Harbinger

Heron was a strong boy, far stronger than even the best warrior in Callia’s tribe.

“Who is this child?” her husband asked.

“Ours,” she said.

He was the son of the harbinger, the bringer of war, but no one else needed to know that.

Not yet.

Callia offered the boy her hand.

The boy stared at the woman then at her. He pointed. “Momma.”

Callia crouched down beside him. “I will never be your mother, but I will love you like a son.”

The boy threw his arms around her, almost squeezing the breath from her chest.

As Callia helped the survivors of another destroyed village, the cries of a child lured her.

The boy was slightly older than her own daughter, and he crouched beside the body of a woman who had been a great beauty.

His hair was light. And when he turned to her, his gaze was bluer than the sky.

Callia married the shaman. He listened to her, believed her, and took her council.

Council that had done much to keep them neutral as conflict raged around them.

But even Callia feared the blood of her tribesmen would soon be shed.

And war did come.

Starting to the east of Callia’s people.

Few understood why tribes that had long been peaceful took up spear and bow.

But Callia knew.

Few believed her, but her father did. As did the shaman.

But Callia knew she spoke true.

And she would never forget the strange blue eyes of the harbinger.