The Sacrifice of Aeva

Aeva was walking in front of the procession. The rain continued to batter her naked body, streaming down her pale freckled face, sometimes dripping into her wide brown eyes, blurring her vision, and running down her cheeks like cold tears. With each step her bare feet were getting sucked into the mud, ever harder to lift. Rugar, the tall and muscular Commander of the Guard, held the chain several feet behind her, pulling back enough for the loop to constantly tug on her strained bruised neck. He was followed by the group of soldiers who had just torched her house, the warm glow still shining in the back, like a sunset under the dark watercolor of the storm clouds.  

At her core, Aeva was still reeling from the annihilation of her past. In none of her ordeal fantasies had she ever anticipated such a harrowing void. Everytime she had dreamt of being tortured, it had been from the comfort of her bed, and her life as a healer had been waiting for her in the morning. And even when Silas had been lashing her back more than she could stand, it had been the thought of her role in the clan that had helped her endure. Her healer self, her public figure had always been there as a rock, an anchor. But it was now gone.

As the bitter reality of her fate was closing in on Aeva, so was the crowd in the narrow streets of the Dubhcloch village. A few onlookers had first gathered around her house, but more had come as she started to make her way up toward the trail leading to the Sacred Rock. At first distant, they were getting bolder, and soon the prisoner was making her way into a narrow opening within a growing crowd of faces carved by despair and anguish.

Many of those faces were familiar, lifelong acquaintances if not dear friends. They had shared long conversations with her and sometimes much laughter. They had hugged her, given her with presents for the curing of an ailment. At times, the circumstances had been difficult and she had been powerless to ease the suffering of a close one. But always she had been welcomed with open arms and genuine kindness. This day though, under the merciless rain, the look on their faces had nothing in common with the warm and thankful eyes she had been accustomed to. 

There were a few that couldn’t stand her gaze. They would turn and look down if she ever met their eyes, out of shame or guilt. From most though, their faces expressed extreme hardship, despair and anger. Their suffering and loss under the storm had been too great, and they knew what the God of Thunder was expecting of them, in his mighty anger. With each step the people were pressing closer. Avea could no longer move without rubbing against the pressing crowd, the tension was palpable, and the atmosphere suffocating.

The anger in the eyes of her beloved clansmen were punches on Aeva’s already broken heart. On any other day, she might have understood it was simply the embodiment of their own pain. But her already gutted spirit started to whisper a dark song. They see your scars, the voice said. They see how you took your twisted  pleasure in secret! Finally they realize, it said, what a broken and perverted creature they have been harboring in their midst. Maybe, the voice added, they finally had enough, and are here to put an end to the abomination of your existence, by giving you what you crave. The thought of total abandon, of her beloved people rejecting her, of being the object of their hatred was the most disenhearting feeling she had ever had. She was all the more ashamed, disgusted with herself, as she was forced to admit it only amplified the guilty burning and the lustful pulsating between her legs. Did they know that it excited her, she thought, and were they hating her more for it?

Her thought was interrupted when a woman jumped in front of her. She recognized her immediately, her name was Shaileen, and her youngest son was very sick.

- “My son…” She cried “You have to save my son!”

The woman raised her eyes to the thunderous skies.

- “Toranos, I implore you! Please spare my son! I will carry your will!”

The gaze she lowered on Aeva sent daggers to her core. She had never witnessed  such a level of rage. Without even the slightest warning, the woman put all her weight behind the swing of the back of her hand and smacked the naked healer across the face. Shocked, she couldn’t hold a cry of pain and surprise.

- “Aaaaah!”

That hit opened the floodgates. The crowd closed-in, sweeping and compressing the nude tied girl between her multiple assaillants, and yanking the chain around her neck. And then there was a flurry of blows, all over her body. She felt her stomach punched, the shock of knuckles against her ribs, knees bruising her thighs, feet kicking her knees and her shins. She was submerged, the pressure all around her body and the tightness on her chain made it difficult to breathe. With her wrists bound tight behind her back she was defenseless. And in her heightened state of arousal and awakening every single blow was felt distinctly, and every ounce of pain magnified. She fought to stay on her feet, but the tide was too strong. Soon she went down and collapsed on the muddy ground. The blows continued, while boots squashed and pressed her flesh mercilessly against the ground. Every fraction of a breath was a struggle, and pain was everywhere and everything. Her survival instinct kicked in, and focused her fight on keeping her mouth and nose out of the sludge of water and mud. She screamed at the top of her lungs but it was pointless, the chaos was so great she couldn’t even hear herself. She felt the sole of a shoe press onto the side of her face and her head went under. All became dark and silent, with her body still being mercilessly pummelled. She inhaled mud and coughed. It lasted a long time, she thought it was the end. Finally powerful arms rescued her from drowning in the mud. They were not there to save her, just to prolong her suffering. The arms held her up, exposed for the crowd to keep punching her, on her legs, her abdomen, her breast, her arms. She could barely make sense of the fury. Her muddied eyes couldn’t see much. She thought she heard Rugar screaming.

- “...eave her face untouch…”

He did not intervene though, he did not stop them from beating her up, punching her again and again. The rain gradually cleared her eyes and gave her some of her sight back. And there was no denying that it was her people, her friends, their face so close to hers, unleashing hell on her naked vulnerable body. She caught in a blur, in the corner of her eye a man named Dirk dropping his pants. He had always looked at her in a strange way, and this time fire was in his eyes. But he didn’t go far with his plan, the side of a guard’s spear shaft caught him across the face and sent him running. 

- “This is not yours to take!” The guard screamed. 

Aeva's attention was caught again by a particularly nasty hit on the side of the knee. And the infinite flurry of blows continued. The guards only stepped in when the intensity of the assault was already decreasing, the villagers satisfied or simply tired. The strong arms let go of their hold on her and she collapsed in the mud, a heap of bruised flesh, hurting, shaking, crying.