Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 3 - Tilling

395 B.C.E. - The Village of Falerri, South of the Acerian Valley, Deep Winter, Month of December

From Her Memory

Thania

Thania saw the looks thrown her way, the knowledge that the refugees made defending their city that much harder. The conditions this winter meant everyone would suffer as the Warlord burned their late autumn crops to ash.

Rumors abounded of a tribute for the Warlord, something to appease his taste for conquest without handing over the town.

The Tasuri belators came in the night, firing the farms on the sloping hillsides surrounding Falerri. Thania could see, just barely, the glint of metal, the shadows of horses as the enemy trampled everything that did not burn. Only two hours before nightfall they approached the city. The wails of the women nearly struck her dumb. Memories crashed over her, making her limbs quiver. 

She was in their shanty when the Falerri men came for them. Hard hands grabbed her and threw her outside to the ground, away from the flimsy structure. With horror, Thania watched her meager store of food disappear and wondered wildly if theft was their purpose. What would they eat if the townspeople turned on them?

"Stop, please, we will starve," Thania begged one of the men hovering over her threateningly.

The older man gave her a glance full of sympathy. "Ah, girl, ya won't be here to starve." He looked at her, her poor clothes, cobbled together inadequately, her too-thin face, her ripped and torn fingernails. "You're a pretty girl, some man will take you for his own," he murmured, as if to himself.

"What?" Thania stared at him, confused by his cryptic words.

He straightened and tugged her to her feet. His hand on her elbow was firm, uncompromising. "Remember that, girl. Some man will claim you, take you away. Just get through this first part, survive the Warlord."

Survive the Warlord? Were they not all trying to do the same? The man disappeared, and Thania's world became a blur of confusion, of cries of protest and shouts of defiance. The boy who saved her from her own burning village was struck down as he tried to run, other girls were screaming, rending their own hair as though mourning. Thania felt a strange weight settle on her wrists and glanced down, stupefied to see rope shackles linking them together in front of her.

"Oh, goddess, Enlil, save us," she breathed, over and over, as they were led to the central gates of the town. The short length of rope was just long enough to allow them to move, single file, without tripping over each other.

Outside of the rotting wooden gate lay a glittering expanse of shining copper and fluttering red banners. Only then did she understand that she was part of Falerri's tribute. A bribe. A slave for the Warlord of Rune.

Soon, Thania. Be brave.

It wasn't soon enough, yet seemed forever. Three days passed. Two other women were in the hut with Thania, their occasional sniffle the only evidence of their earlier tears. One, maybe two of them, had been taken out a few minutes hours ago, but they had not told the others what had occurred, and Thania had not asked.

She pulled her heavy skirts away from her ankles. They were heavy and stiff, reeking of sweat and blood and gods knew what else. They had once been a beautiful green, so long ago in her own village. A shade somewhere in between new leaves on the olive trees and the blue of the sea. They were stained brown in the semi-darkness, ruined. Her headscarf was missing, lost long ago in the tumult of the last three days. She felt exposed and vulnerable without it.

Thania could hear the muted sounds of men's voices and heavy treads outside. The hut's mud-brick walls softened the noise but hampered ventilation. It was utterly terrifying, the waiting, the knowledge that this may be peaceful, compared to what was to come.

Two voices grew closer to the hut's door, their language sounding barbaric and harsh. Tasuri. Instinctively she drew herself tighter to the wall of the tent, curling her body inward to make herself smaller. The door opened, the light spilling through causing her to flinch and look away. One of the shadowed figures moved towards her, rough hands grasping her arm roughly and dragging her out of the hut. Stumbling to a halt Thania found herself looking into the eyes of an older, well-dressed little Acera man, a moue of distaste on his face as he looked her over. The belator holding her said something, and the man nodded once. Reaching out he rubbed a strand of her hair between two of his fingers. Frowning now, he jerked his head to the side of the hut. Thania was propelled forward again, her feet finding no purchase on the packed dirt as the well-muscled soldier moved her. One of the other women bumped into her, trying to curl herself into Thania to escape her own tormentors, but was yanked back by the belator forcing her along.

In a small clearing behind the village, the trio of women were stopped and the small man gestured to Thania to disrobe. Frantically she shook her head, pulling hard on the hand at her arm. With a jerk, the belator yanked her back, the pressure making her gasp. Scowling the small man moved forward as Thania cringed away, expecting a blow. To her surprise, the little man let loose a furious barrage, scolding the soldier, who dropped her arm and took a step back, folding his arms across his chest. Watching him warily, Thania felt her robes being tugged. Gasping she turned back to the first man, who was now determinedly unwrapping her clothing. Another woman protested the loss of her clothing and was slapped for her efforts. Thania winced for her but held still as the man peeled away her soiled dress.

Shivering with fear and humiliation, Thania stood still as the little man poured icy water onto her, soaking her through before briskly rubbing her dry. Nude and cold, Thania and the other women were hustled towards the tents erected in what had been a fertile field of wheat only a week earlier. Sobs caught at her throat when the men propelled her into the largest tent, the tent of the Warlord himself.

"Marcus," a demon, larger than most even when not in his war form, his skin dark teak, glinting with a pattern that promised scales harder than stone, dark, silky hair curling slightly from his bent head, snapped at the funny little Acera man.

They said something to each other, their words spoken in their harsh, Tasuri tongue. Thania watched, feeling curiosity join the sense of dread in her heart, as the gods whispered to her.

Be kind to him.

Good gods. To whom? To... to... Thania felt her protest catch in her throat as the demon straightened to his full height. Cold, icy blue eyes, ringed in the lightest red, found her a moment later.

He strode forward, his steps far too quiet and lethal for such a large man. He said something else to the funny man, but all Thania understood was one word, "dea."

She spared a moment to wonder which goddess the demon-king was speaking of, before the infamous Warlord of Rune was reaching out to touch her.

Be his flame, Thania.