Raven

In the lands of Acror, year 56 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 247 of the New Era
Alsius 19

    A woman mounted upon a brilliantly white horse rode in haughtily through the palace gates. Both men and women abandoned their work, and hushed conversations whispered through the rising dawn.
  They eyed a nose as straight as the ocean’s horizon, peered at a soft and slender mouth. They murmured of a stubbornly set chin, and scrutinized two slim and powerful shoulders. Her sheathed arms were appraised, her callused fingers were dissected, and arching straight and proud, her noble back was disdainfully admired. Indeed, the eyes of the shocked public furtively gaped at this passing figure; but that figure’s own pair of rich violet eyes witnessed neither the world above nor the world below. Her lofty nose was the ocean’s horizon and these bright globes were its dark, pure, and scintillatingly impenetrable depths. 
  Needless to say, she was royalty.
And although her demeanor suggested as such, her appearance seemed constructed for the sole negation of such pride. From her muddied boots, to her patched trousers, to her frayed and dirtied cotton shirt, she dressed as would a pauper man. Even her thick black hair had been pulled back into a demeaning peasant’s braid – her nails bitten nubs filled with dirt.
  This splash of brown, however, spared her olive-toned face. This lone feature shone from her as the moon does from the darkest nights, yet no warmth came from this brilliance. The moon exists in night’s boundless skies as a luminous, mysterious, and unreachable being, and this woman was just as cold, just as obscure, and just as beautiful.
  The arctic enchantress now reached a modest meadow muted by high hedges that stayed the morning breeze and darkened the rising sun. She slowed her horse to a stop, and, after a moment’s wait, gravely dismounted. With disgust etched into every step, she walked with a solemn grace to the edge of a monstrous carving that towered with twenty feet. This haunting figure, made exclusively of black marble, stood grandly in the deserted meadow as its only adornment, startling the otherwise peaceful scene with its harsh angles and shadowed pits. It held in one hand a blackened sword of valor and in the other a garish staff of wisdom. Looking up at the heavens, it did so with a cruel grimace that scorned its beauty, and mocked the infinite.
  She looked with a heartless gaze upon her father, neither saying nor doing anything else.
  “So the rumors were true.”
The woman hardened at these words, and said nothing. A man with hair as yellow as vomit and as stiff as a block of wood, a man with eyes as green as excrement and as dull as drywall, a man with a smile that could shatter mirrors and keel over a small animal, appeared next to her and said, “Lady Alsius.”
  She flinched.
  “I had almost forgotten of your…beauty,” he said, gazing disdainfully at her tattered appearance. A flash of anger pulsed through her, but she did not speak.
  He smirked. “After almost four years since seeing me last, my Lady has nothing she wishes to say? Or do?” She remained silent, staring resolutely at the statue.
  “You swore that you would tear out my heart and feed it to your filthy mongrel if ever we met again, or do you not remember?”
  Silence.
“Evidently you have forgotten, though I am not surprised as you…” He faded off as Alsius continued to respond in muteness. Suddenly, his hand shot into her view and violently grabbed her chin, twisting her face to his. Fear and blinding hatred coursed through her as she viciously pried at his filthy fingers and cried out in pain as she slipped from his grasp. Alsius immediately struck his abhorred face, using nails to drag on bloody paths.
  “How dare you touch me,” she hissed, her heart pumping dangerously in her ears, “How dare you act like you’ve forgotten.”
  He did not look even remotely ashamed, rather, a twisted smile grew on his face in response to her words, and a sliver of unease went through her. “I haven’t forgotten, Alsius,” he said, taking a step towards her, “In fact I -“ “My Lady?” He stopped abruptly, as did she in breathing, and they both turned, he sharply and she gladly, towards the would-be witness. It was a servant, one of the many she had passed, now walking forward apprehensively. Awkward silence pervaded the meadow as they waited.
  Once upon them, the servant first bowed to Lord Rudis saying, “My Lord,” and then to her, merely mumbling the words, “My Lady.” She felt a stab of pain at this difference. “Have you a message for me?” Rudis asked in a voice mixed between rage and forced calm. “No, my Lord,” said the messenger, “for her.” He glanced towards Alsius, hesitant.
  “Well?” she replied, her voice cold. The servant cleared his throat, clearly flustered, and said shakily, “My Lady, His Grace has asked for your, um, immediate-immediate presence-” he paused looking, as had the others, uncertainly at the dirt dominating her appearance, then added, “He said it was very urgent.” The menial’s attitude did nothing to improve her morning; however, she ignored his slight criticism and nodded mutedly. 
  “Thank you. You may go.”
As the servant left, Rudis turned to her, immediately raising her defenses. Glowering, he spoke simply but with hatred, “I suggest you hurry to meet the King, my Lady; I will not be blamed for your tardiness.” He turned to leave, but she refused him the last word.
  “Rudis.”
He faced her, clearly reluctant, and started contemptuously, “It is ‘Lord’ - “ She cut across him, “I will die before I address you as such, so don’t waste my time.” She paused, unsure of what to say now that her impulse had been fulfilled. But as Rudis moved, clearly to speak out in annoyance, she hurriedly said, “No. No, you don’t get to speak. You’ve no right to address me…or even to look at me for that matter.” Her voice was shaking, but she breathed and found her ground. She continued, “Have you no shame? None, whatsoever? Are you so stupid as to have never realized what you’ve done? This is only the second time I’ve spoken to you since then, and not one word of reference, not one word of apology – I -“ she could feel the anger boiling maddeningly inside her, and then she could not contain it any longer. She burst into six years of deep loathing, yelling at its despicable object: “I birthed your child! I birthed it in filth, in poverty, in isolation, and not even from my own free will! No, you took that will away from me! You took my life away from me! Do you know what I hear in every field, in all the pubs, in every single village every single day?! Slut! Blood-screwer! Whore! Witch! Vampire! Despicable, disgusting, pitiful, perverted demon! But, evidently, my misery has been as insignificant to you as the merest fly!”
  She paused, shocking herself with her volume. Rudis seemed stunned to stillness. Looking at her hate with cool fury, she nevertheless finished,
  “You don’t deserve to live Rudis, and I would kill you. But you must first endure the pain that I’ve been forced to live because of you; the humility, the abandonment, the hatred, and the utter despair. Only then will I allow the Devil to take your tarnished soul from those stupid, rude cages, and make no mistake bastard, I will deliver it to him.”
  Her heart must have been beating somewhere in her skull because all she could see, feel, or hear was blood as she climbed back onto her horse and rode out of the hated place. After several seconds of furious animosity, a small drop of shame welled up inside of her. Six years, it admonished, six years and still he could evoke such violent reactions from her. She exhaled sharply to be rid of it, and struggled to cleanse herself of emotion. When she found herself being led through his Grace’s hall two minutes later, she was relieved to find her heart was once again beating silently in her chest. Her guide announced her presence.
  “Enter.”
His Grace sat upon a great armchair by the fireplace, staring in what others would have believed to be formidable contemplation. She stared coolly at him, undeterred by his ‘grand’ image, but then forced herself to curtsy and say, “Your Grace, I give my sincerest apologies regarding my lateness, and dearly hope I haven’t kept you from further engagements.” He merely frowned at her impeccable civility and with clear disdain over her dress.
  “Sit.”
Once she had placed herself on the seat across from him, he faced her and said immediately, “I do not wish to endure the annoyance of your presence any longer than I must, so I shall be direct.”
  She felt a twinge of irritation, and discovered that, from the man that habitually treated her like the dust on the walls, she had nevertheless hoped for a few words of welcome.
  She said nothing in reply.
He continued, “Opime, the lands belonging to Lord Crudus, has been rumored to be preparing for war against us, so in response to this-“
  “Why?” she interrupted, cursing herself for her curiosity. He glared at her, and replied sharply, “For our resources, you senseless whore, why else?” She gripped the arms of her chair tightly in controlled anger, but said nothing.
  Obviously, he required no answer, so he continued, “So in response to this, I have decided to send you as my representative in order to demand reconciliation before further actions could be made towards conflict.”
  She sat stunned, and could not help the question that came forth, “This was why you summoned me home? After four years of silence you call me back to ‘conciliate’ with some pompous lord like one of your council dogs?”
  His eyes flashed and he glared viciously. However, after a moment of tense pause, he answered.
  “This kingdom as well as I was better off without you," he started slowly, "However, in this matter, sending my daughter in place of a diplomat would be a sign of peace and trust, no matter how I wish it were not so. Moreover, I require a man who can spy upon their stratagems before the confrontation, and I trusted that you were more used to that sort of deceit and mucking around than any of those in my council.”
  It was as if, instead of blood, ice flowed through her veins, and after a moment’s pause, she stood up and spoke - cold, monotonous, dead.
  “Is that all, your Grace? I’ll leave quickly then, seeing as how you're so eager to get back to your whores. God knows that only a paid prostitute would choose to endure your presence.”
  Alsius had slipped, and she paid dearly for it; the King rose up in fury and rapidly hit her across the face. She stumbled but proved too strong to fall. Without bothering to acknowledge her stinging cheek, she looked back at him – empty and drained from shock, rage, and, to her surprise, a sliver of disappointment. He too seemed to experience shock from his actions, though she knew this came more from seeing that stinging blood-colored bloom upon a woman than from recognizing the same abnormal image upon his daughter.
  Laughing humorlessly, she continued her discourse painfully, “I’m so sorry, your Grace, I forgot. They don't endure by choice do they? You rape them.”
  Without a second’s pause, her father slammed her against the wall, his face livid and spitting into hers, “How dare you speak to me like that? When I had fed and clothed you for years, despite the fact that you were incapable of being proper, despite the fact that you continually humiliated me with your countenance, despite the fact that you kept your legs open for any breathing creature that was unfortunate enough to cross your way!”
  With thick poison coursing through her, she struggled violently against him, forcing him off of her and throwing him down onto the floor. Staring straight into his soulless eyes, she spoke, not with hatred, but with venom.
  “From the moment I was born you’ve held blatant prejudice against me. You knew that the girl birthed couldn’t clear your infamous blemish and you loathed both me and mother for leaving you with an illegitimate man-child as your one and only heir – though you were the one to have sneaked into that uneducated whore in the first place. Now you stand there, proud-backed, and dare to lecture me on virtue? You, who, even now, continues to bed a different woman as often as when my mother was alive? I have more virtue than you’re even capable of recognizing! Tell me your Cowardice, do you remember that day? Do you remember that sad day six years ago when I came to you as your daughter, your flesh and blood child, and told you that your bastard son had raped me; do you remember that day when I learned of your virtue and you of mine?!
  When you scorned your daughter for proving incapable of overpowering a man four years her senior, when you ostracized and banished her and then lowered her to the level of a prostitute and a whore, do you remember that day?! I was thirteen years old. Thirteen, a child...yet you forced me to grow beyond such years.
  I spent nine months filled with nothing but pain, sorrow, and humiliation; after which I birthed a dead child on the floor of an alleyway fifty miles away from home. But of course, you did not know this - you were not there. And when you finally allowed me to arrive on your doorstep two years later, you did not ask. Instead you chose to torment me with the praise and lavish given to your perverted half-child as I stood by ignored, isolated, unloved, stuffed not even to the back corner of your mind but to the space where no space exists.
  You never loved me.
You need not admit it, not here, not today, but do not continue to insult me as if I were still your child. I renounced the titles of both child and daughter the instant my son hit the cement floor.
  But as a woman scorned I say to you that your Grace is nothing but a despicable, aged whore, and I look forward to the day when your feeble existence perishes from this world and I will never again have to suffer the filth of your presence.”
  Alsius turned away from the King and, without another word, exited his chamber.

In the Fecund country, year 23 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 524 of the Old Era
Raven 6

  A house of rich proportions stood grandly in a neighborhood containing rows upon rows of houses much like it. Although this grand house was undeniably stark and bland, it offered feelings of safety and wealth.
  Currently, its bare backyard, adorned with a single tree, held the presence of a little girl. She was thin, ragged, and gaunt; obviously not a resident of the affluent house, but there she stood nevertheless. A large shirt hung lank on her small frame, serving as a dress for the slight child, though also as the only article of clothing she possessed. Her midnight-black hair had been roughly hewn so that it lay tangled above her shoulders, and it curled wildly around her face. The face too suggested neglect and malnutrition in its hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes; however, those eyes remained the sole difference between her and the dead. Although shadowed from starvation, these brilliant eyes gave her appearance a vivacity and boldness not often found in those of her condition. They shined bright, intelligent, and as violet as the dawning sky, showing the capability of compassion but also of reserve.
  This magnificent young child now removed two picks from her matted hair. Within minutes she had unlocked the back door of the house and slipped through. She smiled silently at her luck - the door had led her directly to the kitchen. Thinking of the foolish naivety of the house’s designer, she moved quickly to the cupboard, opening it as one would open a present on Christmas day. Nearly salivating at the sight of food, the child took a large bite from a loaf of bread, and then began to stuff as much as she could carry into her cloth bag. Suddenly, she stiffened. Rapidly turning around, she saw a black shadow swinging towards her, and a star-punctured blackness filled her vision as pain filled her senses. Then she saw no more.
  She woke to a pounding headache, to which she grimaced. Slowly, the little creature gathered her grey surroundings, and was surprised to find herself lying on the floor of the kitchen in which she fell. Next to her, obviously placed, was the loaf of bread she had bitten. Cautiously, she grabbed it, and then stood herself up through bouts of pain. Gritting her teeth, she forced her mind to focus on her situation, though no guess about it came to her. She knew she should leave quickly and without another thought, but curiosity overwhelmed every other instinct. Padding her way silently across the kitchen, she looked furtively out into a lavish living room containing a soft couch, a glass table, and a window. The place was filling with light from the rising sun, making her wary, but it did seem to give the insipid place a sense of life. Suddenly, she noticed a young boy, sleeping peacefully upon the soft couch. He was as small as she, though he radiated the soft and conspicuous glow of one having been well nourished and well loved. He had dull, bed-ridden hair, and she noticed slight circles under his resting lids. A small stick lay next to his hand.
  All at once, the light of the dawning sun rose to shine upon the sleeping child, warming his pale cheeks to a tender glow of rose, and his rustled hair to a soft ring of gold. No blemish appeared upon this child’s face, no hint of shadow or grime stained his angel frame. He was a cherub, unmarked, untouched, and gay even in slumber. Wonder held her gaze as this child slept on, unaware of his silent watcher, oblivious to her gleaming tears.  Hesitantly, she made as if to brush his ruffled hair or to approach his haloed frame, but fell back, as if she dared not taint his pure image. At this she closed her eyes, and gave a distant sigh. Opening them, she cast her eyes once again upon the ever present barrier that lay between the living and the enduring. Wiping away her soundless tears, she did not bother even to shake her head clear, but simply found her ragged bag and parted wordlessly from the house.

In the Barren country, year 24 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 525 of the Old Era
Raven 7

  “In the twenty-third year of Emperor Milen, seventeen of our number left us. Tonight, we have gathered before the Light of the Dead to honor those seventeen.”
  The priest gestured to a grave woman of thirty-four who sat nearest to the front.
“We begin with Jeidan Nelil. Rise, Anelda Rue, as his eldest daughter, and help to ease his passage.”
  In silence a woman rose to face the crowd of solemn bodies, and she spoke quietly but firmly. “To my father, Jeidan Nelil, I give his lucky coin, made from pure silver. He never went anywhere without it in his pocket, and my sisters and I couldn’t bear him leaving now, forever, without it near him.”
  Turning around, she cast the small object into a blazing basin of fire.
The crowd chanted mutedly, “May you find each other again, and love once more.”
  “For Keyla Rue, rise, Menny Rue, as her second eldest daughter, and help to ease her passage.” A slightly younger woman rose to take Anelda’s place in front of the glowing fire, clutching a bundled object stained to indiscernibility, choking on sobs.
  “To my m-m-mother, Keyla Rue, I give my old doll Eena, so she can alw-w-ways remember the happy times, like when I was just a-was just a youngling, and w-w-we always played with Eena for hours an-and hours.”
  She too cast the ragged stuffed cloth into the heart of the fire, and again the people intoned, now to Menny Rue’s tear-stained face, “May you find each other again, and love once more.”
  Fifteen times more this was repeated, invoking sadness, but never despair, among all. In the end, the priest gestured towards the thirty-seven paupers seated in grief before him, and spoke.
  “For the anguish we have felt in the death of those we love, rise, all, and listen to my words.
  My friends, always we have looked around us and seen nothing but the bleakness, the desolation, the unfairness of what we live, what we endure; what our world has left for the ones hapless.
  But, my friends, my family, although the world may leave us to grovel in the bitterest dregs of life, although even God may turn a blind eye, the people we love – our brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers, --never leave us to bitterness.
  We may cry; we may feel alone and abandoned in this world, but we are never alone; we are never abandoned. In this world or without we feel the presence of the ones we love and the ones we have loved. They are there in our times of need, there are there in our times of desperation, and they are there in our times of utter hopelessness.
  My friends, my family, my powerful companions; we are the survivors, we are the immortal, we are the glorious dead.
  Never forget this."
  A ringing silence followed. The priest saw his family looking upon him with eyes shining in the light of the dancing shadows; whether they shone with sorrow or with the sweet ache of power he did not know. However, as he bowed his head, every man, woman, and child within joined him in silent prayer. As they finished their prayer, the thirty-seven paupers slowly dispersed off in the grave calm; each into their frugal shelters, each one by one until only the priest remained.
  There he stood, for hours or for minutes, he himself did not know. However, at the end of his prayer, the great shadow finally lifted his head to the moonless gloom. Endlessly he looked at the light from the burning trinkets of the dead. However, the end to the infinite came, and, departing into the blackness, the ghostly man at last relinquished his vigilance to the everlasting fire.
  Farther away, under a canopy of trees bared, crippled, and grayed, lay the little girl. Her black hair was splayed on the empty ground, reaching out to join the shadows of the night. However, the girl herself was illuminated by the innocent beam of the moon’s gentle glow. The harsh lines of fatigue, hunger, worry, and grief was lost in slumber’s kind and tender arms, smoothing away in one gentle stroke seven years of suffering. Neither wings nor halos were bestowed upon this heavenly soul; her own essence illuminated her malnourished frame. This peace cast her no suffering end, no inevitable death, granting only eternity to her innocence. No angel was she, yet an angel she was – an angel born in hell.

In the Barren country, year 27 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 528 of the Old Era
Raven 10

  "Raven." A girl, wearing the child's ragged shirt paired now with ragged shorts, turned towards the name. She saw the group's priest before her, an aged man as thin as her very arm, but with a strength that radiated with his every step. The family had always revered him, but she had always found him too distant and much too cold.
  “Raven,” he said again. “Yes?” she answered, monotonous – she could not help but respond in the same manner. If he noticed it, he did not give any indication. Not one flicker of the eyes.
  “Can you spare a few minutes?”
No, she thought silently, she was cold enough without his own icy manner cutting through her. He saw her refusal in her eyes, but with a slight twitch of his head, his own refusal triumphed over hers. Reluctantly she replied, “Okay then.” Upon this begrudged acceptance, the priest turned sharply around and swiftly glided forward as Raven trailed obediently behind.     
  They passed black trees long stripped of leaves, and their family that huddled underneath them. They consisted of patched and unpatched blankets, clothes, and people. Despite their raggedness, however, the family lay basking in the rare sunshine that flooded through the thin branches, attributing nothing less than peace to the scene. Raven herself felt a delicious shiver in passing beneath the sun’s warm touch; the motherly embrace kept at bay the climate’s natural chill. As she and the priest passed, a few sunken faces turned to grace them, or rather, the priest, with a smile, but most could not spare the few seconds away from the light’s warmth.
  She felt a definite drop in spirits when the two left behind the last of the family, and entered a deserted clearing. Raven associated the place solely with the Ceremony for the Dead, though they also gathered there for the rare celebration. The others did not mind it or gave the place much thought, but she inexplicably hated the desolate meadow. The priest stopped here, and turned towards her.
  “Raven,” he repeated. Despite being yet a child, she faced him with an adult’s detachment, crossing her arms and staring straight into his dulled eyes. “Yes, Father,” she replied. Was that a flicker from his eyes? She could not tell. If it was, indeed, a flicker, then he rid himself of it before her own eyes could take a blink. Raven burned with sudden curiosity, but was tempered by his next words. “You are aware that Nina has just birthed a child. In turn, I am aware that the entire family, including yourself, has already contributed a share of their store to Nina. However, I have brought you here to tell you to contribute a small extra sum. I am sorry to ask this of you, “ his blank voice added, “however, in addition to having the most to spare, you are the most capable of replenishing your store.”   
  Raven stared in shock, with sudden awareness of her uncomfortably growling stomach. “I –“ She could not. Despite the priest’s strict rules against unregulated sharing, Raven often, well, shared. She limited it to those who she sincerely believed would perish without her aid, but that number was larger than she would have liked.
  Presently, she was choking on the sudden panic of helplessness – she did not know what to do. If she told the priest what she had been doing, he would make her stop. If he made her stop, the others would die. She did not know what to do.
  At her pause, the already grim set to the priest’s mouth seemed to deepen into an even grimmer set, and he interrupted her train-wreck of thoughts to say, “I see.” Seizing at the chance to divert the conversation, Raven looked at him questioningly. He elaborated, “I see you are reluctant to relinquish further contents of store although you are registered to have a great amount. I also see that despite your great amount, you are always as equally haggard and starving as the rest of the family.
  I had been suspicious for some time of your illicit activities. As I know you do not possess overt selfishness, your hesitation just now has confirmed these suspicions.” He paused, but then added almost curiously, “It seems it is within your nature to disobey.”
  Raven ignored the last comment, deeming it an insult, and simply did the thing most sensible to her at the time. Lie. “Illicit activities, Father?” she said calmly, though her hands shook, “I don’t understand.” She saw his eyes narrow, and she tried to still her faithless hands. She continued, “I hesitated because I don’t want to give away any more of my store. You can’t blame me for that – I think you really exaggerated the amount. I know some others that have much more than me.”
  There was silence in the clearing, and she stood on edge, indecisive on breaking it. Finally, finally, he spoke, though his response was far less than satisfactory: “I see.” There was never a more ambiguous phrase.
  Thankfully, he elaborated, “I had simply sought to confirm my suspicions, and see if you required extra food for your journey. I now see that you do not. Therefore – “ “For my what?” Raven interrupted, mixed between assurance on having misheard and sudden panic. “For what, Father?” she repeated when he did not immediately respond. “For your journey, Raven. Away.” Raven searched his face, but there was no need: she already knew he had meant every word. “Father, I don’t understand. Why do I have to go away? Is it because I didn’t follow your rules? I’ll never do it again, Father, I swear, trust me Father, never again. I’ll follow all your rules from now on; I was only trying to help. I swear. I was only trying to help! Your stupid tributes don’t help anyone! Without me, they would’ve died! They would’ve died!” She backed away from him, her breath hitched and her blood pulsing in her ears, suddenly aware of how close she had gotten to him; suddenly aware that she had just yelled at the leader of their family. To them, he was like God. She had just yelled at God. “I – I’m sorry, I – “ but she didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter – he spoke over her.
  “Before I begin, I will reassure you that no matter what you could have said upon entering this clearing, you would not have changed my mind. And you have not. You will leave the family. You will gather your belongings tonight, part from us, and then never return. Do you understand? You have never listened to me before, but you must listen to me in this. You must not return to the family.”
  Raven felt nothing at his words; nothing but pure, incalculable, fury. “Why?! Tell me why!” she shouted, distantly aware that she had nothing to lose. His eye twitched, but it was irrelevant – she forgot it instantly. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this! I work; I contribute, so much more than the others! This isn’t fair; I’ll die out on my own!”
  He grabbed her shoulder, and she immediately quieted. The utter shock of his contact had ripped her from her anger. “Listen to me, Raven. Your behavior has nothing to do with this. You say that you would die without us? Well I assure you that your death is imminent if you stay. Look-look at me!” He kneeled down before her and forced her eyes to his. Her anger was diminished, but not vanished; she glared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I am sorry,” he replied, “but there is not time to explain. Just when you leave, do me this one favor, my child.” He paused, and her curiosity overwhelmed her desire to interrupt.
  “Just remember,” he said finally, “that I have always, at the very least, tried to love you as if you were my own daughter. Now, and even then, I have always tried. I hope that one day….you will be able to forgive me.” No words came to her; there seemed no acceptable response, but she was spared the moment. He released her, and both gasped, both turned, towards the blood-curdling screams that came from the direction of where their family last lay. They looked back at each other. “Go my child,” the priest whispered. “I will, Father,” she replied. And turning away from him, she did.

In the lands of Acror, year 50 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 241 of the New Era
Alsius 13

  There existed very white, very large, very ornate, marble doors. And although they were white, thin black lines swirled across their surface, intertwining with thin gold lines. They almost mimicked imposing vines.
  Presently, these palace doors groaned open, and through the sudden break, a tumble of tangled black hair and crumpled fine clothing stumbled upon the scene. Every servant and every royal, there for the grand ball that evening, turned in shock towards the unsightly sight. One nearby and, to everyone in the vicinity, bold Lord hesitantly moved forward. “Lady Alsius? Is that you?” he asked. The tumble’s salt-wet face rose up in response, confirming her identity, and the people gasped at the verification. “Lady Alsius – !” the Lord exclaimed, but got no farther. At that moment, a sudden boom of unmistakable fury shook the very walls of the palace, and people stared at the newcomer to the bewildering scene.
It was the King.
  “My Lords and Ladies!” he presently cried, “You see now before you my whore of a daughter. Look at her, the filth,” he added, and at this, the wreck seemed to rise; her eyes flashing at the accusation. “This does not become you, your Grace,” she interrupted, her voice quivering with anger, “Lying to gain your own ends? Why – “ “You are the liar, Alsius,” he said, overpowering her, “You were the one who was always too forward, you were the one who went to his room that night, you were the one who never stopped him; YOU. ARE. THE. WHORE!”
  “But father – “
“Look at her!” the King boomed, addressing the bewildered crowd, “attempting to sweep away her misdeeds with a few pretty lies and an appeal to our kinship!”
  “I appeal to nothing but your fast fading honor!” she screamed over him.
“But I am not so easily fooled!” he continued, ignoring her, “My Lords and Ladies, listen to this story of which my daughter claims: a few weeks past, my ever benevolent son, timid from having always been looked down upon for his illegitimacy, seemed to have raped what had always been her strong, forward, and overly bold body. Many of you have met both my children; tell me my friends, does this make even the smallest of sense? Would it not make much better sense that my daughter had simply seduced my innocent son that night, and now that a consequence has emerged, is today attempting to scrabble together what’s left of her honor by shifting the blame over to him? This transparent – “ he stopped, having finally been successfully interrupted by a ringing slap.
  “You liar,” Alsius whispered, “I. Am. Your. Daughter. You dare try to lift your bastard heir up at my expense?”
  There was a deadly silence, in which every breath was unthinkingly held.
  “Go see if the brothels will have you,” the King finally responded, his voice laden with crackling ice, “Your shameful and disgusting tendencies are no longer welcome under my roof.” Nodding at the guards by the brilliant doors, he added, “Get her out of my sight.”
  “What of your tendencies, father?” Alsius said quickly, “What of yours?! You’re the whore, father! You’re the liar!” As the guards approached her, Alsius stopped abruptly and looked around. She felt a sickening sense of dread trickle through her. Undoubtedly hundreds of accusatory and disgusted eyes glared in her direction, and she could feel the ice of cold judgment rapidly solidifying between them.
  “Please,” she said desperately, her dread growing at an alarming rate, “Believe me, Rudis is much older than I, with a man’s build – “
  “See her shameful reasons for targeting such an innocent boy?” the King swiftly interrupted.
“That’s not what I meant – !” she started, but was again interrupted, “Guards! What are you doing? Take her away!”
  “Father!” Alsius now cried frantically, struggling against the guards, “Father, please! You can’t do this, I told you, I’m with child! I’m with child! If you turn me out now, I’ll die!” The King had started to head back inside the palace, but at her words, he looked back, stifling her pleas with a look of utter scorn. With cold, soulless eyes, he replied, “With your skills, I doubt it.”
  She had no words.
Her father then turned and walked calmly through the ornate white doors, leaving her to be dragged out, crying, through the gates.

In the Barren country, year 28 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 529 of the Old Era
Raven 11

  She lay huddled against the cold, stark wall of an overarching bridge. Against the backdrop of this massive piece of architecture, Raven herself was most inconspicuously miniscule. And so there she huddled.
  Casting out furtive glances to the empty desolation that surrounded her, she evidently deemed herself safe and finally tended to the little cloth bag secretly stashed in her lap. With her fervent gaze focused solely upon the tiny object, it was obviously a prize most jealously guarded.
  But as she lovingly opened the hand-sized pouch to reveal its contents, a man suddenly sprung out of nowhere and tackled her to the frozen floor, franticly scrabbling for that guarded bag. Unfortunately for the crazed man, Raven had immediately clutched the bag in a vice-like grip at the first semblance of attack, and now clung to it with a force equal to its priceless nature. She quickly slipped out from under him, as his wild attack had not given him enough time to secure her, and sprinted with what she hoped was the wind.
  However, the man’s longer legs gave him the advantage, and sooner than she had hoped, she felt him yank her legs out from under her. She yelled as her arms and face hit the ground, and, keeping her hold on the bag, kicked the man, clawing at the unyielding ground as he dragged her towards him. She screamed when his scrawny yet considerable weight dropped on top of her, though reacted to the new development immediately by curling into a fetal position, with the bag at the center. Dismay filled her as his hands painfully plunged under her protecting arms and finally grabbed hold of the precious pouch. He yanked the bag and her following arm out from her defensive hold with a force that pulled her from the ground, to the air, and to the ground again.
  As she struggled to regain her footing, she found herself being dragged as he attempted to jerk the bag out of her death-grip. She used him in struggling to pull herself up, kicking at any part of him she could reach and ignoring the fact that his teeth had sunken into her flesh, but before she could balance herself on the floor, the poor bag ripped open, forcing both her and the man back onto the ground.
  The scattered handful of variously shaped nuts rained upon the parched floor. The two starved competitors immediately sprung up, scrambling wildly for them; and although the frail nourishment blended convincingly with the darkness, it is undoubtedly assured that not one was missed by either scavenger.

In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Alsius 14
 
  The night was dark. Purple clouds bruised the inked sky, shading from view the beams of both moon and stars. Alsius stood alone in this emptiness, her midnight hair smearing into the blackness, and her eyes darkened to the same shade.  The balcony upon which she stood was ornate yet decrepit, full of color yet visibly faded.
  In her arms she held a child. No, not a child. It was a newborn infant – a spot of long-dried blood still adorned its blanched, ghostly skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, softly rubbing off the flakes of dulled red, “I wasn’t strong enough.” Clutching it to her with trembling hands, she said through thick tears, “I will never be strong enough.”
  She placed it down onto the edge of the black balcony, and closed her eyes. Once they had opened, her back turned away from the darkness, and its will carried her away.

In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12

  The hustle and bustle of the town was quitted today in favor of a more exciting event: the annual slave-selling festival. Men and women dressed in pearls and silks ambled around a place similar to an outside market, examining detained criminals, sold relatives, and desperate volunteer slaves. The criminals, all petty, were separated by prison; the relatives and volunteers by different sellers. All of which was, of course, for the convenience of the buyers.
  This year the event was especially fascinating as the emperor himself had chosen to attend. This fact was reflected in the most elaborate decorations, the best entertainment, the most delicious foods, and the most slaves the festival had ever seen. Upon his arrival, carried in upon a throne of gold, all people bowed onto the begrimed floor; all except the future slaves, who were not deemed worthy enough to do so. The bearers set him down.
  “My people!” he cried, standing, and witnessing the world before him rise also, “It has been too long since I have quitted my palace to look down upon your faithful faces. And, after this, I hope that I may have more chances to do so! But for today, I urge all of you to wander and buy just as aimlessly as you would in your everyday lives, and in doing so, name me your Happy Emperor.  Furthermore! As a sign of my benevolence and charity, I myself will wander and buy a slave from every seller in this oxymoronic event, and arrive home just as satiated, if not bloated, as you all will doubtless be by the end of the day. So finally, I thank you all for the generous invitation to this year’s slave-selling festival, and I dearly hope that we enjoy ourselves.”
  The crowd cheered at the end of his speech, faces as passive as adoring, though an indignant few stood conspicuous to the emperor. Marking their faces and names for future retribution, he simply smiled at them in return.  Meanwhile, shallow music floated through the scene, overlain by talk, laughter, and sellers’ unctuous persuasions. “Shall we get on with it then?” the emperor drawled to his new advisor. “Yes, your majesty,” the man replied smoothly, bowing as he spoke.
  The day went on as a blur of flesh, sweat, and tears, but as he reached the, as his advisor said, 26th stand, the monotony abruptly ended. The emperor stopped dead. He could feel his own sweat, his own flesh, and his own tears from so long ago. His ears were ringing, but he did not care. He did not care if he fainted right then and there. It was her. All these years he had been ignorant, wallowing in sudden and intense fits of despair for the greatest loss of his life; the occasional bursts of wild hope forever crashing down to nothingness. But it had all been in vain.
  She had survived.
  And she was standing right there.
  “Your majesty, are you all right?” he heard his advisor say, as if from an incredible distance. “Yes, of course,” he replied, barely aware of his words. Then sharply turning towards the seller, he asked forcefully, “Who is that girl?” Looking taken aback, the slim man asked in return, “Which one, your majesty?” The emperor looked at him incredulously – it seemed so obvious to him. “The-the little one with black hair,” he answered. And fire in her eyes, his mind added with an almost unfamiliar ache to his chest. Surveying his stock, the seller finally alighted upon the desired product, and unlocking her cage, he pulled her from the mutinous crowd.
  “This the one you mean, your majesty?” the man asked dubiously. “Yes,” he breathed, staring at her sunken violet eyes. He knew it. There was no doubt it was her. “Never mind who she is, how much for her?” he said, looking fiercely upon the slim seller. The man was shocked, he could see that much, but nevertheless he replied, “60 argents, your majesty.” With a quick glance at his advisor, who was regarding him curiously, he looked back to the seller and said in as calm a voice as he could manage, “I’ll take her then.”

In the Fecund Country, year 29 of Emperor Milen’s reign, year 530 of the Old Era
Raven 12

  Raven sat upon a seat as soft as nature’s breeze, but as overwhelmingly ornate as the gold-inlaid walls of the carriage in which she sat. The young emperor sat upon the bench across from her, but she did not know why. She did not know why he had bought a weak little girl like her. She did not know why he had stared at her like a ghost when he first saw her. She did not know why she alone, out of all the other slaves bought that day, rode in his majesty’s carriage. She did not know. All she knew was slight hatred and definite fear, borne from his infamy among her family – her former family – in the Barrens. Being the emperor, he had been talked of often, and although the stories varied, all accounts of his character condemned him of neglect, brutality, and an absolutely merciless nature. He presently spoke.
  “What is your name?” She thought she detected a slight tremor in his sudden speech, but she did not know what to do with this information. Quickly deeming it unwise not to reply, she simply answered, “Raven.”
  “What an adequate name,” he said smiling. “I guess.” Adequate?
  “How old are you?”
    “I don’t know.”
  “We have that in common.”
  He was still smiling that curious smile. She simply struggled not to look disgusted by the idea of commonality. “Have you bled yet?” he asked, yet another question. This one was even weirder than the rest. Hesitantly, she replied, “I’ve bled before, yes.” Thinking of her answer, she quickly added, “But I’m careful so it doesn’t happen often, and then it’s only little cuts.” She had no idea what he wanted her for, and did not want him to think her inadequate. She had heard rumors of what he did to inadequate slaves – death was the kindest of the lot. His mouth quirked into an insulting smirk but otherwise did not respond to her answer. It made her uneasy, but she preferred the silence to his questions. Unfortunately, they did not end.
  “Where have you been living for all this time, Raven?”
“In the city,” she said automatically, determined not to reveal the location of her family. It was the same answer she had given the slavers, and anyway, it was partly true. Every good lie needed an element of truth. Nevertheless, his reply cracked sharp as a whip, “There’s no need to lie to me.” She flinched slightly at his abrupt change in tone, but stared at him boldly,
  “I’m not lying.” 
“So that decrepit group of filth my soldiers raided in the Barrens,” he said casually, but too quickly, “you never made contact with them?” 
  Her stupid hands started to shake. He reached out as if to grab them, but she immediately recoiled, unknowingly regarding him with slight horror.
  Collecting herself, though her hands still trembling with her lies, she said, “I’ve never been to the Barrens.” He paused, then leaned back into his chair. “A pity,” he said, still casually, still interestingly, “They died for nothing then.”
  Slowly, she blinked once, twice. “Yes, a pity,” she finally replied. Looking out the window, her hands stilled of their own accord. She said nothing else.

In the lands of Acror, year 51 of Emperor Lebinus’ reign, year 242 of the New Era
Alsius 14

  The scene was loud, smoky, brown, and warm. Men both smelly and clean, both loud and reserved, sat around wooden tables while meals, drinks and entertainment were served. Alsius was among the reserved, though also among the smelly. Despite this acquaintance, she sat alone, drinking nothing and eating nothing as she lacked the money to buy either food or drink. Why she was there, she did not exactly know, rather she’d thought it simply preferable to the dank emptiness of her room upstairs. Anyway, she might be able to take up someone’s leftovers.
  The crowd was interesting. There were so many different people, living so many different lives. It was fascinating, how full of life they were. She felt dead in comparison, and to the world, she might as well have been.
  Strangely, this thought did not bother her. In observing these people talk, laugh, sing, or drink, she almost felt as if she were doing the same. Though she too was human, though she too was born as empty as any of them had been born, she was of a different species, of a different world. These people reminded her, but she did not care when she was this close to their warmth.
  However, she had never intended to burn. A boy, a mere boy, had presently climbed up onto a table, emerging from the smoky haze in a drunken haze of his own, and started to put on a show for the people of the pub. He flailed and he wailed, but Alsius did not bother to pay him much heed, as many men – though admittedly not boys – did much the same, and often. But today, with no food or drink to entertain her, she chose, with some disdain, to eventually tune into the boy’s sadly tuneless song:
         
A plucky girl, one day I greeted,
“Good day!” I said, but was not meeted
With a glance, with a smile, nor manners at all
But my lads! Though she at first appalled,
How I did love her in bed that fall!
This, my lads, is how I found her,
This, my lads, is how I had her!

A girl much prettier, once gave me shock
With golden hair; such wondrous locks!
But what was more that made me love’em
Was rosy cheeks, that ample bosom,
And loose morals, oh what a woman!
This, my lads, is how I found her,
This, my lads is how I ¬¬– “

  But before he could finish his enchanting song, he tripped off the edge of the table and landed with a spectacular and quite shocking jump right onto hers. The shock, however, came mostly from her end. The drunken boy had hit the table so that both he and it, both haplessly and painfully, toppled right on top of her.
  “Ah!” She screamed – that was really all she had time for. Then she was hit with tankard, boy, wood, and a potent perfume of alcohol. The people around them simply laughed at the blunder while her eyes watered with pain. Gritting her teeth against it, she struggled to push herself away from the mess she had been most unfortunately involved in. “Disgusting, stupid, son of a bitch mother– “ she muttered before she was interrupted.  “Hey, don’t you go insulting my mother there.” The boy had come to and was hovering over her with a drunken, and slightly bloody, grin. “Oh god,” she said while trying to hold her breath against the smell of alcohol reeking from his mouth. Suddenly, the table vanished from its location on top of them, and she immediately kicked him away from her.
  “What’s going on here?!”  A tall and scrawny yet furious looking man appeared in her line of vision, and she immediately recognized him as the pub’s manager. He was holding the wrecked table, and looking none too happy about it. “The boy – “ she started, grimacing and pointing to said boy. “Wuz jus’ singin’ a song, mizzer,” he slurred once aware of her accusing finger, “ ‘s no harm ‘n that.” Getting up painfully, Alsius looked incredulously at his sorry sight. She could not help it – she laughed.