Gzera And The Warrior God

CHAPTER THREE

When the hunter, Caleb, finally left, Gzera hummed a soft tune, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. She had meat now, and plenty of it. Her mind, ever practical, immediately turned to preparing it. She dragged the half of the antelope, still heavy and cumbersome, to a clear patch of ground behind the cottage. With a small, sharp knife she found among the warrior god’s sparse tools, she set about cleaning and butchering the meat with surprising efficiency, a skill honed by years of assisting in temple rituals that often involved offerings.

She then gathered a collection of flat, large stones and, using smaller pebbles, constructed a crude but effective fireplace outside. With a bit of kindling and some carefully placed larger sticks, she soon had a crackling fire going, the smoke curling lazily into the afternoon sky. She wrapped some of the cleaned meat in large, edible leaves she’d grown, creating neat little parcels.

Next, she ventured back to the burgeoning garden she had so recently willed into existence. Her eyes scanned the array of plants, searching for the right flavors. She recognized several herbs that were common in her own realm, their familiar scents a comfort in this strange land. Plucking fragrant leaves and delicate blossoms, she returned to her outdoor kitchen. Crushing the herbs between her palms, she rubbed them generously over the meat, infusing it with their aromatic essence. The savory scent, combined with the smoky aroma of the cooking fire, soon began to mingle and waft across the land, a new, tantalizing fragrance that had never before graced these barren hills.

It wasn’t long before another stranger appeared. This one was older, with a weathered face and hands calloused from hard work. He carried a long, bamboo pole and several gourds slung over his shoulder, the tell-tale signs of a palm wine tapper. His eyes, though tired, held a spark of curiosity as he approached the cottage, drawn by the same irresistible scent that had lured Caleb.

He paused at the edge of the clearing, his gaze falling upon Gzera, who was meticulously turning the meat parcels over the fire. He had heard whispers of the silent warrior’s home, a place of solitude, yet here was a beautiful woman, radiating an undeniable warmth, and cooking a feast that made his stomach rumble in protest.

“Good day, maiden,” he called out, his voice raspy from years of shouting across palm groves. “That is a most wondrous smell you have there. My stomach aches just from sniffing the air.”

Gzera looked up, her emerald eyes twinkling with amusement. Another one. It seemed her cooking was proving to be an excellent bargaining chip. “Good day to you too, sir,” she replied, her voice polite but firm. “Are you hungry?”

The tapper’s eyes lit up. “Famished, maiden. I’ve been tapping palms since dawn. A man needs sustenance after a long day’s work.” He gestured to his gourds. “I have fresh palm wine, if that would be of any interest.”

Gzera’s smile widened. Palm wine! She had heard tales of it in her realm – a sweet, potent drink. It would be a welcome addition to her growing pantry. “It is of great interest, good sir,” she said, her tone suddenly more enthusiastic. “I am Gzera. And I am willing to share my meal with you, but only if you share your palm wine with me.”

The tapper, whose name was Kojo, readily agreed. The smell of the food was simply too enticing to refuse such a simple exchange. He unhooked a gourd from his shoulder and offered it to her. The liquid inside was cloudy white, smelling sweet and faintly alcoholic.

Gzera poured some of the palm wine into a small, wooden cup she found, sampling it cautiously. It was indeed sweet, with a pleasant tang. Satisfied, she then served Kojo a generous portion of the roasted meat and some of her freshly grown vegetables.

Kojo took the plate, his eyes wide with anticipation. He took a bite, and his old eyes closed in pure bliss. “By the spirits!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. “This is food fit for the gods themselves! I’ve never tasted anything so… so perfect!” He ate with relish, savoring every mouthful, muttering praises between bites.

When he had scraped his plate clean, Kojo looked at Gzera with a hopeful, almost desperate expression. “Maiden, could I trouble you for a little more? Just a small portion?”

Gzera shook her head gently. “I’m afraid not today, Kojo,” she said, her voice regretful but firm. “I have a busy day ahead, and this is all I’ve prepared for now. However,” she continued, a familiar gleam in her eyes, “if you return tomorrow, with more of your excellent palm wine, then perhaps we can arrange for another meal. And perhaps, a larger portion.”

Kojo’s face fell for a moment, then brightened at her promise. More of this food? He would tap every palm tree in the forest if he had to. “I’ll be here!” he declared, his voice filled with newfound vigor. “Tomorrow, before the sun reaches its peak! And I’ll bring you the freshest, sweetest palm wine you’ve ever tasted!” With a grateful nod, he hoisted his gourds back onto his shoulder and set off, whistling a jaunty tune, the taste of Gzera’s cooking lingering on his tongue.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, the silent warrior god made his way back to his cottage. His muscles ached from a day of fruitless labor on his stubborn land. He was tired, hungry, and resigned to another meager meal of dried rations. The usual silence of his remote home stretched before him, a familiar companion.

But as he drew closer, a strange sensation prickled at his senses. A smell. Not the usual scent of dry earth and pine, but something far more complex, far more inviting. It was the rich aroma of roasted meat, infused with an array of fragrant herbs, mingled with the sweet, yeasty tang of fermenting fruit, and something else… something warm and comforting. His nostrils flared, trying to identify the source of this improbable feast. It was coming from his cottage.

A frown creased his brow. Had someone dared to invade his solitude? A surge of his latent power, a deep, primal anger, began to stir within him. He quickened his pace, his long strides covering the ground swiftly, the greatsword on his back seeming to hum with anticipation. He rounded the last bend, and there it was – smoke curling from his chimney, and that intoxicating aroma filling the air.

He pushed open the cottage door, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword, ready for whatever intruder he might find. His eyes swept across the main room. The table, usually bare, was laden with an array of dishes: a platter piled high with roasted meat, steaming bowls of vibrant vegetables, and a large gourd brimming with a milky white liquid that smelled distinctly of palm wine. It was a veritable feast.

And then he saw her.

Gzera was in his bedroom, which was just a small alcove off the main living space. She was sitting on his bed, meticulously folding his clothes. His rough, practical tunics, his worn leather breeches, even his thick wool cloaks – all neatly folded and stacked. And draped around her slender body, like a loose, impromptu dress, was one of his own oversized tunics, far too big for her, yet somehow endearing. Her hair, the color of moonlight, cascaded over the dark fabric, and a small, humming tune escaped her lips as she worked. She was completely oblivious to his presence, lost in her task.

The warrior god froze in the doorway, his hand still on his sword. The anger, the irritation, the ingrained solitude that had defined his existence for so long – it all seemed to dissipate, replaced by a bewildering mix of confusion and something else, something akin to reluctant awe. A beautiful, reckless priestess, who had arrived on his land by magic, had not only tamed his barren soil but had now managed to turn his spartan, solitary home into a place of warmth, abundance, and an undeniable, infuriatingly pleasant domesticity. And she was wearing his clothes.

He stood there for a long moment, the scent of the feast filling his senses, the sight of Gzera, humming contentedly in his tunic, burning into his mind. This was not the life he knew. And yet, for the first time in a very long time, his empty, lonely cottage felt… alive.