The Xeneszet's Daughter

[kahl]

Dry autumn grasses hissed in the wind, brushing over taut thigh muscles and taking with them in each swipe tiny flecks of dried earthen paints. The stain of those paints had long left behind their mark on the pale flesh beneath, flesh left unburnished by the sun though the rest of the body was a warm café au lait. Strong sinew rippled beneath the surface of that skin as the figure crouched amongst the tufts and waves of alfalfa and switchgrass. She had heard the horses but her path had ventured too far from the cover of the woods and to flee for it now would expose her. To crouch and hide, to hope and pray to Xenszyrae that she remained unseen, these were her only options. These...or to fight.

Lengths of platinum blonde hair caught on the wind and tangled in the sun-bleached stalks of grass until the young woman seemed born of it, held to it's bosom by only the silky webbing of her fine hair. Uttering a soft hiss as the hair was ripped free of the grasses, the girl made no other sound as she flattened low against the earth, poised on toes and fingers at the ready to sprint.

The shouting of men rose up around her on all sides but she did not understand their language. Wildly green eyes spiked with gold widened as she spied through her camouflage the aerial arc of her water skin as it was tossed from one man to another, presumably their leader. Reaching suddenly for her hip, the girl realized that the tether must have broken and carelessly she'd not been mindful of it.

A sudden sharp whistle pierced the air startling the birds from the rushes, so too did it flush the girl from her hiding. With great long strides and impressive speed, the barefooted savage raced for the far treeline. Barks of surprise rose up and horses were turned, soon to be on her trail. Though she had no weapon, the first man that attempted to stop her was spun and flattened onto his back in short order accompanied by the angry pop of his shoulder as it dislocated. The man's cry of pain needed no language to be understood.

The horses circled around her, preventing her path, only two horses rearing up and cantering in response to her angry shout. The woman backed away from the kicking animals, covering her face. As the horses and riders all settled, she lowered those arms and regarded her captors with fear and rage. The sudden expression of shock on the leader's face took her off guard, as did the sudden flurry of apologetic behavior. The men began bowing their heads, the leader leaving his horse to wrap her in a cloak, all the while he muttered at her and his features grew more concerned as she did not answer him. The girl recoiled as the man tried to examine her face closer, tried to look for wounds to her head.

Suddenly he turned and faced the others, shaking his head but pointing toward the large stone walls in the distance that she had been wanting to investigate. A city, of course, and now she could see it was a city of strange men on horses that wore clothes made from queer animal skins and shiny metal. The girl moved to recoil again as the leader extended something toward her. It was her water skin. Taking it from him she sniffed at it, then drank.

- - - -

The merchant had reported seeing a cannibal spying on the city as he passed through the wood into town. It had been ages since the Great War, since the cannibals had posed any sort of threat and although Captain Los knew that their numbers were far too minimal to be anything more than a nuisance, he had taken a squad out to patrol the area anyway. The finding of the water skin had not bode well but it was not one of theirs. The styling and design was different, of Dysirae make. A strange thing to find so far from the jungle province.

The water skin's owner stood before them now, a lithe woman of naturally white-gold hair with feral green-eyes and a sleek muscular build. Although the body paint and face paint obscured her features somewhat, Los could not be mistaken in who he saw. Covering his mouth as he strode back to Captain Sorrell, the man drew in a deep breath then exhaled it before speaking.

"Aspen...do you see what I see?" he eyed the younger man with a genuine hope that he was mistaken. Aspen's expression, however told him he was not. "Shit..." he cursed under his breath. Half turning he looked over his shoulder at the woman. The paint and dirt was so thick he wished he could say he wasn't sure but as one of his men mistakenly drew to close to her and the woman lashed out, pulling him from his horse with combative ease, Los shook his head again and uttered another quiet and stern, "...shit."

Licking his lips he looked back to Aspen, "I need you to ride in and--"

"--get the King?" Aspen surmised.

"Dear Lord no. The last thing we want to do is let the man see his wife like this. He's been distraught enough." Los shook his head. "No...get Frek. Have him ready to meet us at the Eastern gate. Tell him that she's completely mad."

Aspen's brow knotted as he regarded the woman again, now being restrained by a rather large Private. "Are you sure it's her...?"

"If it isn't...then I had no idea that the Queen had a twin. Not even Ravyn looks this much like her and they ARE blood related." Los shook his head, "no...it's her."

Behind him, the woman was whining and kicking as the massive mountain of muscle held her tightly from behind. The woman's leather bib top covered her enough that the man had not even thought to look for the Queen's infamous scars. If he had, he'd have seen the most perfect, smooth skin. This was not Kahl Harra. Her name was Erev. She was the Xeneszet's daughter and far, far from home.

[kahl]

The threadbare and tattered quilt barely covered the tall woman, but the peasants had little to spare and already every blanket covered her. Still the blonde shook with fever, teeth chattering as if she were left bare in the snow. Sweat glistened on her skin and the snake bite on her shoulder had swelled even further, the wound smelled foul and oozed thick sour puss from the cracked puncture wounds, now more like gashes in her blackening flesh.

The old woman pat her fingers against her lips with worry, her fingerless gloves barely compensating for the meager fire she'd managed to get going in her husband's absence. He had left ages ago in search of someone from town, someone who might know healing or a priest to administer prayer and God's Will. "Oh dear..." she fretted quietly as the sick woman moaned. "Oh dear, oh dear..."

Shuffling across the floor the woman began rooting through her cupboard again. Doml had told her not to try making a poultice for the wound, chastising the woman for thinking she knew things that she certainly did not, but Emma had to do something. She couldn't just let the younger woman suffer. It had been obvious by the woman's scars that she had suffered greatly in her life already.

Emma couldn't imagine that no one was looking for the woman. Although her clothes weren't particularly luxurious, they were of fine make and the woman was far too clean to be a traveler or a farmer. The elegance and value of the ring on her finger, too, indicated wealth. Although the woman was wearing pants, Emma was certain there had to be a man out there somewhere looking for her.

The door opened, a gust of the Autumn winds blowing in with Doml as the old man entered. He'd brought someone with him. "Please," Emma blurted without waiting for introduction. "Please help her. The child is dying."

"Child?" Doml snorted, "Woman is at least past her thirtieth year."

Kahl was in fact forty just this year, a party that she risked missing if the poison wasn't cleared of her veins and soon. The infection was growing worse and so far north of the Melhane gates, the Queen was unlikely to encounter a quality surgeon.

- - - -

Dorien hadn't locked the door to the cell, but he kept it well guarded as they waited for Frek to arrive. The man had been tied up with Gab Oessler sorting out a legal battle between two Lords over property. In spite of the urgency that Aspen had conveyed, both Gab and Frek had told him they needed to resolve this issue first, then both would come. Frek by request and Gab out of sheer curiosity.

Dorien had scrubbed most of the black paint from the girl's face, but she still appeared to be unclean. A full bath would be needed, though he found it strange how perfectly clean and combed her cornsilk hair appeared. Dorien touched it as if to determine if it was real or not, and when the girl's eyes glowered at him dangerously, he stepped away. As the Chancellor's and Supreme Judge's voices and footsteps could be heard approaching, Dorien stood back from the cell to watch their expressions. Frek's did not disappoint.

The man stopped mid step, his heart also stopping unbeknownst to those near. One hand lifted to his mouth as he gaped at what seemed a spectre from his youth. He felt confused and ashamed at the rise of emotions that the girl before him caused and in reaction he took two steps back. "My God, Dorien...it's her...I mean...as I remember her when we were...--please tell me you didn't tell John."

"No," Aspen assured them both. "John does not yet know...and we've still found no sign of the real Kahl."

[Melara]

“Extraordinary,” Gab murmured from near the bars, taking in the sight of the girl and struck, with the others, at the incredible resemblance. “W-wh-where exactly d-did you find her?”

**

A pair of folk stepped in after Doml. The first, a man with a giving, smiling face, chuckled at hearing the exchange. “Mum still calls me a child, Da,” he said, going to her side and bending to kiss her cheek. He had the build and rough features of a farmer but was handsome enough. Den was their only child. He had married six years ago and had a four year old son. The small family had moved to a farmhouse just across two fields from his parents and he often came over to check on them.

The woman that trailed in after him was stout and solid, her black hair cropped into a short mop. She immediately moved toward the bedside, setting a rough-spun sack aside as she did so.

Den squeezed his mother’s shoulder and gestured at her. “I saw Da coming back with this healer as I was on my way across the field. He said someone was snake-bit?”

[kahl]

Emma wrung her hands, "I found her while digging up tubers. I think she'd been following the smell of the wood smoke toward the house but the poor child collapsed afore getting here." Turning to the healer she gushed, "I did all I knows how to do...I ain't never been one for healing."

Looking back to her son she asked him, "do you know her? She looks like city-folk. And see here...look..." Lifting the unconscious woman's hand, Emma showed him the ornate ring. "A dragon and a dolphin...rather queer make...but more than our life's earnings--a small fortune this would cost."

A small whine escaped the woman's throat and Emma looked to Den. "Did she just say 'John'?"

- - - -

Dorien jerked a thumb toward the Southeast. "On patrol investigating claims of cannibal sightings."

"The Xenszyrae are not cannibals," Frek replied tersely. "I can't believe people still believe that. So ignorant..."

At his use of the word Xenszyrae the young woman's head lifted and her eyes fixed on him. "You know the Goddess?" she asked quite suddenly, her voice surprisingly soft and feminine and not the hard, stern tones often uttered by the Queen.

"What did she say?" Dorien looked between the men. "Does anyone know?"

"Yes," Frek replied to her haltingly. It had been a long time since he had been to Dysirae or spoken the language. A very long time. The man was amazed he could remember any of it. Looking to the others he translated then added, "men are subservient in their culture...I had to wait for her to speak to me if I was to gain any trust."

Pointing angrily at Dorien and Aspen, Erev growled, although it only made her seem adorable like an angry cub trying to be imposing. "Tell these foreign dogs to release me. I have done nothing to deserve imprisonment."

"This man will obey. May I ask of the woman's name?" Frek spoke within her cultural context, a syntax emphasizing his inferiority to her. He was sure to keep his eyes lowered when addressing her.

The young woman regarded him, approving of his knowledge and behavior in spite of his awkward accent. "Erev. My name is Erev Mihai...the Xeneszet's daughter, next blood heir."

Frek's blood ran cold. "We have a problem," he informed the others, then translated the conversation. "This will not go well. As far as her people are concerned she's a demi-goddess...a demi-goddess that you two laid hands upon and restrained, stripped of her sacred body markings and put in a cell. Even if we let her go and bar the gates of Melhane...the Xenszyrae are coming."

[Melara]

Den’s brows knit as he moved closer, peeking over the healer’s shoulder as she gingerly drew the blankets off her shoulder, looking at the wound.

He peered at her face, then shook his head. “Can’t rightly say I know her,” he replied. “I can ride up to the city. Ring like that someone’s looking, you’re right about that. I’ll ask around, see what I can find out.”

"Did she just say 'John'?"

“That’s what it sounded like,” He nodded. “That helps. Least I got a name. I’ll see if anyone knows a John who’s missing someone.”

**

“W-well,” Gab said calmly looking at the other men. “I think now w-w-would be a good time to talk to the king, d-d-don’t you?”

[kahl]

(OOC: new thread over at the castle for Frek and the gang...and Den when he gets there.)

___________________________________________________________________________________


Hours had passed. Den left at the healer's behest warning that if the woman's fever did not lessen, her loved ones would be coming to claim a corpse. She urged the man to ride hard and fast for the city and to pray to whatever Gods he knew that her limited knowledge would be enough so late after the venomous infliction.

The old man was ordered from the room as Emma and the healer stripped the ill woman naked exposing her fevered body to the cold air in an attempt to bring her temperature down. Cold river water was applied to her skin with soaked cloths while the healer repeatedly drained and flushed her puss-filled wounds.

"I might've killed her with all them blankets," Emma fretted.

The healer pat her arm and comforted. "Hush now. It's a common thing to do. You couldn't have known. It's the infection that's killing her, not the fever. Not anything you did or didn't do. Unfortunately the bite of a frightened snake can do more harm than we ever intended to do to the snake. It's just nature's way."

"...John...sorry..." the blonde woman whined, her brow knitting in distress.

[Melara]

((OOC: I'll move Den there now. I'mma comandeer this thread for something else rather than starting a new one ))

"Al ciar," Veyan cursed lightly to herself, crouched upon the ground in the shadow of a grand oak. "I do not like this land. Too cold and the ground screams of disrespect."

"There are no more trees a mile on," stout Jenvia told her. "It gives way to fields, and in the distance savage villages."

Jenvia was considered unattractive back home. Her hair was too dark, her form not lithe. Though into middle years she had born no daughters, only two sons. To the younger Veyan, however, she was a loyal follower, dependable to the death.

"Her path goes that way," Veyan murmured. "As much as I can tell on this disrespectful ground."

"Savages live in those lands and those villages," Jenvia warned. Veyan straightened. Unlike Jenvia she was ideal. Her hair almost as white as the snow, her red-brown eyes peering from a face painted as black as Xenszyrae. Two red Hunter's markings slashed over her brows and smeared like dripping blood down her cheeks.

"And do you wish to return and tell the Xeneszet that we abandoned her daughter for the sake of weak savage men?"

Jenvia scowled and straightened. She well knew her looks and didn't pretend at beauty. The circles of her eyes were painted black and locks of her mousy hair bleached nearly white in honor of the Goddess, but it would be a farce if she were to play at the ideal of Xenszyrae, and she knew it. "I am with you whatever path," she said, almost insulted. "As I have always been."

"Find the other girls," Veyan ordered. "Send little Lyrav to me."

[Melara]

Lyrav was fourteen, gangly but quick and quiet as a mouse, spry as a monkey. She listened very well, but though she had spied at many a doorstep and through many a thatched roof...she did not speak the savage tongue and did not see Erev...and so gleaned nothing. Though she despised these northern folk and their stone houses she soon abandoned the farms and in despertation worked her way further into town, where the buildings grew harder and closer together, and where she had to work harder not to be seen.

She was about to give up in despair when she happened to spot a strange procession going down the road toward the castle. Several men and a blonde woman. The woman's stride and manner of motion was familair.

Edging along rooftops, Lyrav worked around until she could squint at the face. Though it had been cleaned of paint, it took her only a moment to recognize the very soul she had been seeking.

Swiftly she returned to the farmlands and from there to the forest edge. She was panting and sweating by the time she dropped down from the tree to land at Veyan's feet.

"I found her," she blurted, out of breath.

Veyan instantly straightened. "Speak!"

"I saw her in the company of northern men. They have...have cleaned her face, desecrated her marking. She was dressed as they are. They were taking her to the castle."

"We cannot hope to enter the castle," Jenvia said, looking at Veyan uncertainly. "Not undetected. These northerners are barbaric but not foolish. It would take all of our people to lay seige and if they have Erev they may kill her to halt such an onslaught."

"Then we do not enter undetected," Veyan replied. "Lyrav, rest a bit and then return home. Bring word to Ela of what you have found, what we intend to do. Jenvia, you and I will go to the castle and see what these northerners wish for Erev's safety."

"Veyan, you are the wisest and cleverest huntress I know," Jenvia said carefully. "But what is to stop them from taking us as they have her?"

Veyan reached into her pouch and pulled out a length of white cloth. "When the northerners came to the city when I was very small, they waved this cloth. Later, my mother asked them what such a cloth meant. They told her that in their culture, one who waves this cloth cannot be harmed. It means they have come to talk, come in peace. We will wave this and they will be bound to speak with us."

She tucked it away again and looked to Lyrav. "Rest, and then go home and do as I've said. Jenvia, we go to the city."