The Shadow of Axum
The dust of the ancient Ethiopian plain swirled over burnt-orange landscapes, streaked with jagged black rocks, as the horn blew again. A battle cry—or perhaps a warning. Tareni adjusted her turban and narrowed her eyes against the sun. She tugged on the emerald-green sash cinched tightly around her waist and strode towards the cliff edge where the scent of fire and blood churned in the crisp, highland air. Her leather sandals kicked up pebbles on the rugged terrain, but her movements were deliberate, her strides graceful and assured.
In place of the comforts of a sleek black leather jacket and fitted jeans, Tareni now wore a robe-like habesha kemis—its gray tones subtly streaked with the softer hues of the morning mist. Emerald patterns adorned the hems in intricate swirling filigree, a nod to her ancestors. Around her neck, a simple silver amulet dangled, reflecting flashes of sunlight, an heirloom passed through her bloodline. Despite the world around her teetering on the edge of chaos, Tareni’s striking outfit combined historical elegance with an aura of command, her belt’s bold green hue a declaration of defiance.
Beyond, the city of Axum rose like a titan out of myth. Stelae—tall, carved stone obelisks—pierced the sapphire sky, their shadows cutting across palaces of carved rock and humble mudbrick homes below. Within the protective ring of its ancient walls, the city trembled. Horns sounded again, this time closer. The ground beneath Tareni’s feet seemed to hum as the air grew heavy with the anticipation of violence.
“This won’t hold the lion’s teeth for long,” said a voice behind her. Tareni turned her head slightly, her turban shifting. A young boy, no older than fourteen seasons, stood at attention with wide, fearful eyes. His own attire marked him as an unlikely soldier—a tattered tunic and a faded sash that had once been golden but now hung dull and lifeless. Treachery had reduced even the nobles to desperate measures.
“It will hold long enough,” Tareni replied without faltering. Her voice rang clear, edged with authority. “Our ancestors protected this city when the invaders crossed the waters. They carved victory with their bare hands and wit. We’ve inherited more than stone monuments, Tewabe. Remember that.”
The boy nodded, though uncertainty still clouded his face. Tareni knew she could not allow herself the luxury of doubt. Not now. Not when the roar of horses thundered just beyond the hills and the metallic glints of approaching spears winked in the sunlight like cold judgment.
From beneath her vibrant sash, Tareni drew a falcata—an ancient curved sword. Its blade gleamed fiercely, even in the muted light. The green of her belt almost seemed to reflect in its edge, as if binding her destiny to the steel. She raised it high, shouting words that carried across the craggy cliffs and down into the trembling city below.
“We will fight for Axum! For the verdant lands and the rivers that stitch us together. For tomorrow. For what we believe in!”
The warriors that had gathered below raised their weapons in response, and their voices cracked like thunder against the rustic hills. Tareni could feel her heart pounding beneath her robes, but she mastered it, clutching the hilt of her weapon with white-knuckled resolve. Years of diplomatic training and shadows in court whispered little of this day would come. Yet here it was—after peace had split wide open. Betrayal’s knife cut deeper than any enemy blade.
And the enemies were relentless. When the first wave arrived—nomadic raiders with steely eyes and banners flapping like raven wings—the clash of steel and muscle erupted in ferocious cadence. Axum’s defenders swung their swords and raised shields carved from past campaigns. But against their brutality, Tareni was electric. She carved her own path through the chaos. The hem of her robe swirled like a restless storm as she spun and struck down two attackers in swift arcs. Blood splattered against the soft greys and green of her attire, merging the past with the violent present.
A blade narrowly missed her shoulder as she ducked low, maneuvering like a swan darting through a maelstrom. Each step was calculated yet fluid, her silhouette hauntingly elegant against the battlefield backdrop. Behind her, Axum’s great obelisks loomed silent witnesses to the carnage, the eyes of ancestors watching with both pride and sorrow.
Hours passed in drumming chaos, and the dust grew thicker—so much so that it swallowed the stelae and sky. Tareni could not tell where the enemy ended and her allies began. It wasn’t until the final cry of a horn pierced the air, signaling the retreat of the invaders, that the battlefield fell eerily still. Bodies lay sprawled across the blood-soaked ground, but Axum held firm. Tareni stood at its heart, falcata hanging limply in her hand. Her chest heaved, her gray robes ripped, smeared with crimson. Her determined green belt was the only color that had not faded in the struggle.
“We endure…” she whispered to herself. And to her city.
The cries of the wounded broke through the haze. Her moment of rest was short-lived as she turned, lifting a wounded elder from the ground with care. Even in her exhaustion, her aura of confidence remained—unshaken, unyielding. Later, as night blanketed the city and the fires of mourning and victory merged in equal measure, she would strategize anew. Axum would rise, no matter the cost.
Genre: Historical Fiction
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Black Leather Jacket, Gray Turtleneck, and Indigo Jeans for Urban Chic Winter Elegance
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