For two weeks, the land of Jabali had been a blood-soaked arena, but it was not the swift conquest the Eldorians had envisioned. The Mau Mau warriors, fueled by a rage born of betrayal and desperation, fought like cornered leopards. Talaka, a blur of motion and raw fury, was at the heart of it all. He had not slept in fourteen days, nor had he eaten a full meal. He was a force of nature, a legend in the making. He and his warriors moved in a constant dance of death, their blades singing a bloody song as they carved through Eldorian ranks. They were outnumbered more than a hundred to one, yet the Eldorian army was dropping like flies. They had come to these lands expecting a swift takeover. Instead, they were facing a war of attrition against an enemy that simply refused to die. The Eldorians, a race of proud warriors who had conquered continents, could not fathom it. How could a few dozen men hold off their vast army? Their sheer numbers and discipline were supposed to overwhelm any foe, but the Jabalians were different. They fought not for coin or glory, but for their very existence.
In the heart of their command tent, a desperate plan was hatched. They would sacrifice 90% of their force to kill a handful of men. It was a testament to the fear Talaka had instilled in them. To see their plan through, they called on their most formidable warrior: Sir Sedric.
Word reached Talaka in the midst of a battle. A young boy, a scout from the village, ran to him with a single, breathless message: "Your wife, Lord! She is about to give birth!" The news was a cold splash of water on his burning fury. He cut a swath through the Eldorians and ran. He ran faster than he had ever run, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He burst into his home, a small hut on the outskirts of the battle, and found his wife already in labor. The village midwife looked up, her face etched with a familiar sorrow.
"My Lord," she said, her voice a hushed whisper. "We have done all we can. She will not survive the birth. The child… it is strong. But she…"
His world went silent. He looked at his wife, her face pale and glistening with sweat, and a fresh wave of pain hit him, sharper than any blade. It wasn't the pain of war; it was the cold, hollow agony of a man about to lose his everything. He held her hand, his thumb stroking her palm as the labor pains racked her body.
Then, a message arrived from a scout. A runner from the front lines burst into the hut. "My Lord! The Eldorians! They have reinforcements, and Sir Sedric is leading the attack. They are overwhelming our men!"
Talaka's face remained impassive, but his mind was a whirlwind. He looked at his wife, at the swollen belly that held his child, and then at his son, Tala, a small boy of four who was watching the scene with wide, frightened eyes. He knew what he had to do. He went to Tala and knelt before him.
"My boy, Tala," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "Listen to me, and listen good. Your mother… she will not be with us for much longer. I have to go back to fight. If I do not return, you must survive. You must grow strong and reclaim this land, not just for us, but for all our people." He took a necklace carved from a piece of his father's spear and a bracelet of braided leather and clasped them around the boy's neck and wrist. "You must survive for the people, and sorry if I won't be there for you right now, but you need to survive, together strong." He kissed his son's head, a final, tender blessing.
With a final surge of strength, his wife looked at her son. Her face, etched with pain, softened as her eyes filled with love. "Tala," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You are smart; you are brave; you are strong." She then reached up, took a single gold earring from her ear, and pressed it into his small hand.
He called for the village Nani. "You must take him," he said, his voice filled with urgency. He gave her a small, wooden box. "This is a new life," he said, "for him and his brother." Nani took the boy and the son of one of Talaka's fallen subordinates, Kofi, a small, frightened child. Talaka led them to the shores, which he knew were already being surrounded, but it was their only way. He handed them the box and said, "You must be strong, child," gave them a tight hug, gave them two Kangal puppies and a stray chick that had wandered nearby, and pushed the fishing boat out to sea. Nani turned and ran back, tears streaming down her face, praying for their safety as she rushed to help her mistress.
Back in the hut, he was there the whole time as his wife was giving birth. He held her hand, his grip never faltering, and together, they welcomed a baby girl into the world. He looked at his beautiful daughter, her skin the color of rich earth, and a single tear escaped his eye. "Naisha," he whispered, giving her the name that meant "born during the time of peace." He looked at his wife, who held a child she would never get to raise, and felt an immense sorrow for her. With her last bit of strength, she reached up and gave the other earring to the midwife to keep for the new baby. She gave them both a hug, a silent farewell. His wife drew her last, labored breath, and a sob escaped his chest. But there was no time to cry. He took the child and gave her to the Nani and called for his two trusted men, warriors who had stood by him through everything.
"Listen to me, my brothers," he said, his voice a low command, "you must take these children and go. Head to the desert. The shores are now crawling with Eldorians. This is my last command as your commander. You must get them to safety, no matter the cost."
The men nodded, their eyes filled with determination. They gave him a final salute and turned to run, disappearing into the cover of the dense forest. Talaka went to his dead wife, knelt, and said a final farewell. He instructed the midwife to carry out the burial rites and then rushed back toward the battle, a man with nothing left to lose. He ran back through the dense forest, the sounds of battle growing louder and louder with every step. The memory of his wife's final words and the weight of his children's survival filled him with a power that transcended exhaustion. He would not stop until his final breath.