Tale of the Week 64 - The Winner
Ariovistus Maximus, all praise are belong to him
The Great Storm
Suffering… it has been the way of my people for many generations. Always have outsiders plagued us, out of jealousy, or greed. Before my grandfather’s grandfather was born, my people had learned not to trust the outsider.
My ancestors had fought to keep rival tribes out of our hunting ground. I had to fight an unending storm of white men, a blizzard of colonists that came into our lands like the frosty white flakes of snow in winter.
But retreat into the sweat lodge would not protect us from this blizzard. This blizzard was not content merely to drive us into hiding; it would hunt us down and kill us. This was a new kind of storm. Not one from which to hide and take shelter, but one that we must meet aggressively. They must be destroyed.
Such was the determination of my dwindling village; such a fight must end in death. The rich soil would run with blood. I was determined that it not be my blood, nor that of my braves.
Too long had the gods watched our pain without pity; the stars foretold that they would not stand idly by as they had in the past. Braves assembled, ceremonial rites were observed, and our band moved out into the dark of the night.
We were merely shadows, spirits, as we glided through the forest. My men knew every tree, every thorn bush like an old friend; we were invisible to the outsider.
Finally, we saw the smoke of a white settlement. Soon we could make out the forms of men milling past campfires. We could hear their loud, oppressive laughter and raucous song. I never understood these creatures; they took no pleasure in sitting still. They did not commune with the Great Mother; always they were rushing here and there. I wondered how one could live in such a world; I am sure that I never could.
Soon, they would not live either, but not by choice. In the early twilight hours, my braves slowly crept toward the target. They had become the very trees and bushes; they would be invisible even from feet away.
I gave the call for my men to prepare. It was the call of a thrush. My men would know immediately that it was me. The foreigners, however, never spent enough time in quiet to realize that this call belonged to a bird that had not made its nest in our lands for many moons.
In moments, however, they would have the opportunity to spend the rest of eternity in peaceful silence.
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