She stood in a line with the other women, watching as the foreign lands pulled closer with each minute. An archaic fortress loomed over the landscape, adding on to the imposing aura this land oozed. A man was right behind the carved dragon-head of every ship, heaving with the effort of swinging a mallet onto the large, calfskin drums in front of him. The noise from the drums was deafening, drowning out everything. She had never longed for silence more than now - what she would give just for one morning of peace and quiet. It seemed as if that wish will never come true, especially with the crowd that was forming near the incoming shoreline.
With each ship that hit the shore’s coarse sand, the excitement of the gathered people increased tenfold. Their murmuring reminded her of a swarm of flies buzzing around her veiled head. However, even in such a crowd, she could not help but notice how different she was to everyone else. They were fair in all ways, as well as tall and broad - she happened to be the exact opposite. A small-boned creature she was, olive skin glistening in the setting sun. Her hair was not diversely coloured like the barbarians, it was as dark as the kohl she used to line her eyes. In fact, she had never seen any human who resembled these imposing northerners until her capture five moons ago. Now she was surrounded by them, men and women alike. Tch, it was unbearable to be surrounded by classless creatures for so long. Despite those feelings, she praised the Gods to be blessed with land after being at sea for so many moons.
The women were chained to the leading ship, they were the first to arrive to solid ground. Many signed in relief after being tugged along in long chain to the grains of sand. She had shoes no more, having been worn out within the first month of departing her homeland. It was interesting to feel something so rough underneath her feet after months of touching only the oiled, oak planks. The sand crunched satisfyingly beneath her toes as they were marched around the crowd, reminding her of her homeland’s golden dunes. How she longed to return.
Everything that had happened in the past few months had been strange to her, not one thing resembling her motherland. Being whisked away was a blur, giving her no time at all to reminisce her birthland’s beauty during the urgent march to the ships. The men that captured her made sure to fulfill her needs first, the fear that she would revolt - she had the power to - shone clearly in their eyes. They attempted to break her, to charm her, to trick her, but nothing would work. Their facade was clearly seen through. She would let them know that Aiyla of the Dunes would not, could not, be deceived so easily.
Cheers erupted, the crowd overjoyed as the man they were anticipating stepped out on deck. Each step he took radiated authority - this man was not to be messed with. His eyes scanned across the beach, suddenly landing on her. It was as if time itself stopped as she lost herself in his vivid, blue eyes. A voice that festered in the back of her mind pushed through, spewing omens.
Look away, he is dangerous…
Hurry before ‘they’ see you…
Aiyla, you are too late…
A streak of lightning cuts through the graying sky, followed by booming thunder, snapping her out of her reverie. The chained women and the crowd gasp collectively as the message has been delivered. A man wrapped in elaborate robes of red, white, and gold makes his way to the middle of the people, each shuffling step adding to the tension in the atmosphere. The presumed shaman opens his mouth to speak, eyes rolling back into their sockets as he connected with the otherworld.
“The Gods have spoken,” the murmuring increases in volume. He raises both arms, demanding silence. “Odin is warning us of a threat that is yet to come. No help will be given from the Gods, as we have angered them.”
Chaos followed that announcement as villagers began bustling about, ready to lock themselves in their cottages. Many were ruthlessly questioning the shaman about what the threat will be, ignoring his pleas to leave him be. When no answers were given, they switched tactics and began berating the man, presumably a leader of this village, with the same questions. Aiyla could see him become visibly angrier the more they pestered him, eventually excusing himself from the commotion before his temper overflowed. Her eyes could follow his receding figure no more, as servants began to lead the women’s chain towards the looming fort ahead.
Burly men who were stationed at the entrance began pulling the door’s thick chains once the women came into view. The armored door hit the top of its holding station with a clank, signaling for the entourage to continue forward.
Aiyla grimaced as she felt the packed dirt weave itself underneath her toenails. She desperately needed shoes, and after a quick glance, saw that the other women did too. What will happen to them? Deciding to study her surroundings, she realized that this village was unlike any other she had seen before. The houses were crafted with a darkwood, built sturdily and heavily. Strange oxen were dotted throughout the area - they were scraggly, with thick furs, very different from the ones from her homeland. The people of this land also dressed differently than she did, donning coarse cloth and furs instead of the fine silks that covered herself. Aiyla could not help but feel underdressed, even though she calculated it must have been midsummer already. Soon, the dirt underneath her bare feet changed to wood, as the group was ushered into a small cottage near the center of this village-fortress.
A female servant appeared before her, suddenly stripping her of her tattered silks. Shouting in protest, she hurriedly attempted to cover herself while picking up her clothes from the wood floor. A different servant snatched all the cloths from her once they were gathered in her arms, before pointing her to the large wooden tub that was previously hidden behind a cloth screen.
~~~
She was bathed, she was scrubbed, she was messed with until her skin was raw and her scalp throbbed. They had prepped every woman that was captured, rubbing their skin with oils, making sure they all donned the same linen shift with leather slippers and put their hair into two simple braids. Everyone was too exhausted to worry, only concerned with when their next meal would arrive instead of their fate.
Aiyla had attempted to speak to the servants, but each attempt was futile, no reply ever given. It was odd, to say the least, because she had always thought it was a rule for servants to obey their masters orders, to always reply no matter the circumstances - that rule seemingly differed in the North.
She was stumped once again when an armored guard knocked tersely on the oak doors, yelling at the servants to bring the lasses over to the town hall. The servants refrained from saying anything, only nodding to show him they understood their orders. Each female was handcuffed to the long chain, once again holding all of them together like a line of cattle. How disgraceful, to be paraded around like animals. Surprisingly, the streets were completely empty. No one sauntered around the village as she expected.
Before long, the entourage arrived at a large building, with a thatched roof and two imposing oak doors. The servants knocked once, before plunging into a melody of sorts - thump, tap-tap, thump. The rhythmic tapping seemed to signify something, as the doors flew open, startling everyone at the entrance. A man, presumably another servant, impatiently gestured for the whole group to enter the town hall, shutting the doors with a boom before leading everyone into the spotlight.
There was an audience - the men of this village. One man in particular she noticed. He was the man who led the raiding party to her homeland. The leader. She could not help but notice his crystalline blue eyes piercing her soul, seeing right through her. She knew she was doomed from the start. Oh Zurvan, save me.
Aiyla prayed.
*"Zurvan" is the infitesimal Iranian god
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