he went to get weapons for them. Every Ottoman soldier he found he ravaged and cut their heads from their bodies. He ran and fought, ran and fought. Finally he had enough weapons to mount a revolt. He found every man from his village that was still alive and able to make a stand. There were a surprising number of men who were overlooked in the pillaging. They all took up their new weapons and charged at the Ottomans.
Hours of fighting ensued and as the blood red sun began its descent over the hills of that small village, the rebels pushed the Ottomans back. The village was burning and screams of the dying rang out. God had closed His eyes for a moment and this was the result. Blood was in the sky with the sun and blood was in the fields and farms. The Ottomans retreated to their camp and the remaining villagers were banding together to silence the wails in the fields. One by one, they went about their task solemnly. Each man was mourning, mourning for their own dead, mourning for the village, and mourning that God had stepped away for a bathroom break.
Tomasz walked slowly back to his home. He felt an ache is his heart as he thought of his beautiful wife and children, the four people he loved dearly, gone through the veil of shadows. Sorrow overtook him and he collapsed on the path, weeping frantically. If he was like this now, how would he be when he actually saw them, broken beyond repair? He gathered his courage and pressed on.
When he returned, he knelt beside the bodies of Janusz and Izabella, both crumpled on the ground like puppets whose strings have been cut. He took them both in his arms and cluched them to his chest. A shutter ran through him as he cried deeply for them. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked to the body of Piotr. Piotr’s body was badly beaten and bloody but in one little hand was a knife. Tomasz swelled with pride in his heart with the knowledge that his son had died trying to protect his family. To him, there was no greater honor than this.
Next, he went to the room he shared with his wife. He sat on the bed next to her and he slid his arm underneath her and lifted her up. He hugged her fiercely and kissed the top of her head. Her limp body leaned heavily against him as if to seek the strength and security of his arms. He began crying again.
“My darling,” He said, “You have been avenged and now you may go on. Be restless no more and wait for me. I will see you again in the meadow. Take good care of our babies.”
He kissed her gently on the lips and brought her into the sitting room. She placed her body next to those of his children. He began to clean them off with water from a bucket nearby. He got some strips of cloth and carefully wiped blood and dirt from each of their faces, arms, and the rest of their bodies. When he reached Piotr, he noticed a small pouch in his hand.
He opened his son’s hand and took the pouch. It was made of soft leather that felt good in his hands. He weighed it carefully and noticed that it was filled with an amulet. On the amulet was the depiction of a serpent eating its own tail. Next to the amulet were white rose petals. As he emptied the pouch he noticed a total of seven petals.
“Seven petals,” Tomasz thought, “and a strange amulet to go with them.”
His brain worked as hard as it could trying to recall why this name was familiar to him. Exhaustion and dehydration was screwing with him hard. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
She didn’t answer him, only blew him a kiss and danced her way out of the cell. He jolted awake. He looked around his cell frantically and saw someone in the doorway. It was one of the guards. The guard began jabbering in his bizarre language again and held a bowl in his hand. He handed the bowl to Tomasz, which was filled with dirty water. Tomasz drank the water greedily, not caring that it probably had a bug in it that would make the water come out the other end as fast as he was drinking it. His throat felt instantly better as the water soothed his cracked and bloody lips. He looked up at the guard and nodded to him, saying thank you in his own bizarre language.
They nursed him back to health, feeding and watering him every day for the next month. Vitality returned to his muscles and bones. He almost felt as good as he did when he was home. Almost. One day three guards came in and grabbed him, forcing him out of the cell. They pushed him into a line of other prisoners and they all were shepherded into an armory. The prisoners were beaten and made to put on armor and grab weapons. Some prisoners were stupid enough to try and overtake their captors and these foolish men were promptly killed. Tomasz saw no way out of this.
After he got his equipment he was pushed outside to meet many others who were ready to go into battle. They marched their way back to Tomasz’s village, ready to lay waste to the entire countryside. The men of his own village were there waiting, standing strong and ready to defend their homes, their people, and their lives. Tomasz was forced to fight his own people. Men he knew and respected came charging at him, weapons ready. Tomasz was no warrior, but he did manage to overcome many of these men. He subdued them, and as they fell he whispered to them that it was he, Tomasz, and he did not want to kill them.
They understood and fell to the ground, waiting for Tomasz’s signal to get up and fight again. He told them he would be back, but first he had to go to his house and make sure his wife and children were safe. One man looked at him and shook his head. Tomasz knew what this meant, but he had to go. He ran to his house to find it had been ransacked and his children were dead.
His wife was screaming and telling someone to get off of her. Tomasz ran into his bedroom and saw someone on top of his wife. She looked up, terror on her face. She saw Tomasz and a glimmer of hope crossed her eyes. She hesitated in her screaming and the man on top of her raised his head and saw Tomasz standing there. He pulled out a knife and smiled at him. Tomasz thought he would get up and come for him, but instead, the man plunged the knife into the woman’s chest. Tomasz screamed so loudly and completely that the man faltered. Rage was in Tomasz’s eyes and he pulled out his own knife and charged the man. He moved so quickly that the man didn’t have time to react. Tomasz cut his throat and the man collapsed on top of Tomasz’s wife.
He moved to him, trying to roll him off her as fast as he could. The man was big and heavy. When he finally managed to move the man he saw it was the guard that gave him the water. Shock hit him for a moment. Then, he looked at his wife, still alive and gasping for breath. Blood poured out of her chest and it was covering her dress and the bed. He knelt by her and put his hand on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. It was no use. The wound was on the left side of her chest where her heart was. He wailed and screamed, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. His wife’s eyes began to glaze and he shook her, pleading with her not to die. Their eyes met and in the moment before she died, her eyes told him she loved him and she was sorry.
He ran out of his house, past his dead children and returned to his village’s men. He was in a fury now and told them to stay a little longer while he went to get weapons for them. Every Ottoman soldier he found he ravaged and cut their heads from their bodies. He ran and fought, ran and fought. Finally he had enough weapons to mount a revolt. He found every man from his village that was still alive and able to make a stand. There were a surprising number of men who were overlooked in the pillaging. They all took up their new weapons and charged at the Ottomans.
Hours of fighting ensued and as the blood red sun began its descent over the hills of that small village, the rebels pushed the Ottomans back. The village was burning and screams of the dying rang out. God had closed His eyes for a moment and this was the result. Blood was in the sky with the sun and blood was in the fields and farms. The Ottomans retreated to their camp and the remaining villagers were banding together to silence the wails in the fields. One by one, they went about their task solemnly. Each man was mourning, mourning for their own dead, mourning for the village, and mourning that God had stepped away for a bathroom break.
Tomasz walked slowly back to his home. He felt an ache is his heart as he thought of his beautiful wife and children, the four people he loved dearly, gone through the veil of shadows. Sorrow overtook him and he collapsed on the path, weeping frantically. If he was like this now, how would he be when he actually saw them, broken beyond repair? He gathered his courage and pressed on.
When he returned, he knelt beside the bodies of Janusz and Izabella, both crumpled on the ground like puppets whose strings have been cut. He took them both in his arms and cluched them to his chest. A shutter ran through him as he cried deeply for them. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked to the body of Piotr. Piotr’s body was badly beaten and bloody but in one little hand was a knife. Tomasz swelled with pride in his heart with the knowledge that his son had died trying to protect his family. To him, there was no greater honor than this.
Next, he went to the room he shared with his wife. He sat on the bed next to her and he slid his arm underneath her and lifted her up. He hugged her fiercely and kissed the top of her head. Her limp body leaned heavily against him as if to seek the strength and security of his arms. He began crying again.
“My darling,” He said, “You have been avenged and now you may go on. Be restless no more and wait for me. I will see you again in the meadow. Take good care of our babies.”
He kissed her gently on the lips and brought her into the sitting room. She placed her body next to those of his children. He began to clean them off with water from a bucket nearby. He got some strips of cloth and carefully wiped blood and dirt from each of their faces, arms, and the rest of their bodies. When he reached Piotr, he noticed a small pouch in his hand.
He opened his son’s hand and took the pouch. It was made of soft leather that felt good in his hands. He weighed it carefully and noticed that it was filled with an amulet. On the amulet was the depiction of a serpent eating its own tail. Next to the amulet were white rose petals. As he emptied the pouch he noticed a total of seven petals.
“Seven petals,” Tomasz thought, “and a strange amulet to go with them.”
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