Sada..Muri...The wind whispered.

“Sada!” the sudden breeze whirled around the young women as they stooped the sheaves of hay.

Ruda turned, brushing hair only a shade lighter than the hay, from her face. “Hello?”

“Finally, a breeze.” beside her, Elisa pressed her hands to the small of her back and stretched. She turned into the wind closing her eyes against the dusting of chaff.

“Did you hear that?” Ruda frowned, searching about the field.

A few yards away she recognized Auntie Dee bent tying the bundle of hay at her feet, while her youngest granddaughter pulled a sheave upright.

Row after row of the upright hay stalks lined the field, the tidy results of the village women’s long morning work. 

Before the women, their menfolk welded scythes in smooth sweeping motions.

“Hear What?” Elisa pulled at her scarf, letting the wind lift her black curls while she wiped her face.

“Sada..Muri….”

Ruda swirled with the whisper. 

Elisa frowned at her work partner. “Are you alright?”

Sada. Muri… Ruda rolled the words in her mind. It was the old tongue. Sada was bad. , that was not right. Not bad, but evil. Her Grandmama spoke the old tongue, and had tried to teach it to her children and grandchildren.

“Sada..Muri…”

“Sada.” Ruda muttered. “Muri.

“Sada?” Elisa brushed the chaff from her curls. “Are you sun touched? Wait, I know that other word. Muri.”

Sada. Evil. Ruda remembered the word from a favorite story Grandmama would tell by the evening fire. 

“Muri. The word from the welcoming ceremony? It means here? What is this about, Ruda?”

“No, not here..comes. Evil comes. “Ruda turned to her companion. “Elisa, we must leave."

“Why?” Elisa pulled back as Ruda moved past her, her eyes wide and frightened. She grabbed her by the wrist. “What are you about, Ruda?” She gestured towards the other workers. “We can not just leave. We are only half done with this field.”

“The wind, Elisa. It is speaking.”

“The wind is speaking?” Elisa studied her. God’s Bones, you are sun touched. Sit down here. I will get Auntie Rue; she is just over there.”

Ruda crumbled upon the hay covered ground, nodding, “Aye, that must be the thing. Sunstroke. Aye.”

Elisa draped her scarf over Ruda’s blond head and patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll get water. I’ll be right back.”

Elisa started for the edge of the field and a group of older women sitting on stoops, buckets of water and baskets rolls of bread at their feet. These were the elder women of the village tasked with tending minor wounds and keeping the workers watered and fed. 

As she neared the group, Elisa noticed one bend figure standing apart from the group. One elderly woman facing into the wind, her black widow’s scarf lifting in the light breeze.

Elisa recognized Ruda’s Grandmama Bulfa, and start towards the woman.

As she drew near, she could see the old woman’s thin lips move.

Elisa gave a respectful nod, but the old woman did seem to notice her. The old rummy eyes squinted into the wind.

“Grandma Bulfa.”

“Sada.” The old woman croaked.

Elisa started with a gasp and the old eyes turned and on her.

“Where is Ruda?”

Stunted Elisa could only fling a hand towards the field. Then, she stilled her movement. “I left her in the field. Grandma, she said the wind said Sada. And then she said Mara.”

“Muri.”

“Yes. Muri.”

Grandma Bulfa turned to the village elders, siting at the edge of the field smoking their pipes and watching their progeny tend the harvest.

“Friends.” She called in a surprising bold voice. “SADA MURI.”

The group was still for a moment, before with a sigh one old man bent to take a scythe leaning on the barrel beside him. He was joined by his peers, both male and female.

Grandma Bulfa took a mean looking bale hook offered her and took the lead of the elderly armed group and headed out into the field.

Elisa moved with the group uncertain of her roll.

Suddenly, a strong wind swept over the field.

A foul smell rose with the lifted chaff and dirt, stinting Elisa’s nose and eyes.

Through squinted eyes, Elisa could see man move in the whirlwind.

Hamish, a farmer from the edge of the forest, stumbled towards her, and Elisa grabbed his outstretched hand without thinking. His hand was hot, and Elisa looked down at it when it slipped from her grasp.

Blood covered Hamish’s palm and stained his work smock from fingertip to elbow.

Hamish crumbled at her feet. Elisa saw blood spreading from his right leg and realized the man’s leg was dangling on the ground, barley attached at the knee.

Her scream brought the attention of Grandma Bulfa’s group.

Hamish’s breath came in rapid, shallow gasps and his eyes wide when Grandma Bulfa leaned down to tend him.

“Liam.” His voice shook “He killed Hariana.”

Hamish frowned. “One moment, we were reaping. The next moment, Liam just turned back towards the women.” His eyes widened. “He just swung at them. He killed Hariana. Dishra screamed and ran.”

He looked up at Grandma Bulfa. “I asked him why. He just grinned and swung at me.”

Grandma Bulfa stood for a moment before giving a brisk nod. “Sada Muri.” She stated.

Hamish looked up at the old woman in silence, his raspy breathing the only sound. “I do not speak the old tongue, Grandma.”

“Evil has come.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Other workers began to gather together against the sudden wind storm. Many bore wounds and similar stories as Hamish.

Grandma Bulfa’s group continued through the field their number reinforced now.

As abruptly as it rose the wind died, leaving the hay field in a sudden silent haze of brown and yellow hue.

In the gloom there stood men. Some stood next to each other, while others stood like lone pillar in the hay field. Everyone held a bloody scythe.

One lone man stood blowing like a bull, gripping the handle of a scythe, the lethal blade buried deep in the ground.

His bloodshot eyes followed Grandma Bulfa as she stalked up to stand silent before him.

The old woman folded her hands and let the bale hook dangle.

Suddenly, the man’s face crumbled with grief.

His mouth widened letting out a high scream before building to a bellow.

All around the field the reapers took up the anguished roar.                       

Elisa stumbled in the field, her hearing muffled and her nerves frayed by the events of the day.

Ten women and five men lay dead in among the sheaves, many cut down by their own kinfolk.

Ruda was right where Elisa had left her, Elisa’s scarf still draped over her head.

“I know.” Ruda looked up at her with sad eyes. “The wind said Sada…Distra.. Evil. Gone.”