The Rage Within

by B R Crichton

  “Leave the child alone, Asham, she is not worth your efforts.”

  Asham glared hungrily at her nevertheless. “How about a taste of things to come, girl?” he growled with a salacious grin. He was muscular still, but retirement into Shol’Hara was beginning to tell on his physique and his stomach was larger than a serving infantryman could get away with.

  “The Dam’Hara would have your eggs,” Chesa said, reaching beneath the sheet to grab his balls. Asham flinched as she squeezed, then chuckled lustfully, and pushed her flat on her back amongst the pillows. Lushara made to turn and go, but Chesa hissed at her. “Stay where you are girl. I may wish my wine refilled.”

  So she waited beside them, staring at nothing in the middle distance, while Asham mounted Chesa and thrust and grunted his way to a shuddering climax. Lushara felt the woman’s eyes on her throughout.

  When Asham fell into the pillows, his broad chest heaving from the effort, Chesa spoke. “I know that you have been hiding your bleeds, girl. The Dam’Hara has been told.” Lushara barely concealed a gasp. “And when you are sent to become a Haram, I will ask that it is Asham here who deflowers you. I like my men rough, and big,” she said pointedly before taking a sip from her cup. “But then I have been doing this for many years. A young thing like you would find Asham a challenge to accommodate.” She smiled wickedly.

  Lushara felt the blood drain from her face, and knew that her fear showed as Chesa’s smile broadened. Asham was snoring already as Chesa ran a finger down his sternum, over his belly to his groin, never taking her eyes off Lushara as she did so.

  “You may leave now,” she sneered when Lushara finally pulled her gaze away in shock at the woman’s shameless behaviour.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon refilling plates of fruit and topping up wine cups. Retired infantrymen, enormous men every one, came and went, taking their pleasure among the willing Harami. Girls like Lushara were used to serve in the chambers to instil a sense of their future role in the Empire. Most girls could not wait to enter the chambers as full Harami, and settle into a life of luxury, bodies worshipped by the strongest in Korathean society, their every whim catered for.

  But Lushara found the whole thing disgusting, and demeaning.

  She found her mother asleep by a window. She had barely stirred when a man had been on top of her, rutting like an animal, before leaving her undisturbed among the pillows. She was a woman of only thirty years, yet she was grossly overweight, her folds of flesh disgusting to Lushara, but clearly not to the men that came here to sow their seed.

  “Mother?” she asked. The woman turned her head towards the sound of her daughter’s voice. She had eight green gemstone earrings running up her left ear; Lushara was her only daughter. Harami got no gem for a girl.

  “Lushara,” she said dreamily.

  “Are you well?”

  “I’m…” she waved a hand airily. Then Lushara saw the white powder on a dish beside her mother. It was a powerful drug, called Bliss, used to dull the pain of childbirth, or taken in small doses for a feeling of euphoria and enhanced awareness. But taken too often, it could dull the mind to the point where the user became unaware of anything, and could prove fatal. Once a woman became reliant on the effects of Bliss, it was a difficult habit to break, and Lushara’s mother was firmly in its grip.

  She turned away; eyes wet, and squeezed her braid until her knuckles went white. She walked away from what was left of the woman who had given birth to her with a growing hollowness in her heart.

  The last hour or so until she was relieved by another girl went by in a haze. Could she really allow herself to become like these women? Fat and sluggish, bearing child after child to any number of nameless retired soldiers.

  Like a heifer put to the bull. Opening her legs ‘To the glory of the Empire’, day after day, until she retreated from the world in a Bliss induced trance that erased her mind steadily, leaving her nothing but a living shell like her mother.

  Or could she run away? Would Rogan really abandon his training and prospects in the Heavy Infantry to be with her, far from Shol’Hara and the lace manacles she wore?

  When she reached her dormitory after dinner, her heart froze. Waiting beside her bed was the Dam’Hara herself. She had borne so many sons in her time as a Haram that her left ear was filled from lobe to pinna with green gemstones, and a string of them hung down from that lobe halfway to her shoulder. Fifteen! Fifteen sons, ‘To the glory of the Empire’. Beside her was a smug looking aide, looking down her hooked nose at the terrified girl.

  “Lushara Bedein.” It was not a question.

  “Dam’Hara,” Lushara curtsied awkwardly. She was a stern looking woman. Lean, not like the women she had been serving earlier, but tall, wiry and sharp eyed. She wore her hair in a severe bun that pulled her features tight, giving her the appearance of a woman ten years her junior.

  “What is this?” she said sternly. She was holding one of Lushara’s cloths up. She saw now that her bedside drawer was open, and the clothes scattered on her bed.

  “Dam’Hara?” she played dumb, knowing that the blood had not been fully cleansed from the cloth. It was impossible to remove the stain completely.

  “You had us believe that you were slow to flower,” she said accusingly.

  “I am not yet regular, Dam’Hara,” she lied.

  “Then your first pregnancy should set your rhythm.”

  “Dam’Hara?”

  “Be in my office in one hour. It is time you were made a Haram.” With that, she swept out of the room, the aide all smugness in her wake. Lushara sat on her bed and stared at the stained cloth woefully. She had delayed the inevitable for long enough, and now her destiny had caught up with her.

  By the time Lushara had gathered the resolve to go to the Dam’Hara’s chamber, the feeling of dread was starting to form a ball like lead in her stomach. By the time she was seated outside the rooms of the Dam’Hara, the pain was intense. She was seated on a long bench with two other girls, both younger, perhaps thirteen; a mixture of excited anticipation and nervous apprehension vied for dominance on their faces.

  The marble floored waiting hall was cool and roomy, every noise echoing back off the unadorned walls. They were called to the Dam’Hara’s rooms one at a time, and clearly leaving by another exit, as none returned. When her name was called she doubted she could stand, but her legs proved more robust than her resolve, and carried her into the large office beyond the heavy door.

  The Dam’Hara sat behind a large wooden desk, with ledgers piled high on either side. The aide stood at her side with her fingers locked at her waist, watching Lushara as she entered. There must have been hundreds of ledgers; the office itself was lined with bookcases filled with the things. She wondered how many names they contained after all these centuries. There was one open in front of her and it held her attention.

  “Lushara Bedein,” the woman said.

  “Yes Dam’Hara,” she replied in a small voice.

  “Stand tall, girl,” the Dam’Hara scolded as she looked up from the book to inspect her, “you will soon be Haram, the greatest honour the Empire can bestow upon a woman. Be proud of who you are, and proud of what you do.” She returned to her ledger without waiting to see if Lushara complied. “I see no reason why you cannot begin your service in the Opal chamber, west wing.” The aide nodded approval. “It is important to keep certain degrees of separation of the different bloodlines. The men who prove themselves worthy of siring your children will be of no close relation to you.” She smiled then. “Your friend, Chesa, asked that you be placed under her wing for your first few months. She assures me that you will be well looked after.”

  Well looked after, Lushara thought miserably, brutalised by Asham more like, then bullied for the rest of my days in Shol’Hara.

  “Take three days to prepare yourself. Soon you too will be a ‘Mother of the Empire’,” the Dam’Hara said with what looked like a smile bordering on warm, then dismissed her. She left
feeling numb

  The following morning she went to the kitchen early, though she was not on duty that day. She wanted to talk with the Mistress of the kitchen to get the advice of someone from outside her own order.

  “But I want to choose for myself,” she said again, wiping her cheeks. It had not taken long for her to start crying.

  “You have a duty, Lushara, to the Empire,” she said gently. “In return you are honoured more than any woman outside these walls could hope for.”

  “It just seems so unfair,” she said, hating herself for sounding so petulant.

  “Lushara? Is there something you are not telling me?” The Mistress had always been able to read her, and today was no different.

  “I met a boy,” she replied, “and I think I love him. I want it to be him, not some old man I’ve never even met.”

  The Mistress raised an eyebrow. Lushara was sure that she could be trusted with this information, but it was a serious transgression. The older woman was careful not to ask how they had met, choosing ignorance as the best option. “Does it matter which man fathers your children?”

  “It does to me.”

  “You know nothing of this boy. You say he is a boy; well, then he is untested,” she said harshly. “It is better that a man who has proven himself a warrior give you his seed. That way, you are assured of bearing great warriors in turn. You are the mothers of the Empire, Lushara. The Heavy Infantry has made the Empire what it is today; without them it would be just another petty Kingdom. Be proud of what you do.” She took Lushara’s hands in hers and clutched them to her chest, smiling at her warmly again. “If it is the deed itself that worries you, then you need not trouble yourself. A firm young beauty like yourself will have any man empty himself in a few short thrusts; it will be over before you know it.” She winked as Lushara gasped at her brazen comments. “Don’t forget, I have been married for over thirty years. Men are easily controlled in the bedchamber. Quicken them when you are not in the mood, but draw pleasure from them when you feel the need.”

  “Mistress!” Lushara blushed.

  She laughed. “Forget this boy. Take the first warrior that takes a fancy to you and make his head spin. Remind him where the Empire’s true power comes from, and any others that follow. Let the Heavy Infantry tremble when they set foot in Shol’Hara. Let them know that you are not their plaything; they are merely bearers of seed for the next generation. You are Harami, the ‘Mothers of the Empire’.”

  Lushara almost felt that there was a tinge of regret in the Mistress’ voice, perhaps envying the life that lay before her. She took a walk in the western orchard, hoping that Rogan would hear the call. Her pulse began to race when the hedge thrush song was returned, and she hurried to their meeting place. More than anything now she needed the reassurance of his confident words and strong arms. He was over the crumbling wall before she had got to the end of the dark passage, his strong shoulders inviting her to cry on them.

  “What is it?” he asked as she fell sobbing into his arms.

  “The Dam’Hara,” was all she could manage.

  “The Dam’Hara? What did she say?”

  “In two days I will be a Haram. Chesa saw to that. It will be horrible,” she said between sobs.

  “That is the way of it,” he said simply.

  “Is that it?” she replied hotly. “Is that all you have to say? ‘That is the way of it’?”

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to sound so casual.”

  Lushara took a deep, calming breath.

  “No, I am sorry. I am all wound up like a spring.”

  “We could leave, you and I,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

  “Really?”

  “It is not unheard of for young women to leave Shol’Hara. And not every recruit completes his training.” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “But we would have to leave Kor’Habat. Everyone would know what we were,” she said with hope rising in her heart.

  “I would gladly do that for you,” he promised, taking her hands in his.

  “Really?” she asked, as her initial, indoctrinated resistance to the idea crumbled against his steely gaze.

  “Anything. Do you love me?”

  “Of course,” she answered quickly.

  “We could go anywhere in the Empire, or beyond it. We could see the world together, you and I, free to go where we wished, when we wished it. Free to choose each other.”

  “Really?” she said again, lost in his eyes.

  “If you love me,” he replied. “But I need to know that you do.”

  “Oh, I do,” she said eagerly, standing on her toes to kiss his mouth, pulling his head down to her with her hands.

  “I need to know,” he said between kisses.

  “Anything,” she replied breathlessly.

  “Show me,” he urged.

  “Anything.”

  He pushed her down gently in front of him. She was not sure if it was his romantic words that had her on her knees before him, but right then, she did not care. The promise of a life away from Shol’Hara and the strict control over who she took to her bed certainly had her head spinning. Perhaps it was an act of defiance, proving to herself that she could love who she wanted, in any way she chose. ‘To the glory of the Empire’ be damned. But she did it willingly, coaxed by promises of a better life, and a future that was her own to share with Rogan.

  So unreal was the moment that she was barely aware of taking him in her mouth, or the brief moments that followed. The shock of his release and the sharp taste brought her back to herself some small way, but the blood still rushed in her ears as her heart thudded urgently in her chest.

  He stepped away, buttoning his flies as he did. She wiped her mouth on her cuff, and looked up at him with bleary eyes. He did not make eye contact with her as he fussed with his trousers, suddenly awkward in her presence. She got to her feet unsteadily.

  “Rogan,” she began.

  “I have to go,” he replied quickly, “I will be late.”

  “Late for what?”

  “I’m sorry, I should hurry.” He made to turn away, but she caught his arm and went to kiss him. He turned his mouth from her, offering his cheek instead, and still did not look her in the eye.

  “Rogan?” she said, bewildered, as he made to scale the rubble of the collapsed wall. “Tomorrow then? Same time?”

  “Yes,” he replied impatiently as he sought hand and footholds between the stones in the ancient wall, “tomorrow.”

  She watched him go with a hollow feeling growing in her stomach, but she would not allow herself to acknowledge its meaning.

  She tried to remove the dirt from the patches on her skirts where her knees had pressed onto the ground, but the tell-tale signs remained stubbornly obvious.

  She rushed back to her dormitory and changed her skirt, taking the other straight to the sink to wash away the dark smears, and began to weep with shame.

  The following morning, there was no answer to her call. She made her way to their meeting place with a small bag carrying all of her possessions, and paced for what felt like an age as her worst fears were confirmed to her.

  Stupid, stupid girl!

  Like a heifer to the bull. Used by Rogan as Asham would have used her to slake his lust. Were men all alike in their desire to use and discard women on a whim?

  ‘To the glory of the Empire’.

  The feeling of hopelessness sucked at her from within until she could barely draw breath, and then, like shutters being thrown open on a brilliant dawn, she realised that she was truly free.

  She swore then, never to be taken in like a fool by the sweet promises of men and their singular aims. She swore to be master of her own destiny, and sole guardian of her heart and all it held.

  She climbed over the rubble into the dark forest, and a new life in an unknown world.

  “Valia.” A voice roused her. “Company.”

  She shook the dream from her mind, coming to full alertness quickly. She made her
way to where Blunt was crouched by a window, and dared a glance out into the night.

  “I’ve seen six so far,” he answered her questioning look, “mounted, crossing that patch of ground beyond the well.” She could see the well and the patch of ground that reflected the moonlight, but no more figures crossed it.

  “Coming this way?” she asked quietly. He nodded.

  “They will no doubt be looking for a place to bed down, but if they go to stable the horses first, they will see our animals.”

  “Who do you think they are?”

  “At this time of night? All on horseback?” he said softly. “Forward scout party.”

  Valia nodded in agreement. They would not be refugees. Even if they did choose to travel at night, they had seen none with six horses in a single group. Mounts were like gold in times like these.

  “We do not have time to move them,” she said, “but I may be able to get into the stables from the back, and stop whoever comes in from sounding the alarm.”

  “And if more than one goes in?” he shook his head. “Best we meet them in the open.”

  “By the time we are able to identify them, the distance between us will be short.”

  “Then you try to take them from the rear. I will confront them at the door, draw their attention.”

  She nodded, and made her way to the back door. She removed two of the spears from the deep quiver strapped across her back and weighed them in her hands. She reached the stables just as she caught the sound of hooves on soft ground approaching. A horse snorted and she heard muttered voices. She could not be sure, but they sounded as though they were in a foreign tongue.

  She prowled round the far side of the stables, and just as she heard the large door creaking on its hinges, Blunt stepped out from the farmhouse, fifty paces away.

  “Who’s there!” he shouted.

  Immediately, Valia heard swords clearing their scabbards, and a shout in a language she had never heard. She stepped around the corner of the building, spear ready.