Keelie fidgeted in the black sand of the coastline as she waited next to her mother for her father’s return. Like the majority of the village’s women, they watched out over the Eastern Sea as their husbands rowed their way in from large fishing vessels anchored in the distance.
It had been a long two weeks and everyone was anxious to see their loved ones.
“Be still, little one,” her mother said, though her tone was gentle.
Keelie couldn’t understand why she was told that so often. When her mother moved around all the time, taking clothes and food from place to place, no one ever told her to stop. It hardly seemed fair.
Minutes later the dinghies were dragged ashore and Keelie squealed with delight as her father stepped from the tiny boat. She rushed toward him. “Papa!” she cried as he bent down to embrace her, stumbling the last few feet into his arms. He caught her up into a bear hug and she gave him the same in return, the gesture choking off his air supply. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he stood. He carried her over to his smiling wife, leaning in to kiss her longingly.
“Is everything well?” he asked with a hint of concern.
“Yes, it’s been quiet,” she answered, knowing the meaning of his question.
Slowly the crowd dispersed, leaving the younger unmarried fishermen to drag the catch ashore.
Rohn managed to pry his daughter loose and hand her to her mother so he could retrieve his things from the boat. Keelie tried to wiggle free but her mother’s grip was iron, much to her displeasure.
“Calm down — when we reach home you can talk to him until your heart’s content,” her mother said.
Not to her satisfaction, of course. She folded her arms across her chest in defiance. As far as she was concerned, she was a hostage and her father was taking until the end of time to collect his things. It was becoming unbearable.
Then a low-flying seabird caught her attention, shrieking as it glided overhead. She twisted her head around to get a better look and suddenly found her papa was next to her. Just like that, both the bird and her frustration with her mother were forgotten.
The three walked toward their home while Keelie filled her father in on everything she’d done while he was away. She may have repeated a few things, and some he may have even been present for, but he let her get it all out. He nodded and responded with surprise and concern at all the appropriate moments, completely entertained by her banter.
The fisher village of Swinn was built in a circular pattern surrounding a courtyard centered by a well. Most homes were small and well kept; any larger ones were on the outskirts, but they too were of simple design. Those particular homes were occupied by the owners of the fishing ships, and despite the differences in each family’s wealth and standing, no one was made to feel lesser. The people here were generally kind and friendly, even to traveling countrymen who came down the coast, some of whom were offered room and board. Without an inn in town it seemed the proper thing to do.
It was mid-afternoon in late spring, usually a wetter time, but today the sun was out and everyone’s spirits were high.
Lea set Keelie down as they reached their home. The girl started to follow her father inside and was stopped short. “Why don’t you play out here while I talk to your Papa,” she said. Before Keelie could object she was handed a sweet cake, which she took without question. The little girl ignored the kiss on her head and the sound of her home’s door closing as she took the first blissful bite.
This happened every time her Papa came back from fishing. She would be stuck outside for a long time — never sure how long, but it was always a long time. Luckily, just as she finished her treat, some other children who had also been shut out of their homes wandered her way.
Her skin was an olive brown, much like the rest of the village’s people and the greater eastern region. Dark eyes and hair were standard here, which made Keelie stand out. She had bright green eyes and pale silver hair, each a gift from her northern-born mother.
Today she wore a hand-sewn pale blue dress, matching the other girls around her in pattern and design — that too courtesy of her mother. Her feet were bare; it was common for girls and women alike to go without shoes.
Keelie was an active girl, always on the move. She would climb anything if there was anything to climb, and if there was a place to get lost she would find it too. Fortunately the village was a place of community rearing, otherwise her parents wouldn’t have been able to keep up with her.
By the time her parents were ready to let her in, she had wandered off to the well at the center of town and somehow managed to become covered head to toe in dirt and grime.
She wasn’t quite sure why her mother looked so disappointed when she reached out to be picked up. She was though, and was promptly dragged back down to the shoreline, stripped down and scrubbed thoroughly. Only then was she allowed inside.
Inside, small oil lamps were lit giving the three room home a comfortable feel. Her mother wrapped her in a warm blanket and placed her in her papa’s lap while he told her about his journeys to the sea.
One story he told was about an island people in the far east who covered themselves from head to toe in tattoos. Another was set in the northern mainland, where ice and snow covered the land year round.
It wasn’t long before Keelie had drifted off to sleep, never waking as her father placed her gently into a small bed in her own tiny room that was once a closet. Her parents stared down lovingly at their rambunctious daughter, relieved to have her in a peaceful sleep.
The next morning the spring weather had caught up with the region, bringing heavy cloud cover that kept the sun at bay and cooled the salty sea air.
Rohn watched the young women finish packing the dried and smoked fish into saltboxes. That work had begun just after his arrival yesterday and had continued throughout the night so that everything would be ready to go by noon today.
He and a few volunteers would be taking several loads of fish to a small hamlet to the northwest, a service they provided in exchange for healing herbs. The rest would be sold off in the inland villages.
As he approached the wagons a group of elders were already in deep discussion. He didn’t have to hear them to know the subject — it had been the same for a year now. The Marren Empire. He listened as he passed without joining in.
Over the last two years the Marran Empire had worked their way across the kingdoms of the far west. According to some they had magical powers, which was ludicrous because as far as Rohn was concerned, no such thing existed.
A week before he left on this last fishing tour, word reached the village that the Empire had just defeated the Kingdom of Berif, a long standing monarchy just across the Inaisien Strait. It was rumored to be a feat they’d had little trouble with, and the mass casualties left behind appeared purposeful. The latest news, the one being discussed this morning, was that the invaders were taking survivors as slaves to build temples to their god-king.
Berif had pushed back many threats over the centuries, so to hear they’d been defeated with such ease had everyone in the east concerned. He and the elders were almost certain they would not stop. He just hoped the Virian Nobles would put aside their squabbles and join together to stop what was coming.
Swinn was on the opposite side of Virius along the Emerald Isle, roughly 150 leagues from the war. The problem was that information reaching the village was mostly thirdhand, inconsistent rumors from people pushing eastward hoping to resettle away from the fighting. No one was exactly sure where the danger actually lay.
He caught a glimpse of Keelie as she came running in his direction, her pale silver hair a stark contrast against her tanned skin. He picked her up and she hugged him tightly, gave him a kiss, then wiggled free and ran straight into a group of playing children.
Rohn loved his family and his life and couldn’t have asked for anything more. He was already eager to get back and spend the next two weeks with them before setting out to sea again.
Dismissing the elder rumor mill, he stayed where he was and watched his daughter for a half hour before his wife brought the supplies he needed for the trip inland. It would take three days — a fact that felt far too long the moment Lea kissed him goodbye.
She was good to him, straightforward and spirited, a trait that had scared off most of her suitors but the very thing that had appealed to him. He had proposed only days after meeting her and she had accepted, much to the exasperation of her noble family. For her, the only feelings that mattered were her own — and she loved him. He had brought her back to his home and in the twelve years since it had been wonderful.
It had taken them time to have a child, and when Keelie finally arrived it was the greatest day of their lives. That his daughter had inherited her mother’s spirit gave him even greater joy.
Once everything was prepared he gave his family a final goodbye, climbed aboard his wagon, and set off in a caravan of four wagons and six riders on horseback.
A light drizzle started just as Swinn disappeared behind them. Rohn put on his wide brimmed hat while his riding partner Devan — a known talker — wrapped up a one sided conversation about sailing to one of the major southern sea ports on their next tour.
It was a subject he’d brought up many times to the captains, who dismissed it quickly every time. Rohn admired the man’s determination, but there was no way for small fishing vessels like the one he worked in to compete with well established companies with ships twice as big.
He let the man continue to talk while his eyes drifted to a point on the western horizon. Seconds later one of the mounted escorts called out a rider in the distance.
Even before he saw the dark line of riders, he heard the distant thunder of hooves. He reined in the horses and stopped the wagon, standing to get a better look. On the road ahead a single horseman pulled up from a dead sprint, his hair and clothes disheveled and his animal in a lather. Rohn was nearly in a panic by the time the man had gathered himself enough to speak.
“Who’s ahead!?” someone called out.
“Imperials!” the man shouted.
Rohn understood immediately. The reality of it hit him like a physical blow.
“Marrans! We have to warn the village!” He announced, overcoming his momentary lapse, and turned the wagon around with all the speed it could muster. The entire caravan raced back toward the village. There was no time to wonder how the Empire had gotten so close without warning.
The boxes of fish crashed to the ground, unnoticed. Fear tore through him like nothing he had ever felt before, his only focus getting back to his family.
The villagers on horseback outpaced him quickly, the wagon a heavy burden even for the two tired creatures that drew it. He never turned to see where the Imperials were. He knew they were coming — that was enough. He flipped the reins and urged the horses forward.
Keelie and several other children sat eating pieces of dried fish, her mind completely focused on the sweetened treat she was chewing on. The women, including her mother, stood at the well tending to the youngest children and talking about things Keelie paid little attention to. Even when the shouting started she didn’t sense anything was wrong — until her mother suddenly jerked her off her feet and ran, the delicious treat falling away forgotten.
She saw her Papa then, and while normally a happy sight, she sensed only tension in him. Then chaos erupted — people screamed and ran in all directions, grabbing their children as they went.
When they reached their own home, Keelie watched on the verge of tears as her parents sat her down and ran off in different directions, leaving her alone in the sitting room.
“We need to get to the boats, take only the coins,” her father said.
Her mother disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with a small bag. She was again scooped up, this time by her papa, and they rushed out the door into the mayhem. The screams of the people around her startled her into crying loudly.
Her father was running, her mother close behind, the three heading toward the shoreline, falling in with the mass flow of villagers.
The town’s people had no true fighters, and very few had more than filleting knives for cleaning fish. Their only defense was the sea, and that was suddenly cut off by a group of men in black armor.
They quickly stepped around the dark rider closest to them, watching as he cut down a fleeing woman with a massive broadsword. She died screaming.
The rider turned toward them. Rohn thrust Keelie into her mother’s arms, told her to run, then threw himself at the man and pulled him from his saddle.
“Papa!” Keelie keened.
In a wash of tears, she lost sight of him as her mother continued to run toward the water’s edge.
She and the villagers shifted direction several times as the Imperials intercepted them, killing indiscriminately.
By now Lea knew she wouldn’t reach the shore, leaving her only one choice. She turned and raced back toward her home, angling north and passing it by, until she reached a cold storage building where several other women had already gathered for the same reason.
Working together they pulled away a stack of logs, revealing a door and a hidden bunker beneath. They handed their scared and crying children to several older girls, some of whom were barely teenagers, who passed them down into the secret hold. Some children had to be torn away from their mothers to keep them safe. There would be no space for adult women — their job would be to lead the enemy soldiers away from the children.
When Lea got to the opening, she kissed her daughter goodbye, her mind’s eye filling with images of all the things she was going to miss in her little girl’s life, attempting to fight back tears that fell anyway. “Remember that mommy and papa love you and that you are beautiful and strong. Know that one day you will see how special you are.”
She pulled off her necklace, the one her husband had given her after their first year together. It was a single chain with a mermaid pendant hanging from it that Keelie loved to fiddle with when they sat together. “Take this, keep it, and I will see you again one day my love,” she said softly, hoping it was not a lie.
Quickly she handed her daughter to a young girl and watched her scream as she disappeared into the darkness. Lea, heartbroken, helped close the door and replace the logs. The women then made sure they caught the attention of the only raider in the area and raced back toward the village.
They watched the soldier ignore them and dismount near the makeshift shelter. Yelling and screaming at the man they tried to get his attention, but he didn’t take the bait. Lea looked into the eyes of the other women and found resolve, each of them understanding what had to be done. As a group they picked up whatever weapons they could find, from tools to clubs, and ran at the Imperial. He turned in time to strike the first woman to reach him, killing her immediately, but it gave Lea enough time to slash a filleting knife across his neck.
Under the cold storage little could be heard beyond the older girls cooing the young ones to keep them calm. It took some time, but they managed, though most of the children ended up crying themselves to sleep.
Keelie sat awake, absently gripping the gift her mother had given her, all her attention fixed on a small stream of light filtering through the floorboards above. She was in the lap of the girl who had carried her down here and was calm for the moment. Someone in the darkness — she couldn’t tell who — was stroking her hair, a familiar comfort she allowed to continue. Whatever sounds had been heard outside had faded away some time ago, but the girls kept their small charges in place, knowing quiet didn’t always mean safe.
But as children do, Keelie and a few others began to grow restless and started asking questions. The shushing responses they were getting were starting to upset them, some beginning to quietly voice that they wanted out. The girls tried to keep them quiet, but it was difficult.
Nacsux stepped down from his horse, still feeling awkward after six months on the horrid beasts. He was a large man, tall and thick across the chest with well muscled arms and legs. He had short cut sandy blond hair surrounding a clean shaven square jawed face with deep set eyes that shone a clear blue, entrancing nearly everyone around him.
He was a serious man with great leadership skills, and his loyalty to the Empire made him well respected. That reputation, combined with the fear his methods generated, were the reasons he’d been sent to lead raids on villages of unbelievers.
He didn’t mind though — he was all too glad to serve his master, the god king Delastian. His sacred duty was to gather the young offspring of the corrupted to assist in building his master’s temples, where they would be taught the Marran ways and shown the true mercy of the god king’s grace.
He watched his loyal men gather the bodies of the dead, piling them up to be burned. Most had to be brought back from the surf’s edge, as the villagers had done what seashore people always do and fled toward the water. His men cut down many of them on the way and rained arrows down on those who reached the boats and attempted to row away, killing almost all of them.
Now the bodies needed to be not just disposed of, but erased. This village, like the others, would in time be rebuilt and repopulated with whatever male children survived the quarries and whichever females didn’t become priestesses.
He looked past the burning bodies out at the sea, missing it. Nacsux was a sailor at heart. He’d been a naval captain his whole career before this assignment, and with that duty nearing its end he would soon return to the seas — something he was very much looking forward to.
A commotion drew the commander from his reverie. He walked in that direction, asking the first man he saw what was happening.
“Lord Commander,” the man said, giving him a quick bow. “An incident with some villagers.” He was led around the corner of a small building where he found one of his men lying dead on his back.
He’d been cut deeply across his neck and appeared to have bled out. Several village women were scattered around him, dead as well, their makeshift weapons evidence of their intent and their double edged success.
“Where is the one who finished him off?” he asked, studying the scene and sorting out why it made no sense. A moment later a soldier dragged an injured woman before him.
“Here my Lord,” he said, standing her before the commander.
Blood covered her hands and dress, but it was the silver of her hair that held his attention. He had never seen its like, though he was keenly aware of such people and the rumored power they possessed.
“Did you do this?” he asked, gesturing at the dead man. She didn’t answer, just stood defiant. Her nose was broken, and by her stance so were several other things.
“We kill by divine right. You as the unclean should lay down and sacrifice your lives, so that in the life beyond you can be purified and reborn as descendants of the righteous. But now you have killed a holy warrior, and because of that you will be condemned to infinite tortures before your soul is destroyed.”
The Lord Commander pulled his sword. Lea mouthed “I love you” to her daughter as it was plunged into her stomach. She gasped and the child screamed.
As Nacsux watched the woman’s eyes he did not see a defeated soul as expected — instead a fire rose and burned in them. She suddenly ripped free of her captors and dug her fingernails into his face, leaving them buried beneath the skin. An unnatural chill seized him, lasting only a moment but long enough for him to recognize it.
He had felt it only once before — the day he had been among the fortunate few touched and blessed by the god king himself.
He reeled back, tearing away from the woman as the men around him stabbed her repeatedly. She did not call out. Her eyes remained on him and the fire burned until her soul left her body. He staggered away to his horse and his healers, filled with anger and confusion.
He wanted to order his men to take the woman’s daughter and keep her separate from the other children — there was something he needed to know about her — but he couldn’t hold the thought. He shook his head to clear it, and for brief seconds it would clear, until his thoughts turned to the silver haired girl again and everything became cloudy.
By the time the healers went to work on him he had forgotten about the girl entirely. Only the anger of being attacked and the confusion of what he’d felt remained. In the minutes that followed his mind began to rationalize it, finally concluding it could only have been an illusion — one brought on by adrenaline and the shock of the nerve damage, nothing more.
Keelie screamed when the man hurt her mommy. The man who stabbed her walked away, but his torn face became etched into her tiny mind.
From there she was carried to the town square, where the smoke from the fires choked her and burned her eyes. Two men carried her mother over and tossed her onto the pile of burning bodies.
Keelie bit the man holding her and wiggled free, jumping to her feet after crashing to the ground. She ran to her mother’s body, which had slid down near the base of the pile, and laid herself across it. She shook her and cried for her to wake up, wanting to show her how well she’d taken care of the necklace she’d given her. There was no response. The fire was hot and getting closer. She had to move away.
The man turned away, the ugliness of his injured face disappearing from her sight. She would remember what her mother had done to him. Someday she would do the same.