UNFINISHED
by VINTERSORG

Kill eye tumbling come out of the sky
Kill eye a fiery retreat from the stars
Kill eye he came clambering over the wall
Kill eye halfway to hell and beyond
I wanna hug my mother
and the sky above her
I want the earth to open up
I want the earth to open up

- Crowded House

- - -

Prologue

Spring was upon them, though on the great grass plains that mattered little, seeing as there only really were two seasons. One when the sun shined during the day, then during the evening and morning the rain poured down. And then one season when a thin layer of snow lay on the ground and the cold north wind howled like a pack of rabid wolves and chilled you to the bone. The bare steppe-land of Sarmatia was unforgiving and deadly, but it was also the home of the Sarmatians and their tribes of proud warriors. They had managed to acclimate to the rough conditions of living and to them the amazing land of grass oceans was heaven. Here they lived as nomads, keeping horses and goats. No boundaries, no limitations -- just earth and sky and war: their most important gods.

One of the many tribes was the Sauromatae, once a large tribe that had spread fear only by the mentioning of their name. They were no longer as large as they once had been, at the peek of their golden era they had been able to muster 200000 warriors on horses, now they at best could gather 200. But still they were proud and strong, roaming the bare land in small family groups of 20 to 40 adults. The Sauromatae women were also warriors like their men -- as was the custom of all Sarmatians tribes -- and thought equal to men, maybe even higher valued nowadays when all boys belonged to Rome for 15 years.

- - -

The sun had rose a few hours earlier and the camp was filled with life, all around men and women were performing their daily chores. Taking care of weapons, making arrows, some were cooking food or repairing clothes.

"Tell me again, son" a handsome, tall, dark man asked as he was in the process of mending a large tear in a tunic. "How did this happen?"

"Bors fell off his horse," an equally dark and beautiful child replied in her brother's place, earning a dark glare and a slap to the back of her head by her 16-year-old brother.

"Don't hit you sister!" Nagged their mother, a short and stocky woman named Dora who sat a few feet away sharpening the blade of a large sword. The boy had wits enough to look at least a bit ashamed and pulled his 9-year-old sister into his lap and started to tickle her, making her scream with laugher.

The siblings looked nothing like each other, she had her father's angular features while he had their mother's round ones. Dora was not a beautiful woman and her marriage to the children's father, Kardok, had been wildly discussed. She was short, muscular and stocky, her face was round and her cheeks like the wild apples that grew in the forests on the edge of the Sarmatian Sea (the Baltic Ocean). Her eyes were a mixture between blue and grey and her light brown hair hair was thin and lanky. Kardok on the other hand had been, and still was, considered one of the most handsome men in the Sarmatian nation. He was tall, wiry and full of angles and edges. His hair and eyes were as dark as the darkest soil, filled with life and strength.

Time after another he had been more or less forced to defend his decision about marrying Dora, but he did so gladly because he loved her dearly. It had obviously not been her looks that attracted him in the first place, but he persisted in telling her that she was the most beautiful creature on earth to him, though it had been her personality that had acted like a magnet and pulled him in. She was loud and merry, always talking and laughing, telling jokes and smiling. Her children were the same, though even in this respect her daughter were more like Kardok than her brother was, for she was less so, but still more talkative than her father.

- - -

As the day dragged on life in the camp followed its habitual course. Bors sparred with the other boys and Dora taught archery to the near-beginners, remarking on this or that about their stance and their aim. Kardok and his daughter rode out to hunt and as the sun had reached its high peek in the sky the two returned with a large deer thrown over the back of the young girl's blue roan gelding.

The spirits were high, winter had passed and the tribe would begin to move north east in the next week or so. Bors' aunt Olida was shaving the fur off the deer-skin, this particular piece was going to be used in the making of Bors' future tent, the young man smiled as he was called over to help.

Every activity stopped as if by magic, even Bors' walk was cut short, when his sister's high voice yelled out two words that filled the cold air with the feeling of even colder dread: "Look, Romans!"

Far off, at the soft hills by the horizon, a group of Romans on horses approached. Together with the Romans was a group of young Sarmatian boys, all of them somewhere between 10 and 20 summers. Some boys had their own horse, others rode two and two or walked next to the other boys.

The sight made the heart of each of the Sauromataes drop, even among the young children. The Romans had come at last, this particular group had not seen nor heard any word of Romans for the passed 8 years and they had hoped that they would not for many years yet. They had in fact hoped that the generation of young boys they now had would be able to grow up and marry and forever stay in Sarmatia, but their dreams had been in vain. They knew that, had known from the start, but it is said that the moment you stop hope and dream you die.

As if on a given signal the camp was set in motion again, but now they hurried on and off to gather their weapons, because they would rather die for their hopes and dreams than die because they stopped hoping and dreaming.

"We're here to pick up your sons, all over 10 years of age must come with us." Stated the tall Roman that rode in front, he looked down at the Sarmatians as if they were an unpleasant stench under his nose, and maybe they in a way were. He would rather be a centurion someplace west than a simple captain over legionaries that fetched Sarmatian boys to be knights in the east.

"You will have none of our children!" Declared Olida in a forceful voice also in Latin as her hand gripped the handle of her drawn sword. Her dark eyes glared fiercely at the Roman from beneath her dark-brown fringe and if looks could kill the Roman would have fallen off his horse stone-dead by now.

"If they won't come freely we will take them by force," the same Roman retorted coldly, glaring at this barbarian woman who dared to question his orders. "It is not up to the conquered to resist the will of their conquerer."

An arrow flew from Dora's drawn bow, hitting the Roman next to the speaker in the eye, throwing him from the horse and killing him instantly. With a small grunt she hooked another arrow and aimed it for the speaker, but didn't release it, instead she started speaking.

"That victory is centuries outdated! Leave now and we'll spare the rest of you." Dora's eyes flashed as if there was a storm brewing in those storm-grey eyes, soon lightning would strike and that would be dangerous.

The Roman captain only smirked, as if this was something he had waited for all month, a tribe that would fight back. Maybe he liked being stationed here in the large emptiness that was Sarmatia after all. With a small hand-signal, the wink of his hand really, one of the Roman archers released an arrow that hit Dora's lower-left-arm. The arrow hit with enough velocity to snake its way in beneath her arm-guard and in between the two bones in the lower-arm.

"Gods!" With a loud scream she dropped to her knees, releasing the bow and clutching her arm. The pain must have been almost unbearable, yet she did not shed any tears, she just sat there and grimaced.

This was the signal and all Romans, save two that stayed with the boys, drew their swords and advance on horseback. The sound of screams and steal upon steel filed the frosty spring air. Many men and women had been ridden down even before they had been able to unsheathe their swords, knives or daggers, others had been shoot down with arrows as they fought with some Roman. Within minutes the camp looked like a battle-zone, tents were on fire and all grown men lay either dead of lethally injured on the ground as did most of the women too.

When there was no-one left to fight the Romans dismounted and wiped off the blood on their swords on the clothes of one of the corpses and began to walk around the camp. Some began to go through the tents that were left untouched by the flames for anything valuable, other dragged women and girls behind of or into tents to have their way with them.

Close to the centre of the of the camp Kardok lay dead on top of a dead Roman he managed to kill before another one split his head in two from behind, half on top of him his young daughter clings to his dead body as if her life depended on this.

"Da' you can't leave me," the girl said miserably into his back in their Sarmatian tongue, her small fists balling in the fabric of her father's tunic as she tried her best to hold back the tears, "You haven't told me 'bout that last mission you and Uther went on... Da' you can't die!"

Not far away Bors sat at the side of their dying mother, his shoulders were shaking as if he was close to tears. The left arm of his tunic was wet with blood, as Dora's eyes took in this the pain in them was replaced by concern, she knew she didn't have long left to live now and wished for all the world that her oldest child would be all right.

As a large tear rolled down his cheek the woman painfully lifted her arm and wiped it away with her hand, smiling warmly at the boy.

"Don't cry, boy," she tried to console her son, "You'll do whatever the Romans tell you and you will live. Don't grow to be a cold man, if you make the best of every situation you'll be happy and love life no matter what life may have in store for you. Always be kind and loving to those that deserve it, never forget Sarmatia, come back once you're free, any tribe will be happy to take you in."

"I will, mum," the boy snivelled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I will... I will make you proud."

"Bah, these people are even poorer than beggars!" one of the Roman soldiers exclaimed as he exited one of the tents, his eyes travelled to the crying boy and he sighed. With three large strides he had walked over to him and pulled Bors' to his feet, the boy was too distressed to protest and was pushed towards one of the tribe's horses that had been gathered by the two still mounted Romans and the Sarmatian boys.

A few other Romans came back from their small pilfering raid and the two who had watched the boys dismounted to see if there was any fun left for them to do. One of them walked over to Dora's still body and smiled evilly as he found her yet alive, he pulled her to a sitting position and pulled out one of his daggers.

"This one's too ugly to even rape!" he laughed as he slit her throat.

The other one had walked over to where Bors' sister lay begging their father not to be dead, without having to use much strength he lifted the girl to her feet.

"Now this one is a different story," the Roman called over to his friend, showing him the young girl's beautiful face, earning a malicious laugh from the first Roman.

"Yes, a whole different story..." he said as he followed the Roman who was dragging the girl with him into one of the tents. The girl had gathered her wits as she had begun to be pulled closer to the tent and her tiny voice that was full of sadness called out, first to her father, but he was dead she knew. Then to her mother, but she was bleeding to death, making gurgling noises as she tried to caught blood out of her lungs. In a last attempt to save herself she called for her brother, but he was too sad to help her and he knew there was nothing he could do and so did she.

- - -

As the months passed and they slowly closed on Gaul Bors was sure his family were all dead, but he tried to see some kind of light in all the darkness, just like his mother told him to. At least he was alive and he would live his life and make them proud. Yes, he thought cynically, he would become a bloody knight and deadly warrior and drag as many souls as he could to their final resting place before he too died and joined them in the Land of the Dead.

Elysium, their father had called it, though he spoke seldom at all and almost only to his daughter who had been his favourite. Maybe, Bors thought, he had seen his young self in her and wanted to live through her. That was possible, Bors thought and smiled, remembering how often his father had spoke of freedom and all he would have done if he hadn't been 15 years in Rome's service. His smile faltered as it occurred to him that with them all dead his sister would never be able to do all those things father had spoken about and she would never carry his sword as he had said she would. The amazing sword their father had stored away in their family's tent for safe keeping was probably in the hands of some Roman now, but even if he saw it he would not know, he hadn't seen it that many times.

Bors' trail of thoughts were abruptly stopped as they rode in through the gates to the city in Gaul where he would spend months, or years, depending on if they thought him good enough to be shipped off to Britain or not. He screwed up his face as the stench of rotten garbage and dirt hit him from the large city. Now he definitely knew why his people never settled down and built cities, by the gods this was going to take some time getting used to.


That was a killer! No honestly it was, I'm not used to writing anything in English so I'm really quite dead now. I'll try to have the first actual chapter finished by let's say... Tomorrow, sounds good? I got most of the story finished in my head anyhow so all I have to do is find enough time and energy to write it down.

This is my very first fan fiction and I'd love it if you reviewed and told me how you think I'm doing, that would be a great help :)