Chapter 4: Hung through a Pale Moon
"She is the one."
Caoimhe clutched her daughter in protective fear as she stared wild-eyed at the strange man. Bearded men appeared behind their leader, swords drawn in reproachful silence. They stood in silent stance, an illusion of relaxation but no one could dismiss the flexing of their muscles as they waited in tense seconds for their orders. Sorcha backed up beside her mother, her eyes swirling as though a storm were brewing; the iris consumed with breached anger and fright. It seemed like hours that they stared at one another, challenging each other with their quiet threats. Caoimhe's rumpled skirt swirled suddenly as her arm swung out to the wooden table to grab the nearest knife, only to be interrupted as the stranger slammed her arm against the table and he pushed her slim figure violently up against the thatched cabin. He pressed his body against hers to restrict her motions and leaned his face up close to her, his breath tickling her nose.
"Try that again, and you will sorely regret it."
Caoimhe struggled to catch her breath, all the while staring down at him in dawning horror.
"Who are you?" she whispered in a choked voice, her eyes brimming with confusion.
The leader of the group barely had time to respond when the sudden eruption of metal against skull imprinted itself into the silent dread of the room. The man immediately released his hold on Caoimhe and cried out in pain as he swung around, clutching the swelling on his head. All he saw was a fiery girl, her face a mask of fury, her knuckles white from gripping the iron pot. His men instantly took hold on her, clutching her arms as they tried to steady her flailing body. However Sorcha would not give up so easily, evidence from the upcoming outcries as she kicked one man in the leg, the other was, unfortunately for him, granted a short reprieve of his manhood as the young girl proved she was no shirking violet. She was still, however, a young child, and was quickly restrained. The leader stared in surprise at her independent gall, and could not resist a small smile tugging at his ragged lips.
"Tough as well, all the better I suppose." He whispered, more to himself then anyone else.
The man stroked the shadow of beard that was silhouetted along his face, easily ignoring the fading pain that consumed his head. No real damage, but he was well aware of the upcoming migraine he was sure to have. His leather boots barely made a sound as he softly treaded over to her, his dark eyes burning through her skull. His musky scent of sweat and blood evaded her senses as he leaned in, hate consuming her. He smiled softly at her scowl and tugging arms, she was definitely the right choice. His black eyes locked onto hers gently, mirth mixed with seriousness evading the landscapes of his iris. His voice was rough, accented slightly as he spoke in his broken version of the language of the Fir Bolg.
"Who might you be, little one? Are you not the daughter of Danu? Or are you the offspring of the Bolgs?"
The answer in return was a swift spray of spit into his face. Smiling at her audacity, he retrieved a piece of cloth and wiped it roughly over his face.
"More animal then human I should say," as he pocketed the makeshift handkerchief, "but no worries, my men will make you a lady yet. In time though, all in good time."
Silence descended the room; Caoimhe trembled with anger in the corner of the room all the while being restrained by one leather-vested pockmarked man. The leader reached to his side and swiftly revealed from his leather sheath a glinting dagger, carved with innumerable designs crisscrossing both the handle and the metal blade. The fading light from the fire captured the metal in its entirety, its reflection illuminating the horrible reality. The side of the dagger stroked along Sorcha's pale skin, scraping ever so softly along each invisible hair. The unmistakeable swallow was caught along the edge of this dagger, pausing time. He leaned in closer, the knife twisting with his movement.
"I will not ask you again, my dear. What is your name?"
The girl clenched her jaw and stared murderously at him, her eyes blazing. It was fitting, due to the nature of her wild mane of red hair.
"My name is Sorcha, though I hardly see what business it is to a cretin such as yourself."
Her name drifted gently along the recesses of his mind as he pondered softly upon its true meaning. Yes, his master would be pleased with her; of course he and his men would undoubtedly have to tame her.
"A name for a true queen, no doubt, as you will soon enough be."
Sorcha's eyes narrowed in confusion, her mind racing with his reply. She drifted her eyes to her mother; however Caoimhe's face was a mirror of her own confused stoniness. They barely had time to ponder on his response, as the door burst open as though the very gates of heaven had been picked through.
The door crashed open revealing five brawny shadows, their bulky figures strong and true, entwined in the rolling, dark clouds of evening.
"Papa!" Sorcha cried out in pure relief, as chaos suddenly erupted throughout the room.
The mysterious man swung behind Sorcha and clutched her neck with his arm, his knife still dangerously in plain sight. Caoimhe released a startled cry as the man who restrained her pushed her into the arms of a taller brute so that he could retrieve his weapon. However the glistening sword was immediately thrown to the floor as a bulky figure crashed into him, throwing punches left and right. The other figures in the doorway leaped forward, picking a man and taking aim. They were sailors, but fighters at heart. The table broke as one of the men flew through the air and crashed painfully into its wooden haunches. Sorcha's father, Coinneach, held murder in his stormy ocean eyes. His brawny figure was surprisingly agile and swift as he suddenly leaned down and whisked a simple net-cutters knife from his roped boot, his eyes narrowing in at the man restraining his wife. Leaping smoothly over the fire-pit Coinneach rushed to his wife's side. He gave the man no chance for defence as his knife plunged into his neck. The man slumped silently against the wall, motionless. Chaos was sprinting throughout the room as Coinneach pushed Caoimhe over to the side to glimpse his daughter's captor. The leader caught Coinneach's deathly glare and decided for once and for all to put an end to this madness.
"Stop!"
Though he may have anticipated silence, all he received was ignored ears. Coinneach swung himself over to the where his daughter was trying to struggle out of her bonds, and raised his knife pointedly in the air.
"Let her go, or your men will pay the price."
Silence descended the room as though a mist were settling over the moors. The leader gave a quirked smile of disbelief at this fishermen's gall. Amazing how these mere men of the ocean could fight with equal strength to his own trained soldiers. He looked at the figure lying motionless on the scratched wooden floor, and sighed with restrained impatience.
"I cannot release her. She is bound to my master by decree. She must come with me and my men where she will spend the rest of her days living in splendour."
Coinneach was barely listening, his knuckles turning white against the handle of his blade.
"Get away from her!"
The leader clenched his jaw in lingering impatience.
"I cannot, she is bound by decree…"
Sorcha's father stormed up to him, halting only when he saw the slight pressure of the stranger's blade to his daughter's neck.
"What are you talking about? What decree? Who are you?"
The man stared stoic at him, his dark eyes a shield of harsh reality.
"I am Lykaois, commander of the third cavalry to the Greek ambassador of foreign affairs. More specifically, I serve the descendants of the family you are more acquainted to knowing as 'Lerios'. My latest assignment is to come to receive the Fir Bolg's payment to the debt they owe the family from many generations ago."
No sound could imperfect the still silence of the room. All the men in the room straightened up in silent reverie. Coinneach's face paled visibly through the limited vision of the room. He knew.
"I want everyone out right now. I have something to discuss with this… commander."
Caoimhe's face was drawn into shock.
"But Coinneach, how can you just…"
"Leave, please, leave now." Her husband's head snapped towards her, controlled impatience taking control of his firm, hardened eyes.
Lykaois softly pushed Sorcha into the arms of one of his men, vaguely surprised at the lack of struggle. Without one more word the small crowd began to disperse into the dying day, glancing behind them at the two remaining figures staring intently at one another, entombed in sparkles of fading embers.
"Mama, what are they talking about? Why is father even listening to that, that…?"
The answer Sorcha eventually received was a coarse, dirt-stained finger pressed for silence against her rosy lips. It was the tall, dark-eyed man restraining her. His mouth whispered for silence as a semi-circle was formed over by the wood-pile near the front entrance of the cottage. Everyone sat down either on the dew-kissed grass or a fallen log, staring venomously at one another. Silence descended slowly, all ears straining to catch a glimpse of what was being said inside, but the only sound they received was the faint cry of the gulls in the distance. The waves were lapping ominously against the silky sheen of sand, oblivious to the controlled hate erupting up ahead. Sorcha's mother stared dangerously at the man holding her daughter.
"Why must you hold her down, let her go, we are not going to attack you while my husband is in there."
The man stared directly at her, not even a flicker of emotion tainting his stoic face.
"Orders are orders, and I will follow them until my duties are finished."
Caoimhe narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Duties? You call kidnapping a young girl, restraining two unarmed women, barging in violently, threatening my daughter… duties?"
If in fact the man felt slightly guilty at this statement, he definitely did not reveal it.
"You will know soon enough why we have come for you daughter."
Caoimhe stood up suddenly, prepared to lunge angrily at this inconsiderable brute.
"Then why can't you tell me now, if you know? Save your commander's breath, and tell us first why you have come and created this havoc upon us."
The man stared at her for a moment, blinking, and then shifted his head slightly to give a simple nod to one of the bearded men sitting nearby. The man had a full beard, and was dark and pockmarked. His eyes, however, concealed great wisdom, shimmering softly in his hidden irises. He straightened himself from the fallen log he had been resting on, and stared softly at Caoimhe, his shoulders hunched over.
"My name is Adrastos, and I am a son from the family of Lerios."
"But who is Lerios! What is the importance of this family, and what do they have to do with Sorcha?"
His dark eyes held the woman's for a moment, willing her into silence.
"Many, many generations ago, the Fir Bolg was slaves to the Greeks. I'm sure this you have known, as it has been written in many of your legends. They were subjected to pain and torture by many of the wealthy families. Eventually, your people had had enough. They made a deal with one of the slave-trader families, a family that went by the name Lerios."
The Fir Bolg fishermen around the circle clenched their fists in remembrance of the tales told to them by their ancestors, shocked to find out that the legends were in fact truth.
"The father of the Lerios household agreed to the slave's requests, that they be granted their freedom, on one condition. If at all the Lerios' need aid, and then the Fir Bolg would, without hesitation, offer their services. It was thought that we would need your people's help in impending wars, but in fact we require your help in other ways. We, Greece, are excellent allies with a faraway land called Egypt. Our friendship, however, is a shaky one, so we must do what we can to appease their great leader, their pharaoh."
Sorcha lifted her head softly, listening intently.
"Egypt? Where is this place?"
Adrastos snapped his head towards her, his eyes softening at her question.
Far to the south, many thousands of miles from here, lay the rolling cliffs of sand and sun. It is called the desert, and it is as beautiful as the piles of gold that lay at the Pharaoh's feet, but just as deadly. The sun strikes this golden sea and sets it on fire, scorching those who come unprepared to a thirsty death. Envision the Great Pyramid, a dimensional triangle if you can see it, hovering majestically above all else. It is encased in highly polished, smooth white limestone and capped by a perfect pyramid of onyx, blinding all those that gaze upon it. The pyramids are the resting places of the great Pharaoh's, and they are in perfect alignment with the stars in the sky."
Silence met Adrastos' speech, and he ducked his head in embarrassment, going too far. Sorcha, however, gazed at him in entrancement, awed by his speech. He looked up hesitantly, somewhat resistant in continuing on.
"Their great leader, the Pharaoh, has heard legends of a pale-skinned race, eyes that that can be the colour of forest, the Nile, and even the sky where the Gods they worship rest. He has heard of women whose hair can be the colour of the fertile soil, colour of their sun-god Ra, and the colour of a setting sun."
At that last phrase Adrastos could not resist a glance to where Sorcha stared at him, begging him with her eyes to continue on.
"This great King has requested another wife. He has already married two of his sister's, and has been born enough sons, but he is interested in another wife. He has been looking forward to perhaps marrying a legend, these women from the North. The Pharaoh has requested that the Greeks undertake the task of bringing a woman down to Egypt, to be his next Queen. The instant my commander saw your daughter; he knew she was the perfect candidate."
In Sorcha's opinion, even the cry of the sea gulls ceased in shocked silence. As hard to believe that Caoimhe's jaw could drop any further, it nearly hit the ground. The sailors eyes widened in understanding, and all Sorcha could do was stare in surprise at Adrastos. Though it seemed as if everyone's voices ceased to exist, her mother was not going to be silenced as she stood and sputtered for a moment.
"I, I, now listen here you. I am her mother, she is my daughter and she is my responsibility. I refuse to let you… hooligans to come and take her away from me. Sorcha is my baby, and I'll be damned before I'll let you marry her off to some sick narcissist who is already wed to two of his sisters! I don't think so! Besides, Sorcha is much too young to wed, how could you do that to a child?"
He interrupted her for a split-second.
"The journey to Egypt will take many years; Sorcha will be more then of a marriageable age by then."
"I don't care! You will not take her away!"
Adrastos sighed, standing up slowly, giving Sorcha a pitiful stare before turning to her mother. However he didn't even get a chance to speak before the door to the cottage softly opened. Everyone stood up sharply, placing their hands over their weapons in guarded silence. Lykaois stepped out of the door, his hawk-eyed gazed taking in every detail. He spoke softly to the man restraining Sorcha.
"Let her go."
Without a second thought Sorcha was pushed into the arms of her mother, who sobbed thankfully into her daughter's hair, stroking the auburn strands. She whispered softly into Sorcha's ears, comforting words that seeped in like the tide.
"Don't worry, dear heart, your father will never let anyone take you away."
Lykaois placed the dreaded gilded knife back into its sheave before speaking to his soldiers.
"We must leave now, we will return in a day."
With that he spun on his heels and began the long trek back into the woods, his men silently striding behind him, taking their terror with them. Caoimhe paled visibly and clutched at her daughter's shoulders. Coinneach was in the doorway, resting sadly to the side. He looked as though he just aged a lifetime, and his face was an ashen grey. His wife turned to him, realizing the truth. He had just given their daughter away.
"You bastard," she seethed venomously, "how could you? How could you?"
Without a thought she flew into a rage towards Coinneach, pounding her fists against his woollen vest and grimy work shirt, sobbing angrily. He grabbed her elbows to try to steady her, but Caoimhe's anger was too much to bear as she sunk to the ground, still sobbing uncontrollably and weakly punching her husband in his brawny chest. He sank to the ground with her, tears streaming down his ashen face as he tried to console her, hugging her tightly to his chest. They didn't notice Sorcha, standing tall on the cliff, staring out into the ocean. Her red hair flickered in the breeze, but she didn't notice. The waves now crashed furiously against the shore, pounding the water into a rhythm, sadly aware that they were losing a daughter of the Danu.
The ocean, she knew, was crying as well.
I sincerely apologize for the wait, my computer crashed completely (seriously) and then it was a while before I could buy a new one. But here it is. So thanks to my awesome reviewers. Here are the reviewers for chapter 5.
chugirl2526: thanks you so much for the review. I'm planning on both guys loving the girl, but she is kinda torn. It is always appreciative to receive a review, good or bad, so thanks, lol.
Dawn1: hello again, thanks for being so extremely patient. I really appreciate the comments, and, well, it got done eventually, lol. Thanks again, I do look forward to reading your comments.