Prelude to Bloodletting

A standalone story fragment from the Eastsong Cycle (fourth epoch)

Griivuh's heart thudded with every oar-stroke pulling the canoe upriver. He knelt in the aft, cradling his long-toothed scythe and peering vainly into lingering night. The high, cloud-enshrouded city wall loomed to his left. A shield against the moon, who would betray us to enemy eyes. None of his warriors, hunched over their oars in the midsection, uttered a word—neither prayer nor curse, on pain of death.

The enemy lurked upstream, a little further. Foes. Neighbors. Kin-folk. Rhecah skittered across his memory, chasing a yearling aurochs gone rogue. Her sandy tresses streamed behind her, like her pony’s tail. I left thee with so many words. But so few I truly meant.

He turned his mind to counting oar-strokes, which steadied his breathing. Cricket-song made an eerie prelude to bloodletting among brethren.

Thick summer air lay heavy on the river. Griivuh swatted a blood-sucker that assaulted his face, crushing it in his thick beard. Mugginess and anticipation soaked his tunic through, under quilted deerskin armor.

The first predawn light peeked from the east across hills and river-plain. He stopped his silent count and clapped the shoulder of the man in front of him. It was time to disembark—onto the grassy eastern bank, into the rising sun.

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Author Note

A very few of y’all may recollect the snippet above as a heavy rewrite of a storyline I began and shared several years ago. If you enjoy it, you may also like the related Zshurii’s Song story I published for subscribers last year. The first snippet is currently free.