Beneath a purple sky

Beneath the purple-black sky she dances. Stars - the few feeble lights that yet burn in that velvety darkness - shine dimly in the moonless sky casting a wan, faded light across the beach.



In front of the fire she started as the red sun faded into the western Last Se she dances. The firelight casts blood red, gold and yellow highlights onto her nut brown skin. She gyrates about wildly, hair tied into thin braids, whipping about her head. It all appears chaotic, undisciplined.The two blades of gaeti basalt seem to be extensions of her arms. The black volcanic glass - specially treated to be stronger than steel and sharper than any other blade - reflect wicked highlights. Blood seems to streak and stain the lethal blades as she dances there on that time lost shore.



It appears chaotic this dance. But it is the Kae'alli MI - the war dance - of her coll. Her movements controlled, disciplined, fluid. Opponents, visible only to her mind's eye, dance about her but the blades she wields - forged at such a terrible cost - slice and slash and pierce and one by one her opponents collapse, life leaving their eyes as they do so. In her mind's eye she watches them die as she has watched so many others in her short life, their lives ended on the blades of her swords.



Beneath that purple-black sky - like a terrible bruised skin - with the dying light of the few remaining stars, on a dying planet, she dances.



Muscles coil, bunch and then release. Rippling in the firelight. Her shadow writhes on the ground snapping this way and that, inconstant and wild, her only friend in this abandoned coast.



Throughout she keeps her eyes closed. Sight is unnecessary for this exercise. Indeed it would be a distraction.



Behind her lies her armor, the armor that has saved her life and served her well. Neatly stacked on the dark beach sand. Lying almost in shadow, as if forgotten. There is a glorious freedom in not wearing it. A release.



Two blades now offensive and a shadowy warrior breathes her last, staggering away from the blow into the night. The blade of the right handed sword is driven into the chest of another while the blade in her left hand shudders as it blocks a desperate blow. The block quickly turned into a riposte and her right handed blade now acting as defense. Her dance continues as she drops into a crouch on the loose, dark beach sand. Blades from behind [ass above her head: in training it is always foolish to fight opponents only in front of yourself, her teacher would have said.



She reverses her grip on the right hand blade, dropping it for less than a second, reversing her grip and then grabbing the sword again, and thrusting viciously behind her. Viciously but never blindly. In her imagination her foe screams, the blade driven into her groin.



Now there are only two left. Her exercise is nearing its end. Her chest heaving from exertion, sweat covering her in a sheen reflecting the light from the fire. Muscles aching from the exercise. The fight must end and end soon.



With a last supreme effort she pushes down, leaping upwards. Powerful leg muscles propelling her nearly a foot above the ground. One fist lashing out and connecting with the raider standing to her left, stunning her. Her left leg lashing out at and knocking her back. A spin, left to right and the warrior woman to her left is down, intestines spilling from the almost surgical strike across her stomach.



The last warrior is dealt with just as quickly. The two swords pinning her to the ground as a shocked look spreads across her shadowy features. In her mind she can hear the anguished screams she has heard so many times on battlefields of the past. The screams, the moans, the sounds of the dying no longer bother her. The mad insanity of battle, the mad rush of red rage and bloodlust no longer trouble her.



She pulls the swords free of her last victim, the shadowy form quickly fading from her sight as she does so. All of her senses are alert searching for further threats as she assumes a defensive pose.



But of course there are none. There never were. She sinks to her knees, laying the swords carefully on the sand beside her.