1. The Vow

SITARA

P​acing back and forth in the tent, all she could feel were the souls of the recently dead leaving this plane of existence and the weight of it all brought her to her knees.  Her father had insisted that she stay in the tent no matter what, but she couldn’t let this go on any longer.  Could she? 

As she knelt on the tent floor trying to breathe through the agony, she became aware that she was no longer alone.  She looked up to find herself surrounded by the recently dead.  Some faces she’d known since childhood and others she realized were from the tribe her father and his men were fighting.  She’s always had the ability to see and feel spirits but she’d never seen or felt so many at once.  

She crawled backwards like a crab trying to get away from them.  ​Her back hit the end of the tent and a strange keening sound left her throat.  They began to approach her all at once.  She shut her eyes and held her hands out in front of her and yelled, “Stooop.”  ​She opened her eyes to find that they stopped shuffling forward.  They were within an inch of her, reaching out for her.  She calmed her breathing as best as she could given the situation and in a strangled gasp, stammered  “What… What do you want?”  ​

Their ghostly bodies straightened.  They parted and looked towards the back of the tent.  A lone spectral figure walked towards her.  She recognized him instantly, how could she not?  He was her father’s right hand man.  He'd taught her how to hunt and use a bow and arrow.  

​“Arin” She gasped.  Reaching out to him, she grasped his hand giving him corporeal form.  

“You have to stop them.  The fighting can’t go on or all will be lost.”  He said.  

“How?”  

​“Trust in your power.  Grant us access to your body.” ​Though she was still scared, she trusted this man with her life.  She nodded and let her psychic guards down.  ​

The souls of the dead flowed into her all at once, leaving her gasping on the floor.  She stood up slowly, aware that she was no longer just her, but more.  

She could hear them all.  Feel them all.  The fight was not Hjalmar’s doing as they were led to believe but someone else’s.  Someone who for whatever reason was still somewhat hidden from her gift of sight.  Then, she saw his face clearly from the thoughts and memories of the enemy’s dead.  She did not recognize it. ​ 

She took a deep breath to steady herself and walked out of the tent.  For a moment, she stood looking around at the carnage and destruction around her.  The dead littered the canyon floor and the pain almost brought her to her knees again.  She squared her shoulders and started walking.  She instinctively walked in the direction of her father, she could feel the essence of the dead leave her and join with their physical bodies.  Her breathing got a little easier, as she watched in astonishment as the bodies rose and followed her. ​   

Standing in the middle of the battlefield, she watched as her father’s men, men she’d known her entire life, recoiled from her in fear.  The opposing force was no better, not that she could blame them, she could only imagine what they saw when they looked at her.  To her right stood all her father’s dead warriors and to her left, Hjalmar’s.  ​By the time she got to her father and Hjalmrar, they were locked in combat.  It took them a minute to realize that the sounds of battle around them had faded.   

They both turned to look in her direction.  ​She was getting used to the look of fear on Hjalmar’s face but the fear on her father’s face tore at her gut.  She took a deep breath and addressed them.  “Someone else is pulling the strings and making us fight.  Just think for a minute.”  She paused.  “Who has the most to gain by wiping us out?” 

She reached out to Hjalmar and he hastily took a step back.  Her father tentatively took her small hand in his much bigger one, and her love for him grew a hundredfold.  Though he was shaken he still trusted her. ​She projected the man’s face into his mind.  “I do not recognize the face.”  He said.  ​She turned to Hjalmar and offered him her hand again.  This time, he took it and a string of curses left his mouth.   “That whoremonger son of a bitch.. That’s my uncle’s bastard son.”  He exclaimed.  ​

He turned to her father and let out a pained, resigned breath. “It seems we have been deceived.  But as it stands, there is still too much distrust for anything less than the  joining of our tribes.”  

​“And how do you propose we do that?”  Her father asked suspiciously.  Hjalmar turned to look at her, raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, I have a son, you have a daughter…”  He let that statement hang in the air.  

Her father turned to her.  She knew what he wanted from her.  Even knowing that without an alliance the war may continue, he was leaving the decision of marrying Hjalmar's son up to her.  Her father was a warrior born and bred.  He was a warrior before he'd met her mother, the love of his life.  She taught him a different way.   

He will still fight when necessary but he was a man who no longer revelled in war.  Her mother’s love had made him a kinder, gentler man.  Next to him, stood the ghost of her mother, who'd died giving birth to her. She has been with her since birth, the first ghost she’d ever seen.  Her mother smiled in encouragement.  She looked at all the faces surrounding her, the dead and the living alike and nodded her head once.