The Warrior: A Short Story

Though scorching, her hands did not react, the skull of her mate, her lover, her friend in life.
His hand reached into the wicker basket removed two large red stones, placed a stone in each of the skull’s eye sockets. They began to glow, intensifying until they became fiery red staring into her eyes and soul. She breathes in the fragrance of incense and that of the cauldron’s brew, most pleasurable among fragrances her mate’s blood covering her body in its most natural state. She brought it to her moist, soft lips, kissed it. She began rubbing it between her breasts. Her body made love one last time to the one taken from her for forever. While she did, the shaman prepared the shrunken skin. Warrior’s facial skin he removes from the cauldron. With
Spiritual vapor, moisture from within the body explodes out toward family and others. His spirit now free, body consumed by flames, incinerates. Only black ashes remain traveling atop hot colorful swirling earth, as they disappeared into the island’s stomach, reclaimed to be born again as another tribal member. King and all solemnly gathered bowed their heads. Elizabeth’s face, pressed against bamboo bars, observed the procession as it returns from the cave. Lead by the king, eyes of the villagers were blood-red, a smile upon their faces as they departed with a joyous stride.
She wonders if they’re drunk, as they exit the cave their eyes, expressions appear different from those of intoxicated people. She had seen people at parties, including her father that had partaken of too many spirits, but never under the influence of a drug. Dehydrated, weakened were in need of water hurried to the stream. As the end neared, girls noticed the long pole. Four scorched ropes dangled from it the carrier missing, disturbed when at the end the warrior’s mate emerged nude covered in blood. The sunken face skin of the warrior dangles about between her