Prologue
I am the oldest of ten children—five girls and five boys to be exact. I
live deep in the dark forest where hardly in light makes its way through. And I
hardly ever leave. My abia—mother—left several years ago and never returned. My
aba—father—goes for days at a time to town, working on who knows what. My
father believes that thirteen year old girls are quite capable to do anything
on her own. So he leaves me here to care for the younger children.
“Alexis,” he’ll say, “My abia was left on her own—no family at all—when
she was eleven. She survived until she was taken to be the wife of my aba. All
thirteen girls are capable in the forest on their own.”
Why do we live in the forest—the dark forest? It’s all because of my
mother and her choice.
Abia was—and if she’s still alive, which I think to not be true, still
is—a woman warrior, the first in fact. She defended many towns, won victories,
won wars. She followed that little rule that says, ‘Put others before
yourself,’. But she did it in a different kind of way—she put other towns
before her own. And the people didn’t like that.
Once, her village was under attack. But another was also on fire—and
there wasn’t much left of the other village—but my abia jumped onto the back of
her trusted stallion, Arrow, and went to help the other town.
When Abia returned—the other town had been lost—and her own village was
near destruction. The village elders decided to disown her. She had to leave
her family, the town, and she was never allowed
to reenter.
My abia was very upset with this, but she packed her things and rode
away on Arrow. She moved from village to village until she finally found one
that would allow her to stay with them.
She married Aba and had us. She was a very happy woman.
Then one tragic night, several men from the village pounded on our door
for what seemed like hours. It wore on throughout the night. They all demanded
to see our abia.
Finally Aba asked why.
They replied saying they knew who his wife was and they didn’t want her
in their village—and that if they didn’t leave by dawn our house would be in
flames that licked the walls.
Aba rushed us through packing. We didn’t have much so it didn’t take
more than an hour ‘til our house was stripped that anyone had ever lived there.
The men that had pounded on our doors followed us to the edge of town,
just to make sure that we didn’t stay with some friend of ours. They drove us
out into the woods and said that if we were ever spotted in the village—or even
just outside of the village—we would be killed on sight.
Then we knew that wherever we went, nobody would take us in—no village
would ever give their village to be the home of the great Alexandria Luria.
The dark, cold forest then became our home. And before long Abia heard
the cries of war, she followed them…and never returned. I have lived three
harsh years in the forest—by harsh I mean that I must go out every morning,
noon, and dinner time to fetch three pails of waters from somewhere in the
woods, I must find some sort of meat that I can kill with my bow and arrow,
it’s just exhausting to do those things plus caring for nine younger siblings.
The oldest of the boys, Axel, is eleven and helps me look for food that
I can kill sometimes. He is my only brother who does not want to learn how to
use the bow and arrow. For he is already skilled with the sword and the knife.
Thank the heavens above that my nine year old sisters—Abiba and Abeni—cooks
everything. I cannot cook, and even if I could, my poor back would ache from
being bent over the post of boiling stew!
Alexander and Adair—eight and six years of age—are quite naughty. They
help me keep in shape for sure, chasing them for hours because they stole my only writing feather. Achava makes
friends much easier than I did when I was five. He makes friends with all sorts
of creatures—he even tried to let me let him keep hawk that he had tamed.
And the triplets, Abana, Abhay, and Abigail are the youngest of us all.
Abana and Abigail don’t talk often, but then, with Abhay, even though his words
are few, will chatter with us all day. They are sweetest ones, and are the
least mischievous.
Aba and Abia are the most wonderful parents, well, Abia was, and Aba
still is—that is, when he is home. He goes into the nearest village and works
for days without returning. He brings many presents to us. For example, we now
have Abe—the adorable scruffy puppy that Aba brought home two trips ago. And
from the last trip he brought a beautiful—but sadly, untamed—stallion. Aba said
that once he was tamed, the horse—whose name was Austin—would be mine for
keeps.
I don’t blame Abia for our lives in the
forest. I would never blame her for any harshness that comes our way. I want to
thank her—for even if we don’t like it, it has made us strong, in many
different ways.
