It began as a quiet day in Ash Manor. For weeks, the one hundred and thirty-seven refugees had settled into monotonous routine. Sobbing and praying had long given way to waiting and boredom, but it was an uneasy peace. Even the flayings had ceased, for most had learned not to speak out of turn.
None would have predicted that by the setting of the sun, almost half of them would be dead.
At dawn, Tabytha, the wife of a trader, prepared for her usual stroll around the courtyard. A small, frail looking woman of about forty, Tabytha walked with the posture of royalty. She had just finished her daily prayer to Okkan, something she noticed fewer and fewer did as the moons rolled on. They prayed when Boah guided them in the mornings, she noted, what about evenings or midnights? Few matched Tabytha’s dedication, as she often reminded others. In another, safer time, Tabytha would have called herself doting, or even haughty. But here she fulfilled a purpose. Who else would keep Okkan’s favor without women like her?
“I’m going for my walk. Watch the children,” Tabytha told her husband, Eal. Eal didn’t respond and simply rolled over in his cot, pretending to sleep. Tabytha huffed and walked away, used to his lackadaisical behavior as of late. He was no different from the others.
Tabytha didn’t always behave so brazenly. Not a month ago, she was but a loyal housewife subservient to Eal, the successful fur trader from Beyshran. Despite being twenty years younger than her husband, Tabytha made the arranged marriage work. She cared for him through her many miscarriages and she successfully raised five of his children. Many considered her a good mother, if a little stern. She had to be, otherwise Eal would beat her. He often beat her regardless, but when his children were well, he sometimes forgot to.
Tabytha had always devoted herself to the teachings of Okkan, inspired by her father and his father before him. Unlike others, she went in search of scrolls. From oft forgotten scriptures buried in libraries, she learned Okkan was not one to be placated with simple Holidays. In her youth, she tried to impart to Eal the proper methods of worship, but speaking out of turn inevitably responded with fists and clubs and whatever else was nearby. She had become quiet, complacent. A good wife.
But when Boah’s son began killing the heathens within the Manor, the scrolls she memorized came to good use. She showed how to display the bodies, and how to incorporate the ancient customs into guiding sacrifice. There were many intricacies a backwater city like Ash needed to learn.
Eal’s beatings did not last long after. Tabytha continued to sleep next to her husband, knowing that with but a suggestion she could have him hanging from the walls as well. She preferred him alive and trembling than dead.
Tabytha slithered through the courtyard. There were almost a hundred survivors lounging about. They had long stopped being thankful for their salvation, becoming hopelessly morose and downtrodden. “Especially those Ati worshippers,” she thought. How any of them could continue to dedicate themselves to such a pitiful God after all that had happened made little sense to her.
There were many who Tabytha spited among the Ati worshipers, but none more than the young mother. Tall for her age, she spoke little and spent most of her time breastfeeding the newborn she had given birth to a few moons prior. Although the woman had a name, most knew her as the Harlot. The name was not entirely inaccurate, as she indeed worked in the brothel for years before becoming pregnant.
“To bring a child into this world without the blessings of Okkan,” Tabytha said to herself. “How sad.”
Tabytha hated the harlot. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but she despised how youthful and voluptuous the woman was so soon after giving birth. All of Tabytha’s births were painful, most of them stillborn, yet the Harlot delivered a fat and screeching baby boy with so little effort and at no cost to her beauty. She would be back to sleeping with half the men before long, Tabytha often told others.
Indeed, as one of the few attractive women left alive, the Harlot attracted the attention of many suitors, though she politely declined the few advances they offered. She cared for her son too much to risk any harm to come her way. Thankfully, many of the men had dedicated themselves to keeping the more lucidious guards away from her, even if that just meant staying by her side. She’d tolerate their incessant ogling of her breasts if it kept her safe.
“That bitch is looking for any excuse,” the Harlot said as Tabytha strolled out of earshot. She said this to no one in particular, though several men immediately turned their heads with excitement as she spoke. “I know she’s the one who’s been spreading all those lies about me. I see the way she keeps staring at my chest. It’s no wonder with how flat she is.” Several of the men nodded enthusiastically, as if they hadn’t been staring themselves.
One of these men was a young horse rider from the Steppe. As he spoke no Jyväskish and with no one around to translate his native tongue, most referred to him as “Rider.” Rider was young, barely older than twenty, though no one would have guessed because of his large hairy frame. Rider had initially come to Ash with several companions, though they were part of the many who escaped early after their confinement in the Manor. Although Rider had stayed behind mostly for the Harlot, who he had helped deliver her child, he came to realize how his sudden devotion to her saved his life.
Rider never spoke to the Harlot, but he always offered her a small portion of his meals and smiled when she took them. Out of all the suitors, Rider was the one the Harlot looked to when she became anxious or depressed. Rider had never been with another woman and was smitten. Maybe after the plague passed, he hoped she could look past his younger age for all that he had done for her. Maybe she would name her firstborn after him. He was willing to wait for such an honor.
“D-d-did they come back with more grain yet?”
Kyösti, the only other large man in the Manor larger, greeted Rider. Rider understood little of what the man said and never knew that he had once been one of the richest men in Ash. Kyösti often found himself sitting next to Rider, perhaps for the same reason the Harlot did. Rider found him quite pestering, especially now that the man refused to clean the vomit off of his tunic.
“No,” answered the Harlot, who had long realized Rider spoke no Jyväskish. “They said they had enough for a few moons from their last trip to the wall.”
“Th-th-this is unacceptable… They sh-sh-should be going there every d-d-day.”
Rider shrugged. He hoped eventually the large man would wander off and bother someone else. But it was unlikely to happen. Rider instead got to his feet and walked to the fountain. It was about time for the morning speech to begin.
Above the courtyard over the iron gates sat a guard, Hobert. The skinny man leered over the two masses of worshipers, observing their subtle motions through slit-like eyes. Hobert had worked in the Corps for nearly two decades, promoted to gatekeeper on his third day of work, and had remained one ever since. He never saw this as a shortcoming, for he was happy to proclaim that he was the greatest gatekeeper of Ash in two centuries. Adjusting from the Outer Wall to the Manor gates was easy, for there wasn’t much critical thinking that came with pulling a lever.
Still, Hobert wasn’t immune to the boredom that had permeated the Manor. The guards had stopped going on food runs, and other than letting Heikk through the prior morning, he had done little. It concerned Hobert, for he was already so thin. If the survivors were to starve, he knew he would be one of the first to go.
Hobert instead focused on the morning speech. Sometimes, when the crowd was quiet, Hobert heard Boah’s booming voice all the way from his post. He had listened to him speak countless times over the years, railing against the water tax and the gluttony of the other Heads. Of course, that was before Boah became a Head himself. Here in the Manor, Hobert noted he still had that drive, though Boah often repeated the same tales and anecdotes over and over again. In time, Hobert came to respect the showmanship.
Hobert had never made a speech in his life, but he was confident that if given the opportunity, he could wow crowds in the same way as Boah could. Hobert made few major decisions in his life, satisfied by following commands and pulling the switch. But it was not as if Hobert didn’t wish it were otherwise. He just had to wait for the right moment, and it would reveal itself eventually.
As the copper sky of dawn faded into blue, Boah made his way to the central fountain for his scheduled morning speech. Indeed, Boah had run through most of Okkan’s scripture by this point, and had settled on short extemporaneous speeches regarding specific themes. Today’s was devotion, and it would not expound on more than that.
Boah’s usual cadre of Corps Guards surrounded him, including Thed, the intimidating guard who had recently risen the ranks because of his own unwavering dedication to Juddken. His presence alone was enough to convince those in the courtyard to keep their distance.
Tabytha was one of the first to arrive, giving all those who followed her disdainful glares as they settled into place.
A few of the braver Ati worshipers even watched from the periphery, including Rider. It was better than dealing with Kyösti.
“During times like these, it is important to remember the unity that we share,” Boah said. “ That all Ashfolk work together for good. That our devotion, through all faculties of our life, will deliver us to Okkan and to salvation.”
Normally such empty platitudes would be enough to satisfy the masses, but Boah’s energy had waned. They listened, but the vigor present in the early moons had all but vanished. In fact, Tabytha remembered Boah had given a similar sermon on devotion earlier that week. She doubted the others remembered, but she couldn’t blame Boah. He had so little to work with, after all. So little passion.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Praise him!” yelled Tabytha, eliciting a ripple of similar prayers from the few next to her.
“It is devotion that provides us our grain. It is what pushes the farmers to plow the wheat fields at the Great Delta and pushes the traders to deliver us the water. Like them, we too will be provided for.”
“All ten tons of it?” a lone voice called out from the crowd.
Tabytha pivoted, looking for the culprit. Few had spoken out after Juddken removed Kirashi’s tongue, so it was strange hearing an outburst. Asking questions in itself wasn’t blasphemous, but Tabytha was now on look out.
“Who wishes to speak?” Boah asked, polite and disarming. A tall man in white priestly robes stepped forward. He was balding, his fading hair extending down his jawline into a goatee that reached his navel. Most of the priests had disappeared into the Great Temple, so it was strange seeing another learned man sleep in the courtyard. Boah looked uneasily at the prospect of speaking with him.
“I am Sanctus Kalun,” the priest said. Most knew him by this point, but it was customary for priests to introduce themselves before delivering a sermon. “I speak for the others when I say that we have little to occupy our time, other than watching the guards collect the daily grain. You’ve told us we maintained ten tons of grain surplus within the walls, enough to outlast the screamers. Yet, the guards no longer travel. We notice the gates remain shut. Our loyalty can only go as far as the confidence of our benefactors.”
Boah nodded, though he winced at the word ‘loyalty.’ “An understandable concern. Yes, we have limited our travels to every few moons. We wish to halt any unnecessary journeys. It is for the sake of our Corps brethren.”
“But there are so many of us,” Kalun continued. “Unless we limit our already meager rations, we will starve. There is chatter that the surplus is smaller than we have been told. That there will not be enough grain to outlast the week. That the walls have fallen to the enemy.”
“These rumors are not true, and you should do well to not spread them, Sanctus. I have been open in these matters and have never lied.”
“We are to follow your lead, but when grain stops coming and guards become prisoners for collecting water, why should we believe anyone is safe?”
Tabytha took insult at the remark. In fact, it was she who pointed out that Heikk had been missing the past few moons, and his suspicious response was what landed him in chains. Yes, he was also an Ati-worshiping dirt scum, but that wasn’t why she accused him. He was guilty; it was obvious to her and anyone with eyes.
“Devotion requires trust, Sanctus Kalun,” Boah said. “You must trust Okkan, and you must trust me to deliver his words on to you. Food is plentiful, and our fountain is untainted and flowing. His love for us remains.”
Kalun shook his head. “All this talk of devotion, the divine will, Okkan’s blessings and fertility and deliverance… These are but empty words.”
“You believe Okkan misguides us? Do you vouch for the followers of Ati, that we should worship him instead?”
“Equally worthless. The words are lies.” The crowd, who had found been ambivalent towards him and even sympathetic, turned on the priest in disgust.
“Blasphemer! He is a blasphemer!” screamed Tabytha. The other fanatics followed in suit.
Boah smiled, beckoning Thed forward. It would only be a matter of time before the walls had a new corpse.
Kalun turned to the others, continuing to rant. “Don’t you all see? Okkan isn’t watching us! There are no ‘blessings of fertility’. There is no ‘pure soul.’ There is no God! Soon the food will vanish and the well will dry and we will walk amongst the dead!”
Tabytha continued to point and scream, but others in the crowd were less apprehensive. Kalun had spoken blasphemy, sure, but he was a priest. They knew and liked him. So when Thed pushed his way through, there was no clear path to get to him. Kalun noticed this well before Thed approached him and turned away.
Kalun continued to rant as he backed away from the crowd. Thed finally caught up to him near the fountain. He tried to wrap his arms around him, but the priest was unexpectedly quick. He slipped out of his grasp and teetered off balance, almost falling into the fountain. Rider, who had followed the commotion, caught the priest before he fell over. The last thing everyone needed was a tainted water supply.
“Let go of me, barbarian!” Kalun said. Rider released him, not wishing to cause trouble.
“Oy!” yelled Thed. “Wanna get your face caved, innit?” He pushed his way between Rider and Kalun, swinging the latter back towards the well. Rider, who had little idea why a guard was harassing this holy man, grabbed the priest’s arm and yanked him back. He would’ve told the guard how foolish he was acting, if it were at all possible.
“Dissenters! All of them!” Tabytha screamed. “Get them away from the fountain before they poison it!”
“They’re poisoning the water?” A concerned voiced called out.
“Get them away! Get them away!” yelled another.
Thed began pushing Rider, and the nearby Ati worshipers came to pull him from the guards. But it was too late: murmurings of an attempted poisoning spread through the courtyard. Okkan worshipers began pushing and shoving whoever they could find. The initial two-man scuffle quickly escalated into an all-out brawl.
“What are they on about?” said the Harlot as she cradled her baby. Those in her corner rose to their feet, attempting to get a better view.
“Posioners! Thieves! Blasphemers! Send them out!” Through Tabytha’s yells, the bystanders could only piece together the various cries that echoed within the courtyard.
Harran exited with the other Corps from the Manor proper, attempting to respond to the commotion. “What’s going on?!” he cried.
“One of the Ati worshipers tried to poison the well,” a guard replied.
“By Okkan… Round them up! Where’s Awil-Ishtar? Someone look for him!”
Boah had not moved from his space, for he was far from the danger. He saw the brawl shift in favor of the Guard Corps. He neither commanded nor halted their actions.
“KILL THEM ALL!” yelled Tabytha, placing her hands around her mouth. “KILL THEM ALL! Conspirators, all of them!” She became lost in the crowd now, completely entranced by her own fabrication.
The Corps quickly pushed the Ati worshipers away with their clubs. Thed led the charge, swinging discriminately. Rider landed a few punches, but he backed away into the crowd of Ati worshipers. Most were completely incapable of resisting, simply holding their heads up and backing away from the attacks.
From a safe distance, Sanctus Kalun continued to scream at guards. The outset of the brawl did little to curb his rant on the apathy of the Gods.
Kyösti was one of the last to rise. He understood what was happening. It was only a matter of time before one of them pulled out their scimitars. As Kyösti motioned to the back of the gathered crowd, he heard the unmistakable groaning of the gate door opening, having a vantage point only a few could see. He was a businessman: he knew when to cut a loss. He turned and ran to the gate.
“What the- Who opened the gates?!” Boah yelled. He hadn’t commanded such an order, and now was not the time. “Someone shut those now!”
“Kick them out!” another voice called.
“Send them to the Eivetta!”
The crowd, distracted by the brawl, failed to notice the gradual opening of the gates. In fact, it was the singular command of Hobert, who had been dutifully watching the brawl from afar. He had seen how the Ati worshipers got corralled by the Corps. From here, he could see that there were no screamers on the other side.
“If the Corps wish to spare bloodshed, they’ll have a few minutes.” Hobert thought. He overheard how much the Corps distrusted the Ati worshipers, and how much easier it would be if they didn’t have to share food and space. No one was more astute than ol’ Hobert, and here he was, deciding for them. It felt good to be decisive. He was getting goosebumps, feeling his heart beat against his armor. He envisioned praises from Big Man.
Thed was the first to pull out his scimitar. Someone had punched him in the nose and he dropped his club. At the sight of the curved metal, the other guards unsheathed theirs. This incited the crowd to run away in panic. Only at the sight of the open gates did they come to realize the choice they would have to make. Some decided quickly, such as Kyösti, who bolted out of the gates not long after they opened. Many hesitated, torn between the fear of the outside and rising concern of the Corps. The Ati worshipers outnumbered the Corps, but none carried any weapons.
Tabytha followed closely behind, continuing to scream obscenities. “KILL THEM!” she repeated. She felt a rush of power, nothing like she had ever experienced before. Her accusatory finger was just as deadly as any of the scimitars surrounding her. As she hovered between the guards, Tabytha spotted the Harlot in the middle of the worshipers. Tabytha again directed her deadly finger to the mother. “Get her! Get the Harlot!” she shouted, as if the guards knew exactly who she was speaking of.
There were at least thirty guards now, flanking the fifty Ati worshipers or whoever was unfortunate enough to be lumped in with them. Behind the guards stood another forty Okkan worshipers, hurling words and rocks interchangeably, accusing the Ati worshipers of everything that had been building up over the weeks. Boah stood with the bystanders, following gently aside.
“Boah.” It was Harran, clearly nervous by the situation unfolding. “You must do something.”
Boah watched the crowd, trying to calm his expression. “I think… it best we don’t.”
“But-” Harran had to stop himself. The food shortage was real. No one knew how much longer the water would last. As hard as it was to witness, having fewer mouths to feed would increase their chances. No one would dare admit it, but none could deny it. Boah’s timely wisdom had proven itself yet again.
One by one, the Ati worshipers turned and ran. They pushed their way through the thin sliver of space between the gate. Someone pushed the Harlot aside, nearly tripping her over as her baby cried out in fear. Before she could stumble, someone grabbed her arm. It was Rider, pulling her upright with his brutish Steppe strength. She could have kissed him and clung ever closer to her side. As she looked up, she noticed a few of the guards pulled out their bows. They were about to shoot.
“Run!” the Harlot said as she trotted to the gate with Rider close at her side.
Tabytha watched as the Harlot turned and ran, and her fury grew. “Don’t let the bitch escape!” she screamed. She stepped forward in front of the guards, trying to direct them. But as she did so, the guards themselves charged, chasing after the Ati worshipers. Tabytha bumped into Thed and lost her footing, falling face first into the ground. The guard behind her pushed along, stepping over Tabytha’s back and head. The pressure knocked Tabytha unconscious, and if that were all that had happened, she would have awoken with nothing but a headache and a bloody nose. Instead, several more in the crowd followed, trampling over her back and arms and head. The second kick to the head shattered her neck, and a third Okkan worshiper crushed her spine and hand. The guards would later find her completely broken, her outstretched and crushed hand still pointing towards the gate.
The guards swung their scimitars, but most of the Ati worshipers kept enough distance to make it through the gate. Rider pushed forth through the crowd, pulling along the Harlot as she carried her screaming baby. They heard Sanctus Kalun yell. He had screamed, “God is not real!” as the crowd pushed him through the gates. They were crying, still in disbelief. Most had not realized that the open gate was slowly being closed.
Now outside the walls, Rider noticed why the crowd dispersed so quickly. The panicky screams of the Ati worshipers were drowned out by the arrival of at least twenty screamers.
The rider saw one screamer fall on top of Sanctus Kalun, slashing at his throat with jagged nails. The priest gurgled, putting his hands up in a feeble attempt at self defense before two more fell atop at his face and feet.
It was all too real. The rider broke down in panic as well. He thought not of the Harlot in this moment, but rather his many friends who had pointlessly killed themselves in their attempt to escape. He released his grip on the Harlot and sprinted away, following several other worshipers now running for their lives. The Harlot’s cries of “wait!” did little to stop him.
The Harlot was alone, standing in front of the screamers as they ripped Sanctus Kalun’s body apart. Her baby cried even louder. She knew vaguely that the gate had finally shut behind her. Some screamers gave chase to the others, but most were looking at her, their red eyes unblinking. The Harlot wailed as she curled her body around her baby. She remembered the guards, who had their bows torqued at the ready. She hoped she would feel a thump in her back as they shot her, putting her and her child out of their misery before the screamers got to her.
The arrows never came. Instead, the Harlot was greeted with nails and teeth.