Chapter 2 - Corus
Corus woke early, stretching her tired, bony arms as she struggled to rise from her bed. How she would love to fall back into her thin straw mattress and lie there, letting her thoughts run free. Freeing herself from her life of misery. But Corus had determination. She had a spirit that would not let her give up.
Outside the sky was dark, and filled with bloated storm clouds. Corus shivered, and pulled her dress of rags tightly around her. Barefooted she trudged from her room, or if you could call it a room - the ground was just compacted, dry earth, and the wood walls around it were covered in mould and filth. A thin mattress, with straw poking out from its threadbare cover was in the far corner of the tiny room. Beside it was another mattress, for Corus' sister, Tyra.
Corus reached the kitchen of her squalid home, and stared hungrily into the cupboards on the west side of the wall. All she could find was two rolls of stale bread, four onions, two bruised tomatoes and a bag of oats covered with weevils. Her belly rumbled hungrily as she tore a chunk of bread off, and gnawed at it. After she had finished, she slipped into a bare of shoes, whose soles had been tied back onto the shoe with course string, and traipsed her way into the fields outside.
The fields stretched for a long way into the distance. The Lord of the fief, Lord Malgur, owned all of the fields, while the slaves were forced to work on them. The slaved Tortallan people lived in small huts, scattered around the rolling farmlands. Corus' belly rumbled, and she clutched her stomach. Her family barely had enough to eat, now that Lord Malgur's taxes were so high.
Already, her sister Tyra, and her Father Roald, were working the fields. Corus said a quick hello to them, before she made her way to the barn where the cows were kept. Already some of the other peasants were there, milking the Lord's cows, and cleaning out his stables. Corus grabbed a stool nearby and set about milking a healthy looking cow.
Even the Cows are better fed than us! Corus thought darkly, as she brushed a strand of her hair from her eyes.
After the cows were milked, Corus went down to the well. Thunder grumbled ominously in the distance, promising rain. Corus began to scoop up some water, and as she did so, she stared down at her reflection.
Corus' sun browned face was gaunt, and she had big bags under dove grey eyes. Her long, wavy hair was the colour of ebony, and plaited in two messy loops, framing her face. Her dress was a patchwork of rags, some faded blue, and others dirty brown and pale yellow. She tried to smile, but her lips cracked and began to bleed.
"Corus?"
Corus turned to see her sister, dressed in the same sort of poor clothing as herself. Tyra's long black hair was plaited in one long line down her back. Her face was covered in freckles like a scattering of cinnamon, but she was very thin and scrawny with long legs and knobbly knees.
"Father wants to speak to us. I fear he isn't well. In fact, he's gotten much worse since yesterday." she trailed off as tears formed in her eyes, "I think he is dying."
Corus stared at her sister in disbelief. Her Father dying? It couldn't be! He had been a bit unwell the day before, but never close to death!
"Come on." Corus said, grabbing her sister's hand, as they charged up hill to their small hut.
Corus ran into her Fathers room. He was lying on a thin bed of straw, wheezing loudly.
"Father?" Corus said nervously, creeping forward, afraid of what she might see.
"My beautiful daughters." Roald coughed, and Corus was shocked to see blood dribble from his mouth, "There is one important thing to say before I, I pass away."
"No." Corus breathed, sitting on her Father's bed. Tyra followed timidly behind.
"Yes." Roald smiled sadly, "You are the lifeblood of Tortall."
"Tortall? That was the country before Scanthaki, wasn't it?" Tyra asked, as she grabbed her Father's calloused hand.
"Yes. Corus and Tyra were once two cities in Tortall, before the Scanthaki's came. Your great, great, great grandfather was the King of Tortall - King Roald. I was not meant to tell you before you were fourteen, but I am dying."
Corus and Tyra looked at each other in shock. But the believed their Father's words.
"No, Father you will live, and we will together come back and create Tortall. We will free the slaves and, and." Corus whispered, blinded by tears.
Her Father shook his head in resignation, "You and Tyra will bring back Tortall. My time is over, but I know you will succeed. Rise and rebel, my daughters, Tortall still lives." Roald died then, and as he lay unmoving in his bed, his spirit soared above him, and went to join the Black God, watching from afar his beloved daughters, Corus and Tyra.
Corus woke early, stretching her tired, bony arms as she struggled to rise from her bed. How she would love to fall back into her thin straw mattress and lie there, letting her thoughts run free. Freeing herself from her life of misery. But Corus had determination. She had a spirit that would not let her give up.
Outside the sky was dark, and filled with bloated storm clouds. Corus shivered, and pulled her dress of rags tightly around her. Barefooted she trudged from her room, or if you could call it a room - the ground was just compacted, dry earth, and the wood walls around it were covered in mould and filth. A thin mattress, with straw poking out from its threadbare cover was in the far corner of the tiny room. Beside it was another mattress, for Corus' sister, Tyra.
Corus reached the kitchen of her squalid home, and stared hungrily into the cupboards on the west side of the wall. All she could find was two rolls of stale bread, four onions, two bruised tomatoes and a bag of oats covered with weevils. Her belly rumbled hungrily as she tore a chunk of bread off, and gnawed at it. After she had finished, she slipped into a bare of shoes, whose soles had been tied back onto the shoe with course string, and traipsed her way into the fields outside.
The fields stretched for a long way into the distance. The Lord of the fief, Lord Malgur, owned all of the fields, while the slaves were forced to work on them. The slaved Tortallan people lived in small huts, scattered around the rolling farmlands. Corus' belly rumbled, and she clutched her stomach. Her family barely had enough to eat, now that Lord Malgur's taxes were so high.
Already, her sister Tyra, and her Father Roald, were working the fields. Corus said a quick hello to them, before she made her way to the barn where the cows were kept. Already some of the other peasants were there, milking the Lord's cows, and cleaning out his stables. Corus grabbed a stool nearby and set about milking a healthy looking cow.
Even the Cows are better fed than us! Corus thought darkly, as she brushed a strand of her hair from her eyes.
After the cows were milked, Corus went down to the well. Thunder grumbled ominously in the distance, promising rain. Corus began to scoop up some water, and as she did so, she stared down at her reflection.
Corus' sun browned face was gaunt, and she had big bags under dove grey eyes. Her long, wavy hair was the colour of ebony, and plaited in two messy loops, framing her face. Her dress was a patchwork of rags, some faded blue, and others dirty brown and pale yellow. She tried to smile, but her lips cracked and began to bleed.
"Corus?"
Corus turned to see her sister, dressed in the same sort of poor clothing as herself. Tyra's long black hair was plaited in one long line down her back. Her face was covered in freckles like a scattering of cinnamon, but she was very thin and scrawny with long legs and knobbly knees.
"Father wants to speak to us. I fear he isn't well. In fact, he's gotten much worse since yesterday." she trailed off as tears formed in her eyes, "I think he is dying."
Corus stared at her sister in disbelief. Her Father dying? It couldn't be! He had been a bit unwell the day before, but never close to death!
"Come on." Corus said, grabbing her sister's hand, as they charged up hill to their small hut.
Corus ran into her Fathers room. He was lying on a thin bed of straw, wheezing loudly.
"Father?" Corus said nervously, creeping forward, afraid of what she might see.
"My beautiful daughters." Roald coughed, and Corus was shocked to see blood dribble from his mouth, "There is one important thing to say before I, I pass away."
"No." Corus breathed, sitting on her Father's bed. Tyra followed timidly behind.
"Yes." Roald smiled sadly, "You are the lifeblood of Tortall."
"Tortall? That was the country before Scanthaki, wasn't it?" Tyra asked, as she grabbed her Father's calloused hand.
"Yes. Corus and Tyra were once two cities in Tortall, before the Scanthaki's came. Your great, great, great grandfather was the King of Tortall - King Roald. I was not meant to tell you before you were fourteen, but I am dying."
Corus and Tyra looked at each other in shock. But the believed their Father's words.
"No, Father you will live, and we will together come back and create Tortall. We will free the slaves and, and." Corus whispered, blinded by tears.
Her Father shook his head in resignation, "You and Tyra will bring back Tortall. My time is over, but I know you will succeed. Rise and rebel, my daughters, Tortall still lives." Roald died then, and as he lay unmoving in his bed, his spirit soared above him, and went to join the Black God, watching from afar his beloved daughters, Corus and Tyra.