The Avenger of Anitalia

The rocky crags at the base of the mountains were cool to her touch and were a welcome relief from the hot rays of the sun. Morana turned to look back down the slope of rocks broken from those crags by the freezing of the snows that covered the land of Anatalia every winter. It was summer now, but the sun did not heat the rock quickly. It would be nearly the time when the leaves of the forest blazed with reds, oranges, and yellows before the small cave where she sat became warm enough to not cause her to feel chilled. When the snows fell again, that same warmth would be welcome.

She had been here many times, having found the narrow opening under the overhanging rock on one of her secret trips from the village of Nitara when she was but a girl of twelve. Her mother had scolded her one morning for forgetting to feed the hens and gather their eggs. Morana had then done those tasks, but when she finished, ran from the village and up through the forest. Her intent was to never return, for such works the mind of a child.

As the sun rose higher over the forest, Morana had walked through the trees that shielded her from the rays that would soon sear the earth. When the yellow orb was high overhead, she reached the jumble of crags and broken rock at the base of the mountain. After walking a bit more, she discovered the opening. It seemed large at the time, for Morana was just then developing the curves of a woman and was quite small for her age.

She looked inside the opening and saw nothing, for the sunlight only reached inside a small distance. Morana did not enter the cave that day, for she knew there were wolves in the forest that might call the cave their home. Instead, she sat outside and thought of her future.

She had not thought for long when her stomach reminded her it had been some time since her breakfast of oats and cream. It was then she realized the folly of her plan to never return to the village. With a sigh, she started back down the slopes of the forest toward Nitara. She would be scolded again for running away, but she would have food to eat and a bed upon which to sleep.

Over the next seven years, Morana matured from a slender girl into a woman. She was still small in stature, but now her full breasts and wider hips spoke of the ripe woman beneath the rough woven dress that was the accepted garment for women. She matured mentally as well, and performed her daily tasks that the family might have food to eat and a clean home in which to live. Only one vestige of the girl remained -- her love of the cave at the foot of the mountains.

Over the years, Morana had retreated to her cave when she needed a place to be alone. She had first brought candles to light the interior, and having discovered no animals living inside, brought other things to make it more comfortable.

Today as she eased her body through the narrow opening she stepped on the wooly hides of sheep. She found her flint and steel in the dark as well as the supply of fluffy bark from the cottonwood trees that grew near the village. A short while later a small fire blazed in the circle of stones near the opening. From this fire, Morana lit several candles and placed them in small nooks around the cave.

She had come here often, sometimes to just escape the noise of the village, but other times to think. As her body matured, the boys who had been playmates had begun to see her differently. Her mother had explained the reasons for this change, and Morana had been taken aback by the knowledge that one day, a man would penetrate her body with his organ and plant a child in her womb. She did not believe she would enjoy such a thing, and especially not when her mother explained that the first time there would be pain.

Morana had retreated to her cave to contemplate this new knowledge and had resolved such a thing would never happen to her. On this day she was there to contemplate another such thing. One of the boys she had grown up with had asked her father if he might begin seeing her.

It wasn't that she did not like Sord, for she did. She just could not bring herself to welcome what she was certain would be the inevitable outcome. They would marry and on that night, Sord would spread her slender thighs wide, guide his manhood to her entrance, pierce her maidenhead, and make her a woman. In a month or less, she would be with child.

She thought of her mother. She had sometimes heard the creaking of their bed and knew her father was stroking his manhood in her mother's portal. She would hear the low moans her mother made, and sometime later, the quiet cry she made as her father groaned. Surely such a thing was painful or else her mother would not make such sounds.

The sun was low in the sky when Morana blew out her candles. The small fire had burned itself out sometime before, but Morana felt the ashes to make certain they were cold before leaving the cave. She had not yet decided if she would welcome Sord's advances or if she would shun them. She would have to talk with her mother again and ask her why she made the sounds on some nights.

As she looked over the treetops toward Nitara, a chill ran down her back. From the direction of her village, she saw thick clouds of smoke wafting toward the sky. She quickened her pace and reached the village just before the sun dropped into the trees.

There was no village left. Every house and every other structure lay in smoking ruins. As she walked closer, she saw the bodies of the men and boys of the town. Each had been slashed by a sword or run through by an arrow. She found her father outside the house that had been their home. He lay there with an arrow in his chest and his lifeless eyes stared at the sky. Just inside what had been the door, she saw an arm protruding from the ashes. The copper bracelet her father had given her mother told her the worst.

Stunned and unable to believe, Morana walked through the village. She found no one alive, not man, woman or child. No sheep, goats, cattle or horses grazed in the pastures. They all lay still on the grass with blood stains on their throats.. The village smelled of burnt wood and death. Morana numbly made her way back to what had been her home, sat down beside her father's body, and let the grief in her heart come to the surface.

She wept until the sun's rays were only the twilight of evening before standing again, but the tears of grief had been replaced by the tears of rage. She did not know who was responsible for the massacre of her family and the other villagers, but she would find out one day and they would pay a like price. She gave no thought to the fact she was but a small woman. The goddess Dumene would make her quest possible, for Dumene was the Goddess of Morana's birth month as well as the protector of the innocent and the avenger of injustice. Morana looked to the sky and prayed to Dumene for guidance and help.

The four men had ridden for hours and were tired, but pleased with themselves. They had no gold or silver in the bags that hung from their saddles, but riches had not been their quest. Their purpose that day had been to secure the village of Hanro for the King of Enzach. The village was very small, only six families, and the farmers had no idea of how to defend themselves. The battle had really been no battle at all. The few men who had not fallen clutching the arrows in their bodies had died from the slashing swords of the four as they rode through the village.

The women of the village had cowered in the houses as the four finished with the men. Only one, a young woman with two children behind her had stood to face them. She looked ripe for the taking, but the four were not about to face the jabs of the hay fork she held. An arrow through her heart ended the threat. The two children were likewise silenced. The four then went from house to house. When they left, the women's faces stared with vacant eyes at the sky, their naked bodies a testimony to the animalistic minds of the four horsemen.

As they sat around their campfire, the four jested about their exploits of the day.

"Dugh, you owe me a draught of wine when we return. Did I not cast the first arrow and did it not find its mark?"

"Yes, but you did not wait for my command to loose arrows. You lose the wager and instead owe me that draught."

"But if you remember, I did allow you first pleasures with that red-haired beauty after I killed her husband. She had no children so she would have been tighter than the hag I got. Is that not worth at least a half draught?"

The man called Dugh laughed.

"She may have been childless, but she was as loose as the oldest whore in Corly. No, not even a half draught."

Another of the three chuckled.

"Dugh, the problem was not the woman. It was that worm you call your cock. I have heard the whores say they can not tell when or even if you have stuck them."

The fourth soldier laughed.

"I have heard the same. They say even sucking on your cock does not make it grow much larger. I believe you owe us all a draught for complaining so."

Dugh grumbled and then grew silent. As their fire died to embers, the four passed a goatskin of wine amongst themselves until they fell on their blankets in a drunken slumber.

Had they been awake, they still would not have seen the silent approach of the lone person who had stalked them throughout the day. As slowly as the snail makes its way over the rocks of the stream, and as close to the earth as the belly of the viper, the form moved toward the four.

The soldier called Dugh was the first to die. His eyes flew open when the hand clamped over his mouth. It was the last movement he was to make. The long dagger entered just under his ribs and slashed his heart into ribbons. The hand remained over his mouth until the last sigh of breath left his body.

The second met his end in a like manner and expired just as quietly. The third lay on his belly. He woke to a knee in his back and gurgled out his life as the dagger slashed his throat. The sound woke the fourth, but he barely had time to rise to a sitting position. The force of a foot thrust him back upon the ground. He felt the agony of the dagger sliding under his ribs and then the feeling of everything becoming black. With one last convulsion, he sighed out his final breath.

The figure stood then and stirred the embers of the fire. When a small flame appeared, a few small twigs fed the flame. Small branches caught fire then and the flickering light lit the scene as the figure pulled off the leather helmet and shook out long tresses of auburn hair.

Morana pulled off the leather tunic and tossed it to the side. The gore would never wash out but she had others. She inspected the tight leather trousers after removing them. She saw no blood or other evidence of the attack and pulled them back on over her rounded hips.

Her bare full breasts swayed gently as she searched each body for anything that might be of use or value. She found three coins in one vest but tossed them into the fire. Coins were of no use in her quest. She then removed that of their leather clothing that was not soiled, for it was from such a source she made her own garments. As a last action, she took a twig, dipped it in each man's blood, and drew the sign of Dumene, a circle with three vertical lines, on his forehead. It was her way of marking the men that Dumene might know of their sins when they arrived in the land of the Gods.

Morana had grinned when she pulled the trousers from the man she'd heard addressed as "Dugh". His organ was indeed very small. She had no doubts it would be difficult to feel him inside her, though she had never experienced such a thing. Since that day in the ruins of her village, she had lived alone. At first, she lived in her cave, but soon began her search for the men who had ravaged her village.

She had discovered their identity a month later. She had been walking to another village of which she knew, a small village known as Broghly, in search of food. As was her practice, she had kept to the fields of ripening grain or the trees that lined the rough path. The dress she wore was of a color that blended well into both and would hide her from any watching eyes though she was close enough to see the road.

She was in the fields that adjoined the village when she heard clop-clop of approaching horses. After hiding behind a stack of oats that had been cut and shocked and were drying, she peered around the side.

There were six soldiers on horses and they were armed with swords and bows. As the men stopped at the entrance to the village and knocked arrows to their bows, Morna saw the wolf's head skin that was sewn to each man's helmet. The man in front who appeared to lead the group shouted, "For King Sador", and spurred his horse into a gallop.

Morana could only watch in horror as the six killed every man in the village. Only one, a tall man who carried an axe, stood fast as the six approached. He threw the axe just before an arrow pierced his chest, but the axe flew true. One of the six fell from his horse and lay still with the axe stuck in his forehead.

When the slaughter of the men was complete, the soldiers went from house to house. Morana covered her ears against the screams and could not bear to watch until the last scream was silenced. When she looked up again, the five had left the fallen soldier behind and were riding on down the rough path.

She waited until the sun was nearly below the trees before venturing into the village. She did not want to go there, but she needed food and clothing. Her dress had been ripped up the right side to the waist that day, and her bared right thigh had been scratched by the undergrowth of the forest as she walked.

Morana found the same death and burnt remains she'd seen in Nitara. After finding a small pot just inside one of the burned houses, she went to the field and picked a shock of oats from one of the stacks there. It was difficult to keep all of the small grains as she rubbed the stalks through her hands, but she soon had enough in the small pot to sate her hunger. The stream that ran beside the village furnished water to make a porridge and she sat the pot on the burning embers of one of the house foundations to cook.

The soldier who had been killed yielded many things Morana needed. Except for a small amount of blood on his leather tunic, it was undamaged. His trousers were also unharmed except for the dust of the village street. Both would be too large for her, but she could cut them to fit.

In his belt was an empty pouch, his sword, and a long dagger in a sheath. The quiver of arrows lay under him and his bow lay a short distance from where he fell. Once Morana had the man's clothes off and the quiver of arrows over her back, she picked up the dagger and bow. She lifted the sword then, but decided it was too heavy for her to use well and dropped it in the dirt.

After eating her porridge, Morana went back to the oat stack in the field. She covered herself and her new possessions with shocks to protect her against the chill of the night and to hide herself from anyone who might travel the path to Broghly. When the sun set, all that could be seen from the path was a stack of oats that would never be threshed.

The next morning and after a breakfast of more oats, Morana used the dagger to cut the man's clothing into a size that would fit her. She cut the remaining leather into thin cords and laced the parts together. When she finished, she pulled on the trousers and tunic and was pleased at the fit as well as by the freedom of movement they would allow.

In places, her skin showed through the laced seams, and the cut of the man's tunic was not large enough to let her close the front all the way over her chest. She let the lacings hang loose in order for the front to fit around her breasts, and wondered if her mother would have scolded her for baring so much of the creamy mounds and the cleavage between them.

The dagger went into the belt she'd shortened to fit her slender waist. The bow and quiver of arrows she slung over her shoulder. Before leaving the ruins of the village, Morana threshed her pot full of oats and then poured the grain into the pouch she'd taken from the man's belt.

Morana turned so the morning sun was on her right and began walking. She chose that path because she knew something of King Sador and the palace at Corly in the kingdom of Enzach. Her knowledge was just gossip related by traders who passed through the village, but several had told the same tale.

The former King of Enzach, King Rogan, had been a kindly man content to rule Enzach and not invade the surrounding kingdoms. His wife, Jumea, bore him two sons to continue the family's rule over Enzach -- Sador and Udor. In the natural course of things, Sador would take the throne as he was the elder of Udor by two years. Should something befall Sador, the throne would pass to Udor.

At the age of twenty Sador was a small man with blonde hair, close-set icy blue eyes and a misshapen nose that made his face look cruel. His nature was also cruel. He would beat any horse that did not instantly respond to the reins and his favorite pastime was killing deer and wild boar for sport and leaving them where they fell.

At the age of eighteen, Udor was a strapping young man, tall and handsome with the black hair of his mother and the penetrating grey eyes of his father. He also had the kind mentality of both. Udor treated the servants more as friends and was easily their favorite of the two sons.

King Rodan was uneasy that Sador should one day inherit the throne, for he believed his cruel ways would only become worse once he had the power of a king. When Sador beat a young servant girl nearly to death for not coming to his bed as he had ordered, King Rodan made the decision that Sador would never be king. He wrote a secret decree to that effect and placed the sealed document in the care of the Captain of the Palace Guard with the instructions it should be opened only upon his death. King Rodan then took Sador aside and informed him of the document, saying he would rescind the decree if Sador changed his ways.

Sador had only smiled and said he could change the need for the decree. A few days later he went off with Udor to hunt a wild boar for the upcoming celebration of Udor's birth.

Late that day, Sador galloped his horse into the palace courtyard alone. He burst into tears as he told King Rodan of the results of the hunt. They had stalked a boar and killed it. Udor was gutting the boar when they were attacked by a large pack of wolves. As Sador's boar spear had broken when he killed the boar, he had no weapon and climbed a tree to escape the attack. Udor faced the snarling pack with his spear and attempted to fend them off.

Sador said Udor fought bravely, but there were too many wolves. The pack circled him and then attacked all at once. Udor went down under the slashing fangs and was ripped to shreds. After the pack of wolves had devoured part of Udor and the boar, they left, but carried off what remained of both. Sador had waited until the shadows grew long before coming down from his tree and returning to the palace.

The king asked Sador why the wolves did not also attack the horses. Sador explained they had made the final stalk on foot and had left the horses tied some ways away. He had left Udor's horse when he fled because he feared for his life should the wolves return.

King Rodan sent a party of guards to the place Sador directed. They returned with Udor's horse and boar spear and told of seeing a place on the ground covered by blood and entrails though the remains were only bits and pieces and could not be identified as boar or human.

King Rodan was beside himself with grief, but also suspicious of Sador. Wolves sometimes carried off parts of their prey to feed the young in the den, but he had never seen a pack large enough to carry off the remains of both a boar and a man. He retired to the royal bedchamber after dinner to contemplate what he should do.