Shula desert-flame: Scar hand

"Grandpapa?" A little voice piped up behind him. The king chuckled into his drink. Of course he had known it was coming! Sumatra had been following him around all day, being as patient as she could be, just waiting for the opportunity.

         "Yes Sumatra?" he replied, turning easily and grinning at her. She wore a pleading expression and held a plate full of cookies.

         "The cook said you were to eat some of these, 'cause you're getting far to skinny to be noble for a king." She said, offering the plate.

         "Did she now?" he hummed in thought as he placed the cookies on the desk. Sumatra remained standing where she was. He chuckled again quietly.

         "Well… why don't I tell you another story of Shula desert-flame while we eat these cookies?" he asked. The little girl's eyes lit up. She promptly did a small dance of happiness and rushed to pull a chair closer to him. As soon as his grandchild was settled in he picked up a cookie and began.

------

         The sun was at its peak. Rays of molten fire lanced down on the scorched sands of the desert below. The streets were empty of life and sound. Every person was indoors, with the exception of one young woman. She stood in the middle of the sand gardens of the palace. At first glance one might have thought she was dancing…save the glancing lights off of her blade.

         Shula desert-flame was practicing. The young woman moved from foot to foot, gliding through intricate steps like she was born to it. The blade flowed like an extension of her arm. At times it was slow and almost languid. Then suddenly she would burst into a series of turns, leaps and rolls that sent sand and her dark hair flying.

         Small beads of sweat trickled down her dusky skin, turned darker by the sun above. Shula stopped and glanced up at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand.

         "Mmm… noon. Time to take Tempest swimming."  She announced to herself, slipping her gleaming blade into her belt. Off she went, retracing the path her footsteps had worn in the stone from a thousand thus trips. The mare was waiting for her semi-patiently, staring at her over the door of her stall.

         "It certainly took you long enough." The horse mock scolded. Shula threw back her head and laughed, acknowledging the verbal score by throwing both hands to her chest.

         "Tempest! You wound me! You know my timing has ever been perfect!"

         "Perfect for trouble, maybe. Thirteen years old, and you still haven't changed much from that seven year old girl you were six years ago." Tempest laughed, opening her stall door on her own and trotting out.

         "Indeed! That's because I was already perfect!" Shula came back with. Tempest snorted and shoved her friend into a drinking trough. Shula landed in it on her back and came up spluttering and laughing.

         "Oh! I'll show you, you over grown pony!" the girl laughed, launching out of the trough and tagging her best friend on the back. Then she ran, bare feet leaving sizzling wet footprints on the desert sand.

         "So it's that game, eh?" Tempest asked, mock rearing and running after her friend. They laughed all the way to the swimming hole. Shula waded in, then dived, swimming deep…but not too deeply. Tempest waded in as well, rolling in the shallows a bit first.

         "Ahhhh…. So much better." She sighed in relief.

         "Well, if you had had the sense not to be born with that solid black fur coat-" Shula began, and was rewarded by a small tidal wave of water Tempest had kicked at her. The girl was rolled with the water, sputtering again as she surfaced.

         "Now that!" she said, raising an arm covered by sodden linen, "Was cheating." The girl slogged her way out of the lake, pausing to strip off the extra lairs of clothing, so she was ((quiet improperly you know)) dressed in simply her shirt and breeches, with out the extras.

         Shula looked up suddenly. What was that? She strained her ears to hear… yes… it sounded like metal against metal. A bell? No…too sharp… weapons! Someone was fighting! Shula leaped to her feet, grabbing her sword as she went. One bare foot landed on the wrung of the wooden fence, launching her over it and a good few feet further.

         A group of people, all dressed impractically in black, were attacking her oldest brother! He was holding his own for now, but was sorely pressed. It was five against one… not good odds. Already he was faltering. Shula screeched the war cry Lioness at taught her and leaped wildly into the battle.

         Her blade crashed against another. She turned barely in time to catch a second. Her arms quivered with the need to hold the blade up against a grown man's strength. For a moment she panicked. For all her practice she had never been in a real battle before. She forced herself to calm. Panicking would do her no good. She took a deep breath and reached deep inside.

         Flames answered her call. They sprang to life and roared through her, bringing warmth with it. Her entire stance shifted from her heels to the balls of her feet. She relaxed, simply following the flames. It became a dance, or a deadly parody there of. Block, parry, strike, and block. A twirl, duck, leap, step and another strike. Where the flame inside her flowed she followed.

         The reinforcements had already joined the battle, but the princess had not noticed. Men were starting to panic, even as her brother was gaining home. Five were down. The odds were evened a little more. Then his blade slipped. He stumbled, struggling to get his blade back up. It was too late though. An attacker's blade bit deep into his side, drawing a scream from him.

         The fire died. Shula whirled to see her brother fall. Nothing moved at all for moments, except for her long wind and those horrible drops of blood. Her breathing slowed almost to a stop as well. Then an enemy's sword lashed out at her. She ducked back a fraction too slow. Pain screamed along her shoulder. The young woman stared at the blood, and amazingly, she laughed.

         The flame burst to dazzling new life inside of her. It danced in her eyes, and around her feet wreaths of it crackled to life. She laughed again. Then she attacked. Blood flew in crimson arches. The air was mingled with screams and yells. To the terrified men she was everywhere, twisting and dancing like a flame herself.

         Suddenly the princess found herself face to face with the last of her enemies. The rest had fallen or run. This new man stared down at her in a grim way that sent shivers down her spine. His hand lifted; palm out, to show her a horrible scar across the palm.

         Shula was unmoving, caught by his stare.

         "Who are you?" she managed, trying to give name to the face that seemed familiar.

         "Your death little princess." He replied, raising her dagger while she was caught. Shula threw her arms up and screamed as the dagger descended. Her scream was answered.

         "Die!!!" Lioness shrieked as she dove from the sky like a golden comet. Her talons raked at the man's head and scalp, causing him to drop his dagger and yell in pain of his own. Shula ran to her brother's side, just in time to see the man get up. He glanced behind her. His face suddenly contorted with black rage. Then…strangely, he ran.

         "Princess!" Shula heard as she turned. The guards had arrived at last. Still, she looked after the man who had attacked them, wondering if he would be back again.


--------

         "Did he come back grandpapa?" Sumatra broke in as her father gazed out the window.
         He startled out of his reverie blinked at her. He opened his mouth to say something before she cut him off with a sigh,

         "I know, I know. That's another story." She scowled a little. The king laughed at his granddaughter.

         "Yes, yes it is indeed." He chuckled. Sumatra made a short face at him and then ran off as she heard her brothers and sisters returning from the trips she was to young to partake in yet.

         As he watched his youngest grandchild run off he reached absently for a cookie, only to find them all gone. He smiled again before he turned back to his work.