The Iron Forest: Ancestor's Legacy

Dressed in a gown of flowing white cottons trimmed in black, Lady Karmera, the High Priestess of Gathal, strolled through the streets of Khalati. The light summer breeze felt cool against her face as it fluttered her collar made from crow’s feathers that glistened with a black-green iridescence.

Most thought of her as beautiful, while others saw her as a frightful, dangerous woman. Lady Karmera cared little of what anyone thought since she dedicated her life as a servant to the mother goddess.

“It’s a great honor to have you among us, my lady,” Lord Taladas said as he waddled behind her, his cheeks flushed and sweaty. “You will find our new stock from Saratan is ripe and of the utmost quality.”

With an outstretched hand, she silenced the slave master. “I’m not here to find workers for the fields. I’m looking for women to serve Mother Gaia and his majesty.”

He nodded. “As you wish, my lady. Is there anyone in particular?”

“The Kutassan princess will be a good start.”

Lord Taladas paused and wiped his face with a cotton rag. “I’m not aware of any princesses in my pit.”

“No. Of course not. You wouldn’t know real nobility if they ran over you with an elk. The king, queen, and prince are confirmed dead, but their daughter was last seen heading in this direction, riding in one of your slave wagons.”

Taladas bowed. “I will see to it at once, my lady.”

Lady Karmera continued toward the pit, hearing the picks and shovels working the earth. There, a dais was waiting with a cloth canopy to block out the sun, but she was not interested in being a spectator from a distance. She wanted to see their eyes and feel their sorrows. Only the strong can serve her ladyship in Gathal. The same as me when I wore those chains.

Several months had passed since she last visited the pit outside Khalati. Workers once mined steel and iron from the pit to make weapons and armor for Prince Shunlin and his troops. That all changed when one slave hit a metal that rang against the pick with a different tone. No longer was there a need to arm the troops with steel. A new army was discovered below the sand—Abaddon’s army.

Nobles and merchants crowded to get a glimpse her. Even the pitmasters took time away from their whips to watch.

The lead man stepped forward. He bowed with a timid silence.

“My Priestess, this is Khali, the overseer,” Taladas said, coming to her side. He gestured to the dark, bushy-haired man. “He knows all the slaves here and can help you in your search.”

“It would be my honor,” the pitmaster said.

Lady Karmera smirked. “I’m looking for a Kutassan, a young royal with straight black hair.”

“Begging your pardon, my Lady, but we have many Kutassan women like that.”

She frowned. “Show me.”

He led her through the pit in a pace that added to her annoyance. She despised the southern lands, with its heat and dirt, and wanted nothing more than to return to Gathal. That, and the smell of slaves, filling her nostrils made her queasy.

“I believe that’s the one you want.” Khali pointed to a girl, holding a basket of dirt and rock. She was covered in soil from head to foot with a matted tangle of black hair that clumped in all directions. At seeing Lady Karmera, she dropped her burden and bowed.

“What is your name, child?”

“Amaya, my Lady.”

Lady Karmera nodded with a smile of satisfaction. “Chief Tonus had a daughter named Amaya.”

The glint in the girl’s eyes at the mention of that name admitted who she was.

Lady Karmera went to speak, but another slave in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

The woman was slightly older than Amaya, with light copper skin and dark curly hair. She passed carrying a basket. She was not Kutassan but a Shankur. Lady Karmera snatched the pit master by the tunic and drug him to where the girl was waiting for the men to fill her basket.

“What is this?”

The pitmaster stared in confusion. “A woman?”

Seething, Lady Karmera grabbed the slave by a fist full of hair and shoved her in front of Khali. “A Shankur woman, you idiot.”

“My apologies, my lady. I wasn’t aware. They all look alike to me.”

She pushed the frightened woman aside, pointing a long black fingernail at her. “Where did you come from?”

“Saratan.”

Lady Karmera rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. I know that. Before you arrived in Saratan…?”

She hesitated to answer. “Maholin.”

There was talk in Gathal of Chief Baju planning to marry off his only daughter to the Kutassan prince. If the Shankur princess is here, she would make an excellent hostage.

“Your name?”

“Shayla.”

Damn! Lady Karmera’s hopes dropped at the possibility of the Shankur princess being dead. “Where is the daughter of Chief Baju? And don’t lie to me, child.”

Shayla pointed a shaky finger at a distant hill covered in vultures and crows. The birds cackled at corpses, hanging from large upright poles.

Lady Karmera scowled at the sight. She turned to Khali who withered at her glare and stormed toward the hill. The entourage followed, with Taladas’ girth, falling behind.

“My decision to execute her was not unjustified, my lady,” Khali said, as they made their way out of the pit. “She killed one of my guards and injured another. Almost killed him too if we hadn’t stopped her.”

The smell of death hit the priestess as she reached the convicted, hanging by their wrists. All were men eaten away by birds or insects, except for one woman who appeared intact. She was covered in bruises, wearing a soiled tunic, stained in blood.

“I should have you working the pits yourself for killing her,” Lady Karmera snapped, frustrated.

“Oh, but she’s not dead, at least, not yet.”

“She’s not?” That is… Impressive. The princess looked limp and lifeless, hanging from chained shackles with eyes closed.

“No, my lady. We checked this morning. She’s been hanging there…” He counted his fingers. “… five days without food or drink. I’ve never had one last five days—not in this heat.”

Lady Karmera reached out and placed her hand on the princess’ arm. The woman gasped like returning from the dead. The surrounding onlookers that gathered stepped back a few steps in shock as the woman flailed around. Even after baking in the sun for days with nothing to eat and drink, she still appeared to fight against her restraints.

“Cut her down.”

“But my Lady,” Taladas protested, “she is dangerous. I would advise—”

“I said, cut her down. She’s coming back to Gathal with me.”

Taladas and Khali bowed in affirmation.

The princess was glaring at her, eyes full of rage. Lady Karmera smiled, knowing even the hardest rocks can be broken.

*****

By noon the next day, the road north snaked alongside a rushing river beneath a sky covered in thin overcast clouds. Sana remembered little of the journey north. Her consciousness drifted in and out in momentary flashes. Shayla was there in each one, looking down at her with concern, armed with a waterskin.

Sana tried to sit up the next time she was conscious. Her arms felt as if they were pulled from her sockets and forced back in. That, and her stomach churned from hunger. Her mouth was as dry as cotton.

“Let me help you,” Shayla said, lifting her to a sitting position. “Here, take some water. You need as much as you can drink.”

Sana gulped it down, but it did nothing to satiate her thirst. “Thanks.” She felt her lips crack, tasting blood.

The hardwood floor against her back had the familiar vibration from wheels rolling over stones on a dirt road. She looked aside to see the Dune Valley passing nearby. An endless wasteland of dunes, the size of small mountains, stretched far into the horizon. There were no trees or mountains to block the warm breeze, which tossed Sana’s hair in wild, thin strands. It was a telltale sign they were heading north to Gathal.

Three women joined Sana in the caged wagon. Shayla and Amaya she knew, but an older gold-haired woman with bright blue eyes and sharp cheeks sat alone toward the back.

“Who’s she?” Sana struggled to ask through a dry throat.

Shayla sighed. “Her name is Mannia of the Atani tribe. That’s all I could get out of her.”

Sana understood the woman’s preference to remain apart. “We are going to Gathal?”

“The High Priestess has chosen us to be servants of the King.” Amaya showed a tinge of anticipation. “That means no more pit and moving sand.”

But that still meant no freedom.

**

It took another morning till Gathal appeared, gleaming in the distance.

Sana never seen the city for herself, yet she couldn’t help gasping at how it overflowed into the valley. A vast stone wall enclosed the inner quarter with so many houses they looked like stone blocks pouring from the city walls. The castle proper sat atop a small hill with enough stories to reach as tall as the mountain to the east. Towers and balconies of various sizes rose into the air, overlooking a courtyard bigger than any Shankur village.

The city told a different tale than the grandeur seen at a distance once they got closer. Cages hung outside the massive wooden gates on posts, creaking in the light breeze. Crows perched atop the black iron bars, squawking at men, naked with skin red from exposure to the elements. The few prisoners still alive had little room to stand or turn. The cages containing the dead stared upward with empty eye sockets; eyes were likely picked empty by hungry crows. Below, flies buzzed in black clouds around a dozen heads, mounted on pikes.

Sana leaned toward Shayla. “More Chotukhan justice.”

Her cousin shrugged with a hand covering her face to block the stench.

Lady Karmera called out, “The king demands order among his people and punishes them according to the laws of Mother Gaia. Those men there are thieves, rapists, and brigands.” She pointed at one of the dead men. Flies and maggots swarmed where his genitals used to be. “That one is a rapist.”

The caravan entered through a pair of towering gates of wood and iron. Soldiers patrolled the walls and guarded the entry in armor fashioned from Reaper parts. They stood, saluting as their group passed.

People lined the streets in crowds gathered around makeshift stands, selling whatever wares they had. The vendors, from what Sana could see, sold everything imaginable, from fruits to clothes. Fortune tellers and healers shouted out the benefits of their services while wine and spirits were offered within every nook and corner.

Men and women along the stone-paved streets, bowed as they passed. Some followed to an already crowded castle entrance. It looked to be the high priestess they gave reverence to. Whoever she was had enough power to garner such respect—or fear.

The castle interior was immense. Massive pillars, taller than ancient trees at home, supported row after row of arches. Each stone was set even and square, with carvings of mountains and animals decorating the walls. Sana struggled to hide her awe.

The guards lead them into the courtyard with stepped sides like an arena. The space echoed with a clash of steel from soldiers practicing their craft: Sana watched with intent. These soldiers showed more skill than the ones that defeated her in Saratan. A dozen of elite warriors, swinging swords and spears, kept a level of control that looked no less professional that any Shankur. She absorbed what little technique she could before the wagon stopped.

Feeling the soldiers’ gazes, Sana watched as a thick, shirtless man with fur, covering his chest and back, separated from the group and came forward. He gazed at them all before opening the cage. Several guards approached, holding ropes. Each took a woman and bound their wrists before forcing them forward. One pulled and tugged at Sana’s rope, irritating the already raw skin and amplified the soreness in her arms. She wanted to kick him.

Onlooking castle guards laughed and spat insults when she hissed. Their laughter grew louder, wilder, when a heel connected to the back of her knee. She jerked, but the guard’s tight grasp prevented much movement to fight back. This would go differently if I had a spear.

“This one’s lively,” the guard holding her rope joked.

Sana went to spit on him when a gruff voice said,

“Not too rough. Lady Karmera will be disappointed if these women are broken.”

One of the larger guards that traveled with them, a man with few wits and fewer teeth, leaned toward Sana with a grin. His foul breath went into her face, but his eyes were affixed elsewhere. “I’ve never felt the breasts of a Shankur woman.”

Sana jerked at the feel of his hands. With a war cry, she smashed her head into his nose. Blood and curses poured forth.

“That fucking cunt!” he shouted, sending a fist to Sana’s temple.

Daytime stars twinkled with pain throbbing her skull.

“That’s enough!”

Through the pain, Sana saw the high priestess strutting into the courtyard with her black feathered dress fluttering in the breeze.

“Lady Karmera, we were having a little fun, that’s all.” The guard bowed his head, holding his nose.

“Leave us.”

A twitching hand signaled the guards to leave except for a few that stayed behind. Sana could tell these guards were different; more professional in their posture and armor made from salvaged Reaper parts.

“Get up,” Lady Karmera commanded, her eyes meeting Sana’s. She struggled to rise through lingering weakness and pain in her joints. The other women rose as well, but kept their faces low, not wanting any attention.

Lady Karmera paced around them with a frown that Sana thought was permanent.

“You ladies have been chosen to serve his Majesty, King Akutu, and the mother goddess, Gaia. But first you must be cleansed of your sins and the life you once had.”

The only sins that need cleansing are the Chotukhan.

Sana’s anger was cut short at General Balon’s arrival, followed by a few soldiers of rank. He walked up to Lady Karmera’s side and rested his tree-trunk like arms on a sword as tall as Sana. His face and shoulders were marred with scars from past battles. His shadow engulfed them.

At his presence, the Atani girl from the west stepped forward and knelt with her hands clasped in prayer.

Sana whispered, “What are you doing? Get up, you fool.”

The woman didn’t take heed, but held her hands out toward the priestess. “I denounce my birthright as Atani—”

Sana winced. “Get up.”

“To serve our holiness is the way of both the gods and my ancestors.”

Lady Karmera gave a wave to the general.

The giant grinned as he swung his sword in a wide, sweeping arc, lopping off the woman’s head. Sana flinched as blood spattered her face, while Shayla and Amaya squealed at the sight of a severed head rolling across the courtyard.

The high priestess looked at them. “Anyone else have something to say?” At their silence, she continued. “You are weak. All I see are doubtful whores who mock the gods with their heretical, godless ways. But you’ve been given a great gift to learn our ways and forget your disbelief in life or death. I’m sorry to say, not all of you will possess the strength to succeed.”

Sana kept her head low, realizing then that her survival rested on keeping a balance between strength and weakness. She would have plenty of time to prove her strength, or so she hoped.

A glance up had her seeing a gesture from Lady Karmera: the guards crowded them, grabbing their ropes.

The men crowed with amusement as the high priestess began tearing their clothes from their bodies. Cold air swept across Sana’s naked form, sending prickles beneath the fine hairs across her skin. The others cried, attempting to cover their modesty, but the guards held their arms taut. Sana was still, her focus affixed on the priestess. If I kill this woman, would the Chotukhan crumble?

“Get them below and get them ready for their first lesson.” Lady Karmera turned to the general. “Tell your men to keep their cocks to themselves. I expect them to be unharmed and unspoiled.”

They were herded into the bowels of the Chotukhan castle. Dark hallways of stone and shadow lead to a chamber that never saw the sun. Sana’s ears stung from reverberating echoes of shouting guards and weeping women. The place smelled of rot and feces, with a century’s worth of slime and filth on every surface. A rusted door of iron bars creaked to welcome them into their new residence. One at a time, the guards shoved each of them into a cell, Sana being the last.

The chamber cleared except for two soldiers posted outside the room’s entrance. Sana stayed quiet to listen to her surroundings, but only heard sobbing from her two companions. She shivered from the cold, stale air. Moist stone walls rubbed against her. There was not enough room to sit or stand.

“Princess Sana?” a woman called out.

“I’m here, Shayla,” Sana soothed. Even though she herself was trying to stay calm. “Are you alright?”

Shayla sniffed. “No. I’m cold.”

“Me too.” Sana wrapped her arms around her knees. A whimper echoed from an adjacent cage.

“Why are they doing this to us?” Amaya whispered. “They killed Mannia for no reason.”

Mannia? Oh, yes. The Atani woman.

“They mean to break us and take away our will,” Sana answered, remembering what her mother told her during many lectures about the Chotukhan people. “We have to be strong and look to our ancestors for guidance. Our best chance of survival is to fight and keep our wits no matter what they do to us. They know who we are now, which no longer makes us slaves. Instead, we have become something worst… hostages.”