The Warrior: A Short Story

Though scorching, her hands did not react, the skull of her mate, her lover, her friend in life.
His hand reached into the wicker basket removed two large red stones, placed a stone in each of the skull’s eye sockets. They began to glow, intensifying until they became fiery red staring into her eyes and soul. She breathes in the fragrance of incense and that of the cauldron’s brew, most pleasurable among fragrances her mate’s blood covering her body in its most natural state. She brought it to her moist, soft lips, kissed it. She began rubbing it between her breasts. Her body made love one last time to the one taken from her for forever. While she did, the shaman prepared the shrunken skin. Warrior’s facial skin he removes from the cauldron. With
his knife scraped off any remaining hair and inner flesh. When satisfied with the cleansing, he turned the skin right side out. His bony fingers sewed the slit together, all the opening except where the neck had connected. Created a bag made of flesh filled it with black sand to help dry it quickly. Skull of her lover, covered in blood as she finishes making love to it. Shaman held up the skull presents it to mother earth chants in ancient tongue darkness dropped upon all. Eyes of the warrior’s skull glowed. Two bright-red dots glimmered on the cavern wall above mother earth’s throat image of two fiery nostrils. The sound of mother earth’s breath filled the cavern. Eyes of those who passed beyond mortality became a fiery glow. Cavern walls, ceiling, turned the color of blood. Blood appeared to seep from its walls and ceiling. A voice echoed from within the skull, instantly everything returned to the way it was. Shaman placed the skull on the hot black sand. Blood covering it bursts into flames, quickly burnt off. Its eyes continued to glow along with those among it as if a new life lived within. He poured from the stone bowl what remainder of the warrior’s blood into the island’s stomach to give it strength. The black sand he emptied from shrunken skin back from which it came. Punctured two small holes in the top of the skin ran a strand of pig hide, in one hole and out of the other. He tied it loosely around the neck of the warrior’s mate, so it hung from her neck. Shaman directed the friends of the warrior to place his headless body back on the carrier. Center it over the island’s stomach. He lowered his palms. Friends of the warrior bent at their knees slowly lowering it until it made contact with swirling earth.
Black smoke rose as the green bamboo used to make the carrier began to burn.
Spiritual vapor, moisture from within the body explodes out toward family and others. His spirit now free, body consumed by flames, incinerates. Only black ashes remain traveling atop hot colorful swirling earth, as they disappeared into the island’s stomach, reclaimed to be born again as another tribal member. King and all solemnly gathered bowed their heads. Elizabeth’s face, pressed against bamboo bars, observed the procession as it returns from the cave. Lead by the king, eyes of the villagers were blood-red, a smile upon their faces as they departed with a joyous stride.
She wonders if they’re drunk, as they exit the cave their eyes, expressions appear different from those of intoxicated people. She had seen people at parties, including her father that had partaken of too many spirits, but never under the influence of a drug. Dehydrated, weakened were in need of water hurried to the stream. As the end neared, girls noticed the long pole. Four scorched ropes dangled from it the carrier missing, disturbed when at the end the warrior’s mate emerged nude covered in blood. The sunken face skin of the warrior dangles about between her
breasts. “They shrunk his head,” Tiffany’s voice raised in disbelief. “That’s his head!” “Yes.” They wonder what become of him, having longed to view a tribal burial out of curiosity. The flavorsome fragrance of roasted pork floated through the air, to all whether free or slave. It teased the taste buds of slaves while villagers returned from the stream, reminded Elizabeth of summer barbecues on her father’s farm her tongue salivating. Tiffany took a deep breath, “They’re returning roasted pigs smell delicious,” her tongue protruded licked her lips. “Don’t get your hopes up.” Shaman appeared as a warrior was about released, Elizabeth and Tiffany. “This one,” pointing to Elizabeth, “Is to carry water for the remainder of the day, her punishment per the king’s command. The other one do with her as you wish.” As usual, they were placed at the end of the line. Warrior remained behind them, watching as another warrior led the line of slaves to their gathering spot. Taskmasters gathered their groups, marched them into the village. Put their slaves to work, busy picking fruit, preparing food. New, Tiffany, carried baskets of fruits around for villagers to select from and enjoy. Redness of her face clearly displayed her embarrassment of being partly clothed. The torturous aroma of slow roasting pork, slaves prohibited from partaking of the flavorsome meat. While those males not of mature age to be warriors displayed their coconut splitting skills before the young females of the village. Feminine hips shake their bodies bounce to the tropical rhythm among all the women celebrating with dance. Swaying beads of their loincloths clack together, as the motion of their hands told a story of love. Warriors yelled out a war call in honor of their deceased friend. Villagers, of all ages, lounged around on mats sunbathing, while slaves caress their bodies with fruit juices and oils. Male, female relaxed in the hot springs. The sound of wild passion came from huts, a celebration of pure debauchery.
Overhead the sun soon to depart slips behind the crater. The daylong celebration ends. Elizabeth observed the bell in the tower. It tolled six times but had yet to hear it.
Confident it’s the potion allowing Tiffany to hear the bell. Spunk Tiffany showed during the inspection of our bodies was no more. I figured it would likely not return. Her ability to hold a conversation improved, but still lacked the will to think beyond what’s required.
Villagers gracefully stepped from the soothing warmth of their hot springs. Their conversations halted, until tomorrow. Waiting slaves dried them with towels made of soft plant fiber. Villagers gather their loincloths. Proceed directly to their huts closed the door, covered the openings in the walls with palm-leaf mats. Warriors hurriedly confined the slaves to their cells before seeking seclusion themselves.
Girls sat next to the bars with their legs pulled up against their bodies. They faced each other, having discovered this position offered them the most comfort and best view from their cell.
Tiffany brooded, “It was very unkind of them not to share even a small portion of the pork with us.”
“I told you not to get your hopes up we’re prisoners, not guesses.”