The Thorian Sagas. 2. Insurrection.

Monique stood on the city wall immediately above the gate, armed and seemingly ready for trouble.

“You may not enter the city.”

The invading force looked up, seeing an indistinct figure against the bright sky. They had not expected this but had been congratulating themselves on reaching their main goal, though they still could not know how it would end.

“But we were told…” A warrior exactly like Monique herself, was their spokeswoman. A beautiful darker skinned woman from Dorian, their sister city.

“And who are you?” Monique looked down upon them, aware that though they carried bows and other arms, there seemed to be no threat there at all. Just confusion. And even that, would soon be resolved.

“My name is Christine MacBeath.” She pointed to the other leaders and named them.

Monique was taken aback, introducing herself in turn.

“I also am a MacBeath. Monique MacBeath.”

She knew that Liam was approaching behind the would-be-invaders, as she distracted them.

Boril did not warn these women of Liam’s approach. It was Liam’s turn to move things along. He and Liam were working together now, a nudge here, a nudge there. Both were of the same mind, adjusting, each to the other.

She was aware of their friendly rivalry. It would all end well, but she was not sure how it would end.

Monique would have liked to have spoken with this woman, Christine, at length, and ask her about Dorian. What kind of a city was it? Did it compare with Fenn? But that would wait until later.

There had been no contact between their cities for many generations. A third of those she looked down upon from the wall, were dark skinned, as she was; also, Dorians. Distant relatives from when the original tribes of dark-skinned women had been torn apart and separated on opposite sides of this domain for whatever reason.

“We relieved the old guard of their duty. The orders have changed. You must now deal with me. Why are you here? Why do you wish to enter the city?”

The three obvious leaders of the various cities of women, huddled together, suddenly confused by their reception.

“You know why we are here. This rebellion has been many years in the making.”

They were being met with intransigence, even bordering on disbelief, and could see failure staring them in the face if they could not get into the city.

Boril was calming them, assuring them that this was only a minor and temporary setback, and that they should be patient. This would soon be resolved.

They were unaware of Liam approaching from behind, and Boril did not tell them of that.

“Tell us what your instructions were, and why you are here.”

They consulted further with each other.

Christine would speak for them all, having some distant relationship to this city that the others did not have.

“We must overturn the treaty, and this seemed to be the only way to do it. We were assured by the councillors of each of the cities, that Fenn was expecting us, and that we would be admitted to the city as soon as we arrived.”

She continued.

“That act alone, entering your city, would overturn the treaty that has long plagued all of us, and then everything would change in a peaceful way, following that, when we can negotiate with our oppressors.”

It would change, sure enough, and it had all been contrived in secret. Or so they thought. Monique had heard a hint of it from Stoker and then more recently from Liam.

“Why do you want to see it overturned? What is wrong with the existing treaty? Your adventurous folly could just as easily make it ten times worse, when the Thorians learn of this. They could raze the cities; put us 'all' into captivity.” Or worse.

They found Monique’s obstruction of their goal, to be confusing, and the things she was saying to be frightening. Nothing, and no one, had prepared them for this.

Perhaps they should disperse along the city wall and wage an assault on the city at different points and gain entry to the city that way. There could be no more than twenty guards holding that gate, and they could not guard the entire wall and the gate too.

Boril calmed them again as they made another attempt to explain what had brought them to this impasse.

“You ask what is wrong with the existing treaty. Surely you are aware of the injustices that all of the cities labor under. How could you not have noticed?”

Christine continued, puzzled by her calm reception, denying them entry.

“We are prisoners in our own cities; held captives by that treaty.

“You, like us, keep losing the best of your youth; sending them out as tributes each month. Those tributes were well known to all of us, growing up together as we did, and then they were ripped from us, and to what end? So that it can continue, and get worse?”

Monique knew the answer to that. It had been drilled into her often enough.

“It is done to keep the peace, of course.”

It sounded as though it was a 'dead' kind of reasoning, to her ears too.

Christine was getting impatient with her.

“What peace? This is not peace. This is tyranny. We see the terror on the faces of those tributes once they are chosen. They know that their lives are as good as ended and with them having no choice about their fate. Tyranny! There is no other word for it.”

Monique picked up on one other word.

“Fate. And what fate is that, that you speak of? Do you really know what happens to them?”

Why was this Fennian warrior being difficult?

Christine tried again. “We have heard the rumors, as you must have. They are sent out and are never heard from again.”

That was true.

Except, Monique clearly remembered what she had sensed on that last occasion. It had been a wake-up call for her… for all of them… after the revelations of what had happened in Saltash had suddenly struck at them. It had burrowed into each of their minds as it had unfolded with terrifying clarity; the slow unfolding of a love story between Stoker and that single tribute; Erianne, from Dorian. Then the bears, and the unbelievable violence and the equally unbelievable courage, and love!

Her blood still ran cold, thinking of it.

There had been nothing fearful or reluctant about those last seven tributes, and possibly nothing truly reluctant about any of the tributes, going back for many years, once they knew what their future was to be. They soon found out what awaited them, though they usually had to go out of that lower city gate to find that out as soon as the Kelts met them. In that meeting, the Kelts had calmed them, letting them know that they would know only the best of everything from that moment forward, and merely to trust them.

The Kelts were easy to trust; gentle, kind; calming in every way.

That last group of tributes had known what awaited them even before they had gone out. Monique had seen that, and for the first time was privileged to understand it. How things had changed!

She tried to answer Christine’s comment without telling her what she now knew.

“Perhaps they ‘choose’, not to be heard from again. Perhaps the new life they face is better than the one they were brought up with, and they have no desire to go back to it. If the cities feel like prisons, could it not be that we are the ones who make them seem that way? How do you know that tributes did not try to return to the cities, but were denied entry?”

They would all have known of that. It had never happened.

Confusing answers; confusing questions.

Boril prompted Christine how to answer, knowing that Liam would find it amusing.

“Those sound like the Thorian lies we have all been brought up with. They cannot be believed. Those young women, the cream of our cities go out to their deaths, as sacrifices to satisfy those bloodthirsty monsters as they continue to punish us for whatever happened generations ago. It is time to change it. And now.”

Monique sensed Liam chuckling in the background and egging Boril on.

‘Thorian lies? Prisoners? Tyranny? Sacrifices? Boril. Boril.’

He gently castigated his friend.

’What a picture you paint of us.’

‘That is how the women in the cities see it, Liam. You know that yourself, but you never had time to stop and consider it, until now.’

Christine continued, this time from her own memories.

“We see that Thorian warrior come to our city each month, ready for trouble; armed, horrifying. He would brook no delay, hearing no argument no matter how much we feel the cruel loss of those women, and heedless of the families whose ambitions the Thorians destroy. They rip those terrified young women from the city no matter how fearful they may be. Where is the justice in that, to have some past iniquity visited time and again upon the innocent?”

‘AND WHAT WILL YOU DO ABOUT IT?’

They were startled at the booming voice from behind them.

They looked around seeing a line of fully armed Thorians staring down at them from a ridge of sand.

These giants looked every bit as they had dreamed about them, each time they had tried to sleep.

They had startlingly decorated shields, from which the sun glinted. They carried heavy swords and even spears. Some had heavy axes at their back. They were ready for war, as all Thorians had to be.

Monique herself was impressed. Had she not known that Liam was one of them, she would have been as terrified as these women were.

All they could see was failure. Their world, their futures were about to come to an end.

They instinctively shrank closer together, their knees trembling.

They could not have expected this, but at least the Thorians did not rush down upon them in anger and lay into them.

The question was repeated.