AN: The memory involving Marika is VERY graphic, sensitive readers beware! Thanks as always for reading!
Four figures entered the quiet dawn of the infirmary. It was not their noise that woke her, for they were silent shadows. It was the twinned magic she felt concentrated just within the archway.
Millicent pretended sleep, watching through half-closed eyes. It was only she, Dame Finlay, and the princess Malenia within the healing ward's walls. She would wait and see if these intruders meant harm. Her plan evaporated as soon as the low torchlight fell upon the leading figure's face.
"Polyanna!" she called softly, unsure of how she knew the name.
The four stopped as one and Millicent's smile slipped from her face, there was strange malevolence in the air. Her sisters, and she could feel somehow they were her sisters, readied weapons! Millicent cast her gaze about frantically for something to defend herself, snatching an empty bronze basin from her bedside table. She would let no harm come to those that had saved her from the rot!
All her sisters, besides Maureen with her great spear, held curved blades of a sort. Millicent charged forth with her small bronze basin. She wasn't sure how her body was moving as it did, so swiftly and smoothly, but she was sure the clang of the basin against blades would rouse the cleanrots that guarded the area. The lack of her sword arm was infuriating, she would be faring better if only she had both arms!
Millicent lost herself in the frantic melee, laughing at the slashes she did not manage to avoid. This combat felt so free! It was as if she were awakening a part of herself left enslumbered for far too long! Millicent stumbled in her arrogance, slow eyes watching Maureen's approaching spear with agonized acceptance. She'd never be able to-
She was snatched backwards before her sister could skewer her through, warm hands ushering her behind a broad back. Finlay! "Lord Owain warned me there was yet some trickery at play. You did quite well, Millicent. Forgive me, little warrior, I wished to see which side you would choose." She had been awake?
Millicent frowned at her confession, even if she understood the necessity of it. She knew the others meant her harm, but some instinct in her heart could not bear the thought of them being struck down, "Please, do not kill them, they-"
Finlay grinned at her over her shoulder, the sight of it set Millicent's heart at ease, "Hush sweetheart, I'll not kill them. Come now children, there is no need for violence." The knight took up her sword from its place stashed behind Malenia's cot. Finley did not draw her blade, did she truly intend to best five others with scabbarded sword alone? "Clean rots!" the commander called and three of her sister knights crept through the entrance to the ward. They blocked escape with their readied scythes. Had they…had they been waiting as well?
Finlay was a wonder to behold in combat. Her speed, her strength, her mastery of the sword, Millicent was dazzled. Finlay parried and looped around Millicent's sisters with the ease one that might avoid stumbling drunks. She warned them gently with her scabbard at exposed defenses, she caught them softly in a guiding hand when they stumbled against one another. This was no fight…it felt to Millicent more like an exercise in restraint.
One by one her sisters were tenderly disarmed, pushed into the waiting arms of the other cleanrot knights. They did not offer much protest, which seemed odd. A golden haired woman, flanked by two sentinel captains, rounded the archway. Tricia, Millicent recognized.
The perfumer crouched before the would be assassins, hands outspread in glowing purple magic. All four of Milicent's sisters slumped in sleep, "You did well in asking I stay here Finlay, the compulsion magic that contorts these girls…it is vicious beyond belief. It is a wonder they've minds left at all."
Finlay strode forward with a frown, Millicent walked hesitantly at her shoulder, "Can the compulsion be removed?" the dame asked.
Tricia laid a hand to one the girl's brows, Mary, Millicent recalled with a smile. The healer grimaced, "It is sorcery and incantation both…I would feel more confident in its dispelling if a true sorceress were at my side." Millicent had not realized her wounds were bleeding so heavily until the kind perfumer healed her with another quick spell. Millicent tried to calm her pounding heart, the whirlwind of the last few minutes catching up to her all at once.
"Princess Ranni and Duchess Sellen are in far Caelid, aiding lord Radahn in his research. I fear that they are far from any portal stone." Finlay gestured for her knights to line up beds for the new patients. Millicent hurried out of their way.
The sentinel captains remained at the door as the cleanrots placed Millicent's siblings in the newly arranged beds. Tricia cast yet another spell, this one a bright gold in color. She frowned at its completion, "This magic, and the rot entwined within, will kill these children, should we allow it a few more hours to eat away at them."
Millicent felt worry flare in her, was there nothing they could do? She almost spoke before Finlay laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, gaze upon the sleeping princess, "Then…"
Tricia sighed, low and long-suffering, Millicent knew there was something she was not understanding, "In Caria, it should be perhaps an hour after noon. The queen should be resting about now. I shall speak to her, child. Let us hope she has regained her senses, and that she is feeling…charitable. We've no other hope, should we wish to save these children."
Things were going suspiciously well for him of late. Loretta had visited a few days passed, breaking their decades of silence. She'd called him all sorts of names, but she'd also kissed him senseless, so he would name it his victory. Hopefully she would return to Caria, now that the Haligtree was being, at least temporarily, evacuated. Perhaps she'd settle down on the low Altus plains, he knew she worried for the albinarics there.
Wherever she chose to go, he wouldn't let his pride see him apart from her as it had for too long a time. This was a new era of second chances. Caria's golden son rose anew, with him rose the dreams of all Carians. Moongrum could never retire, Rennala was too precious to him, but he'd been considering allowing Linde to take further charge of things. He chided himself for brooding on his day off.
Moongrum had sourced a fresh piece of pie from the kitchens and now reclined into his favorite arm chair in his queen's quarters. He'd moved it to sit aside his lady's bed, just so he might be near if she required him. She had been in the midst of an episode for a few days now, but this one at least was not so dreadful. Rennala was convinced it was only a few days after Radahn had set out for Caelid the first time. This was a good turn of fortune, as the manor had been as empty of her family then as it was now. Even Rykard and Tanith had gone to the academy to pursue the library for a few days. Moongrum needn't lie to his queen to keep her calm, only offer his ear at her complaints of boredom.
"Dost thou think I shouldst take up knitting?" she drawled, flicking through the nearest of her hovering texts.
"I wonder when you will tire of asking me questions you already hold the answer to." he said, focusing on his pie. The new chef was proving to be quite talented.
Rennala huffed, "Thou dost not think I couldst knit?"
"I do not think you will find it fulfilling. Unless your opinion of the craft has changed since the three hundredth time you attempted it." he said dryly.
"Mayhaps it has." he wouldn't look at her, he knew she was pouting, "Grum I am ever so bored." the queen whined.
Moongrum sighed, "Shall I get the chess-"
Rennala blew her sigh, flopping dramatically on her pillows, "I'd rather try mine hand at knitting another three hundred times."
"Then shall I find you a new book?" he questioned. He already knew how she'd respond.
"I've read every book in the library thrice now!" she exclaimed.
"No one told you you must read four at once, my lady." Moongrum reminded her. She groaned in annoyance, shutting all her hovering tombs before rolling over and watching him silently.
The queen edged closer even as Moongrum leaned back, "Dost thine pie taste as good as it smells?"
He frowned at her, holding his plate away from her encroaching fingers, "Pray, I am off duty, do not steal from me this precious piece of-"
"A taste at least, thou'rt so greedy!" she called. Her attempt at subterfuge was going poorly and he scowled at her reaching hand.
Moongrum pushed her away at the shoulder but she was too damn tall! "My service, my life, and now my pie. Which of we two is truly greedy?"
She'd almost secured his fork, despite his best efforts, "Hush, grumbler, Thy queen requests a bite." she snapped her teeth at him playfully.
Moongrum relented, at last offering his snack to his queen, "As my lady wishes."
Rennala whooped in joy and a genuine smile slipped its way onto Moongrum's face. He'd…he'd dearly missed this. Their normal levity, before the world had become so very cruel. He had followed her, been her closest friend and confidant since he had jumped into a street brawl with she and her sister at the age of twelve. She had seemed a champion even then, face smudged with dirt and knuckles smeared with the blood of that snooty count's son.
Her bite of pie turned into several, an indulgence Moongrum could not help. It was better she ate than she starved. Rennala's face quirked, "It tastes different than usual, has Tomas…." she trailed off. The way her cheerful eyes darkened made him uneasy.
"Rennala?" he asked.
She set the plate down beside her, "Tomas is dead. He has been for…many years." Oh, she had snapped back to lucidity. His heart sank, though he knew he should be glad she was returning to her true wits.
"Aye." he said softly, offering a hand.
She took it, squeezing softly, "I am returned. Though…I almost wish I wast not."
Wirra, this never got easier, did it? "You will have such easy joy again, Rennala. I promise."
His queen scowled at her shaking hands, "My…thou art my most cherished companion, Grum. I wouldst be dead without thee. I am sorry, sorry that I am…as I am."
He met her eye, "I will speak freely, if you'll allow it." at her nod, he continued. Young Wain had been making great efforts at being clearer with his feelings since his return, mayhaps Moongrum should follow his prince's example, "Beyond my vows of featly and service, beyond the knight that sits afore you, I am your friend. Always. I love you, Rennala. I will never forsake you. You've been beside me through nigh all the days of my life. We have grown, bled, loved, and lost. We have done all these things together. There is no need to apologize, and we mustn't stay in the past, Rennala. We will make the future better."
His queen's lips were trembling but at least they were curved up, "Cometh here. Soft-heart." she ushered him into a hug, her willowy arms wrapping about him tightly, "Be not afeard, I shall not let slip the Lord Commander of the Carian Knights is so sentimental." the pat of her hand to his head was especially condescending. Moongrum tried to shake her off with a laugh, to no avail.
He shoved at her side, digging at her ribs with his fingers hard enough that she startled, "Get off me, you giant. First you steal my pie and now you bully me." His voice was thick, and he ignored his tears just as she did hers. He rose, wiping at his nose with a sleeve.
Rennala sniffled softly as well, floating after him, "Aww, no need for to be abashed. Thy secret-"
He could not contain his laugh as she floated him as well and he was forced to twirled slowly in the air. He swatted at her half-heartedly, "Ugh, away! No levitation, it is not fair!"
His queen laughed loudly. It might have been somewhat forced, but it was still a genuine effort, "Loretta is not here to save thee, grouch!" she called. Moongrum smiled to himself. They could not remain trapped in the past, but it was not such a bad thing to mimic their past joy.
Tricia found them just as they finished their luncheon. By the tense way the healer set her shoulders, Moongrum could already tell this was no social call. "Tricia?" he asked.
Tricia bowed her head, "Rennala, Moongrum. I would beg a great favor, queen."
Rennala rose with a frown, "My title need not fall from thy lips, friend of Caria. How might I aid thee?" Moongrum had been surprised to see how fond the queen had grown of the perfumer over the last few seasons, but perhaps he should not have been. Tricia had been key in restoring the Carians, afterall.
Tricia rushed through a brief explanation of why she had come, all the while Rennala's scowl grew ever deeper. The perfumer shifted, uncomfortable, "I know that this is a bold request, but I fear my failure should I attempt the deed alone. These children are key to princess Malenia-"
The air frosted, "The rotted girl that doomed mine son to madness and suffering!" she snarled. Moongrum watched his queen with careful eyes.
Tricia cringed, "It is not so…simple."
"Speak." Rennala bit out. The growing surprise on her face surely matched his own as Tricia explained the circumstances that had led to the blooming in Caelid. The air returned to its former temperature as Rennala began to pace, "I…my own feelings, I have yet to decipher. This girl, she is dear to Owain?"
"Quite so, Rennala." Tricia nodded.
Rennala clapped, seemingly decided, "I shall aid thee in this effort, Tricia. I am curious about this child of Marika and Radagon. I shall see with mine own eyes, what Marika sought through tangled blood." Moongrum secured his sword from its place leant against the dining room table. He was curious as well, though far more worried Rennala would slip into another episode.
To Moongrum's eyes, Rennala passed through the boughs and corridors of the Haligtree like a silent angel of looming death. There were few within the tree now besides soldiers. The sentinels, as expected, stood at attention or fell in behind them. The cleanrots and lesser orders of the Haligtree were struck with obvious shock. They edged against the walls of the hallways, watching with unwavering focus. They clutched at their weapons, standing in tense stillness until long after the Full Moon Queen had gone by them. Moongrum himself was wound so tightly, he was inspecting every shadow for threats. It was a great relief when they at last made their way unto the healing ward.
When one of Moongrum's captains rode into Radahn's newest research camp with all speed, Owain feared the worst. When the man had informed he and Ranni that the queen had traveled to the Haligtree at Tricia's request, his heart had nigh dropped out of his chest. When Ranni had translocated them in a rush of silver mist unto the Haligtree's infirmary only for him to find Rennala sitting at Malenia's bedside with hand alighted to his princess' brow, Owain almost felt as if he were about to keel over from shock.
Mother Rennala smiled, easy and serene, "Ah, mine children. Thy arrival is well timed." The hair on his nape rose, things could never go so smoothly.
Owain sputtered, his confusion stealing his tongue, "Mother…wait-huh?" He could not find the words! Millicent stood beside four more girls, all laid up in cots. Her sisters? What? What was happening?
Ranni edged forward, throwing a questioning look at Moongrum, who only shrugged, "All is…well, mother?" she asked.
The queen brushed gentle fingers through Malenia's hair, "No. Much is not, but what mine hands can yet right, they shall." she gestured at Owain to come hither, "Her rune, canst thou take it up, Wain? Sellen's notes hath been ellucidatin'. I wouldst carry out the first of her planned tests."
He felt as if this strange scene of tranquility was about to erupt into chaos even as he neared the queen and she took up one of his hands, "Her rune…ah-aye. I can bear it. You are-forgive me, mother, this is all happening quite fast. You are well?" he questioned. The air was still, devoid of her wrath. Finlay was calmly sat a few paces away, she too smiled at him. Was he being a fool? What was this!
Rennala patted his knuckles with a small laugh, "Aye, mine son, well and fine. Ranni, ready thyself, I shouldst think a fourth rune shall be different than a third. Tricia, come. We must be watchful over this girl as we withdraw the rune."
Owain could hardly keep up but he supposed he should not fight this ease, his luck was sure to run short soon anyway, "There is no time like the present, wife." he said, kneeling before his Starlight, who matched his look of bewilderment.
She crouched at his front, kissing his cheek with a frown, "Then, forgivest my haste, Sunbeam. Brace thyself, my dear."
He had expected the weight of the foul thing as she set it within his chest. He'd expected the added layer to the howls of the other three. The feeling of power he always ignored, the thrill of godhood he always turned his face from. He had not expected the memory, nor that it would not be one of his own. He fell forward, caught on Ranni's magic. "Fine! I am-fine-" he gasped. Perhaps he could fight it off, breathe through it, perhaps he could-
The whip ripped at her, her brother's teeth sharp. Marika cried out at the pain that lanced across her back. Garut was cruel and struck her for the sake of his perverted joy, not to hurry her along in her task. Marika scowled at the dirt, hiding her hateful glare lest he whip her again. Her tears aroused her tormentor, she would not give him the satisfaction this day.
"Hurry now, shaman whore, there's much work for thee yet." Garut called with a laugh as he whipped her again anyway.
Work. This was no work, it was torture. Marika stooped to once more grip her cousin's corpse under the arms. The butcher's hut loomed ever closer, another family member lost to the cursed jars. Marika pressed her lips tight together, refusing to weep. Maruma would not not wish her to suffer on her account.
She struggled to lift Maruma atop the butcher's table. As she succeeded, Garut's new whip, fashioned from her younger brother's teeth, ripped once more into the skin of her arm. Marika could not help the sob that tore from her. "There they are," Garut cooed, yanking her ruthlessly towards him and snatching up her jaw in rough hands, "Such pretty tears." He did not wear the caterpillar mask his fellows did, he relished the suffering of her people. Garut licked cacked lips before thumbing away her tears and licking them as well.
"Release me." Marika said, voice as even as she could make it.
He smiled widely, shoving her away to her already scraped knees, "Mine hold slips…for now." his eyes traced the whole of her before he kicked her out the door of the butcher's, demanding she start her work anew.
Her's was not the first village to be swallowed up by these fanatics, nor would it be the last. Grandmother had hoped that their close proximity to the hinterlands would deter the hornsent, but they had come all the same. Grandmother had been the first to die, forced into a jar in front of the whole of their village. Her great aunt had been smashed into the same jar not a few moments later, the screams and the noise of breaking bones had yet to leave Marika's ears.
She heard too, her mother's sobs as she carried their neighbors' corpses to the butcher. She heard her brother's defiant shouts as she carried load after load of clay to the potter's. Their village was gone now, she was one of the only ones left, though she was sure Garut's final act of malice would be to force her into a jar as well. After he'd had his way with her, as he had with her sisters. For Garut was cruel.
The day came that she was the last one to remain, the other hornsent had gone on to butcher more villages, but Garut and a few of his wicked ilk remained. Marika did not show her fear, for they would find pleasure in that. She hated. She hated and cursed them behind a placid face. She would have her vengeance. She would kill them all for this, she would make them suffer, she would erase them. Idle fancies she knew, but her seething was all that fueled her now, so starved and shattered was she.
Garut tore her from the dingy straw he forced her to sleep on, dragging her through the streets of her ruined village. Marika did not cry out. Her silence over the last few weeks had steadily incensed him to ever greater cruelties, but she could not give him any satisfaction. She would rather suffer. He could not threaten her with her loved ones anymore, they'd all been butchered and jarred.
His brutish fellows threw small stones at her as they went. Marika did not cry out. When at last they entered the village square and she was tossed before the very same jar her mother and sisters had been forced into, even then Marika maintained her stony silence. "No pretty tears, my little strumpet?" he asked, wheedling voice a false kind.
She slapped at his face with a feeble arm, "One day, I shall have mine vengeance. One day-"
Garut struck her with the back of his hand. He ripped the ragged thing that had once been her favorite dress from her and Marika was forced to stand naked before her hated captors. He laughed, rubbing at his jaw, "Vengeance? For pity's sake, thy place is in the jar. Nigh-sainthood itself awaits you within! For shamans like thee, this is thy lot. Life were thee accorded for this alone." His foul grin stretched across his ugly face, the lust in it making her feel ill.
Marika said nothing, at last allowing herself to bare the hate of her heart in her stare. He cupped one of her breasts harshly before the same hand wrapped about her throat. Still, she said nothing. This wretch would gain no pleasure from her.
Garut grabbed a hand at her nethers roughly, plainly disappointed that she did not weep, "I'll see thee in this jar soon, my sweet, fret not. Only, we must first grace thee with our essence, thy lowly flesh shall be sanctified by our holy seed."
Marika spit in his eyes, grunting in pain as he sunk a punch into her stomach. She glared up at him balefully.
"Tenfold wilt thou pay for that, oafish whore!" Garut shouted. Marika tried to stand but weeks of starvation had robbed her of most all of her vigor. She retched up bile instead, dizzy and terrified.
Fear she would never show gripped her as Garut and the others began to disrobe. She must not give them the twisted satisfaction they wished for, must not shed a single tear. The memories of her butchered people, of the horrified cries of her family as they too had suffered this fate, she tried to push them down.
Garut's dirty hands reached out to her, and were just about to close around her throat when she watched his, and the eyes of his fetid followers, lock upwards. One moment they were staring up in surprise, the next, half of them had been torn to gushing shreds. As Garut's blood splashed across her face, Marika loosed the first laugh she'd heard from herself since the hornsent arrived. It was manic and it was unkind and it was joyous.
A man, larger than any she'd ever seen, clothed in the leathers and furs of a highlander, was visiting grisly death upon her oppressors. Marika was racked with a powerful shiver of base terror, but it was overwhelmed at the ecstasy she felt at seeing those she hated beyond any others be so viciously slain. Her savior bore a massive great-axe upon his broad back but did not use it. It was his hands that were stained in crimson, his teeth, his face.
Garut had been torn in twain. Ashar, the one who had defiled and slain Maruma, had his arm ripped from its shoulder and his throat bitten out. Auteur, who had cut up her still living father, was similarly dismantled by the large man. His spine used as a makeshift weapon against his fleeing brothers.
The others tried to run but were swiftly caught by the highlander, who roared in bestial wrath. Sobs at last slipped from her as the red of her captors painted the muddy village square. Their screams of agony, their pleas for mercy, Marika had never heard such sweet sounds. The warrior grabbed the last of the fiends, Raeku, who had raped her brother and set his teeth into the whip Garut had been so proud of.
Raeku babbled out a prayer even as he was hefted by the massive highlander. The man slammed Raeku down atop his knee, bending him at a sickening angle before ripping his head from his shoulders and throwing his limp body away into the far woods.
The highlander let out another savage roar, long and echoing and exhilarating. The force of it scattering dust in Marika's eyes and knocking over the nearest of the structures, the butcher's. He pounded his fists to his chest and bellowed out another warcry. Marika was weeping heavily now, unable to halt her astonished, relieved tears.
After a few moments collecting himself, the man turned towards her and Marika at last recognized him, despite his features being so covered in blood. He was the son of the chieftain of the nearest highland tribe. Hoarah, she thought. He and his ailing father had journeyed to the village just a spring past when their tribe had suffered an outbreak of fever.
She watched him with wide eyes, at last remembering to try and cover herself as he halted before her. His ragged breathing was all that disturbed the silence of her dead village as he wiped his face clean with the back of his cloak.
He frowned down at her, "I am Hourah Loux. We have met. Thou'rt Marika, the weaver's daughter." he declared, cadence still rough with bloodlust.
She nodded, unable to find her voice.
Hoarah looked to the near mountains, she was sure his own village was upon his mind, "Mine father thought it strange we had not received this month's delivery of healing herbs. I was to offer aid."
Marika nodded again, there was nothing she could say that he could not see plainly.
"Take this." he untied his thick fur cloak from his shoulders, offering it too her gingerly, "Thou shalt come with me to give these tidings to mine sire. I shall keep thee well safe. Do not fear my rage, I hold its leash."
For the third time, Marika only nodded.
Godfrey knelt, "I can offer no words that shall comfort thee in the face of this horror, but I hope these cravens' death's provide some small solace."
She swallowed past the tightness of her dry throat, "I-I must thank thee." she coughed.
He spat at Garut's steaming corpse, "Pardoning my brutish nature is thanks enough. I am not skilled at pleasantries."
"Thou'rt perfect." she whispered earnestly.
He had saved her, now she could truly plot her revenge on the hornsent. No matter how long it took, nor how much it took from her, Marika would see this horrible culture wiped from the face of the world. They sought divinity through the flesh of her people, she would steal it from them. A grin overtook her at her thoughts of godly conquest, jagged and hurtful but still joyous. One day she would hold all the power, one day she would ruin them.
Hoarah squinted at her, likely at a loss as to how to respond,"Thou'rt in need of food and water," he sourced a small water-skin and loaf of bread from his belt, "Sup slow, Marika, weaver's daughter. Lest ye be sick."
Marika did as he asked, unwilling to sacrifice this precious food through hasty avarice. They sat in silence while she devoured his offering.
When she had eaten enough that she thought she might be sick, he began walking. Hoarah did not turn to look and see if she followed, but she was sure he could hear her shuffling steps. It was only a few moments before the truth of her state was made clear. Though Marika was quite tall, as all her people had been, she was hindered greatly by her illness and the suffering of her mistreated body.
Hoarah halted, turning to regard her as she slowly limped to his side. The fury upon his face was scalding but she did not think it was meant for her. He muttered something under his breath and spat again at the men he'd killed before kneeling, "Thou'rt slowed by thy dwindled body. Would my touch disturb thee? We wouldst make the journey much more swiftly should I carry thee."
This man, he was more considerate than he looked. Marika did not especially wish to be touched, but the mountains loomed beyond them and she knew her sickly form would not be able to make the journey to his tribe's camp. Her eyes swept down from the mountain to scan her savior. He was powerfully built, it seemed to her eyes that a god had been bound in flesh and now offered her aid. His face was stern but as young as her own, his hair flowed in a wild river of dark waves at his back, his hands were…they were steady and unfilled with the scars she had seen upon his father's.
Marika nodded, "Pray, Hoarah, I would gladly accept the aid."
The man only grunted before settling her carefully in his arms. Marika tucked her face into his chest instinctively. His scent of sweat and furs was thick but comforting. It was in this man's hold, Hoarah Loux, that Marika felt the first safety since the coming of the nightmare. He did not comment on her tears nor on her trembling grip. He said nothing as she wept, but his hold was gentle and she felt him tighten the cloak around her shoulders.