Post by Deleted on Dec 28, 2016 10:11:51 GMT -7
Caliga, Muerte. 5th of Winter Storm. Morning.
Winter Storm and the months that surrounded it brought an uneasy and fleeting peace to the hold of Caliga. The air tasted of dust, withered crops, and the iron tang of fear. The nearby village was ripe with it. It was getting to the point where no matter where she went an echo of that bitter taste remained. It lingered like the perfume of a woman who has just left, ephemeral and unanchored yet undeniable.
This village was one of many tiny farming hamlets scattered through the rich lands of the hotly disputed Caliga. Winter had temporarily curtailed the worst of the struggles in the area but no one trusted the season's truce to last. It wasn't wise to stay here long.
She'd only arrived the day before, accompanying a pitifully small caravan bearing some modest supplies. There was no market for luxuries in this area anymore. There was, surprisingly, an inn though the exorbitant price had her what little wealth she carried. She didn't even like to sleep boxed in where she couldn't feel the open air but she had learned long ago that people didn't like to find people camped in their fields. And the whole area was farmed land from what she could gather.
Morning had brought her out to one of those fields at the behest of a farmer's wife, who sounds young and scared and who glowed with the promise of life in her belly. Twice she had lost a child before it was born and though this one seemed to be growing well she had chanced the ire of her husband to approach the serpentine fortune teller.
The bleat of a young goat heralded the woman's return. A kid was an expensive thing to lose- a great sacrifice. It told her just how desperately this young mother wanted this. The naga's lips parted slightly, breathing in the scent of livestock. The play of heat in the cool desert winter helped her to focus on where they were coming from.
"Bring it here." She gestured to the ground in front of her. They weren't far off the road, just far enough to be screened by the dry stalks of some crop. She reached out and took hold of the young animal by the arch of it's neck, feeling the pulse of it's heart. She could feel the magic rising already, responding to the life flowing just below the surface. She bowed her head, the coarse material of her veil brushing her cheeks. She had shed the wrap that had given her some modesty in town. She would rather it not get bloody.
"This is a handsome sacrifice. The gods should be pleased." Her voice was light and gentle, comforting even as she deftly slipped the bone knife from it's sheath.
Warm blood splashed over her hands as she slit it's throat, holding the convulsing body until the spasms passed. Then she flipped it to it's back and slit the belly from neck to anus, deep enough that the entrails spilled out onto the dry dirt. She ran them through her fingers, careful not to prick the intestines with her claws.
The magic that had been pressing just beneath the surface of her skin spilled out in a rush that left her almost giddy. It showed her the fates written in the shape of the liver and the strength of the heart. It showed her the suggestions that fate had already molded into the life in the woman's belly.
She smiled.
"Do not fear, mother." The woman had not given her a name, and Inyahla had not asked. "Two have been taken from you and two you bear now into the world. They will come into the world strong, though it will be hard on you. Take care not to fetter them to the land of their birth- their fate may lead one of them far from what you are familiar with. Cherish the time while you have them close, and let them fly when they are ready to try their wings."
It was so rare for her to find good news. The woman was weeping, she could hear, but she thought perhaps it was tears of joy. She left soon after, with a word of thanks and the clink of something metal dropping to the ground nearby. Feeling for it with one blood-gloved hand, Inyahla brought the trinket close to her face. A bracelet of some kind, with hard metal bead. She lifted the veil and touched her tongue to the beads, then nodded and slipped it onto her wrist. Copper.
It was good. The bracelet most likely had a value somewhat more than what she'd paid at the inn, and the goat would make a meal that would last her for more than a day. Stretching out her pale body to take advantage of what heat the sun brought with it, she unpinned her veil and reached for the goat's heart. She always like to start with the best parts.
Winter Storm and the months that surrounded it brought an uneasy and fleeting peace to the hold of Caliga. The air tasted of dust, withered crops, and the iron tang of fear. The nearby village was ripe with it. It was getting to the point where no matter where she went an echo of that bitter taste remained. It lingered like the perfume of a woman who has just left, ephemeral and unanchored yet undeniable.
This village was one of many tiny farming hamlets scattered through the rich lands of the hotly disputed Caliga. Winter had temporarily curtailed the worst of the struggles in the area but no one trusted the season's truce to last. It wasn't wise to stay here long.
She'd only arrived the day before, accompanying a pitifully small caravan bearing some modest supplies. There was no market for luxuries in this area anymore. There was, surprisingly, an inn though the exorbitant price had her what little wealth she carried. She didn't even like to sleep boxed in where she couldn't feel the open air but she had learned long ago that people didn't like to find people camped in their fields. And the whole area was farmed land from what she could gather.
Morning had brought her out to one of those fields at the behest of a farmer's wife, who sounds young and scared and who glowed with the promise of life in her belly. Twice she had lost a child before it was born and though this one seemed to be growing well she had chanced the ire of her husband to approach the serpentine fortune teller.
The bleat of a young goat heralded the woman's return. A kid was an expensive thing to lose- a great sacrifice. It told her just how desperately this young mother wanted this. The naga's lips parted slightly, breathing in the scent of livestock. The play of heat in the cool desert winter helped her to focus on where they were coming from.
"Bring it here." She gestured to the ground in front of her. They weren't far off the road, just far enough to be screened by the dry stalks of some crop. She reached out and took hold of the young animal by the arch of it's neck, feeling the pulse of it's heart. She could feel the magic rising already, responding to the life flowing just below the surface. She bowed her head, the coarse material of her veil brushing her cheeks. She had shed the wrap that had given her some modesty in town. She would rather it not get bloody.
"This is a handsome sacrifice. The gods should be pleased." Her voice was light and gentle, comforting even as she deftly slipped the bone knife from it's sheath.
Warm blood splashed over her hands as she slit it's throat, holding the convulsing body until the spasms passed. Then she flipped it to it's back and slit the belly from neck to anus, deep enough that the entrails spilled out onto the dry dirt. She ran them through her fingers, careful not to prick the intestines with her claws.
The magic that had been pressing just beneath the surface of her skin spilled out in a rush that left her almost giddy. It showed her the fates written in the shape of the liver and the strength of the heart. It showed her the suggestions that fate had already molded into the life in the woman's belly.
She smiled.
"Do not fear, mother." The woman had not given her a name, and Inyahla had not asked. "Two have been taken from you and two you bear now into the world. They will come into the world strong, though it will be hard on you. Take care not to fetter them to the land of their birth- their fate may lead one of them far from what you are familiar with. Cherish the time while you have them close, and let them fly when they are ready to try their wings."
It was so rare for her to find good news. The woman was weeping, she could hear, but she thought perhaps it was tears of joy. She left soon after, with a word of thanks and the clink of something metal dropping to the ground nearby. Feeling for it with one blood-gloved hand, Inyahla brought the trinket close to her face. A bracelet of some kind, with hard metal bead. She lifted the veil and touched her tongue to the beads, then nodded and slipped it onto her wrist. Copper.
It was good. The bracelet most likely had a value somewhat more than what she'd paid at the inn, and the goat would make a meal that would last her for more than a day. Stretching out her pale body to take advantage of what heat the sun brought with it, she unpinned her veil and reached for the goat's heart. She always like to start with the best parts.