Chapter 2:
TW – this chapter will describe some of the aftereffects of rape violence and beating. If this is upsetting to you, I would advise you to either read with caution, or skip to the next chapter. Thank you!
Ymir awoke to the sound of wailing.
"A—Amena!"
The guttural cry was broken and warped by the choking sobs of her mistress, originating outside the mudbrick walls of the house, and past the partially open door.
Sitting up, Ymir pulled her legs up to her chest in a ball, wrapping a tattered shawl that she used as a makeshift blanket around her shoulders. The sun had not yet fully risen, and darkness still cloaked the hut, concealing the servant in the corner where she was huddled.
Across the room, Vera, gestured for her to be still, as the Master of the house strode through the room and out to meet his tearful wife. Damen, snuggled closely to his grandmother's chest, whimpering slightly at the sense of his father's rage. Vera covered the youngest's mouth, whispering for little Timald to remain seated next to her, as silently as he could.
"What is this noise, woman?" Timald raged at his wife from the doorway, his back faced towards the house's startled occupants. "What's this racket for?"
"Timald, look at her, she's barely breathing! We have to get her inside before the Sun rises and sees her!" Ymir listened to the grunts of her master's wife as she attempted to pull her daughter's body closer to the door.
Timald remained unmoved, provoking the shrill voice of his pining wife to grate their ears once more.
"My love, please, we have to bring her inside—"
"She will not defile my house."
His words were spoken low, in a tone that denoted finality. But Thelea was not persuaded.
"Timald! I demand you move—"
Ymir shut her eyes as her ears were met with the swift sound of hands meeting flesh, and a body tumbling to the ground. Clutching her hands over her ears, she attempted to block the overflow of curses that followed, but it was almost pointless. The whole village would hear the foul words that Thelea uttered against her husband.
"You are my wife," Timald raged, his voice reverberating off earthen walls and funneling into the street. "You will not order me about my house! And I refused to bring this defiled wretch into my house!"
"Tim—"
"Now, witch, I command you to get your scrawny ass out of the dirt and inside the house!"
"But, Amen—"
"Leave her! She is defiled by your hand, or did I not hear you correctly last night when you told my mother to leave her to this brutality?"
"No! This isn't my fault—"
"I told you to stand up, woman. Or shall I leave the both of you out here to endure the shame of dying in the street?"
Ymir took her hands away from her ears, carefully listening as Thelea stood and entered into the house with another blow to the back of the head for her disobedience.
"Get in there!" Timald shoved his woman inside before stomping towards Ymir and grabbing her painfully by the arm. Ymir knew better than to scream and allowed her master to drag her out the house and throw her in the dirt next to his bloodied daughter.
"Get rid of this filth!" Timald commanded, without a glance in Amena's direction. "I want her gone before I leave for the fields!"
"Yes, my lord."
"Shut up and do it now!"
The door slammed behind him, leaving Ymir alone to decide what to do with the most recent of the Sun's curses.
She stood, brushing the dust off of her tunic and lightly touching the spot on her arm where a bruise was already starting to form. At least it wasn't broken. For a slave, that would be a death sentence. Looking around her, she saw neighbors lining the street, peering out windows and gaping in their doorways at the sight of the defiled, and immediately she lowered her head, and focused on the task at hand, seeing the girl's condition for the first time.
Ymir choked, opening, and shutting her eyes wishing what she saw wasn't real. But it was. As real as the sky, and as dreaded as a spring drought.
Bite marks cluttered the girl's arms, each differing in depth and size, but bleeding just the same. Blots of blue and red covered Amena's scourged chest that was revealed by the tears in her crimson tunic, once a gift of her mother's, to bless her as she served the men.
Amena's blonde hair was torn, each strand at different lengths, some even pulled completely out, leaving patches where hair had once been. And her face. Her jaw was bruised, and her neck was marked with lines where fingers had once been. Her nose dribbled blood, and her eyes hung somewhere between open and closed, flickering back and forth in the morning light with dazed unconsciousness.
"Ymi—"
The servant took a step back at the throaty sound of her name, choked out despite the pain in the girl's throat.
"Don't say that." The servant broke, kneeling down beside Amena and taking one of her hands in her own. "The sun is risen already…"
"H-help—"
The once repressed giggles of two girls rang in her ears, and Vera singing somewhere in the distance. Once upon a time, Amena had been her friend, maybe even her sister, before she had become indentured, before disaster struck.
"It's all going to be fine, Amena." Ymir whispered, looking around her for somewhere to take the girl before Timald came out again. "I'm going to take care of you, but this may hurt a little."
Ymir stood to grab Amena's shoulders, and with a heave she pulled the heavy body towards the vegetable garden, where she could hide her in the shade of the trees, at least for a little while.
Amena groaned in agony, but there was nothing either of them could do. In a few minutes, the girl was safely tucked under the low hanging branches of some shrubbery, and Ymir desperately searched for an idea of what else she could do for her mistress' daughter.
"I'm going to go get Vera." She finally decided, explaining herself although she wasn't even sure if Amena could really hear. "Are you all right here?"
"Mmm…"
Ymir took that as an affirmative answer and stood, taking one last look before turning to run the house.
As she was just about to round the corner, she stopped at the sound of Timald slamming the door behind him and jogging lightly out into the street, greeting his fellow workers with a smile and clap on the back. He chuckled at a joke as though nothing had happened and walked down the road with his tools over his shoulder, ready to begin the day's work.
Ymir gritted her teeth, waiting until her master was out of sight before she turned and entered, softly closing the door behind her.
"Vera," Ymir gently called, but she was immediately shushed by the cautionary shake of an old woman's head, and the groveling sight of Thelea, collapsed in her mother in law's lap.
"I can't believe he would say those things to me!" The wife pouted, jamming her fist into the woven mats on the floor one, two, three times as she raged. "And he hit me! What a horrible, hateful, disgusting man!"
Vera said nothing, obviously unsympathetic as she stroked Thelea's wavy black hair, which was still untied and flowing down her back.
"Take the boy's outside," Vera whispered to the servant, leaving no room for argument, before coddling her daughter in law. "Shh, shh, everything will be fine. He will be in a better mood when he returns from the fields, and the girl can burn the spices again, and you and your husband…"
Ymir gathered the boys, the younger in her arms, and the other clutching to her skirt of her tunic, eyes fixated on his sobbing mother, and exasperated grandmother. Something was wrong, she knew he could tell, but Ymir didn't have time to let him watch and find out why.
Timald looked up at the servant as she steered him towards the door, his big brown eyes gushing with confused tears.
"Where is Amena?"
"She's sick." Ymir answered, adjusting Damen on her hip and closing the door behind her. "But I'm going to make her feel better."
Timald didn't accept the counterfeit smile that the servant conned him with.
"Why is mommy crying?"
"Don't worry," Ymir comforted, taking his hand with a light squeeze as she led him behind the house. Intentionally drawing his attention away from his sister crouched beneath the shrubbery, she led the boys to a group of trees, bordering the wheat fields and blocking their view of the house.
"Now, would you and Damen do me a favor?" The servant asked.
Taking the youngest off her hip, she tousled his hair, putting his thumb in his mouth to keep him from crying. Timald watched her as she calmed his younger brother but didn't answer.
"You have to promise me not to come out of the shadow of these trees before I tell you." Ymir traced the trees' shadow on the grass with her finger, making sure the brothers could see the dimensions of their boundary. "It will be like a game! If you don't step out of the shadowy parts until Vera or I come to get you, you win."
"What are we supposed to do, until then?" Damen took his finger out of his mouth for a moment to whine, looking to his brother for support.
"That's for you to decide." Ymir smiled gently. "But it's your responsibility to make sure you stay inside the boundaries. Promise?"
Both boys mumbled their promise, before turning and heading deeper into the thick of the trees.
The servant stood, looking both ways to ensure no one was watching, then made her way towards the house again.
The sun was beginning to get hot, and Ymir knew if Vera couldn't come out to help soon, Amena may be out of their reach.
Starting to run, she turned the corner of the house yet again, opening the door which as much gusto as she could muster, almost running into Vera and the bowl of salve that she was carrying.
"Woah, child!" Vera scolded. "Be more careful."
Ymir's eyes widened as she nodded, stepping out of the doorway to allow Vera to pass.
"Where is she?" The older woman scowled, scanning the area for her granddaughter with thin pointed eyes. "Is she dead?"
Ymir shook her head no, pointing towards the house's rear before turning on her heels in a brisk walk to the shrubbery where Amena was hidden.
Vera barked more questions, following the servant as quickly as her aged legs could carry her.
"Where are the other children?"
"I told them to play in the trees, my lady. They won't see anything."
"Good."
They approached the bruised young woman, and Ymir pulled back branches for her superior to examine the child's wounds. Amena must have passed out or fallen asleep, because her eyelids no longer hung halfway across her bloodshot pupils, and her breathing was deep and even. By the look of Vera's face, she was shocked, but the wounds were not so much that they couldn't be healed with time.
Ymir let out a sigh of relief.
"Go get a cupful of wine– If this girl's parents didn't drink all of it last night. It will help her bear the pain."
Amena groaned, as Vera began to poke and prod, but her eyes remained shut, though her fists clenched tightly, fingers tracing lines in the dirt as she winced.
"Go!" Vera reminded the slave.
"Yes, my lady."
Ymir ran once more, throwing open the door and entering the hut.
Thelea was nowhere to be found, probably in her room sulking, and avoiding work as she usually did.
Turning towards the stores of food, Ymir saw it was evident that the Harvest was almost here. Everything ran dangerously low, grain, vegetables, dried meat, and lentils. There was only one vat of oil left, to light the lamps and make a measly few loaf of bread. She hoped she wouldn't have to waste any more of it on her Masters' frivolity, like she had the night before, but knew she couldn't prevent it either way, and began rummaging through the stores for the strongest wine she could find.
Only one jug remained, and Ymir carefully poured it into a carved wooden cup, taking care that not even one drop was spilled. If she feared her master's anger when he was drunk, she knew from experience his sober fury made everything pale in comparison. If the wine ran out, it was her who was doomed.
With careful steps, the servant returned to Vera's side, carefully shutting the door to the house, and avoiding the stares of gawking onlookers in the street, who still seemed to think there was something for them to watch.
She sighed. If they saved Amena, the life ahead of her would be difficult, and it was likely she would never marry.
But at least she would be alive. That was all that mattered.
"Hurry up, child, we don't have much time till the Sun reaches its peak. I'm still an old woman, the heat wouldn't be good for either of us."
Ymir carefully handed the cup to Vera, who in turn, forced Amena to chug the entire thing. The girl coughed and sputtered, but Vera was not wavered, and continued to pour the thick crimson liquid down her throat.
For once, Vera didn't whine, grumble, or chastise as she worked. She simply bound Amena's wounds, after wiping a homemade salve over the gashes and bite marks that littered her skin. Ymir huddled by her side, taking care to make sure the Timald and Damen weren't spying on them. They'd have another problem to deal with, if they discovered their sister's sorry state.
"There's nothing I can do for her hair," Vera muttered, taking one torn strand in her fingers, "Nothing, except cut it all short. It's a pity, she has such beautiful hair."
Ymir nodded, standing up to fetch the razor. "Shall I go get the knife?"
"I brought it with me," Vera said, pulling the small blade from the folds of her skirt. "I carry it with me most days, especially when my son is too drunk to be trusted not to hurt himself."
Or others.
"We'll have to sit her up." The old woman commanded, gesturing for Ymir to grab Amena's shoulders. She did as she was told, and Vera began slicing away, blonde hairs of various lengths taking their place in the dirt, just another thing they'd lost.
"She's done." Vera said. "That's all I can do for her. Moon and stars willing, she will make it thought the night."
The slave feared the Sun would kill before the Moon had an opportunity to turn its face to their plight. But remained quiet, folding her hands reverently as Vera muttered a tear choked prayer.
Ymir never prayed, save the ceremonial blessings she mumbled over scented lamps when the occasion arose. It was not because she doubted in the existence of some spiritual being, be it the Sun or some other heavenly body. She had witnessed the ravaging power of the gods pointed in her direction since childhood, and it was because of that she never spoke to them. Mostly out of fear that the sound of her prayer would provoke them more, and partly out of a small shred of indignation for the fury she had earned.
But she refused to be hateful. Ymir had experienced hate enough from others to adopt the mindset herself. Though it was difficult, she wouldn't hate the gods, somehow, they knew why she'd earned their wrath, and that was enough of an answer for her.
As Vera finished, wiping the tears from her wrinkled face, Ymir stood, rearranging Amena so that she would not be seen easily by passersby in the street, or worse, select occupants of the house.
"I'll check on her in a while, my lady." Ymir comforted Vera, feeling burning heat on her back as she stepped out of the shrub's protective shade. "You should go inside, it's too hot."
"You're right." Vera frowned as she nodded, her grouchiness returning. "Go get the boys and bring them to me. This old woman needs some cheerful smiles and a cup of water."
"Yes, ma'am."
Turning, they parted ways, Vera to the house, and Ymir to the small strip of woods to fetch Timald's sons. Forcing a smile, she called to the children, brightening as they bounced towards her, characteristically dirt smeared, and rowdy.
"Did we win?" Damen questioned, his blue eyes opening wide as he tugged on the hem of her skirt.
"What do we get?" Timald asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Let's go ask Vera." Ymir chuckled, taking the boys' hands in her own and leading them to the house.
"I hope it's dried fruit," Damen mumbled, knowing full well there wouldn't be more dried fruit until the harvest came in.
"I hope it's a ride on Mr. Sholk's donkey." Timald fantasized, waving a stick in his hand like a sword. "Then we can play soldier."
Ymir grinned at the boys' foolishness, successfully leading them past the shrubbery and rounding the corner to the hut.
Everything would be fine. If she couldn't save Amena, she had these two. And she would do anything in her power to save those children from the curses of the gods.