Myshka

Chapter 12: Message

As Myshka walked towards her village with Myrrha in tow she caught sight of Torre, her childhood friend and a fellow Khasha. She breathed a sigh of relief yet she knew he was an exception. All her people hadn't been that lucky. She ran towards him shouting his name. Torre slowed down and turned around. On seeing his Chief he bowed down and then stood up again. Myshka was surprised. She did not think that the Khashas respected her still, after all she had let them down.

"Torre where are the others? How many are alive? Will you let me see them? I know I couldn't...." Myshka kept ranting till Torre and Myrrha both started laughing. Myshka looked surprised but Torre came up and hugged Myshka and Myrrha both.

"Calm down Chief! Firstly, I'm so happy to see you both alive and well. Secondly, the damage wasn't as bad as one first might have thought. Many Khashas are still alive, if a little beaten up. It will take more than one seige to eliminate us." Torre said seriously. He had seen many battles but this had been exceptional. He still couldn't get over the sheer bloodshed that had taken place. The cries of dying his brothers still clawed at him.

"Torre please. I need to see them." Myshka pleaded. Her clan was like her children,part of her blood, part of her soul. She didn't know how many were dead, but she couldn't help but feel it was her fault. Hadn't she taken an oath to prepare and protect them at all costs? Yet, she had failed them.

Torre walked towards the village and motioned them to follow.

"They are all at Vrajabali's house. The dead have been laid on the yard outside. Preparations are going on for their cremation. We'll have a grand one, that's for sure. The weak and injured are in the house. Those who are less injured or unscathed, like me, are helping to tend to them. Many of the healer's helpers I'm afraid have died. The healer however is alive and well." Torre explained.

Vrajabali was a well known amd rich trader, who had retired now. His house was the biggest in Burnall and near the forest quite nearby to Myshka's house. Myshka had spent alot of time in that house because of her friend. Vrakat, Vrajabali's son, was a notorious little boy when she'd first met him when they were only four years old and later was to become her fellow trainee. He was a Khasha too and the best, after her of course. Which was why he was second in command.

However, about three years earlier due to increased threats to the King's life he had been sent to the capital as bodyguard. That was about the time her father died. He only came back about twice or thrice a year since then and had been absent during the attack. If the Roha had fallen too, she wondered what happened to him. Did he fail like she had? Was the King even alive?

The answers weren't going to drop from the sky and even if they did, she probably wouldn't be there to catch them. After all, she was leaving in a few hours, as promised to that devil of a Prince. Leaving didn't mean she was giving up though. Never.

As they reached the house that marked a major part of her childhood, the sight before her almost made her kneel. There were people milling about carrying bodies on stretchers, more on stretchers than people who carried them. Many cried out in mortal pain. The whole yard was a bloody mess, the few familiar faces she saw made a shiver go down her spine. Myrrha whimpered as if in pain and hid her face on her sister's shoulder. Myshka couldn't help the lone tear that made it's way down her face. Torre looked at her with a sigh.

"Okay so they are a little more than just beaten up." He admitted wryly.

On seeing a boy, an apprentice only, getting tired carrying a stretcher, almost dropping it, Myshka rushed to help him. When she took the handles from the boy, he looked up to see his Chief. Highly flustered, he struggled to bow down. Myshka gave him a soft look and prevented him from kneeling. She helped carry the stretcher inside.