From the Journal of Chintae The Cleric

Across the Sea

Chintae finished her meal with the soldiers about to go on duty, giving them, again, another round of encouragement.  The constant howls of the undead, the sharp bitterness of the northern winds and the constant beseigment of their gates gave the men little hope.  She refused to let them lose it.  Chintae made sure each and everyone of them got plenty of sleep, plenty to eat, and much of anything they else they needed.  She chose only the men that were ready to face a hard challenge, and the advent of a long stay.  The church had tried to give her many green recruits, but she had refused them all, knowing that she needed ones that had seen particular evil things in their life.  They had to know what they were getting into, and green recruits wouldn’t.

Chintae climbed the spiral staircase, crossing into her room at the top of the fort quickly to be out of the cold wind and in a warm room.  The large bed in the center was comfortable, with thick blankets that kept her warm as the chill winds invaded her less than secure windows.  Being the Captain of the Haven’s Sanctuary, the men had all thrown themselves to make sure her room was in decent condition, they had all also contributed much to her surroundings.  Her desk, the bed and many blankets, the relatively fixed windows, and the small decorations.  She kept and cherished them all.  It meant much to her that they looked up to her as they did.

Setting her coat upon the rack, Chinate went over to the desk, picking the pen up again, scanned the pages for where she last left off, and dipped her quill in the ink, before setting it to the pages again.

My people were a fishing community, we are no strangers to the sea, but being the villages up and coming shaman, I was forbidden to risk my life to Sihari’s fickle moods.  So my experience on the boat I was on, was not pleasant.  My head throbbed, and placing my hand there, I instinctively channeled my magic, making the ache go away, but the queasy feeling in my stomach did not settle.  The sway of side to side had lulled many of the kids into restful slumber, but not myself.  It was fortunate that I had not eaten anything, for I had a hard time convincing my stomach that the contents that were in there should remain so.

The kids, upon seeing me awake, all huddled around me, and I noticed, with an even more unsettling feeling in my abdomen, that there were fewer kids with me than on our isle.  Anyone less than four was not with us anymore.  I hoped they were above the decks, and not in these filthy, dank conditions, but intuition told me better.  As I hugged the kids close to me, I silently cried with them for the lose of life, all life, we had endured that day.

Meals were meager, probably meant to separate the strong from the weak, but through careful portioning, we all went hungry, but we didn’t starve.  After about a week and half worth of sea travel, we came to rest, much to our relief and dismay.  The horrible ship travel was over, but it was the familiar thing we knew, and out there, wherever we were to be taken was unknown, and new to us.  We weren’t unloaded for a very long time, and when, at last, they came for us, they dragged us off harshly, although we’d have been just as happy to be away from that horrible place.

We emerged from the under belly of the vessel to a moonlit night instead of blazing sun, and it took sometime to readjust our sight to the outside world again, but we didn’t get a chance to do so before they shoved the kids into makeshift, but sturdy cages.  I went to follow them, only wanting to be with the kids that were my responsibility, but I was forcibly yanked back by my hair, had my hands bound behind my back, and rudely thrown over the side of a horse and strapped down.

This was not a pleasant journey, not because of the discomfort I endured because of the horse, but because of the man that rode with me.  Apparently, they didn’t get many females around my age. . .His hands liked to wander. .

Chintae put the pen down and steadied her hand as she wrote.  She took a sip of her wine that her maid had brought in, letting the cool liquid warm her throat and ease her aching memories.  This was just one of the few hardships she had endured.  It all got so much worse, so why was she having this much trouble?  Silently reprimanding herself, Chintae picked up the quill again, and continued.

I never particularly enjoyed this time, as the man harassed me continually, but luckily enough, another man noticed what was going on, wheeling his own steed over, warning my captor, under no certain terms was I to be treated as such.  I would fetch a fairer price “unsoiled”.  The man only complied to these rules when he thought no one was looking, but did nothing more than explore my parts with his hands, even at my constant protests.

Later that night, I was tied to a tree, and the two men that talked earlier went off to get some fresh water from a stream nearby.  The man that rode with me never returned and I was left alone as we traveled the desert for another two days.

When we arrived at a small dwelling a fat man emerged and looked us all over, separating the kids into categories I’ll never understand even to this day.  It wasn’t by height, or by age, or by build, or by gender, it seemed completely random to me.  Once he was done, I was the last he inspected.

And inspected all over.  Stripped bare, and scrutinized like some animal.  His touch was never anything other than *professional* but it still felt as unclean and nasty as the other man’s had been.  I was still determined to be unsoiled, and the men all cheered.  The fat man and the men who kidnapped us from the isle exchanged pleasantries and some pouches, and we were left with the fat man.

He herded the kids into rooms, keeping them arranged by his categories, and I was given a room of my own.  I was bathed in lavender and spices, my hair was brushed until it shone and I was prettied up with stuff called makeup until I looked at myself in a mirror.  A sight to behold, but I could tell that I was looking at myself, but it did not look like me.  I was pretty, and the man smiled when I said so.  Satisfied, I was locked in my room for the evening.

The next day, he got the kids dressed up and clean, although not quite as clean as myself.  Bathed me again, brushed my hair, did odd things to it that added to my beauty in the mirror and doled me up in more makeup then herded us to a place called Ahgram.

Chintae stopped in her writings.  Ahgram, that word still held a great deal of fear for her.  The mere memory brought up countless years of torture and vice.  The splendid city and its gold roofs had been the biggest prison she had lived in, ever.  A wondrous one, but a prison all the same.  And she didn’t feel her fingers would work anymore for the night.

Sighing, Chintae stoppered the ink, setting the quill down upon some napkins so that the remaining ink could dry without staining her desk.  She left the journal open to air out, and dry the ink while she slept.  She’d continue in the morning, her journal wasn’t going to write itself in a day.  Her life was far too long for that.

Chintae doffed her heavy armor, that was now for more show than it was for the protection it offered, but it was one of those many things that she never really got unaccustomed to.  She favored the heavy material, and felt naked without it.  But it wasn’t something you slept in.  Once properly set aside, Chintae climbed into bed in her under garments, curling under the blankets to warm up.  Outside, the howls of the undead continued to wail on, but it didn’t bother her one bit.  Another one of those events in her life that she had yet to write down.

Sighing, Chintae closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

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October 15, 2008 | Filed Under Journal 

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