The Thorian Sagas. 2. Insurrection.

Early that same morning, Councillor Simpson had fresh tunics delivered for the tributes to wear. There was even a tunic for the tenth, whenever she would show up, but it was getting late for that.

There was no sign of Councillor Bradshaw, so that was one good thing.

Bradshaw was the one who jealously guarded the tributes, always escorting them from the moment they arrived in the city, to the moment they left Fenn, keeping them away from contact with anyone else, as though she were afraid of what those in the city would learn from them.

Simpson was letting Monique take responsibility for what would unfold now, in the manner of all politicians and administrators. She was distancing herself from the process so that she could deny anything and everything, while finding a scapegoat to point to if things went wrong: Monique, would be that scapegoat.

She left immediately afterward, as though to stay as far away from the process as possible.

The tributes bathed and changed by the fire. There was an air of quiet and yet excited anticipation in all of them. In their minds they were already outside of the city, counting the minutes off until they could leave.

They ate breakfast in silence, then, once the day had warmed from the bitter cold of the previous night, Monique and some of her colleagues escorted the tributes through those back ways of the city, and down to that exit none of them had known about until that previous evening, until Liam had led her there.

It had not been opened since she had closed it, once the small people were within the city. How had they left that morning? If they had left. There was no sign of them, nor could she sense them as strongly as on the night before, though she knew that they were somewhere close by. She was also bonded to them too, now, but not nearly as well as with those Thorians, once she accepted their presence.

Monique looked outside as far as she could see, venturing out to ensure that it was indeed clear of any obvious danger, and saw the sticks the small people had left there the night before.

Once she was sure that it was clear, she led the way, to be sure for herself, carrying her sword at the ready, confident that she could take on anything that would come at her, setting herself up to be the target if there was anything waiting; trusting a weapon she knew.

There was nothing moving. Everything had gone from under the protection and warmth of their wall, but she could see the hollows where various animals had settled in for warmth.

Three of her fellow guards came out with them. One on each side and one bringing up the rear. Another was left to tend to that gate for when they returned. They took their responsibilities seriously.

She envied them, these tributes. She and her colleagues had seen enough in their minds to be aware of what awaited them; a life that any woman could only dream about. They were about to embrace a new direction in their lives. One, that any woman with a spark of life in her would envy, yet here they were, trapped in the city; the only life any of them had known until very recently.

It was not hard to throw out all of the misleading information they had been taught about the wastelands and the horrors there when they had been children. They had been tales, told to keep them confined to the city and to be fearful enough to never want to leave it. Now, she wanted to leave it, to explore farther.

She now had a window onto what truly lay out here, the good, and the interesting, with the terrifying. Though it was becoming more interesting and less terrifying with each day that passed, as she understood it better.

The thought, that life should never be so easy or unchallenged, that it could not be appreciated or valued, had grown steadily as she had seen deeper into Stoker’s mind, and as they had ventured farther out from the city themselves, each of those recent evenings.

She had never gone out in daylight before, so it was interesting to see so many things close up and real, where they had not seen them in the dark; seeing the most intriguing flowers ready to burst out in bloom from one of the bushes. That same bush also had some of the most murderous thorns to guard that beauty. They had encountered those too, in the dark. Always the same...admire the beauty, but beware of the venom lurking in there, and the thorns.

She was slowly building a picture in her mind of life at this level of the desert, not so clearly glimpsed from the top of their wall or through their infrequently opened gate.

Stoker had progressively let her see even more; gradually introducing her, and them, to these strange new things. Then it had suddenly changed for them when they had seen that window thrown wide for them to see out, as those unexpected and very violent events had happened in Saltash. There had been no hiding that from them once those heightened emotions had kicked into play, as though a great cry had gone up, that all could hear around their domain.

Those tributes had faced the worst terrors head on, had succeeded, and had survived. Not only that, but they had been liberated. A new life had been opened up for them to see, and they had been given many choices with that freedom. Even then, that early, they had known what they’d wanted.

What was strange, at first, was that none of them had chosen to go back to their own cities and the secure life that they had once known. In Saltash, they had briefly tasted of the worst, and of the best that life could offer them, but that had been enough.

The brave music of the distant drum had captivated them. They had met Thorians. Many of them. They changed their views on many things at that moment, though it had been building, the more they had seen of Stoker. He had not been like any Thorian they had been expecting, except in their cities. Once they had left the cities behind, he had changed; they had changed. They began to understand.

They had begun to see what a truly empty existence was the lot of those left behind in their cities, closed off from the real world beyond their walls. The world of men. Of Thorians.

Yes, their life in the cities was secure and orderly, and was mostly under their control; mostly. But it was nothing like the life they had glimpsed over the last few days. This new life was exciting, exhilarating, challenging, and full of a different promise; one far better than the life they had left.

A mere promise, balanced against almost twenty years of life and experience. And the promise had won.

‘We will take it from here.’

The small people again. They were all around her, unseen, but there, speaking to her in her mind.

‘Go back into the city and await the tenth tribute. We will be waiting when you bring her out. Give her your necklace. She will need it until she leaves the city. It will help calm her. We will take over from there.’

Monique and her friends dropped to one side and watched the tributes head out, wishing them well as they went by them, smiling, knowing what life they were going to.

Monique and her fellow guards returned to the city, still marvelling about the promise of ‘life’ that had so attracted those tributes, that they had so easily been able to turn their backs on what had once been their homes, their families, and a life they had known.