Land of Vi is a story I wrote in 2009. I submitted this story to the Inkling Magazine at Lone Star College Tomball. The Inkling took submissions and picked the best ones to include in the magazine. The prompt was to write a short story and I kind of wrote more of an excerpt, a glimpse into the Land of Vi and the goings-on there. Needless to say, since I didn’t quite follow the prompt, my story was not published in 2009’s copy of the Inkling. I wanted to include the story here however and I think I may reference this story in a later work. I hope you enjoy a glimpse into this barbaric land, the story below is presented in mostly its original format with a few grammatical and editorial changes.
I remember visions of my mother; she was the most radiant woman in all the land. I remember her eyes; they were shining like the morning sun, her hair was like flowing ebbs, tides splashing against the warm autumn wind. That was the moment when the crash sounded, and my mother’s radiant locks were filled with a glistening white. It seemed like snow had adorned her hair, the powder burst throughout our cavern-like abode. My father got up with a snarl and charged towards the origin of the shards. The next thing I remember was my mother hovering over me, and a gentle drizzle of red dotted my pale-skinned face. I looked past and saw a large opening in our house, where our window used to be.
I remember a bellow of a behemoth, and he charged into our house, destroying everything he touched. He was a large shadow to me; I don’t remember most of his features well, I remember he had a large jagged blade and horns protruding from his brow. My mother then exclaimed as his large hand reached forward and snatched her from before me. The monstrosity laid his gaze on me next; I could feel his bloodlust send chills down my spine, though I was still young. I lay in my cradle helpless because of my youth; my dad barely found a footing trying to defend me from the man’s vengeance. In his fury he forced my father back into me using only the hilt of his blade, knocking me from my cradle as my protector fell on me.
Terror filled my mom’s eyes as this giant held her with one hand, withdrawing from the room. To this day I realize that he had made a mistake, the horned man believed I was dead because my father fell upon me, but luckily I managed to escape death’s cold hands. I awoke after what seemed like an eternity, I found myself buried under my father’s corpse. He had died an honorable man’s death in our land; he had sacrificed himself for another. In my infancy, I did not comprehend his passing, to me he seemed like he fell dormant from the eventful evening we had.
My next memory was the one that greatly impacted my life and changed the course of my future. I remember hearing a woman’s voice, the sound was vaguely familiar. I felt myself rising in the air, carried by strong reassuring arms, I was being cradled as she exclaimed to the other villagers. I don’t remember the words that were said, but I knew this woman, she was my aunt. This is the woman who practically raised me, who told me about the lost events of that day, and who equipped me with the tools I needed for the upcoming future.
When I was older she had told me who the man was who kidnapped my mother and laid waste to my family, the King of Vi. He is a large man, all muscle, brave and daring, a true warrior. He washed up on the land of Vi one day and was greeted by the kindness of this terrain. He had joined the Viican army and has risen in the ranks, upon becoming second in command this man had the ability to challenge the current king for the throne, and so he did. My aunt told me all about the spectacle the battle must have been, although neither of us are viican, but it sounded as if the battle was told this glorious array:
The current king, Kilo, approached the previous ruler, Ropir, and made a declaration for the duel, his highness agreed and it took place that evening at sundown. The men were surrounded by the roar of the villagers gathering abundantly, cheers almost as ferocious as a clash that had yet to happen. The two men bearing their weapons, Kilo equipped with his axes, the king his hand-and-a-half swords. The monarch was a truly unique man; he bore a weapon requiring nearly two hands but was trained to bear them with one.
The two took their places when the sun painted the sky auburn; at that moment the two clashed, grinding their weapons against one another. Leaping back, Ropir ran toward his challenger and directed his footsteps, using his weapon to cut off Kilo’s ax head. Beheading the weapon, the glittering sheet of metal twirled and shimmered in the air, plopping onto the dirt arena below. The challenger immediately retaliated with the ax in his other hand, attacking the ruler of the land and nearly striking him. Catching the ax, the monarch slid his blade under the head of the ax; the two struggled against each other, trying to force the other back.
Finally, the swordsman repelled Kilo, lashing out at his opponent; he had struck him several times. The ax wielder barely repelled the attacks, being suddenly hounded with more than he had anticipated; he failed to find footing and descended toward the earthen floor. While he fell Ropir saw the opportunity and ceased it, he equipped himself with his other blade and stabbed down toward his competitor. Between a rock and a hard place, Kilo’s next action would be what turned the tables on the battle in his favor. He took his ax and trapped the king’s sword in the empty space between the head and the handle; he then jammed the broken ax handle into the void and relinquished the king’s grip.
Propelling it upward, Kilo flipped the sword into the air landing behind; the defender retreated and snatched his foe’s foil, charging at the oppressor. The leader took his remaining sword in his hand and dashed toward the second-in-command. Attempting to retaliate, he latched his ax on the leader’s blade once again. “Futile!” The king announced as he attached his palm to the end of the hilt, twisting the blade and parrying his successor. Stunned and defenseless, Kilo stood there as his king came at him again. “Nice try!” He declared intending to land his final blow.
As the sword swung, Kilo attained his stolen weapon and parried the first-in-command. “So that is your intention! Don’t attempt to imitate me, you will fail.” The king advised. “I’m learning from my lessons.” Kilo answered. The king twirled his shimmering metal once again, tossed it into the air, and was about to catch it when he heard a deadly shriek. Coming from his blade, the weapon had been struck with Kilo throwing his remaining ax, repelling the hit. The king drew back and dashed for his weapon. Stretching out, he caught it but only to be rewarded with sudden pain.
Revolving in mid-air, a chunk of metal glistened and impacted the sword-bearer in the shoulder blade. Reaching back, he discovered that it was the ax head impaled through his armor, rivers of red gradually emerged from his protective shell. The king placed his hand upon it and seized the shard, throwing it aside. “That’s expected from my best, Relentless!” The ruler continued with his pace, attempting to strike his opponent once more, only to realize his opponent was no longer facing him. Taking the hilt, the challenger struck his commander in the back of the leg forcing him onto the floor.
The king flipped himself over glaring at his adversary, with a face filled with fear and defeat. Unable to stand in time, Kilo whipped the blade through the air and pointed it at his fallen comrade. Barely inching away from his throat, the king panted in terror. “I think this is the end, sir.” Kilo announced respectfully, “I will not kill you if you surrender.” “Then the battle is yours, you are the superior one. Take good care of this land.” The king admitted defeat. The rules were as follows when a king was challenged to a duel; you could kill the king to obtain the throne, or make him surrender.
After the battle, if the king had been the one who lost, not only would he have to forfeit the crown but must also be banished from the land, if not slain in the squabble. Ropir gathered his things and departed from the land of his ancestors, never to be seen again. From that point on Kilo did nothing as king but make himself stronger and extended great amounts of power only to benefit himself. He is a selfish man, out for only his own benefit, I’m sure the viican men would rise up against him and rebel but an army alone is no match for him. I cannot stand this man, though he seemed valiant when my aunt first told me the words of the past, this man is the man who kidnapped my mother and has killed my father. I alone would be no match for this man, but I must try, I must avenge my ancestry!
Although I never told my aunt, my goal has always been to take vengeance on this man and save my mom. If my caretaker ever found this out she would not approve, simply because she would want to protect me, but some things just can’t be let go. In conclusion of my aunt’s story, she told me some information that is vital to my success against Kilo. She told me that the only person to ever fight on the closest footing with Kilo is Ropir, and she also told me that after Ropir had been banished from his land, he made his way to this land. She also said that he had taken one of the most beautiful maidens of the land as his bride, and that maiden was my mother. Ropir was my father, although not realizing that it secretly lit the passion that burned inside of me. She also told me the only reason my dad had utterly lost the rematch, was because when he had settled down, he became weak in his years. My aunt told me that if there were ever someone who could destroy the tyrant Kilo, it would be me.
From that day forward I started training, whatever time I could dedicate to getting stronger I would. For every day that I was weak, it was another day that my mother had to spend in that mysterious land and another day that savage would prevail in the land of Vi. Whenever I was not at school or when I was not occupied by running errands for my relative, I would secretly train as much as I could. Sometimes I would tell my aunt that I would go play with my friends other times I would tell her I was going to go fishing or go out to catch some insects, but I always had the feeling she knew what I was really up to. The fact that I never had the proper equipment when I left her dwelling also never did assist me well in my lie.
I always challenged myself to find new ways of strengthening myself; I would lift rocks and break them against others, running at full speed throughout our village. I would also volunteer to do tasks too difficult for my age, or so my aunt constantly thought. I wanted to get as strong as I could as fast as I could. I would even go out to the forest and search for fresh beasts to bring home for supper. Any sort of household chore I would do for her, anything to get me stronger than I was. My aunt was always hesitant in giving me rather hard objectives such as carrying water from the nearest well, which was not very close; it was on the other side of our land, all the way through the village and beyond.
I would lift the clay jars above my head that were attached to the rod which we used to carry both of the large jugs. When I would always lift them over my head I would struggle to balance them, it was rare if my aunt didn’t ask if I would be alright to carry them all the way to the end of the town and I would reassure her every time, though each time was a different challenge. The town we lived outside of was not a large one, therefor it didn’t have its own well. To get to the town you would have to walk down the steep mountain where we and our kinsmen had lived. The homes were unique ones, unlike many have ever seen before. They were oval-shaped dwellings made out of stone, mud, and many pliable but strong materials. We would use windows and doors from the village and carry them up our mountain to attach them to our dwelling domes.
Journeying down this mountain range was rather difficult; we built our homes on a steep cliff for our own added protection. There was a home every so often along with the range so if you were making a journey it would be possible to stop into one of these homes to take a break or to stay for a night. Our kinsmen were a friendly bunch and we’re always welcoming other brethren, every one of our relatives knew my goal and would see me training. They always wondered how my aunt never addressed it with me, but I guess it’s because my aunt always knew it was coming, the day I would set things right and reclaim the family name.
Here is a link to the Inkling Magazine that I submitted this story for.