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WarAdmiral-LOL. My duty is then done! It is my job to make you all curious...

Camreyn-No, no changes in names. The four girls are Aibhilín, Guinevere, Ealusaid and Leofwen. "gáin, Rossa and Mór are just side-line characters. As this chapter illustrates, they get split up, and later will meet up again...I wrote this all together, so it might be a bit confusing. Sorry about that. It gets clearer in coming chapters, I promise! (I wouldn't be a writer if I gave everything away in the first thousand words, would I?)

OK, please keep reading! Critical reviews make me happy as well as praising ones, so please ask me about anything. You can say anything; even if it's in Italian (I speak a bit of that actually!).

Blessed Be

ChiaraStorm

Chapter II: Pagan Punishment

"Aibhilín daughter of Dauídh-"

"Aibhilín inghean Dauídh" The girl corrected him quietly in the Celtic tongue which the Romans hated vehemently. The Romans had no idea that Dauídh was also the name for Merlin, for which she was glad.

Marcus Honorius scowled at her, shivering even though it was late summer, and it was still warm. "Why do you insist on practising your pagan ways? Do you not understand that the way of Christ is the only way?"

Aibhilín stood there in front of her lord. He insisted on all of the serfs in his villa to pray as Christians and recognise him as a man of the Church. Aibhilín had rebelled heavily against this, keeping the old ways of the wise ones alive. Unlike the others, she had not been born here.

She was born in a storm on the last day of the tenth month, or the pagan festival of Samhain, in a forest above the wall. She had loved in no village but merely the forest and nature. She had learnt to listen to the forest's calling, and work magick with it. She had learnt to swing a sword, fire a bow and ride a horse. She was powerful, very powerful. She was such an expert fighter that not even the men of her old tribe challenged her. She was untouched and untouchable.

She and Guinevere had travelled south, trying to get over the wall (the limit of Pict territory), but had often been beset by Picts or Romans whilst getting there. One such attack had led them to being taken here, nothing more than serfs for the Romans. The injustice of it-Aibhilín and Guinevere, daughters of the great Merlin were working for Romans-made her blood boil every single day and every time she saw Marcus Honorius's flabby face.

Aibhilín spoke in a controlled tone. "Because it's not my way"

Honorius struck her across the face. "You are a serf! You are born into this. You will believe what I tell you to believe!"

Out of habit, Aibhilín twisted and struck him back, catching him on his fat neck. She kicked out with her foot, but it twisted in his toga, and in that moment he wrenched her arm, over-balancing her. He stood over her, and pushed her back down as she tried to get up.

"Pig!" She spat out at him defiantly. For that she received a split lip.

"You are my slave!" he roared at her, his spit flying as he enunciated each word. From her vantage point on the floor, Aibhilín could see Guinevere standing at the window, looking on, protecting her as only a sister can. She ran from the window.

Honorius grabbed Aibhilín and ran his cruel hard finger down her face, softly at first, then tightening around her throat. "You are far too insolent for a serf"

"And you are too insolent to a child of Merlin and of the clan Mich Uidhir" came a strong voice from behind him. Marcus wheeled around to get kicked by Guinevere. He dropped Aibhilín and she sank to the ground. Guinevere tackled the man, but he was a lot heavier than her, and he used that to its full advantage.

Protecting her sister, Aibhilín stood up and struck him on the back of his neck, where he was vulnerable. If she had had a little more strength, it would have knocked him out but as it happened, she only distracted him. Guinevere wriggled out from underneath him, and kicked him in the face, her sister kicking his legs so that he collapsed to the floor.

"Guards!" he managed to choke out, Guinevere's foot meeting his mouth just a second too late. Two armoured guards entered the room, but the two sisters managed to jump straight out of the window that Guinevere entered by. The sisters ran over the villa grounds and sprinted towards the serf village, which would be safety. They were headed for the perimeters, Guinevere almost dragging Aibhilín, who was still struggling for breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, Guinevere saw that guards were chasing them (making a lot of noise, she heard), thus alerting the Roman household to their chase. Even Alecto, Honorius's son. He looked vaguely amused.

The girls made to slip out of one of the little-used side gates, but one of the guards was quicker than the rest. He made a wild lunge and tripped up Guinevere with her trailing belt. She tripped and Aibhilín went down with her. As they got up, they found themselves in a ring of swords. Marcus Honorius and his wife Valnoria walked over; his face angry and puce, hers compassionate.

"So" he began imperiously. "Not only do you defy me, but you attack me. Barbarians! Pagans!" he began to insult them, and Aibhilín would have punched him if her arm wouldn't have been cut off for doing so.

"We have a special place for pagans, don't we?" he said, and his guards grinned evilly. They suddenly grabbed the girls and dragged them out of the gate and to a building attached to the inner wall. They knocked and it was opened from the inside. A ragged priest opened the door, and his eyes glittered when he saw the girls. "More heathens?" he asked. The guards nodded and pushed them into the dank hole. Guinevere slipped on the wet steps, but Aibhilín caught her by wrenching her arms free. The guard slapped her and took them down the stairs.

The cavern was full of cells, and from the smell they were full of decaying people. Guinevere felt the bile rise up in her throat as the stench entered her nostrils, while Aibhilín felt like she would pass out.

The priest opened one cell and pushed Aibhilín in, shackling her ankle to the wall. He put Guinevere in the one next to it and repeated the process. The guards left without saying anything, and the priest began a long prayer in Latin, which neither girl understood. Guinevere leaned against the wall and massaged her foot, which was shackled too tightly to the wall. She knew that if she didn't keep the circulation moving, she would lose her foot. She had seen some cases of this in the snows at winter. When the feet were left in the cold for too long, they turned, then blue, then purple and finally white. That foot could never move again.

She dozed in and out sleep, woken only by the smell and the crying of other prisoners. Her huntress instinct told her that there was something more here than just imprisoning people. Something else must be going on.

"Aibhilín?" she whispered into the air, not knowing if her sister would hear her. "Aibhilín, are you there?"

The priest banged his censer on the door, causing the smoke to mingle with the smell of blood and death so violently that Guinevere gagged involuntarily. "No talking!" he muttered violently. He gave an evil laugh. "You'll want to shut your ears now"

He moved along and Guinevere heard the distinct grating of a cell door. She heard Aibhilín give a little gasp of surprise as her manacles were snapped open and she was roughly dragged out of the cell. Guinevere caught a glimpse of her pale moonlight face. Guinevere watched as her sister was torn out of sight and swallowed up by the darkness.

Aibhilín kept that image of her sister in her head. She was not naïve by any means, and she knew that she could be going forever. However, this was unlikely. She had only been in the cell for about half a day, and they would not kill her so soon. They would do something worse to her first.

Aibhilín suddenly found herself in a room filled with instruments, mainly wood, but some with sharp metal points. Her stomach turned over. She knew what was going to happen to her here.

"Lie down" the priest ordered in a soft voice that was filled with the promise of danger.

Aibhilín stood there for as long as she dared, and then very slowly lowered herself to the bench. The priest leaned over her, his foul breath rank and ripe.

"Do you repent of your pagan ways, and embrace Christ?"

Aibhilín did not reply. The priest waited, but suddenly he wrenched her index finger around unnaturally. She did not scream but let out a slow long hiss.

"You must repent now, or suffer in the eternal fires of hell" The priest told her calmly, as if he had not just crippled her.

Aibhilín compressed her lips defiantly. The priest wrenched her bow fingers and thumbs, slashed her wrists with a knife, inserted red-hot pins under the largest nails on her feet, and stretched her bones on a rack. The machines were excruciatingly painful and by the end of it all she was screeching Guinevere's name mentally, praying that her sister could hear her. The priest stopped asking her whether she would renounce her faith and just tortured her with a bloodthirsty lust.

Still she only let a hiss escape through her lips, which was only a raindrop on her ocean of pain. Finally she fainted, and went to a realm where she could feel nothing.

Guinevere waited on the brink of her wooden seat, letting her head droop backwards against the wall, but jerking it up every time she was on the brink of sleep. She tried to look out for her sister's return, but the torches had long since burned out, and her eyes could not adjust to total darkness. She was drifting back to sleep again, her neck exposing itself to an enemy's blade. It was a symbol of how exhausted she was that she would forget her warrior side.

Guinevere, sister! Aibhilín's voice echoed through her mind, urgently and painfully. Guinevere could feel the red hot pins in her sister's feet and the blood dripping down her wrists. The worst one was the feel of her sisters thumb brushing against her wrist. Guinevere's hand instinctively travelled down to her own hand to check that her thumb was normally attached to her hand. At first Guinevere wondered whether some ancient magick had made this connection, but soon she saw the dim shape of her sister being dragged down the corridor. By the light of the priest's torch, she saw her sister, covered in blood and reeking of sweat. She looked exhausted, and weakened, but what she saw in her sister's face was strength. If her sister could be a warrior, so could she. She saluted her sister with an imaginary bow, and she saw Aibhilín give a wan little smile in return.

The priest came to her cell, and she stood straight-backed and proud. As she was led away, Aibhilín gave her sister the traditional answer to the bow salute, as she saluted and sheathed an imaginary sword.

Aibhilín woke up to the suffocating smell of death. The first thing she thought of was why she was still alive. She couldn't even walk because of the pins that had swollen her feet and she had had the tattoos on her arms and legs scarped off. It hadn't worked, and the little skin she had left was still blue dyed, but also splashed with red sticky blood.

She lay against the wall, trying to sleep, as it was the only thing she could do that was painless. When she was awake, her stomach growled insistently and her throat screamed for food and drink. She had tried to talk to Guinevere, but her throat was too raw, and she could barely croak. The only way she had of telling the time was by when her torture started and stopped. That was the only way she had of telling the days apart.

She leaned back against the wall and let a single solitary tear drip down her cheek. She had no illusions about what was coming. She was going to die in this hellhole. As she drifted into a fevered sleep, she heard her father's words.

Your life is like the light. It goes down, but you have a duty, and with that duty comes the light. Do not be afraid, but accept it

Aibhilín jerked herself out of her uneasy sleep. This was only the night. The sun would be up soon. She clutched to that thought as a drowning man clutches at a rope. The dawn would arrive soon. She believed that.

Aibhilín was lurched out of her pain-wracked slumber by the sharp ringing of an axe. It was a sound that she had not heard in months, not since her capture and imprisonment. She craned her neck to see out of the cell, even though that meant that her ankle was dangerously white, and the chain was biting into her flesh. Of course, she wasn't feeling anything in that ankle any more.

"Who dares enter the temple of Marcus Honorius?" the priest said angrily, and Aibhilín strained her body to hear better.

"I do" A deep, masculine said, full of confidence and power rang throughout the cave. The priest gave a shocked cry and the sound of clinking armour and footsteps on the stairs. They were heavier than the silent, barely-there footsteps of the priests, and they moved in a way that would have been disrespectful for the priests. Aibhilín felt a small bubble of excitement build up in her chest.

"Check the cells" the confident voice came again.

There was a pause. "This one's dead"

"By the smell of it they are all dead" came another voice.

There was the usual scraping of the grill, and a shout. "There's a child in here! Bors, help me get the lad out"

Aibhilín caught a glimpse of them now. Two men, dressed as knights were pulling a boy out of the hole. Aibhilín knew him to be Lucan, a boy who was thrown in here along with his mother for breaking the Roman laws. Her heart leapt to know that he was alive, if not well. "You need not fear me" one of the knights said kindly. Lucan visibly relaxed. She tried to call out, to alert them to her presence, but her throat was dry and disused.

Suddenly a face appeared outside her cell, and she jumped in surprise. "Arthur! There's another!" Another knight walked over, and they pulled away the cell door. The knight who had found her first raised his sword and cut through her chains with a single blow of his sword. Aibhilín flinched as the metal sparks flew out, too bright for her dimmed eyes. The other knight put his arms around her and carried her out off her cell. He seemed to have seen that she would be unable to walk, and tactfully averted his eyes. It was only then that she realised the awful tattered state of the rags she was wearing. She closed her eyes to avoid theirs, and an image flashed into her mind.

She started to struggle at the strong arms of the knight holding her. In response, he only tightened his grip and kept moving up the dank stairs.

"Do not struggle" the other knight murmured to her. "We are taking you to your freedom"

He did not have to say 'and to ours', but his eyes said it for him. He stared at Aibhilín's face for a moment, and then turned away from her. Aibhilín continued to struggle, but suddenly she screeched as the daylight hit her eyes. After nearly two lunar cycles without natural light, to have it flooding her eyes was incredibly painful. She covered her eyes with her hands, and sobbed slightly into her hands. The knights lay her down in the snow, wrapped in someone's cloak with the hood shielding her eyes. She slowly removed her hands, and removed the hood. It was very painful, but she could bear it.

"Water, bring me water!"

"She's a Woad" someone whispered, but Aibhilín was in too much pain to care.

"Stop this! What are you doing?" From the courtyard came the loud and fuming voice of Marcus Honorius.

"What is this madness?" the leader asked.

Honorius looked at him like he was insane "They are pagans-"

"So are we" said the dark, curly haired knight.

"These people must be punished! They refused to do the tasks God set them"

"For refusing to be your serfs!" the lead knight yelled back at him.

Honorius looked confused. "You!" he said, pointing at him. "Artorius, you understand. You are Christian. This is your way"

"It is not my way" Arthur said. His voice was low and seething was rage, yet Aibhilín felt safe with him. He seemed a man who it was safe to put your trust into.

The other knight who had rescued her held out a waterskin to her. Aibhilín drank greedily, but choked a little as the water touched her scaly, dry throat. He leant her forward and helped her. "Can you speak?" he whispered.

"Y-Yes" she said, failing the first time, but her voice growing stronger. She clutched at his arm. "My sister" she said, without stumbling. "She's still in there"

He stood up. "Tristan! Gawain! There's someone still in there" Two of the other knights stood up and ventured into the prison with the dark knight.

Aibhilín sat up, barely able to, and feeling like she might faint, but she would do it for Guinevere. She looked at Honorius and Arthur talking. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was nothing good. Arthur drew his sword, and Aibhilín fervently hoped that he wouldn't kill him. She wanted to hold a bow with Guinevere and let the two of them drive it into his heart.

Then, she suddenly heard drums. At first she thought that it was just her, but the other knights were looking around apprehensively. Saxons was the word on everybody's lips. Aibhilín wondered about what had changed since she was imprisoned.

The knight called Tristan emerged from the prison. Aibhilín sat up expectantly, but her hopes were all dashed when she saw Gawain and her rescuer carrying a body like a limp rag doll.

She stood up, regardless of the pain in her feet, and started to hobble over to where they placed her sister's body. She fell a bowlength or two away, and crawled over in the snow. "Guinevere" she sobbed, tears blinding her eyes, not the sun now. She pulled her sisters long, tangled hair away from her face, even though her dislocated fingers could do little, and they hurt most painfully. She smoothed her sister's contorted face and tried to cover up the worst of her sister's injuries. For the first time she could see the full extent of their torture. They both had dislocated fingers, stretched muscles, infected swollen feet and holes in their backs from sharp metal spikes being driven into them and raw arms and legs. Aibhilín had twisted toenails and Guinevere had long burns on her back. Aibhilín sobbed harder over her sister's pain in life, but there was also relief. At least she was free of her pain now.

I am cruel...actually I'm not. You all know what happens. She can't die, it completely screws up my plot! I'm heartless, aren't I...?

Blessed Be

ChiaraStorm