Authors: Multiple
Chapter 15
As
Mirella approached the Raven Guard’s headquarters where her other sisters
received their orders, she heard the noise of heavy breathing. Rushing inside
she saw Svella there alone, panting and looking strained as her knees were
spread. She grimaced and looked to her, “Sister... it is time,” she groaned.
“Finally,”
Mirella intoned, placing the letter aside as she moved to her friend. “This is
a sign of things to come, Svella. You will give birth to a child of God, and we
will bring Him home,” she stated, her confidence returned. She’d never
delivered a child, but she’d helped once or twice when others were desperate,
and she quickly began barking orders.
The
rush of activity that came as the other woman obeyed her, gathering what was
needed. Mirella may not have done this before, but the other women of the Guard
certainly had. It was something they’d shared for some time now, and she needed
only stand back and watch as they rushed to do what needed done.
Chapter 16
When
finally Svella cradled her new son she was more exhausted then Mirella had ever
seen her. The pregnancy was long, going on for hours on end, and she’d lost a
lot of blood. But the large boy, so dark, so much like his father, seemed to
please the mother greatly. “He will be proud,” she stated to Mirella again with
confidence on her uncharacteristically weak voice, a smile on her lips as the
other women watched enviously.
Mirella,
however, was only pleased for her friend. She had feared that she’d feel that
jealousy, that deep feeling of loathing, but instead she was only grateful that
mother and child made it through, safe.
“I will
see to it that He’s home to see him soon,” Mirella said softly, pressing her
lips to Svella’s forehead. “Rest. I have to find a wise man.”
Svella
was too weary to question that, instead she just gave a wry laugh as if her
friend were up to some shenanigans again. The other women however, took her
seriously and they rushed to her call.
It
wasn’t long before they had formed up behind her as their troops, and they
marched into the streets. The Ka’reem warriors typically rode on horseback at
all times, but in the city and on such a mission as this they went by foot
instead.
She led
them through the damaged streets of Ariste, its beautiful white stonework
chipped, damaged or otherwise burnt by the invasion and the quakes. Its people
were hiding, for though the main force of the occupation army was gone, they
still feared the tall Amazonian warriors in their terrifying black raiment.
Mirella
didn’t have to search long. For though the largest, richest homes had been
confiscated for the Ka’reem occupiers, the commoners still had their church.
She heard their prayers even from outside, and as they pushed in she saw him.
Priest Quaylin, fat off the wealth of others as he preached from the pulpit.
Her
eyes were hard, that green gaze falling on the slob of a man. She wondered how
much he was getting, or thought he’d be getting, for saving the poor Princess.
Her arms folded across her chest, across the raven feathered garb as she
scanned the crowd, listening to his sermon.
The hall
was rich, for though it allowed commoners Ariste was a beautiful city
regardless, and would not suffer worshippers to go into a less than beautiful
space. From out of the spiralling columns she heard the echo of the priests
voice travel down to her. “The gods shall gift to us freedom, my children! Hold
true to your faith and the line of rightfully appointed rulers, and you shall
be delivered unto the bliss you once had and deserve.”
The
dozens who were there were listening attentively, and she noticed amongst them
some former nobles, now dressed in more raggedy clothing as they were forced to
live like commoners. “A test from above!” cried the priest. “Our faith in their
will has waned, and so they’ve taken their holy children from us by the
unleashing of these dogs from the north! Show your true loyalty to the gods,
restore your true rulers and they shall reward your faithfulness.”
She
didn’t feel pity for the formerly privileged, who had slung insults and ignored
her as something less than human. Like a dog. Like the northerners. She was
nothing to them in the great halls, and in the beautiful church, they were
nothing to her.
Nothing
but heretics to her God.
“Priest
Quaylin,” she said as she entered the hall. “I need to speak with you.”
Silence
took over the chapel, silence but for the echoing boot steps of over a dozen
armed Raven Guard marching down the leviathan halls of the chapel. The priest
went wide-eyed and slack-jawed, his bald head sinking down. “T-traitor,” he
managed out, though the word barely managed to carry through the room, despite
his earlier bombasticity.
It was
true. She stood out as a traitor amidst the Raven Guard. They were all
statuesque pale women, she was short, darker skinned.
“You’ve
betrayed your own people for wealth and fortune. Surely I’m just following in
your footsteps, oh wise one,” she hissed bitterly.
Her
devoted sisters marched quickly, passing her, flanking her side and keeping the
parishioners at bay as she strode towards the altar.
The
priest backed away, and looked towards the rear doors. “Rise up, my fellow
Aristeans! Spread the word! Your true leaders shall be restored and you shall
be rewarded!” The hall was struck dumb and silent though, they watched, weak
and hungry in disbelief as this last sacred ground was violated.
She
turned her back on the priest, instead looking towards the supplicants. “There
is no help. This is life, and you are not comfortable with it. I appreciate
that. You may not remember me, but I know toil. I know torment, and for more
than thirty years, I’ve served. I’ve scrounged. I’ve gone to bed hungry and
sore, stained from the day and with the knowledge that it will only happen
again the next. And the day after.”
Mirella’s
voice gained confidence and power as she spoke to the former nobles and commoners,
“I still serve. I still work hard, tirelessly, for my betters. The difference
is that now, my betters deserve their place. They’ve fought for it, and won it.
They’ve known the pleasure and pain of hard work, of dedication. Of power hard
won and harder kept. This man knows only greed. Envy. He wishes he were born
like you, into a home of wealth and tidings, and instead he is forced to take
from others. To lie to them. Manipulate them.”
She
turned back towards the priest, her emerald eyes turned stony, “God does not
care for thieves.”
The
people were stunned by her outburst, and as she lectured them the priest turned
and ran for the back door, screaming as he left. “Rise up!” he cried, though
the people in the chapel instead screamed and panicked themselves. They tried
to run around the pews and take off into the streets. There were so many of
them the Raven Guard couldn’t hope to contain them entirely, instead they
focussed on containing those they could.
“Useless
Aristeans,” Mirella muttered, looking around idly at the tidings of the old
religion, and she wondered briefly if the Princess would hear of this. She
fingered the letter as she began to walk out the back door, following after the
priest as she took in the panic around her.
The
door led to a hallway that went down into the basement, and two of her Guard
sisters joined her. “We’ll apprehend him, sister,” they said with respect,
taking off down the stairs after the portly old man. Those were fit
guardswomen, not showing signs of pregnancy, and she had no doubt they would
catch up to him before long.
She
trusted them. It was a new feeling, for even in her life before, she’d never
trusted the other servants. Even those she called her friends, she understood
that they would take from her if they needed it badly enough, yet these women
that were so sceptical at first had become something stronger. As she moved
back into the church, she settled into one of the benches, her eyes going up
along the beautiful architecture, and for a brief spell, she felt at peace.
She
felt closer to her God—the God-King—and before she even realized
she was doing it, she had spoken a modified prayer, bidding his safe return. It
had only taken a moment, but it felt good.
Chapter 17
They
hadn’t even gotten the priest back to the palace when chaos began to break
loose in the city below. The fleeing former-nobles spread word of the
desecration of the altar and the apprehension of the priest and the lower
classes—already hungry and desperate—were pushed to their limits.
At the
top of the hill Mirella had looked back and saw the swarms of people move
through Ariste’s winding roads, torches and whatever implements to use as
makeshift weapons that they could find.
Arriving
into the tent that formerly housed the God-King’s concubines but was now the
concubine-warriors headquarters, the other women were buzzing about getting
ready. They were small in number compared to the masses of revolting citizens
below, but they were highly trained and battle hardened.
One of
the younger members of their order came up to Mirella and saluted with a
pounded fist to her chest. “Sister!” she called, “We are mustering together our
forces here. We’ve pulled back our patrols to await your orders,” she
explained. Svella was nowhere in sight, she realized, leaving her the one they
were turning to.
“When
the God-King returns, he will find this city to be truly his,” she promised as
she strode confidently towards the other women. She hadn’t a lot of battle
experience, but she knew the Aristeans. Their panic. Their fear.
They
were falling, just like her former home had fallen, and they were making a last
ditch effort to save themselves through self-destruction. “Any who refuses to
swear to the God-King will be made example of.”
The
Raven Guard—those concubine-warriors and religious zealots—threw up
their fists and cheered to her words. Their enthusiasm had not dimmed. Not in
the least.
~~
The
coming days put that to the test. The same young recruit who’d met her on her
return from the cathedral that day met her again, breathless as always as she
delivered her news at such a galloping pace. “Sister,” she said saluting, “we
can’t pin the rebels down. They attack us from homes and alleyways without any
pattern we can find. We can’t catch them in an open battle. They hurl arrows,
rocks and anything they can get at us but disappear before we can strike back
decisively,” she said, frustration obvious on her youthful features. Nimala, as
Mirella had come to know her, looked to her for guidance.
She’d
grown more comfortable in her role, more confident, and even at the advancing
stages of her pregnancy, she’d been kept busy with stamping out what fires she
could. She would do her God’s work, and was grateful for the task.
She
stood staring out the window and flicked the token the princess had given her
between her fingers. “They have archaic magics, and who knows how they’re
communicating. I think we can lure them,” Mirella paused her motions. “We need
to send a message to the rebels, that there’s a weak point. Freedom. A way to
reclaim their Princess and their supplies. Find the old aqueduct, Nimala. See
to it they find out about their path to glory. I trust you can see to the fact
that they won’t survive after that?” she asked.
The
tall but relatively slender woman blinked, “In a battle the Raven Guard shall
not fail, sister,” she said without hesitation. “But... how will we get them to
believe such a ruse?” Like most of her other sisters, Nimala did not grasp
subtleties of warfare like subterfuge.
She
pulled out the paper that the princess had given her, eyes scanning over the
words, “Just plan the trap, sister. I’ll have a letter within the hour that
will convince them.”
Chapter 18
Things
moved quickly from there. The city was lit up again by torches and fires as she
made her way down to the old section of the city. None of the other Raven Guard
could be used for such a mission. They were too obvious, their height and
features marking them as towering northerners. And whom amongst the Aristean’s
could she trust for such a vital mission?
Donning
the ratty old robes she wore to see the princess, that could do little to hide
her pregnancy, she approached the crumbling old aqueduct structure. It looked
unused, the stonework jutting out of the Aristean Mountains. It wasn’t until
she had wandered about there for some time looking for the entrance that she
heard a voice, harsh and masculine. “What’re you doin’ wandering around out
here?”
“The
Princess sent me,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she
wasn’t being followed. She’d become such a natural actress in such a short
period of time, though really, wasn’t her whole life an act? Putting aside her
own emotions and thoughts to please the noble lords and a spoiled princess?
“Please,
let me pass. If they catch me,” her voice hitched.
There
was silence then until she heard in the shadows the sound of murmuring. They
were cautious, and knew better than to whisper, for whispering carried further.
When
finally they spoke however, it was with some hope to their scepticism. “Come
over here,” and she heard then a light creak coming from the stonework beneath
the aqueduct, like the sound of a door.
Following
after it she entered and once it closed the room lit up showing her a small
stone entryway, buttressed by wood. There was a door that led further in, but
this was obviously the start of the rebels’ hideout. “Explain yourself,” said
the same man as before, pulling back his hood and revealing a stubbly but
handsome face. Obviously a man of the Aristean working classes.
She
wouldn’t feel pity for them, and her hand stretched out to give him the letter,
to show him the ring, “I’m the Princess’s handmaiden. She’s given me this to
come to you, to tell you of a hidden way into the castle.” Mirella stared at
him, her eyes pleading.
The man
looked at the offered letter and ring, his eyes went wide and it was obvious he
understood the significance of such rich paper and a fabulous ring. “This
is...”
Before
he could finish though the other man stepped forward, the source of the other
voice. This man was very different. It was obvious he was noble born, for who
else could wear such rich clothes and spend so much time shaving and caring for
his hair in a time of rebellion. “Let me see that,” he demanded.
Mirella’s
heart raced as he opened the letter and studied it, scrutinized it. Moving to
one of the candles he held the ring up to it, examining it with the eye of a
jeweller as he checked.
After
such a long wait he said. “It’s real,” then looked back to her. “So it’s true
then,” stepping over to her. “The quake has opened a gap we can use to break
into the palace armoury and cells. We could free the priest, princess and arm
ourselves with real weapons to take back our city?” It was a question, but
already she could detect the rising authority in his voice, as if he was ready
to claim responsibility for this brilliant new plan then and there.
She
simply nodded dumbly, back to playing the role of the simple serving woman.
Being in this man’s presence assuaged her guilt, her concern. He was one of
them
.
“Please, you must save us.”
The
nobleman had no more to say, he saw her for what she appeared—a
servant—and rushed off into the old structures beyond. She could hear his
voice bellowing out, but it was the dark haired man that came to her. “Is it
safe for you to go back? You can stay here with us until the palace is
retaken,” he offered.
Despite
it all, despite her utter devotion to her God, her loathing of the nobles, and
her distrust of everyone else, she’d only been able to cope with the horrors
surrounding her by ignoring them. By pushing aside the fact that they couldn’t
get enough food through the mountains, by trusting that once he rightfully
ruled the land he could begin to rebuild and care for the people. By
understanding the reality of war, and poverty.
She
couldn’t stand to look at the man that looked at her with such kindness, and
she felt her throat constrict.
She
didn’t want to kill these people. She didn’t want to be responsible for their
deaths, but she would do it. She believed in her God. She believed in Kulav.
She knew there would be peace and prosperity that Ariste had never known
before, welcoming in a new era of strength and devotion, rather than catering
to the whims of the affluent.
And
people would die because of it. Because of her.
“There’s
much I need to do,” Mirella finally whispered, her vocal cords taut. “Thank you
for your kindness.”
The man
nodded and guided her back to the door, “I understand. We all have much to give
so that we might live like people again,” he said. “Gods speed you, brave
maid,” he said, snuffing out the candle before opening the door and releasing
her back into the night.
Tears
fell, and she did nothing to stop them. She’d been so brave and confident, ever
since he’d left, yet every time she met with an Aristean, she left with tears.
She mourned for them, for their insolence and for their stubbornness, but by
the time she reached the Concubine-Warrior’s tent once more, her green eyes
were hard once more.
~~
The
attack came in the middle of the night as Mirella predicted. They came through
a gap in the wall that the quake had indeed created, though since the Raven
Guard had sealed it up immediately in their immense discipline, she had to have
it ordered reopened just for the trap.
From
the palace parapets she watched with her sisters as the rebels advanced through
the gardens. When she gave the order a blood curdling cry went up through her
fellow sisters, they rose with bows at the ready as she’d intended and the
rebels froze or ran for cover with futility. All the exits were blocked, and
shield-maidens stood at the hole they came through with spears pointed at them.
It was
over.
“People
of Ariste,” she declared loudly, her voice carrying over the rebels. The
working class. The poor. The downtrodden.
The
nobles’ pawns, just like she.
“Your
city has been taken, and will continue to be that way. As I speak, the nobles
are being wiped out. There is no hope for them, but there is hope for you! I
know it doesn’t matter to you who you serve. One hand is as good as another,
and I promise you. Fight for us. Fight for your future, and you will be
rewarded.”
She
paused for a brief moment, “Food is scarce. Times are hard, but we can work
together to make Ariste better. The Northerners lack agriculture, but you
thrive at it. Stop fighting us so that we may work together, to rid us of our
noble lords and their cruelties. Ariste can be yours. Truly yours,” Mirella
finished, her stance, her voice, so utterly certain. She believed what she was
saying.
There
was silence for a while and she felt her sisters grow anxious. They were used
to fighting and killing, not to negotiation. When things had gotten tense and
she feared it was hopeless one of the Aristean rebels rose up and the
recognized the voice from the aqueduct. “We surrender. Our families need food.
That is why we’re here. There is no point in dying for anything less,” he
stated, sounding glum but resilient yet.
She was
so thankful for that one man, for that one voice, and she nodded. “I grew up
hungry, without food. Sold from one family to another before I was finally
brought here, and I remember it too well. You have suffered long, but I will
help you become strong again,” Mirella said, her voice dipping at the personal
nature of her disclosure.
There
were no cheers this time. Her sisters did not understand her leniency but
obeyed it, for she was respected now, and the rebels below were too battered,
too desperate and broken to cheer such words. All they could do was wait.