Spoils of War Ch. 02

In the slowly growing morning light I behold the village waking up. Men, mostly, are out on the dirt roads, all with barrels like mine, headed toward the lake. I fall in step with a brown haired man a few years older than I am. He meets my eyes and smiles. I return the smile and add a friendly wave.

"Morning." he says casually. "Get a good night's rest?"

"A bit unpleasant, I must admit, but better than the night prior." I respond.

"Ah! You're the new guy, right?" he observes. "I saw Alma working you over in the town square yesterday. I've been down that unpleasant road before. My sympathies."

"Thank you." I reply, pleased at this casual, friendly conversation. "I am called Sven, by the way."

"Sven," he repeats, "nice to meet you. I'm Luke."

We clasped hands briefly before resuming our trek toward the lake, until a sudden sound catches my attention. On a side path between two rows of housing, a man cries out in pain. Luke and I turn to look and see an Elvaran holding a man by his hair while he squirms in pain. On the dirt before him is an over-turned barrel, its water pouring onto the dirt.

"I'm sorry!" he insists. "The wheel caught on a rock and I couldn't catch the barrel in time."

"You clumsy little fool," snarled his mistress, pressing him against the outer wall of her home and holding him up by his neck, "that's the third item you've knocked over or spilled this morning alone!"

"I'm sorry!" he chokes out weakly.

"You will be." she snarls.

The first blow strikes him square in the face and I hear his nose break. Luke tugs at my shoulder, urging me to move along.

"Don't jet involved." he whispers. "Not our business."

"That isn't right." I counter, louder than I intend. "He just spilled some water. She'll kill him."

"It will be handled." Luke growls urgently. "Come on."

"Handled?"

No sooner have I asked than two Elvaran come out of adjacent houses and pull the woman away from her male, who slumps against the wall, his face a bloody mess.

"For the Goddess' sake, Maria," exclaims one of them, "you've got your male so scared he can't do the simplest tasks. You're going to kill him."

"We control men for their own good," adds the other, "not to torture them to death."

"Go inside and cool off." the first commands the one called Maria. "We'll send you your male later, once he's recovered."

Maria grumbles angrily but does not challenge her neighbors. The two women help the battered man up, murmuring soothing words.

"There there," coos one of them, "it's all over."

"Come with us," the second chimes in, "we'll take care of you, little one."

The man, who looks perhaps a year younger than me, follows the women into one of their homes, and at last Luke manages to guide me away. I must admit I am surprised that anyone intervened. I relay this to Luke.

"Why wouldn't they?" he asks. "The man didn't do it deliberately."

"But the Elvaran enslave us." I counter.

"Fair enough," he agrees, "but, though they discipline harshly, if you are well behaved and stay within your social role, they won't harm you. Control over men gave them their prosperity, not aimless violence and torture."

"I suppose."

"Some get a bit out of hand," he admits, "but they're not an evil folk, no worse than any other raiders. I've heard of cultures that treat women as we are treated by the Elvaran."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Nor do I." he agrees.

We make our way down to the lake, where other men are dutifully filling up barrels of water. Some are young boys, children of Elvaran and their mates, others are far older than myself. They talk casually amongst each other, and I sense no atmosphere of terror amongst them. I am still surprised at this, for I imagined the males would be quite afraid of their status of servitude and submission amongst these warrior women. Yet they carry on casual conversation, talking like any other group of men-folk.

While we fill our barrels Luke tells me of how he came into the Elvaran culture. Five years ago, he was sailing with his uncle when a terrific storm flung their boat far out to see, disorienting them and damaging their supplies. Luke's uncle, an experienced sailor, did his best to navigate, but the sky stayed black with clouds during both day and night. Luke helped as best he could, but their food rations quickly dwindled. When his uncle took ill and died, Luke realized that the older man had been giving Luke much of his own share of the rations, to prolong Luke's life. Luke had no choice but to cast his uncle's body overboard and, being ill-experienced with ships, he simply floated aboard the sailing craft, ready to die.

And by luck, he'd come ashore on the Elvaran homeland, and island off to the west. A young Elvaran rescued him from his beached craft and took him home, where she nurtured him back to health and kept him as her own. Luke resisted this at first, but eventually settled into this life and welcomed the comforting guardianship of his mistress.

"So," he tells me, "when she joined the eastward expansion movement, I came along of course, and here we are, back on the land I once knew as home."

"I'm sorry for your loss." I tell him. "I too lost much, though to a raid."

"Unfortunate." he murmurs, then he looks up. "Ah, Sven, here comes Roland!"

Roland, a man of about my same age, also of a slender build, hurries toward us. He and Luke clasp hands and then he turns to me with a broad grin.

"You're the new one!" he exclaims. "I'm Roland. Good to meet you."

"Sven." I say, shaking his hand.

"I saw Alma punishing you yesterday, you lucky bastard." Roland laughs.

At my confused expression, Luke chimes in, "Roland is our resident masochist. The women punish him by denying him pain, unlike the rest of us."

"How... odd." I awkwardly respond, completely at a loss for words.

"Speaking of odd," whispers Roland, "here comes Magnus."

I look in the direction he indicates and see a man in his late twenties, with long blonde hair. He is somehow familiar to me, which makes no sense, until I realize I've seen him very recently. He is the man who was sent, just yesterday to the House of Penance. His bare torso shows fresh wounds and old scars.

"Magnus, you're alive." Luke calls out.

"Shut it, Luke." growls Magnus. "I've no mind for your cheer."

"How about my cheer?" questions Roland in an obviously irritating way.

"Both of you can burn," Magnus snaps, "and your new friend there."

Luke scowls at Magnus.

"Sven's done you no harm." he fires back at Magnus.

Magnus glances at me and slowly comes closer, his eyes blazing furiously. He looms menacingly before me. Luke and Roland both look ready to leap to my aid, for which I'm grateful.

"You're the new man." he observes.

"I am."

"Poor bastard." he says. "You're in for it, living here with no freedom, cowering at the feet of these wild women."

"Sounds fine by me." chirps Roland.

"You're in for a true misery." Magnus continues, ignoring Roland. "My sympathies are with you."

"Oh, well thank you." I say.

"I'll do what I can," Magnus adds, almost to himself, as he begins to turn away, "I won't give up. We'll not suffer anymore."

I watch him stalk back to his water barrel, noting the horrific welts along his back. He's been badly whipped. That he's walking around in this state is astounding to me.

"What did he mean by that?" I inquire.

"Who knows," Luke replies, "he's a strange one. Be careful of him, Sven."