Tizzra Tragedy (eBook)

CHAPTER ONE

The men wearily followed the night’s bright full moon. Dozens of fatigued and scarred dark legs shuffled across the hard-cratered ground as they passed familiar trees. Dread inhabited these soldiers, even though most looked forward to going home.

Heda, one of the fiercest generals in their army, walked away from the rest of the warriors, snapped his spear in half over his knee, and twisted the blunt end into the ground so that the blade stuck up in the air. He stared upward and began muttering a plea to the black sky with the assumption that his words would reach his disappointed ancestors. He felt a connection to the stars that he hadn’t experienced before. Bright lights encompassed by darkness. A good metaphor for his soul.

Another general, Sidra, turned back to look at his soldiers, making sure none fled. From the corner of his eye, Sidra saw Heda and realized what he was about to do.

“Stop him! Restrain him!” Sidra yelled.

Only a few men cared enough to pay attention and gaze over at Heda. None bothered to try to stop him. When Sidra noticed this, he scrambled to Heda. But it was too late. Heda sprung into the air and landed on the blade of his spear, causing his warm blood to spray out on the insects and dirt below. When Sidra came closer to him, he noticed that the blade was stuck in Heda’s chest. This miscalculation gave him more time to live and curse himself further for his mistakes.

“Death is not ready for you, Heda. You must know that your spirit is stronger than any blade!”

Sidra pulled Heda off his spear and laid him down on the ground. He tried to block the blood pouring out of the warrior with his hands.

“Finish me. I have already pleaded with my ancestors. They long for me to dwell with them, Sidra. Their arms are open. I can hear their whispers… such praises! Any umbrage they have will be feeble in comparison to our queen’s. Send me to them and tell my wives I died in the battle,” Heda begged as he panted for air.

“The guilt of hurting you would kill me also, but I fear it would take too long to finish me.”

“Kill me, Sidra. It would be sound for me to die by a general’s hand instead of some passing lions. There is a beauty in it. Would you leave me alive for the vultures to taste?”

“No. Reflect on my ancestors. My ancestors would not look upon me with favor if I were the one who destroyed you. I use my spear only for my enemies. You will never be that.”

“Then pass me your blade and I shall do it myself!” Heda yelled as more blood ran out of his wound, coloring the fertile ground a shiny maroon.

“We shall carry you back home. You can be healed there.”

“It does not bewilder me that you lack the courage to kill. You proved that during the battle.”

Sidra perceived what Heda was doing. Giving voice to the unspoken attitude that he felt was contaminating the soldiers. Sidra knew that eventually this sort of conversation would take place between him and some of the men. He was determined not to let anger rule.

“If you do not clasp your tongue, I will slice it off with a blunt spear! Now, we will carry you home,” Sidra told him as he looked around for the nearest soldier to pick up Heda.

“No… I will need my tongue. I will need it to tell the queen the vile things you said about her before we left for this battle! I will need it to tell the other men about how feebly you expected them to do in the battle! And I will need it to tell your wife about how you failed to safeguard her two sons—”

Even though he was determined not to be goaded into action, Sidra was also tired and hurting, with less patience than he’d ever had. In a rage, he picked up Heda’s spear and planted it firmly into Heda’s chest. The general stood over him as life and blood left the man. The spear rose and dropped as Heda’s breathing ceased. Then he took the arm bracelet Heda had worn for the last five years.

“I will award it to your wives,” Sidra told Heda’s corpse.

The other men were now some distance from Sidra. They had no desire to watch another general die. Sidra had not only lost the battle in Egypt they were returning from, but he had also lost the respect of some of the soldiers. But these losses were small in comparison to losing his two sons in the battle. Still, the general felt some relief that the other warriors didn’t see what transpired with Heda. He did not want them to get the same idea and plant their spears into the ground. Reasoning thus, Sidra didn’t call for any of them to help bury or carry Heda’s body. He would indeed be left for the vultures.

***

Going into the battle, the warriors carried many supplies: skins for their water, extra weapons, extra shields. On their return, they carried heaviness, regret, humiliation. No one else considered doing what Heda did, but most would have understood. Their scars were proof of humiliation, which they received in abundance in Egypt.

Sidra was determined, after Heda’s death, to make sure the men walked back into their city with pride. He took Heda’s arm ring and put it on his most badly wounded soldier. He diverted the men to a nearby stream and directed them to wash themselves and their clothes. All were to present their spears and blades for inspection. Any that were broken or not sharp were to be repaired, replaced, or abandoned. Sidra would lead a search for any stranded birds, preferably ostriches, for large feathers. (He knew that he could probably find some vultures by Heda’s body but the thought of…) The general felt pride in the remaining soldiers, and he wanted the city and the queen to see that pride in their appearance.

As he was sharpening a spear he had a revelation. He could not walk back into the city looking so presentable. The accusations the queen would make about them would be unbearably humiliating. Who can go into a battle without getting scarred and injured? “It looks like you were on a sabbatical instead of a fight! Were your feathers not even ruffled? Where did you hide so that you should look so pristine?” Sidra feared that any pride he gave the men would be destroyed in the briefest of moments by the ignorant ramblings of the queen. In fact, the soldiers looked too polished to him now. They should have more scars to show the queen and the city to prove they did indeed suffer. Sidra explained this to the warriors. They understood. The feathers that were gathered were abandoned, spears broken in half, garments ripped. The general ordered all the men to sit in front of him, and with his blade he started to strategically cut the men. At first, he cut with hesitation and sympathy. But when one of the soldiers spoke up and stated, “General! It must look like war!” Sidra realized what he needed to do. He ordered the men to pull out their blades and slash each other’s bodies. He told them to focus on the arms, legs, chest, and back. But not the face. He would administer those scars on select soldiers himself.

Restraint was evident in the warriors, though they understood the general’s logic. Still, it took a lot for these warriors/ survivors to turn their blade on the same men to whom they owed their lives. Sidra realized this too, so he had half of the men face the other half.

“Those on my left, take your blade or spear and slice the left leg of the man in front of you,” Sidra commanded. The men did as he said. “Now, those on my right, slash either the chest or arm of the man in front of you.” They did so. As he gave these orders, he walked up to random warriors and he took his blade and made cuts on their faces or scalps. “Those on my left, slash either the backs or arms of those on the right until I am satisfied and tell you to stop.” Again, his orders were followed.

Several minutes after everyone was bloodied, Sidra ordered that they stop and again visit the stream to clean off. Afterwards, they camped for a day and rested in the hot sun to let their wounds begin to heal, at least physically.

***

One day later, the men arrived in their city. Again, it was night, and the same feelings of shame and disgrace were running through the same weary men, except for Tizzra. Tizzra was the finest soldier in the land; this was unsurprising to most because his father, before he died, was the greatest soldier that the city had ever seen. His father was also a good friend to Sidra. Tizzra was nineteen years old and had been a soldier for more than two years. During their battle with the Egyptians, Tizzra had shown wisdom in his actions and was responsible for saving many of the remaining soldiers’ lives. With the battle behind him, he only wanted one thing: a wife. He had long been in love with one of the queen’s servants named Chara. Servants were rarely released for marriage, so Tizzra had doubts about there ever being a union between the two.

A guard saw the men approach the city’s outer walls.

“The men have returned! They are back! Someone alert Khama!” The guard shouted as loud as he could while he ran to meet the soldiers. In his haste, he even forgot to grab his torch.

“Is this all of you? Did you prevail? Where are the others? Are there others?” he said as he glanced over the dirty, tired, still bleeding men, none of whom had any intention of answering his base questions. The guard looked at Sidra.

“Sidra breathes? Ha!” the guard muttered to himself.

“We must see Queen Azmera,” Tizzra demanded.

“We were instructed that if you were to return after dusk or in the early morning, you must wait and meet her in the courtyard after...