The days dragged on, and still, the tribe had not moved. The land had decent water and grazing for the animals, but Tengri could feel the stagnation in the air. The lush grass that once covered the plains was now trampled into dirt, the ground cracking beneath the tribe's collective weight. The wind kicked up dust from the plains, the air thick with the smell of hay, animal dung, and the faint stench of sweat clinging to the tribe's clothes. Every step of the herd sounded like the earth itself groaning in protest.
Tengri's eyes scanned the horizon. He'd noticed new faces in and out of the camp over the past few days. They had similar features to his people, but their clothes were different, and their speech carried an unfamiliar rhythm. Outsiders—nomads from other tribes. His people didn't trade or often interact with others. Outsiders were viewed with suspicion, their intentions often unclear. These people, though, were clearly not just passing through. Their arrival signaled something bigger.
Batu suddenly slapped his arm across Tengri's shoulders, the unexpected weight of it startling him. For a brief moment, Tengri felt no prickle of awareness. His danger detection didn't flare, leaving him puzzled. Batu was close, and yet, the familiar sense of caution didn't rise. He didn't feel the usual rush of adrenaline. Does it mean Batu isn't a threat? he thought. Or do I simply not see him as one?
Batu's grin widened when Tengri flinch.
"Wow, even you get surprised?"
Tengri removed Batu's arm, his expression unreadable. He turned and looked his friend in the eyes.
"Do you know why we haven't moved yet? It's been days. We should've left by now."
Batu scratched his head, his playful demeanor faltering.
"Well... there's talk. Another tribe wants to settle here. There have been whispers for the last few days, and... well, it seems we're gonna have to fight them for it."
Tengri's thoughts turned inward. Fighting for land, for survival. This is a perfect opportunity to test my abilities. But then, his thoughts shifted. I'll have to get permission from my parents... Damn, it's such a hassle. I should've been an orphan instead.
"Do you know where this battle might take place?"
Tengri asked, his voice steady.
"That's up to the Khan, but I think it'll be near the plains. Just a few hills from here"
Batu answered, squinting at the distant landscape.
Two more days passed, and they were still entrenched in the same spot. Tengri spent his time meditating, trying to understand the flow of his spirit energy. He had learned, through trial and error, that balance was key. Overexertion or impatience would only cause the system to collapse. The energy had to be fine-tuned, just like how he used to manage his sorcery in past lives. He reflected on the teachings of modern physics, where energy cannot be created or destroyed only transformed. I must transform it into something I can control.
As the evening air turned cooler, the camp settled into the stillness of the night. The distant crackle of firelight illuminated the faces of the tribe as they gathered around the campfire. Once again, they ate boiled lamb stew. The smell of the meat made Tengri's stomach churn, his senses had developed and heightened overtime and had made even the simplest food unbearable. The taste was bland, the meat greasy, and the texture too tough. It smelled faintly of rot, the aftertaste of stale food, and a lack of cleanliness. When I conquer this land, Tengri thought, I'll change things. Better food, better cleanliness.
"What's wrong, Tengri? Don't like the food again?"
Delbee's voice cut through his thoughts, filled with concern.
Tengri hadn't touched his food, still lost in his thoughts. He took a sip from his wooden bowl, the warm stew no comfort. His mother's eyes were filled with that familiar worry.
"No, it's fine"
He said, forcing a smile. He set the bowl down and looked up at her.
"I just wanted to ask... if I can join the battle against the other tribe."
Delbee almost dropped her bowl in shock. Ulaan froze mid-bite, his eyes narrowing.
"Absolutely not!"
Delbee snapped, her voice tight with panic.
"You're only seven years old! You're too young! You don't know what it's really like! The stories you've heard... they're glorified! You don't understand what it means to kill someone!"
Her voice grew more frantic, her hands shaking as she set her bowl aside. Ulaan, sensing the rising tension, placed a gentle hand on her arm to calm her down, his face struggling to hide the pride in his eyes.
Tengri, unfazed by her reaction, thought bitterly, I know what it means to kill. I've been there.
"Ulaan! Talk some sense into him!"
Delbee cried, her face flushed with concern.
"Well, Delbee"
Ulaan began, trying to defuse the situation with a smile
"Your son has inherited my—"
Ulaan's words faltered when he saw the Spirit of Death in Delbee's glare. Her eyes were sharp with worry, but they were filled with anger now, the kind that only a mother could possess.
"Tengri, you are still too young for war. You will have your time soon enough."
Ulaan said, his voice softer though firm.
"It'll only be a few years. Don't worry, your father here will tell you stories of his battles. You'll be ready when the time comes."
Ulaan thumped his chest proudly, grinning.
"I've fought many battles. "
Delbee's frustration returned in full force.
"And you think that's something to boast about?"
Tengri sighed inwardly. I should've been an orphan.
The next day, the tribe prepared to say goodbye to the warriors. The mood was thick with a mix of excitement, fear, and pride. Warriors mounted their horses, the clink of armor and the sharp squeal of saddles filling the air. Tengri couldn't catch a glimpse of the Khan yet Baasan, the Khan's son, stood in the way, strutting proudly, his arrogance impossible to miss. Tengri glanced at him with a small sneer, then shifted his attention to the warriors around him. His father was among them, his expression stoic, though his presence felt different from the other warriors distant, almost detached from the fervor.
Then, the Khan turned his horse toward the tribe. The sight of him was striking. His laminar armor gleamed in the sunlight, gold etchings decorating the surface like ripples in water. His saber, resting at his side, had a golden hilt that caught the light. His face was battle-worn, scarred from years of conflict, his eyes sharp and calculating. He was a man who had lived through endless wars, and his presence commanded respect.
"Warriors of my tribe!"
The Khan's voice rang out, deep and resonant.
"Today, we ride not for glory, but for survival. The land we stand on will be ours by blood, by sacrifice, by the will of the spirits that watch over us. But now, there are those who seek to take it from us. We will not let them."
His eyes swept over the gathered tribe, the fire in his gaze unwavering.
"Today, we fight for what is ours. We fight for survival. We fight for this land, for our ancestors, and for our children!"
A wave of pride washed over the tribe. The warriors roared in response, ready to follow the Khan into battle.
Tengri had no intention of waiting in the camp while others fought. Batu, though nervous, reluctantly agreed to follow Tengri's plan. They ran swiftly, staying low to avoid detection. As they neared a hill overlooking the battlefield, Tengri felt the familiar tingling in his skin something wasn't right.
From their vantage point, they saw the two armies forming on the plains below. But what really caught Tengri's attention was a group of riders, hidden behind the trees. They weren't here to fight; they were preparing to raid.
"They're not here to fight the battle"
Tengri muttered.
"They're planning to attack our camp while the battle rages on."
He pointed them out to Batu, who was wide-eyed with disbelief.
"We need to warn them"
Tengri said urgently.
The two of them dashed down the hill, running with all their might. Tengri's body moved like a blur, propelled by an invisible force, the wind seeming to carry him forward. Batu, struggling to keep up, shouted
"Go on! Leave me! I'll catch up!"
Tengri didn't slow, his focus sharp. As he reached the camp, he skidded to a halt, breathless, and shouted.
"ATTACK! We're going to be attacked!"
The camp fell into chaos. The elder warriors gathered quickly, and Tengri caught his breath. The elder who had been training the young children stepped forward.
"What do you mean, Tengri?"
He asked, his brow furrowed.
Tengri's voice was calm despite the urgency.
"The battle is a diversion. Batu and I followed the warriors. We saw a group of riders hiding. They weren't coming to fight, they're planning to raid us as soon as the battle begins. They'll strike now."
The others were skeptical, but the Shaman, an old man with long, silver hair and piercing green eyes, stepped forward. His voice was clear and commanding.
"The boy speaks the truth. The spirits confirm it."
Panic spread quickly through the camp. Most of the warriors were out in the battlefield, and the tribe had only the elderly, women and children to defend themselves.
"Stop. If we give in to fear, we've already lost. We can still fight. Everyone, line up the carts! Prepare the lances. Women, children, the elders, ready your bows. This is not the time to hesitate. We fight. We survive."
Tengri's voice cut through the panic.
The carts were positioned in a defensive line, the wheels dug deep into the earth. Lances were thrust into the ground, creating an impassable barrier for the enemy cavalry. Women and children readied their bows. The elders, including Delbee, took up spears and sabers, standing at the front, a line of last defense.
The scene was intense as they waited. The air seemed to grow heavier, thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, the distant sound of galloping hooves reached their ears, the heavy thuds growing louder with every passing second. The riders' war cries pierced the air, meant to instill fear and intimidate. A child, trembling with fear, dropped her bow, and another froze, too scared to move, his legs giving way as he urinated himself. The tribe shifted uncomfortably, fear creeping into their hearts. The elder warriors exchanged nervous glances, tightening their grips on their weapons.
A few minutes passed, but the riders were already visible, their figures emerging from the dust, looming on the horizon. The tension reached a breaking point.
Tengri's eyes narrowed, his heart steady as he prepared. He knocked an arrow, his fingers light but controlled, the bowstring taut. He felt the whisper of the wind spirit, the familiar presence of the ethereal force guiding his aim. The wind seemed to swirl around him, guiding the shaft of the arrow as he took a deep breath, his focus sharpening.
The nearest rider, laughing loudly with his companions, mocked the tribe's defensive efforts. They seemed confident, but their arrogance only fueled Tengri's resolve.
With a swift release, the arrow cut through the air with a sharp swish, the wind behind it amplifying its speed. The lead rider's mocking laughter was abruptly cut short as the arrow struck him squarely in the temple. His body crumpled, lifeless, and his horse bolted in panic. The sound of the horse's wild galloping echoed across the battlefield. The other riders, startled by the sudden loss, hastened forward, attempting to regroup.
Tengri quickly knocked another arrow and let it fly with a practiced ease. The arrow flew true, hitting another rider just fifteen meters away. The impact was so swift that the rider didn't even have time to react, crashing into the dirt as his horse veered to the side.
As the riders closed in, the tribe's defensive line became evident. The carts blocked their view of the archers hidden behind them, leaving the riders unsure of where the next shot would come from. The first wave of riders, eager to break through, fell under the hail of arrows, but the warriors of the enemy were seasoned, and their resolve grew stronger.
Some riders attempted to dodge the onslaught, but they were skewered by the lances that jutted from the carts like spikes. Those who managed to pass through the blockade did not find themselves free for long. The second volley of arrows, perfectly timed as instructed by Tengri, came from the rear.
"Reload!"
Tengri shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The warriors at the back quickly replaced the front archers as they prepared for another volley. The wind spirit whispered once again, and Tengri felt the familiar rush of speed surge through him. He moved fluidly, his bowstring drawn taut once more. With each shot, he felt more attuned to the wind, every movement guided by it, each release swifter and more precise than the last.
As the raiders made their final push, they were met with the tribe's last line of defense, the spears and lances now fully engaged. Some riders were impaled as they attempted to break through. But the remaining few fought fiercely, refusing to turn back, their weapons flashing in the sunlight. For those who made it through the blockade, a another wave of arrows awaited them.