My Viking Captor

The Calm (Prologue)

            "Sahara wake up." my mother said as she stroked my face. I kept my eyes closed while snuggling into her touch.  " Your porridge will get cold, and this time I will not make you a new bowl." she whispered endearingly. I felt her weight lift from my cot with the sound my eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the light streaming through the window. I slowly trudged out of bed, and put on my clothes. I wore a simple dress although it was not very flattering it was what we could afford. I was content with my life at the moment, something I hadn't been able to say for years. I braided my inky black hair; as much as I tried I always managed to leave a few curly tendrils out.  I walked to the small rickety table across the hut, and started to eat breakfast.
       My mother walked around the small one room hut sweeping the dirt floor, while humming the tune of lullaby she had sung to me as a child. She told me that when my father first brought her to Vertlea it was all she had to remind her of her own mother; who belonged to a tribe miles away.  Hurry honey you mustn't be late to Gambaro's house. I worked in the kitchen at the tribe leaders palace it was a fine job. He offered it to me when my father had died. My father had worked as a stonemason in the palace, and as a courtesy he offered. He had a distaste for me personally, seeing my skin was too dark to be acceptable much less tasteful. I always found it funny how varying shades of brown were more acceptable than other. My skin had never bothered me ,my mother and father always told me it was beautiful.

             I knew that even though I had no problem with it, others did. I was four years past the age for marriage. I knew I was a burden to my mom by marrying I would be able to bring her into an acceptable household. In which she wouldn't have to work on the streets as a vendor in her late age.  With each year that passed after my fourteenth my hope faded of being in love, finding husband, and bearing kids.  All of those things I wanted very badly but I knew for a girl with no noble bearings, and beauty unacceptable to my own, it was just a charming dream. I finished breakfast, and hurried out the door giving my mother a kiss on the check. I ran down the streets of Cantanoa knowing I only had but a few minutes till full sunrise. I had been late once and the lady of the house Mrs.Gambaro struck me across the face. The city was rural but cramped huts lined the small winding streets and behind the huts is the picturesque view of miles of farmland. My breathe became strangled as the palace came into view, and the sun started to creep directly above me. I ran to the back door and tumbled down the hallways. The smell of guava and cinnamon was potent in the air, as I made my way into the kitchen.

            "Late again Sahara that's the second time. Your lucky it was me or else you would have gotten a tanning on your hide." The head cook Garnet chimed. She was a heavyset woman with warm amber skin. She was too sweet for her own good, and was the only other person I could confide in besides my mom.

             I got to work preparing meals along side Garnet as the hours rolled full of laughter and taunting. The kitchen was a place I always enjoyed, maybe it was just because of the company, but I had a feeling the food also had something to do with it.  The workday ran to a close. I said goodbye as I strolled out the door. As I was walking home  I smelt a strange smoky scent lingering in the air. A scent that I only smelled when the were clearing the fields for a new harvest, but I was more than aware that harvest was but months away. I ignored the sign ignorantly although it followed me home like a bad omen.

             I got home and stepped in silently my mom was asleep on the cot across the hut. I grabbed the wash basin and filled it with water from a bucket. I took off my clothes and place it on the wardrobe. I started to bathe the cold water giving me Goosebumps.  After I rinsed of I put on some lavender oil. It was the only scent that could lull me to sleep. Out of curiosity I grabbed the hand mirror that lay on the wardrobe and looked at myself. I couldn't understand why I was an unsuitable wife regardless of my skin tone. I had often been told I would be beautiful if I had a different skin tone. I had wide supple hips strong enough for child rearing, a shapely waist, and moderately sized pert breast.  I put away the mirror fast ashamed for looking at my body in such a way. My mother always told me to be modest and conceal my body for it could be the source of great narcissism.  I slipped on my robe and hopped into the cot. As I snuggled into the warmth of my moms body, I felt as though the binding holding together my life of contentment was in jeopardy

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