WARNING: This story contains lots of physical and sexual violence, foul language, swords, yelling, hurt/comfort, torture, bad attitudes, and any other things that might upset somebody looking for a traditional love story. You might want to skip this one.
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HOLIDAY DISCLAIMER: This is a shorter update than most but I wanted to post a something before the holidays. Wishing everybody a merry merry and a happy whatever.
"Wake up."
Dayne bolted up trying to get away from the deep voice and rough hand on her bare shoulder. While she was not exactly sure where she was or how she came to be there, Dayne knew she needed to obey. Every ache in her body reminded her of the price she had already paid for disobedience. She was not willing to suffer more abuse at the moment.
"Easy," the deep voice remained but the hand was removed. "I just want you to wake up and have some water and maybe some bread. You shouldn’t sleep so sound after getting punched around like you did. You might wake up dead if you’re not careful."
"Reuben?" Dayne vaguely remembered talking to the soldier earlier in the evening.
"Who else?" He chuckled. "Do you think you can open your eyes so I can get a look at the pupils?"
Dayne struggled to lift the swollen lids. She felt the crusted, dried tears crack along the lashes but the lids would not budge more than that.
"No, sorry, too swollen," Dayne let her head rest back down on the straw covered floor.
"No, no, sit up. Come on. I’ll let you keep your eyes closed for the time being but you need to sit up and take a drink of water," Reuben’s voice was patient.
"Not sure, stomach hurts," before Dayne could give more of a warning she wretched. "Sorry, so sorry, oh no," she was sobbing.
"Sssh," Reuben sounded slightly amused. "I should have expected as much. You village types are always spitting on us soldiers while we serve to enforce the peace."
Dayne tried to pull away, fearing the consequences of her poorly timed illness. The soldier, not only held her fast, he started to clean her face with a cool, damp cloth.
"Might not get the water in you but at least I’ll get it on you,"
he was cheerful with the foul chore.
"Why are you helping me?" Dayne was suspicious of the soldier’s motives.
"I already told you, my sister looked like you. Reminds me of my home, my family. And, that’s a good thing. I’m stuck here for twenty moons more. Memories are all I’ve got to get me through ordeal."
"Wanna share?" Dayne grinned around her bruises. "My mother hates me. All my memories are tinged with her sneers and glares. I’ve got nothing happy to get me through my life."
A cold smack of wet, cloth landed across Dayne’s eyes, "Please, don’t look for sympathy from me, my girl. If your Mamma don’t love you then your Daddy sure does," Reuben laughed as he pick up his supplies to leave the cell.
"Senecos isn’t my father. And everybody knows its true," Dayne sighed heavily under the weight of the cold compress and the truth. "Senecos is a descent and caring man. I love him more than anybody could love a father. And, I think he feels the same about me. But, if Varna bore me then Senecos can’t be my father. Look at me. You even said I look like your sister. So, at least half of me is Elosian. That must be the half my mother hates so much. That must be why she can’t love me."
"Then she’s the fool," the cell door clinked shut with Reuben’s last word. "My mother would thank the gods for a child like you."
Dayne held steady. She did not react to the words. Reuben said ‘gods’ when he spoke. Elosians believed in Waur, the one god. She wanted to ask more but her fatigue was setting in.
* * *
Becca had tossed and turned the night away in Dayne’s sleeping loft. The bedding was most comfortable Becca had ever laid on. The blankets covering her were simple cloth on the outside but, Becca was sure, there were fur pelts inside. What should have been a perfect night’s sleep was plagued by thoughts of Dayne. Was she cold and hurt? Did anybody give her some water? Did she hate Becca for running away?
Becca wiped her eyes to dry the tears and push away the sleep. Holding the pillow close, Becca caught Dayne’s scent. She buried her face in the cloth, losing herself in the illusion her friend was home, next to her, and safely sharing the bed.
The cock crowed in the distance. Becca scrambled from the bedding. She struggled into her clothes while calling for Senecos to get up. She heard Varna curse in a hoarse, sleepy voice. Becca smiled with self satisfaction that she interrupted the vile woman’s rest. Just as Becca reached for her boot, which somehow managed to end up near the head of the bed, her hand caught the wood head board. Instead of a smooth surface, Becca realized the wood had been engraved. In the darkness, she let her fingers follow the pattern. Her heart beat raced as she recognized the Elosian symbols that formed her own name.
"Dayne, you do love me. And, I love you too," Becca whispered to the darkness.
* * *
The swish of air followed by a low hum woke Dayne. The cloth covering her eyes fell away when she turned toward the sound. It had served to relieve the swelling in her face. She was able to force her eyes open and find the source of the hypnotic sound.
Reuben stood in the center of the room. His sword cut through the air in intricate arcs and jabs. The metal almost sang as the blade swung in its deadly dance; slicing into the silence.
Dayne tried to sit up for a closer look. The soldier, so focused on his drill, sensed only her movement and perceived only a threat. He turned his blade toward the cell and landed a fierce blow across the bars. The shrill scream of metal to metal echoed off the stone walls.
"Please, don’t kill me," Dayne raised her hands but did not draw back from his threatening stance.
Reuben blinked once then twice, "I, ah, I was, well, I was concentrating and lost track of…, anyway, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you."
Dayne acknowledged him with a nod. Her eyes remained fixed on the sword. The torch light shimmered across the polished metal surface. Its point was so sharp it sparkled like a star.
"You like this," Reuben asked hefting the weapon a little higher.
Dayne nodded.
"More than that, though. It calls to you, doesn’t it?" He asked. "It speaks in a language your heart can hear."
Dayne nodded again.
"Your hands itch to hold it, don’t they? They ache to caress it, to feel the weight of it?"
Dayne nodded with tears in her eyes.
"You poor, half blooded, bastard! Your lust for the sword must never be satisfied. It’s the lasting gift from your true father’s god. It infected your blood. Leaving you with a burning desire for weapons and power," Reuben spoke with an air of heartbreak. "Dayne, you can never, never give into that lust. You’re only a half blood villager. If you even touch a weapon then your life is over. If your good neighbors don’t kill you then General Felix will do the honors. Do you understand?"
Dayne nodded with tears streaming down her cheeks.