Bedisa’s Fever Dream

The last thing Bedisa remembered was how terrible she felt. A fever so hot she thought her eyes would melt. Even now, comatose she could the burning. The burning of the fever but also a blazing rage inside her. She needed vengeance, only that would extinguish this fire. The screams and smoke still filled her memories. An inferno of a thousand tongues licked the sky the day her family died. She could still see the banners waving, embroidered with a red, headless ox on a black field. Could still see her father begging with the one-eyed man for mercy, not for himself but for us. Could still see the sword sticking out his back, slick and red with blood. Her mother screamed “Run Bedisa, Run!” Bedisa turned and as she ran out the back door, her mother’s shriek pierced the air. Bedisa wanted desperately to stop but knew that if she did she would not escape. Another cry from her mother went out. They had not killed her yet, instead, they would have their amusement with her. Bedisa didn’t think, her legs knew where to go, her head would only get in the way. Minutes may as well have been hours or seconds, Bedisa couldn’t tell the amount of time she spent sprinting through the city streets and alleys, all she knew was she needed to run. She managed to escape the city but still, she ran, until her legs felt like rubber, bending and swaying. Only then did she stop. Only then did she cry.

The one-eyed man was all she could see after that. Every detail of his had been seared into her brain. A full head and a half taller than her father, an admittedly short man. Brown, flowing hair down to his midchest with his one eye matching it. A scar running vertically across his face where his other eye had been. And a banner with a red, headless ox on a black field.