by Guy Estes
“God and goddess of history. Interesting. But there is another, else you would not be here.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Aleena paused, clearly embarrassed by what she was about to say. “I also feel a strong kinship with Crewahk and Nevawn. Especially Nevawn.”
“That is only natural, Aleena. They fashioned you as a warrior. They made you Chosen.”
“Well, yes… but it is frightening to feel such a kinship with death and destruction. And what bothers me the most is…” She looked at Rita with frightened eyes. “I like feeling the kinship with them.”
Rita nodded slowly before responding.
“We mortals fear things like death and destruction, but they are just as vital to the functioning of our world and the cosmos as a whole as life and creation. Nevawn and Crewahk, while perhaps not the warmest of deities, are every bit as necessary as Tamura and Donya. New life can only exist if other life dies. The first step of creation is the destruction of what is already there. Like your gift, this kinship with the dark ones will take some getting used to, but it does not mean you are evil, Aleena. It simply means you are aware. And through that awareness, you will learn who and what you should be.”
”Yes, Mistress. Thank you.”
After seeing the grim reality of what her gift could do, though, Aleena was seriously questioning the wisdom of both the headmistress and the gods.
As soon as Aleena stepped onto the school ground she felt as if she’d made a huge mistake. Every action came to a complete halt as every set of eyes was cast in her direction, some openly gawking while others shot her surreptitious glances. This was a rather new experience for the students. They’d never actually had a killer in their midst. Aleena tried to blend in and make herself invisible, all the while knowing that was impossible. The others spread out of her path, as though she were some predator suddenly emerged from the forest. She overheard several fragments of conversation.
“Why did she do it?”
“It sounds like they got what they deserved.”
“Do you suppose she has it in for any of us?”
“Who knows? I do not plan on chancing it.”
“What would it take to provoke her?”
“What of those who always bore her a grudge?”
“I wonder what it is like to kill someone.”
Aleena, who knew eight times over what it was like, hugged herself and shuddered. The other students avoided her as if she was death itself which, to them, she supposed she was. At her approach they would cease all conversation and scatter, like deer before a lioness. Classes convened, but Aleena felt even more conspicuous inside the school than out. Her teachers did a superb job of ignoring the fact that one of their students was a killer and conducted class just as they would any other day. Aleena could feel the other students shooting her glances of morbid fascination.
She got some relief when they broke for lunch and went outside, though she hadn’t bothered to bring anything to eat. Her stomach still felt too queasy. She simply sat on a rock near the school’s wall and tried very hard to think normal, mundane thoughts, and it was here that Valkira and her followers found her.
“So, here sits the murderess,” Valkira said, venomous hatred glittering in her dark eyes. “She has finally proven what I’ve said all along. The Chosen are blights rather than blessings. A traveling caravan uses Jac’s tavern as it’s supposed to be used and she murders them for it. What more proof does anyone need? She is not Tamura touched but demon spawned. Everyone knows of her temper. That added to her ‘gift’ can be nothing else but a demon sent to destroy us all. She is an agent of darkness!”
Aleena did not see who cast the first stone because it hit her in the face. Others quickly followed. She fell from her perch and curled up on the ground as more stones and clods of earth thudded into her. The stoning came to a halt when Rita’s bell signaled it was time to return to their studies. Aleena returned to the school house, her head still down, as meek as a lamb. Rita stopped her before she went inside.
“Aleena, you mustn’t let this destroy you. It may not sound terribly important, but I think you did the right thing. I’ve heard all the details from Jac himself, mulled them over all day, and I can find no viable alternative to what you did. Even if you hadn’t been called by your duty to humanity those maggots got just what they were asking for.”
“Mistress, you mustn’t speak so. They were people, too.”
“Yes, but did they return those same sentiments to you, or anyone else? I think not. I think they looked at their fellow man and saw nothing but chattel. I applaud you and hope that I would have the courage to do the same was I placed in the same situation.”
“But it didn’t happen to you! It happened to me!” Aleena began to weep again.
“Yes, that is so. It happened to you, and now you must cope with it. You have my permission to go home for that very purpose. Go home and think about what I’ve said. And, for what it is worth, the vast majority of Sharleah feels as I do.”
“And a fair number of them feel I’m the Death Breeder herself.”
“I do not think they are so numerous.”
“What they lack in numbers they compensate for in volume.”
“Yes, I know. But we also know why they speak such. Envy possesses their tongues.”
“As does fear. Let’s not fool ourselves, Mistress. They have always feared me to a slight degree. Now they’re terrified of me.”
“A few speak ill of you, but most praise you. Think how Constance feels about you. Think how grateful her family is to you for keeping their daughter safe. Aleena, has it occurred to you that you did exactly what the gods fashioned you for? Yes, you brought death and destruction to eight of your fellow men, but in doing so you gave life to all who would have been their victims. No one else there last night could have done that as well as you. By destroying some lives, you saved untold others. Destruction enabled preservation. You are a warrior, with all the warrior’s instincts and skills, yet you have no desire to conquer or dominate. Doesn’t that seem odd? Perhaps, instead of a conqueror, the gods meant for you to be a guardian.”
Aleena picked her head up and looked the headmistress in the eye.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“You’re welcome.”
Aleena went home and changed clothes, then retired to one of her favorite haunts in the semi-tropical forest. She considered her dilemma while seated on the immense, intertwined roots of an ancient tree. Logic told her that she’d done the right thing. Like Rita, she’d run the scenario through her mind a hundred times (in fact, her mind would let her do little else) and still the only practical solution she could see what the one she’d exercised. Her heart, though, was not so easily convinced. She kept seeing that poor bastard whose face she’d hacked apart. She kept hearing him, a grown man, bleating like a lamb being slaughtered
And you did it to him…
A snapping twig brought her out of her ruminations. A man who looked as hospitable as an advanced case of plague was emerging from some bushes, followed by others who lost no time in surrounding her. They all had whips, which identified them as slave traders, and Aleena did not have so much as a bodice dagger with which to defend herself. Someone had cleaned and returned her swords, but what had once been her most prized material possessions were now things she could not even look upon. Even if she’d had a weapon Aleena would not have used it. Her classmates would have swooned with shock to see Aleena Kurrin walk towards a slaver with her head bowed and hold out her hands for shackling. She was afraid of them, but she forced herself to go to them and take her due punishment without complaint. It was only fair, she supposed, that this be her fate.
CHAPTER 5
"The fact that slaughter is a horrifying spectacle must make us take war more seriously, but it does not provide an excuse for gradually blunting our swords in the name of humanity. Sooner or later, someone will come along with a sharper sword and hack off your ar
ms.” – Carl von Clausewitz
Ivarr was the first to discover Aleena's disappearance. He knew most of the places in the forest his daughter liked to go to for solitude and peace. When he arrived at the one he expected her to be, Ivarr did not see her, but he did see several sets of tracks in the soft, rich earth, all of which belonged to boots that were larger than Aleena's. Then he saw the ruts the wagon wheels had left. The twin ruts ran off to the south and he knew what had happened.
* * *
Life in captivity was not as bad as Aleena had expected. They had simply trussed her up in their wagon and that was that. She hadn't been beaten or abused, simply restrained. She concluded that this was because damaged goods would not fetch as high a price as fresh meat.
She spent the first few days in the wagon. A thick iron chain ran from her manacled wrists to a plate of thick steel bolted to the thick oaken wall of the wagon. There was enough slack in the chain for her to go to a corner to relieve herself. They had only one other captive, an ancient man who looked like an old stump weathered to silvery colorlessness.
"I heard about the payment you extracted from them," he said as he trudged along the side of the wagon. "Why do you not charge them now?"
"I never want to ask that price of someone again, old man."
"Better to have the weight of that price upon your soul than the weight of this chain upon your person."
"Spoken like a man who has never killed."
"One who wishes he did when he’d had the chance. Now I’m a broken old man."
Aleena was in no mood for philosophical debate, so she disregarded the old man and studied her captors. They continued to pay her no mind. The leader did not acknowledge her until they were bedding down one night.
"Why did you kill those men?" he asked as he roasted his supper over the fire. He was thin and craggy, like weathered limestone. A long, narrow beard hung from his face. His name was Lorn.
"They were about to rape one of the other barmaids."
"So?"
"So I could not very well let that happen, could I?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
Aleena looked at him, incredulous, as though he'd asked her why she could not fly.
"Why did you make no effort to kill us?" he asked.
"I know now what it is like to take a life. I wish to know no more."
He shook his head. "You speak strange, girl, but at least I can turn my back on you."
After that they started having her do chores like cooking or cleaning, getting her accustomed to a slave's life. At first she did not mind, for it was an improvement over spending the entire day penned up inside the wagon, but she soon began to grow weary of the routine.
They continued heading directly south and were nearing the end of Aleena's semitropical home, crossing the mountains where they turned west, and continued into the deserts of the Southern Badlands. Her small caravan's final destination, Aleena was told, was the city of Akhbeer, which she knew to be located in the Badlands. It was one of the largest trade centers in the whole of the Badlands, slaves being one of its chief commodities.
Aleena was surprised when they made an unannounced stop. The slavers, thirty in all, began to gather various weapons, none of which, Aleena noticed, were designed to kill. As soon as they had gathered up their implements they headed out on foot, leaving two slavers with Aleena and the old man.
A few hours later they returned with over twenty new captives. Judging by their attire, Aleena saw that the fresh catches had been attending some sort of formal event. Three men and three women were more well-dressed than the others. The three women were represented by a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. The blonde was deposited into the wagon with Aleena.
Now Aleena was treated to the ghastly spectacle of slavers doing what they did best: stripping humans of their humanity. The first thing they did was to separate the men, women, and children, making certain to chain the men more securely while putting them on their knees. Then they raped the women. On some level Aleena saw it coming, but it still somehow managed to surprise her and imprint itself upon her mind and spirit like a bolt of lightning spearing a tree. It did not matter whether a woman was beautiful or not, for every single one of them received the same treatment. She noticed that there seemed to be a method to the slavers' madness.
This, Aleena saw, was a ritual. Its purpose was to break the spirit and to welcome the newcomers to life in chains. It informed them, in no uncertain terms, that their lives were no longer their own. The slavers that were not ravaging the women were grinning like hyenas at the chained men, taunting them.
"What do you know, old boy, sounds like she enjoys it!"
"Likely more than he ever gave her!"
"Just listen to those cries of bliss, would you!"
"Don't you worry, old man. We'll show her her proper place for you!"
One young husband closed his eyes, but a slaver forced them apart with his fingers.
"Pay attention, lad, and you'll learn something useful!"
Another husband, a man built like a bear, was jerking at his chains, thrashing around like a hooked shark.
"I don't think this one likes the way you're treating his woman, Lorn. Perhaps you should try it the other way!"
"Good idea," Lorn said. He removed himself from the shattered woman's crotch and turned her around. "She certainly has the ass for it!" He returned to his work with the zest of a man who truly loves his job.
The man who made the biggest impression on Aleena, though, was a poor farmer who had small, innocent eyes close together, plump cheeks, a small pointy nose and who was hopelessly harmless. He simply wept as he watched the destruction of his mate's spirit, heart-rending whimpering coming from him as he wrung his hands. It made Aleena think of a mole watching his mate in a snake's coils, running around while mewling and chirping, utterly helpless.
"Oh, you do not like the way she is being treated," a slaver clucked as he nudged the wretched man with an elbow. "Perhaps not good enough, eh? Boys, he feels we're not showing his wife proper hospitality. What shall we do about this?"
Four more slavers instantly joined the one already at work. All the men could do was watch as they knelt before their owners.
The two best dressed women, the brunette and the redhead, refused to meekly submit to their fates. The women were stripped and the ritual that so eloquently informed them that their lives no longer belonged to them began, but the two hellcats fought them all the way.
"Well, what have we here?" a slaver sneered. "These two wish to challenge us."
"We accept," said another, and suddenly each woman found herself faced with five assailants. They struggled and spat, slapped and clawed, but they had never been trained in the art of combat. Even if they had, defeat was still inevitable. Their gay party dresses were shredded and torn, trampled to the dust.
"Spicy little bitches," a slaver remarked, his face furrowed with livid claw marks. The two women continued to shriek curses even as they were taken into possession. Aleena closed her eyes to spare her mind further pain, but her ears continued to be thorough in their reports.
"They were saving themselves," the blonde next to Aleena wept.
Aleena shrugged her powerlessness. "They tried, at least. They put up a strong fight for those not schooled in it."
"No," the other choked. "I mean they were saving themselves. For marriage."
Aleena's heart plunged and her head hung with a rattle of iron links. She did not want to, but for some inexplicable reason she forced herself to watch. She saw the slavers take the ladies in waiting, saw the parents witness their daughters' defilement. The three suitors thrashed in their impotent rage as they watched the petals get savagely ripped from their flowers. Aleena took it all in, as though punishing herself, though she had no idea why she should feel guilty. Hours later, when it was mercifully over, she sat motionless and felt her belly burn. And a question took root in her mind. Why were she and
the other blonde left unmolested?
* * *
Aleena had been gone for an entire month when Ulfberht came for a visit. He knew something was horribly wrong as soon as he set eyes on Ivarr and Ilian.
“Ivarr,” he said, his voice tight with worry, “what’s happened?”
Ivarr could only look at his master, his lower lip quivering as he strove to speak through the sorrow.
“Aleena has been taken,” he finally said with a sob.
“What? By who?”
“Slavers.”
“Ah, Ivarr, no!” Ulfberht shook his head as he joined Ivarr and Ilian in weeping.
Ulfberht stayed and tried to comfort his friends however he could, but they were inconsolable at the abduction of their only child. He finally had to return to the Dwarvish kingdoms in the mountains to the north.
Ivarr tried to stop blaming himself long enough to produce some quality work, but every waking thought was concerned with "if onlys". If only he’d found her sooner. If only he’d kept her home from school. If only he hadn't encouraged her gift. If only, if only, if only...
Ilian was wandering the same labyrinth of guilt. If only she had given Aleena a better talk that last morning. If only she hadn't let her wander off alone. If only she hadn't encouraged her gift.
Both of them well knew what slavers did to female captives, and both constantly fought to keep those images out of their minds. Ivarr was especially vulnerable to this particular horror. Though he fought it, the image sometimes invaded his mind, hurling him into red rage and screaming sorrow.
Ilian spent time in Aleena’s room, left undisturbed since she'd left for school that final morning. Breathing deeply the air of what was once her daughter's dwelling, she imagined she could still smell Aleena; her bath oils scented with magnolia, sweet olive and butterfly ginger, the rich aroma of leather used for sheathes, along with the fresh smell of her bed sheets. Her gaze lit on a doll Aleena had loved when she was little. She’d carried it everywhere with her, no matter how tattered and limp it got. Ilian picked it up, feeling the connection with her baby girl.