“The decorations please me,” he said, forcing my hands from their grip upon the rings. “Do not touch them again, nor attempt to remove them. And you will be punished for failing to obey me. Now, fetch your garment!”
Miserably, I opened my eyes to see the anger upon him, an anger which shone from his light eyes. Decorations, he had called the rings of a warrior, demeaning them to the point of meaningless trifles; lowering them to the place he had lowered me. Never would a male end the life of a captive, for that would be savagery. Sooner would he show mercy and spare that life, preserving it so that he might make it not worth the living. Truly was mercy a thing of males, a thing far beyond the simple savageries of warriors.
Ceralt pulled me straight again, and despite my pain, I went to fetch my covering. Ceralt knew what pain I felt, long ago had he learned of my body’s demands, yet the thought no longer concerned him. Much changed had Ceralt become, and I knew not why this was so. My covering was easily straightened, yet it seemed beyond repair with the ties having been slit by Ceralt’s dagger. Ceralt directed the removal of the cut ties, then produced the strings which had lain with the pot of liquid. These strings once within the garment, made it whole once more, yet their color was somewhat lighter than the color of the old strings. Sight of them restored Ceralt’s good humor, and though I had no understanding of the significance of such a thing, it mattered not. Walking had become a difficulty, and a further annoyance plagued me. The pink liquid Ceralt had placed within me gave too greasy a feel, yet I was forbidden to touch the place in an attempt to remove it. With the covering upon me, the copper-colored belt once more around my middle, my leg and body furs, fetched from the large dwelling, again in their proper places, I miserably followed Ceralt from the dwelling. The last I saw of it was a cold and finished sight, the fireplace bereft of fire, the lenga pelts soiled and abandoned, the severed strings of my garment scattered about, all in a chill dimness of that which is not to be returned to. Now, I would dwell elsewhere, in a captivity more complete than I had yet known. Ah, Mida! How great my sins must be to have brought this about!
The fey was cold even though a thin remembrance of Mida’s warming light shone down in an attempt to scatter the chill. A small wind blew, rifling the leaves which remained upon the trees, and no longer was there a white, frozen covering upon the ground. Males and females moved about the village as I hurried to match the pace of Ceralt, who had decreed that I follow behind him, yet no further than two paces from his broad, fur-covered back. He strode across the hardened ground, not once looking to see if indeed I followed, knowing full well the manner in which I was bound to him. I looked toward the forests as I hastened in his track, feeling their call, longing desperately to flee in the direction which would return me to Hosta lands, yet I could not leave my word unreclaimed, nor could I ignore the whimperings of my body. Well bound was I to Ceralt, and only Mida might free me of his hold.
Well amused were the males of the village who saw us, and I entered Ceralt’s dwelling covered by the red of humiliation. Ceralt, who stood to one side of the door to hurry me within, showed a fine grin of amusement, knowing precisely the cause of the color in my cheeks. Much hate did I feel for the male then, he who so gloried in my debasement, he who flaunted it for the world to see. Vile were males in their multitude of ways, and I hated them all for the many things they had done to me. Mida teaches that hate is a useless emotion, for one may challenge she who would normally evoke such a feeling and end the need to feel hatred, yet was I unable to do such a thing among males. My hate of all things male grew higher the longer I moved among them, and I knew not where the thing might end. Perhaps madness awaited me in place of honorable death, yet as I drew my body fur over my head, I knew I cared not. One end now seemed as welcome as another.
“Remove your boots as well,” remarked Ceralt, taking his fur body covering to hang upon the wall. With the door closed and a fire blazing in the hearth, the dwelling was overwarm, yet he did not attempt to remove his own leg furs. I sat upon the floor to pull the furs from me, and Ceralt turned to regard me with a faint smile.
“I find great pleasure in seeing you obey without explanation,” said he, “yet this matter requires your understanding. Wenches of this village are not permitted footwear within a halyar, therefore you will remove your boots no matter whose halyar you enter. Is this clear to you?”
His eyes awaited an acknowledgment, therefore I nodded, which seemed to be sufficient. He turned from me with a grunt and walked toward the hearth, and my fists closed with impotent fury upon the leg furs I had removed. Stroke and stroke again with the lash of shame, and care naught for the miserable female beneath the lash. I began to feel pity and compassion for those females raised trapped among males, and also began to understand somewhat the why of their lack of escape attempts. Their treatment at the hands of males left little pride to which they might cling, yet Ceralt erred in thinking me of their ilk. The memories of a warrior yet stirred within me, and never would they be excised from my thoughts.
Ceralt’s dwelling was much like Lialt’s, with lenga pelts scattered about, piles of garments to one side, small platforms here and there, and thick leather strung tied across one corner, yet as I placed my fur body covering upon the wall beside Ceralt’s, I saw the weapons hung to the right of the body coverings. A large, well curved bow hung beside a sheaf of arrows, the dark, polished wood grain of it catching the light of the fire. The string was slack between the curves of its body, yet I knew a good deal of strength would be required to bend it. Beside the bow hung a sheathed sword, somewhat longer and broader than those used by Midanna and city males. The hilt of the sword was two hands in length, cast in metal and aglow with the presence of shiny stones, those which males seemed to care so greatly for. Use of the stones within the hilt seemed improper, for shiny stones had no value other than to soothe the upset of males when sthuvad use was done, yet the hilt glowed brightly above the plain, worn leather of the scabbard which held the blade. I wished to know the feel of that blade within my grasp and put my hand out to draw it from its sheath, yet my hand halted short of the hilt, bitter memory recalling my new lot. I drew my hand away again, pain from the stolen vows twisting within me, and turned to see Ceralt’s eyes upon me, a tenseness to his stance as he watched me from the hearth. No word had he spoken as my hand had approached the sword, yet surely he had seen my intent. Would he now pronounce a punishment? Would he use the twisted leather lash hung at his belt? My body wished to tremble at thought of that lash, memory of Galiose’s doing suddenly before my eyes, yet I would not allow the trembling. I took my eyes from Ceralt’s gaze and studied the fire, contemplating its serenity and seeking to share it.
“You may now prepare the falum,” said Ceralt, a softness to his tone, yet not of menace. He stood with a small sack in his hand, his eyes unaccusing, his stance now relaxed. He made no mention of what had just occurred, and I saw at last that there was little cause for mention. Completely had I obeyed him, just as he demanded, refraining even from touching fingertips to the weapon. There would be no punishment for complete obedience, no lash to fall for obeying his word, no more than the sickness deep within me, of shame and hate and freedom lost forever. I moved toward him without comment, and took the sack of dried grain.