TOSKA | Sihtric Kjartansson

𝐈𝐈.

Somewhere on the Danube river, 874

ZVORA HAD NEVER BEEN ON A SHIP BEFORE — she had not even seen one this enormous before the man that had hauled her over his shoulder had dropped her off on one. She could have smelled the river if she had wanted to but there was too much blood near her nose, on her lips and in her mouth and whenever she would open her eyes she could barely see anything but the red spots that clouded her vision.

The pain was unbearable, Zvora writhed and whimpered and rocked her body on the ground until nausea conquered her mind.

She forgot the prayers her brothers had told her, hoping that their God would hear her nevertheless as she prayed for someone to end her suffering; she prayed to the gods of her mother in case the other didn't hear her.
But the pain didn't stop. 

Maybe the gods had abandoned her for what she had done.

She wouldn't blame them if they had.

"YOU NEED TO EAT."

   A stern voice awoke Zvora who had curled herself up against one of the wooden walls at the end of the ship. She tried opening her eyes and realised that her left one was swollen shut.

Even blinking sent painful shivers down her spine and everything close to her mouth felt raw and as if her skin had been peeled off from her flesh.

A girl crouched in front of her, holding a wooden bowl in her hands that was filled with something that Zvora didn't recognise. She eyed Zvora suspiciously, inspecting her face and almost twisting her own face into a sneer.

"Here." The girl didn't wait for Zvora to take it from her but placed it on the ground to her feet instead. "Eat," she said again, slowly standing up again and looking down at her.

"If you eat you get medicine." The girl left.
Zvora understood her, surprisingly so, but her accent had been thick; she could've imagined her saying the medicine part. Zvora knew she needed something, her head hadn't stopped throbbing since the dagger had pierced her skin and she felt awfully hot and cold at the same time.

Someone had thrown a dirty cloth into her direction and she had used it to press it against her wounds but it had only worsened the pain. Zvora remembered her mother once caring for a wounded warrior of their settlement and knew that the wound had to be cleaned properly or it would get infected.

Some part of her wanted to beg them to get her help. To scream and to cry for them to turn their attention to her, so that they would pity her and find it in their hearts to help her.

Another part of her wanted them to do nothing. A part of her needed them to watch until the infection would've succeeded to rot her away.

Zvora moaned in pain as she tried to sit up properly, the pain turning everything upside down.

And then everything went dark while she slumped unconsciously against the wall again.
No one came.

And no one pitied her.

ZVORA AWOKE, THIS TIME WITH HER OWN VOMIT RESTING NEXT TO HER.