Sacrificed to Ecstasy

Death chased Rayan. Behind her the clomp of the three raiders’ boots closed in. Their lusty grunts made panic claw at her. She feared rape more than death, as the one would be quicker and less painful than the other. If only she could reach the mountain that beckoned her, somehow she knew she’d be safe there.

Her breath sawed in and out of her throat as she ran, her sandals kicking up puffs of dust on the arid ground. With each stride her simple linen dress tried to tangle her legs. The afternoon sun beat down on her, stealing what little energy she had. As the land began a slow incline toward the mountain her muscles burned and it took greater effort to move forward. Too slow. Fear beat in her mind and empty belly. Sweat ran into her eyes, stinging and nearly blinding her. Terror swept through her. She needed to see. She swiped her sleeve across her face.

A loose stone turned under her sandaled foot and she lost her balance. With a cry she pitched forward in to the stony hillside. The stones scraped her palms and knees as she skidded back down toward the raiders. The impact drove the breath from her lungs.

Something heavy and reeking of long unwashed body hit her from behind. She couldn’t scream. Hard, hurting hands jerked at her dress. Fabric tore and the front of her dress parted, partially exposing her breasts.
No! Gods, help me!
One of the men wrenched her over onto her back. She saw the mountain, too far away to reach. Stones gouged her flesh. The blazing afternoon sun seared her eyes. Fear squeezed her chest. She saw the raiders’ unshaven faces, their eyes dark with lust, tight with hate and the desire to hurt. The ugliest one gripped her wrist tight in one of his big, dirty hands while he tried to force her thighs open with his legs. His fetid breath made her stomach heave.

Rayan kicked and pounded at him with her free hand. Her dress had hiked up her thighs, exposing her underdrawers. Her breasts hung out of the torn front. Her exposure fed the raiders’ lust. Finding her breath at last she screamed her anger, fear and frustration. She knew she was not strong enough to fight off three men, even men as starving lean as these. But she would not give up her virginity without a fight. It was all she had. She screamed again.

“She has spirit. Let me have her first,” the man on the left demanded. He was a dark shadow backed by the blinding sun. He tried to push the one who held her aside.

“I caught her. I’m taking what’s mine. I want to hear her scream,” the ugly beast growled, a deep threat in his voice.

Rayan screamed again, kicking wildly. She struck his thigh with her foot. He wedged his body between her thighs.
Gods, help me!
But the gods had helped no one for years.

The raider fumbled one-handed at his pants.

Gods, please help me!

His breathing sped up. The other two panted like rabid dogs. The ugly one tore her drawers, a sound that drove fear through her like a knife. Her desperation nearly leaped from her chest. The man’s cock brushed her inner thigh.

Her scream of fright and despair and helplessness tore from her throat and echoed off the hillside.

She heard a whistle and two wet thuds. The man above her jerked and grunted. The man on the left raised his hands to grip his throat. What was that sticking out of his neck? It was a shadow in the sun. He leaned toward her and she braced for something awful. His movement blocked the sun and she saw he had an arrow through his neck. He made horrible gurgling noises and collapsed.

The man above her fell forward onto her, where he lay without moving. His grip on her wrist eased open.

What?

The third raider glanced around and half rose. There was a lower pitched whistling and a long stick hit him on the side of his head with a hearty thwack. His eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled to the side.

Gods, what now?
Were other raiders attacking? Would they kill her instead of ravish her? If she died she’d speak directly to the gods and tell them they needed to return to the world to stop this madness.

Rayan heaved the raider off her and scrambled up to meet this new threat. But as she planted her feet to run she saw a young boy holding a stout stick. He looked up from the prone raider to her, a half smile on his lips. His staff was nearly as long as he was tall. He wasn’t much thicker than it. He wore threadbare, homespun trousers and shirt that had once been linen-colored, but was now a dingy gray. His brown hair stood up in tufts on his head.

Closing the distance behind him were two stick-thin girls about the same age as the boy, dressed in trousers like him that were just as gray. They held bows that looked too sturdy for their skinny arms. Each had a quiver of arrows over her shoulder.

Rayan realized her mouth hung open, as did her dress. She closed it as best she could. Her gaze caught on the older woman approaching behind the girls. Also thin, she wore her white hair braided in a coronet around her head. Her dress waved around her ankles as she walked. She carried a long staff like the boy. When she reached them, she knelt and checked each of the raiders. Beside the man who’d been hit with the pole she looked up at the boy.

“This one still lives.”

Rayan took a step forward, afraid the raider might jump to his feet and try to kill them. Despite their weapons the children would present no obstacle to him—Rayan would protect them if she could. The priestess smiled at her.

The boy pulled a short, sharp knife from his belt and knelt beside the priestess. “Vashon, escort this man to judgment,” he said and with no expression on his face, the boy slit the raider’s throat from one side to the other.

Rayan gasped. She’d have done it to defend herself or the children, but it seemed wrong to kill an unconscious man—even if he deserved it. And for a young boy to do it…

The priestess nodded to the boy, then looked up at Rayan while he cleaned his knife on a piece of cloth he drew from his trouser pocket.

“You object?” the priestess asked. “Would you rather we not have saved you?”

Rayan did not want these people’s ill will. After all, she was alone in a foreign land. “Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life and more. If I can find some way to repay you, I will. I was just…surprised…that a boy would have to do that.”

“I am a priestess of Vashon, the god of joy and celebration and fertility. I cannot take lives, except in defense of my own life.” The priestess’s gray eyes were bright with intelligence. Fine lines of age etched her skin.

“Perhaps a man of your village, then?” Rayan suggested. She looked up the hill to see if there was anyone else.

“Since the raiding began we have few able-bodied men and none to be spared for foraging, which is what we were doing when we heard you scream. In these times, even the young do what must be done.”

While she spoke the girls yanked their arrows free of the dead raiders with a strength that belied their thin arms. They stared at Rayan in open curiosity.

“My pardon, priestess. I don’t mean to offend.”

The priestess nodded and rose. “Children, take anything we can use.”

The children pawed through the raiders’ clothes. Rayan looked away, back toward where her betrothed had died. She’d have to gather their meager belongings.

“Did they hurt you, child?” the priestess asked, her tone gentle.

Rayan shuddered. “You prevented the worst.”

“It’s good that we came in time.” The priestess nodded. “We have not been able to prevent most of the acts against our villagers. We had surprise on our side this time, as they were intent on you.”

“Are all your children forced to be warriors?” Was their village in jeopardy, like hers had been? Was there no safe place since the gods had withdrawn their blessings?

“Not all, and as I said, we have some able-bodied men. But we cannot hold off a concentrated or organized attack.”

“The gods must hate us to want us to suffer like this.”

The priestess gave Rayan a sharp look. “The gods do not hate us and they are not making us suffer. That is man’s doing. The gods wait for a sign that we honor them.”

Damn. Rayan was antagonizing a potential safe place to stay for the night. She would prefer to sleep indoors before she started her journey tomorrow. Although now that her betrothed was dead she didn’t know where she could go. Would his people take her in? As what? And what would she do there? She shook her head. She was too hungry and tired to ponder the future beyond a place to sleep for the night.

“I’m sorry, priestess.” Rayan headed down the hill toward where she and her betrothed had been attacked.

“Are you alone, child?” There was a note of censure in the priestess’ voice.

“I was traveling with my betrothed.”

The priestess caught up to Rayan and walked by her side. “My name is Elida. What are you called?”

“Rayan.”

“Meaning ‘dawn of the sun’. Where are you from, child?”

“Elderhaven, near the plains. Raiders destroyed it six months ago. My family fled with the few other people who survived. We’ve traveled since then, trying to find a safe place to live.”

“A too familiar tale, unfortunately. If only there was someone to fulfill the gods’ prophecy that could save us.”

The brown lump in the distance distracted Rayan’s attention from asking about the prophecy. Her betrothed, Faram. She waited for a stab of grief, but felt only a faint sadness, mostly for the hopes that died with him, for a purpose to her life, for a home and a man who might love her someday. She’d run farther than she’d imagined. She hadn’t known she had such speed in her. It was amazing what a person could do when she had to.

She’d been desperate to reach the mountain to save her, and in a way it had.

When they reached Faram’s crumpled form she sank to her knees beside him. Death had twisted his facial features from plain to gruesome. Scarlet soaked the tunic on his chest around the ugly hole where he’d been stabbed. He’d tried to protect her, and to some extent had succeeded. At least she could say that about him.

“I’m sorry, child. I know there is little to ease your sorrow over his loss. But you have good memories of him.”

“I only met him three days ago, when he bought me from my family.” Rayan looked up at Elida. She didn’t want the priestess to misunderstand. “I’m not a slave. My family was starving. We had no home, no work, no food. I’m of age to marry and Faram’s wife had died. He needed someone to keep his home while he traveled. I offered myself as his wife for food for my family. It was an honorable trade.”

The priestess nodded. “Many such beginnings become strong marriages. It is a pity, though, that you did not have time to create children together. Although that hope might yet be realized. You had three days, after all.”

Rayan shook her head. “We were not yet married. Faram was taking me to his village temple to be married there. I asked him to wait until after the vows were spoken.”

Elida’s sharpened gaze pierced Rayan. “You are a virgin?”

“Of course.”

Elida shook her head. “There is no ‘of course’ in these violent times. How did you escape unscathed from your village?”