Krilla Has Her Way. 4.3k Fantasy. A kidnapped girl craves revenge. (standard:adventure, 4062 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 25 2020	Views/Reads: 1455/979	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is one of the stories I wrote about a writer named Pujal's imaginary world of Odia. It is a world he created for a small critique site I used to own. Members would write stories according to his instructions.

Krilla huddled in the confines of a shallow cave, reading a tattered and
torn book that had somehow found its way to her home in the desert 
reaches of the planet Odia. It was about life in the big city of 
Elksta, far to the east – a place she had never seen and no doubt never 
would. 

Her home was in the vast dunes at the northern end of the continent.
Sand and almost constant dry winds were her environment. The teenager 
lived in a small wind-carved stone valley between high cliffs.  The 
valley was swept clean by constant winds, sand piling up against its 
outer walls and flowing around the small clearing.  Water bubbled from 
a spring emerging from a rocky hillside, protected inside a concave 
area carved over the centuries. It was not a comfortable setting, but 
much better than hundreds of miles of sand dunes and arid plains 
outside the small natural enclave. 

Her tribe of about a hundred Bryllon had escaped torture and certain
death hundreds of years earlier when a renegade named Yuron had been 
trying to form a new planetary government.   The interloper had been 
drawing nearer their former home with his army, causing her father to 
flee with family and friends to avoid annihilation. 

At least they still had their freedom, although forsaking most of the
comforts of civilization. They worshiped the God Lyran, the "Child of 
Life," preferred over the Dread Pidon, the "God of Destruction."  Yuron 
had been an exponent of Pidon, wanting endless war with other tribes 
and races of Odia. 

The sounds of eternal winds went largely unnoticed by Krilla, since
she'd heard them all her life, but she did hear a cracking sound as a 
canvas over the entrance to her home slid aside. 

Krilla continued reading about luxurious living in the big city,
yearning to experience the entertainment and leisure promised by a 
yellowing magazine brought in by a long-gone trader. 

“Krilla, girl.  Why isn't supper ready?” her father asked, shaking sand
off himself and onto the floor, which was never clear of it no matter 
how much she swept. “What have you been doing? Do I have to keep my 
eyes on you all day long?” 

“I was lost in this book, Pa,”  she admitted, eyes downcast. “It seems
like another world, back East. Why can't we at least visit?  The food 
is ready, not set out is all. Where did you get those phiiny greens, I 
haven't seen any for ages?" She tried to change the subject. 

The girl, somewhat unwillingly, put her magazine down and set the supper
table for her father. Krilla's mother had contracted an unknown 
disease, probably spread by one of the few trade caravans that braved 
the sand, heat, and wind to shelter briefly in their valley.  The 
mother was currently staying at the healer's hut, to keep from 
spreading the illness. 

There were a few popular food plants growing in the forests and plains
to the west and north of the deserts.  They, as well as valuable 
minerals were needed in the heavily populated eastern end of the 
continent. Their valley served as a watering stop for caravans on their 
long journeys. 

“I was lucky in finding these greens.  Armmmani and his convoy came
through here yesterday. He paid for his water with them. Enough for all 
of us, but you better use them quickly. They won't keep very long in 
this heat.”  He ignored her question about visiting the East. The trip 
would take weeks and for what? He might even be put into prison if his 
religious beliefs were found out. Those damn war-mongers weren't to be 
trusted. 

The gamy taste of heavily-spiced Ammri meat assailed his tongue,
reminding her father that he was to join a hunting expedition the next 
morning. The village's meat supply was both old and scarce. The older 
the meat, the more spices needed to cover the taste. 

The Ammrii and Suurii they hunted were swift but dimwitted and could be
slowed down by Bryllon mental powers. If a number of Bryllon hunters 
concentrated their minds on one animal, it would become confused, 


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