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Lordbeerus

He let an arrow fly ! A fictional story.

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Reader discretion is advised. Some might consider the material following very emotionally graphic.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------  Part 1-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Umi ! Umi ! sounded Omar the younger brother of Jazira.

 

Jazira, the 12 year old son of Sukaina el-Pashia and Haashim el-Mussa, the famous scholar of combat history in the Wurm University - left down the pebbles he was playing with and looked at his brother. He knew that look, he've seen it before many times. This was the scared, crying afraid look his brother always gave him, when he stole from him, his hand-crafted pebble soldiers. Only this time, no Salah Udin look alike pebble soldier was stolen. His brother after all was coming running from a hundred meters down the road, where he was playing together with the the other kids, crafting miniatures out of the metal scrappings left outside the village armory where the blacksmiths were forging day and night. 

 

Omar run towards his mother who came out of the house to see what was happening. A fine woman and an even finer wife that was running the house while her husband was at the big city where Pools of Universities resided teaching daily to young aspiring scholars of Wurm. Sukaina looked at the face of her youngest son. Once Omar saw her, he run towards her hug shouting:

 

Alsalibiiyn ! Alsalibiiyn yuhajimun ! Crusaders, crusaders are attacking, she thought ! It had been a while since the catholic church butchers from the west had attacked the village. As the kid approached from the inclined road towards his mother's embrace, two horses appeared behind him. On one, riding a female figure with a dagger and a bow dressed in drake armor. Blasphemy, thought Sukaina. To the honorable wife of a professor, a woman on a horse was not the way of the female life. On the other mount, a huge man wearing plate armor and having a huge halberd on his right hand and a big unwashed, untrimmed beard coming down out of his steel helm.

 

Al'atfal 'aw yasubu! said the woman warrior in slow pace in arabic language as if she was trying to form the sentence in her mind before speaking it out. The kids woman, the kids give and no hurt you we, was what the mother understood from the mispelled arabics coming from the woman on the horse. The mother broke in tears when the female warrior spelled out the words. She knew what was about to happen. The big man on the plate armor, bent on the right of his horse and with tremendous force grabbed the young Omar by the hand, slapped him on the face to make him shut up and loaded him on the back of his horse and with a lound and crisp voice he said: 


Puer! Silentium! Silentum aut mortem ! Omar didn't know the word Silentum. He didn't know latin after all. But mortem and deus vult were words he'd always hear at the holy lands when crusaders raided and burned their villages. The mother tried to take back her son but once she tried to go close to the horse of the big man in plate, while doing so, she heard the stretching of a bow behind her and a petite, soft, sweet but on the same time declaring and ambitious female voice:

 

Deus Vult !

 

She let the arrow fly ...

 

The woman warror on the horse aimed good. The arrow went through her mid-section close to her stomache. Sukaina, the mother of two,  fell down on the ground bleeding. Before fainting, she looked at her older son who was not yet in captivity. Tears from her eyes fell on the ground and mixed with the blood flowing from her mid section:

 

yarkud Jazira, yarkud ! The boy froze for a second to the sight of his mother panting on the ground speaking to him her last breath. Then with all his strength he dashed away. The two mounted warriors followed behind him and dissappeared on the corner of the street behind him. A couple of seconds later, crying sounds were heard and the words coming out of a deep male voice: Puer! Silentium! Silentum aut mortem !

 

"Sukaina el-Pashia, daughter of Amir el-Pashia, wife of a professor and mother of two, left her last breath on a hot and humid morning, on the pebble road outside her house, feeling the arrow burning in her mid-section, listening to the cries of her elder son and the voice of the big man that took away her sons."

 

Puer ! Silentum ... SIlentum aut mortem !

 

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------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 2 --------------------------------------------------------------------

(You can now also hear part 2 instead of reading it, check here https://vocaroo.com/i/s1LiMsXOqbFU )

 

Wind is rising on the plains outside the warfront. The sand blew through the eyes of the soldier trying to cloud his vision. The heat of the atmosphere was intense. They'd been waiting for them for two days. They knew of the impending attack, they anticipated it. He looked to the warrior at his next mounting the south walls of the war front and in arabic he said:

 

They raided the whole village. They stole all valuables, ###### women and took away all the young boys able to fight. This was the last things the old guy hidding in the attic of his house told me. After that, he never saw Jazira or Omar again. They burried Sukaina at the cemetary west of the village along with the other deceased.  He paused. He raised his bow. A huge bow. The solder nex to him never understood how the well spoken man, could handle such a big bow. He was average built and that bow, was nothing he had seen before. For him, it looked as if educated men, had strength far superior than that in their body and muscles. Mental strength, strength that helped them do things far past the limit of what their bodies could do. The archer bent his bow with extraordinaire easy. A hundred meters away at the charging crusader army head he aimed with calmness towards a mounted warrior in chain, holding the Crusader banner. As his arms tensed and his chain uncovered his sun burned forearm skin, two names became visible, tattooed with thick writting on it:

 

Omar & Jazira.

 

He let the arrow fly ...

 

He turned to him once again: So ... now you understand why a professor decided to join the frontlines ;)

 

For twenty whole years of his life, professor Haashim el-Mussa, husband to a murdered wife and father of missing two, was reading and teaching combat history.

Now, he was writing it. 

WRITE HISTORY !

 

The end.

 

Edited by Lordbeerus
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