by Rane, April
Slowly regaining consciousness, Aradia was shocked at the menacing pandemonium taking place in her once serene city. Strange brutal warriors in dark, torn britches and light colored robed men and women from the city were locked in battle. She had no idea how long she had lain by the gate. Struggling to get to her feet she found herself tripping over something. In utter horror, she saw that it was a body. Wiping away the blood pouring into her eyes from her head wound, she saw bodies lying all around her on the ground.
One of the foul smelling warriors pushed her, knocking her into the wall. Frantically, she began to run, rushing past houses heading towards her own. As she pushed open the partially ajar front door, she saw her mother and brother Kouros crouched together in a corner. Her mother’s long dark hair had fallen over her still face. She sheltered her son to her breast. As if in a daze, she walked toward them, knowing that they were dead.
Aradia knelt down. Brushing aside her mother’s dark wavy hair, she softly kissed her forehead and touched the silken hair of her baby brother’s head as she kissed him as well. Then, as if in a dream, she walked purposefully to a heavy chest in the corner of the room where the swords were kept. Running her hand over the triple golden braid that surrounded the family crest, her heart ached with the knowledge that things would never be the same again, that she would never hear her mother’s voice or her brothers’ laughter.
Finding that the swords were gone, she squeezed the edges of the chest with every bit of strength she could muster and slowly walked out back to the donkey pen. In the back of the pen they kept a large knife for butchering the animals. It was still there. Hesitantly, she reached for it.
For a long moment, she thought of using the crude, cold knife on herself, because the reputation of the violent and depraved warriors from the north had preceded them. In the end she would be raped, killed or taken as a slave. Aradia gingerly pointed the blood stained rusty knife toward her heart, but then she thought of Sardiana. I must find her!
Hiding the knife in the folds of her robe, she bravely went through the front door, back into the clash of swords and the groans of dying aged men that had come out to fight. She knew they wanted her alive, and that gave her an advantage. Perhaps there was time for her to warn the men coming from the metal works.
Frantically running toward the gate, she raised one strong leg and violently kicked a lunging warrior in the groin; he hunched over in pain giving her time to escape.
Heading again for the gate, wiping the blood from her eyes from the still bleeding head wound, she spotted a robe of soft saffron the color Sardiana had worn that day. Expecting the worst, she ran toward the prone lifeless body. Her eyes blurred as tears coursed down her cheeks. The vision she had seen earlier plagued her mind, as she knelt down beside the body of her beloved sister. Placing the knife she had hidden under her robe on the blood drenched entrance of the city, she looked to the heavens for a moment, fully aware at last of the immensity of the atrocities taking place.
Hugging her sister to her breast, Aradia wept. Rocking the slender body as she had done when she had witnessed her birth, she tried to sing a lullaby but only a guttural moaning escaped her trembling lips. She reached blindly for the knife she had placed on the ground. Plunging it into her heart could not be more painful than this. But when she raised it high, her vision became blurred as her shaking hand moved closer to her chest. She was awed by the thought of death and became mesmerized watching the progress of the chipped and rusty knife as it slowly moved toward her heart. Ashen, her breath became shallow and she collapsed over the body of her fallen sister.
The city was quiet. It seemed as if a black cloud had descended from the heavens, causing a deep sleep upon the people. Like a plague the dreaded dark warriors from the north had nearly obliterated the emerald city of Volsinii.
The matronly women and the old men were dead, and the few young boys who had not gone to the metal works had also been killed. Only the girls of marrying age were still alive, huddled together on the dirty floor of the meeting hall, the largest building in the city that until now had been thought of as a citadel of safety.
Frightened and in shock, blood on their bodies and garments, the girls huddled together. Their hands were tied tightly with hemp rope behind their backs like animals being readied for slaughter; their feet loosely bound allowed them the slightest of movement, and each girl was chained by rope to one other girl, making it impossible to run away.
At sunset, when the men of the city came home from the metal works, they were indeed, just as Aradia had seen in her vision, taken by surprise by the warriors with false faces, and although they fought valiantly, they had no chance. A few of the invading warriors from the north died, but in the end the city was awash in a sea of the blood of its inhabitants.
The thunderous brooding warriors had plundered every house, pillaging and ransacking anything of value. They screamed words at the girls that were held captive, their guttural language nearly impossible to follow.
Aradia, after fighting her way through a bleak hallway of darkness, was stunned to awaken and find herself in the meeting hall with seven other girls. Slowly as if in a dream, a nightmare that would not end, she clawed her way into the light of consciousness. Knowing that her life depended on it, she valiantly strove to clear her head, and despite the hot acrid blood that ran down her forehead to her cheeks and into her mouth, she resolved to show no weakness.
With large calloused hands, the warriors gruffly prodded the girls toward the cistern in the center of the town courtyard, commanding them to drink and wash. Lattia, the girl tied to Aradia, crumpled into hysterics, her tear streaked face awash in terror, but Aradia could not hold or comfort her, as her hands were tied behind her back.
When the warrior came back again, reaching out menacingly to grab Lattia, Aradia kicked him in the groin. Cursing, he doubled over in pain before righting himself. He then grabbed Aradia, shaking and slapping her violently. And when she spat and shrieked in his tongue, calling him bastard born and a coward as well, he pulled out a knife, reached down and cut Aradia and Lattia apart, although leaving Aradia’s hands tied.
He would, he told her, receive extra spoils for bringing such a luscious piece and one who could speak their language to the attention of the captain.
“This is one that speaks our language!” he told the Captain puffing out his chest and pushing Aradia roughly in front of him. “A tasty bit, don’t you think? She is yours!”
Aradia, straining at her ties, desperately tried to free her hands while spitting furiously at the captain. He became enraged that she showed no fear, and fiercely grabbed her arms and shook her menacingly while shouting, “You stupid bitch! You whore! You’ll not do that again!”
She spoke in Etruscan, gritting her teeth, ignoring his words. “You think to use me against my own people? It will not happen!”
The captain’s hands bit into her shoulder as he shook her severely, but once again, she spoke only in her language.
He gruffly barked to his man, “She speaks not our language. Take her away!”
The next morning the invading warriors, their vests and britches bulging with copper plates and cups, were loading as much plunder as the donkeys could carry. A few men came into the city leading at least fifty horses, one of which Aradia and Lattia, still lashed together, were told to mount.
Leaving the dead of the city exposed to the elements made Aradia’s heart wrench. They had not been given the benefit of the grand ceremonies and eulogies that were part of their customs, and as they passed through the gates of the city, she saw that the faces of Juno, Jupiter, and Minerva had been destroyed. False faces on the inside, true faces on the outside, no faces on the gate. She shuddered at the absolute truth of those words.
When she saw the bodies of both of her elder brothers lying on the road slashed nearly beyond recognition, she had no tears left to shed, although she could feel them in her heart.
She did not see the body of her father, whic
h was a good thing since she knew by now that she could not take any more pain. She would always remember him as he was, all of his five and one half inches in height, alive and smiling, proudly standing straight and tall. She had thought him the most handsome of men, with his broad shoulders, and sinewy build, hair the color of a raven in flight, and deep dark eyes that held both merriment and kindness. Thinking of him, his last words vibrated through her whole being.
“You are taller than I,” he had told her. “It is your grandmother you take after. She was the formidable matriarch of our people. She told grand tales about female warriors who came from the sky eons ago, and she claimed that she was a part of the royal bloodline that issued forth from these female warriors. You come from great beginnings. You, like her, shall not be tied to convention. However, my dear, I do hope that you shall not be hung, as she was, for your unconventional life.”
He had chuckled when he had said that, no doubt, Aradia thought now, because he had not been able to imagine such a thing happening twice in this quiet hamlet.
Aradia looked down at her garment. There was so much blood on her robe, blood caked in her hair and underneath her nails! But the knife, she questioned in her mind. Try as she could, she could not piece together what had taken place.
They rode for hours. By the time they stopped, she was stiff and sore. When one of the men came to her horse and tried to help her down, she kicked him in the face, at which he yanked her off her horse, ripping her away from Lattia, and started to beat her.
“Stop!” yelled the captain. “You will disfigure her and we will not get the highest price!”
The captain then came over and slapped her hard across the face with an open hand. “Do it like this,” he said, laughing as she fell to the ground. “Like this, it heals and leaves no scar.”
Holding her cheek, Aradia sat up and began to call on the elementals. She was not sure if she could do magic, for the secret was in the breath. Being focused was, she knew, essential and when there was anger, it took the focus away. Struggling to focus she began to breathe deeply, and then she chanted softly the names of the powers.
“From the east I call to you Paralda, bring your Sylphs to me
From the south I call to you Dejin, bring your Vulcani to me
From the west I call to you Necksa, bring your Undini to me
From the north I call to you Gob, bring your Gnomes to me”
Glancing at the captain, Aradia thought, it would be more powerful if I could have a bit of his hair. If it became necessary she would get it. But, for now, this would suffice. She began chanting again in earnest.
One of the warriors, hearing her, came over and kicked her. “Quiet!” he roared, and Aradia shut out the outside world and went deep inside. She could see the weakness of the one who had just kicked her. He was frightened of water. She would remember that.
Aradia concentrated on the captain. She asked herself. What is his weakness? She could not make it out. Every time she concentrated on him, it became dark. Perhaps he is frightened of the dark. I will see if he sleeps near the fire tonight, or keeps a torch going. I will then know, as it is always good to know the weakness of your enemy.
“I thank the rulers of the elements for giving their aid,” she said as the elementals began to dance about her. She motioned towards the captain. “He is why I called you. I bid you bring him misery. Go and have it done,” she added as she closed her eyes and murmured, “It is done, so be it.”
The burly captain sat on his haunches, raising a metal cup containing brew to his thickly bearded face. A deep white scar ran across his forehead and over to his left ear, which had been partially severed years ago. Suddenly, he bent and clutched his stomach, as he went running toward the bushes pulling down his britches. He was gone a long while, and when he returned, his ruddy skin was ashen, and he stooped as he walked.
Next Aradia concentrated on the man who had beat her because she was chanting. As she watched him moving toward the water to fill his pouch, she summoned the elementals and whispered, “That man is frightened of the water. Use that against him.” And then, closing her eyes, she said, “It is done, so be it.”
She watched the man trying to get clean water. Cautiously stepping in to the cold wet pond, he suddenly stumbled, sank to his chest, panicked, and started flailing around, which made him sink deeper.
The men milling around began laughing and no one helped him. In a panic, he grasped for a log just barely within his reach, but it was slippery and he slid deeper into the water.
Only then did the captain call to one of his men to go and help, saying, “We have lost enough men in battle. We do not need to lose another due to his own stupidity.”
Oh, Minerva, great Goddess of Wisdom, Aradia prayed silently, help me to use my powers only when it is deserved. I ask that you keep me strong through this time so I may aid these girls, for they are terrified and frightened of death. They do not know as I do that we will never die, and that the eternal wheel of life continues.
An abyss of sadness washed over her. Sardiana, my loving sister, you will never know what it is to marry, to have children. I will never again see your smiling face, nor that of mother and father. I will never be able to feel the love between us, or hold you in my arms.
Aradia remembered the trusting face of her little brother in the arms of her mother, as she comforted him. Her mother had shielded him, comforting him as she faced the warrior bravely.
“Ah, Mama, you had such strength, such love for your bambinos,” she whispered before dismissing the elementals. “Your work is done,” she told them. “Be gone until I call upon you again to do my bidding.” She reached her hands to the sky.
“Unto the air I give you yours,
Unto the fire I give you yours.
Unto the water I give you yours,
Unto the earth I give you yours.”
She touched the earth with her hands, giving back the power unto the earth. “I give thanks. It is done. So be it.”
Aradia fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke, she found food in her lap, scraps of dried meat and a root of some sort. A dark hulking warrior came toward them, rubbing his short grizzled beard. Aradia recoiled from him in disgust as he approached her with lust in his eyes. Powerfully built, he would be a formidable enemy in battle. He was one who enjoyed the kill.
As he tied her to Lattia, she whispered to him in his language, “You are bastard born, as is your mother.” Her accent and words were perfect.
He shook her and said, “What game do you play? You speak my tongue perfectly, but only to me?”
“I will bring much gold to you. I am good luck. If you tell your captain, he will keep all the gold for himself. I will line your pockets. Keep me in good care.”
Her voice was low and promising. She knew his weakness was greed, and was not surprised when, at the mention of gold, he licked his lips.
“I want to ride by myself, not with her!” Aradia said, throwing back her head and looking him directly in the eyes. “Loosen my hands. I will tell you later how it is that I am worth immense wealth, and that it would do you well to take great care of me.”
Slowly taking out his small knife used to cut his food he made a show of scraping the dirt out from underneath his filthy nails. His voice became a low menacing growl. “If you deceive me I will kill you!” he warned her.
“Yes, I can tell how powerful you are,” Aradia told him in a low voice, stealing a glance at the captain. “We must be very careful. You deserve great wealth, not just a small share of what the captain chooses to gives you.” Aradia spoke softly, so that he would lean forward. She knew this would allow him to think he was conspiring against the captain.
“If your captain learns I speak your language,” she continued, “he will demand a great price for me and give you only a small pittance. I will tell you of my lineage and how you can gain by it when I feel I can trust you.”
During the afternoon, Aradia managed to ride up beside all of
the girls who, because of the discomfort they were suffering were in various stages of depression and fear until she told them that she had a plan to free them once they were brought into the city.
“Be brave and beseech the Goddess Minerva for strength and wisdom. We are warriors, just like our captors, and must use strategy if we plan to escape,” she said with whispered assurance. “We will otherwise be sold, and bought by Malakas, the desert nomads, who will subject us to their rule and treat us cruelly.”
At the same time that she was spreading the word, Aradia watched every move their captors made. She observed how they rode and she listened to them talk. She spoke to the dark warrior again and found out his name was Zantaunt.
The day’s ride had come to an end and as the meal of roots and dried meat was being served, there was a large amount of noise within the camp. Aradia looked at the setting sun and prayed to Juno to show her the way. She prayed to Vulcan to give her courage and of course, to Minerva for wisdom. She refused to eat. She felt if she partook of their food she would submit. She had fasted before, and was used to going without food to make her powers stronger. Instead, she drank lots of water and went into a deep trance to seek out a vision, only to find that nothing would come to her. Perhaps on the morrow she would see more clearly what she needed to do. This was her last thought before falling into a deep undisturbed sleep.
After many hours of riding, the hot sun directly overhead alerted the warriors it was time to stop for their midday meal. As they began to dismount, one of their outriders rode toward them excitedly. Aradia was close enough to overhear what was being said.
Aradia felt relief, for they were just north of the town of Norchia, which was close to the city of Tarquinia. Norchia was noted for its tombs of the city’s nobles, and temple of Mythris. She had been to Norchia once before with her father and remembered that the tombs were particularly impressive. Aradia thought of her people, and once again, became saddened. They deserved dignified burials! They had a stately family tomb waiting for them! Still, it did no good to think of these matters. She knew she must concentrate on her plan for escape.