Aurelia Rising

"Some worship the Gods out of love, others out of fear. But the gods too, worship us."

- High Almoner Xippathos Hyppolythos

Forty thousand As. A truly enormous sum of money, but it was gradually chipped away at each stop of Aurelia's journey. Weapons, armor, tenting and camping supplies, clothing, a covered wagon, and two horses. What had started as a number so large she could couldn't even conceive, quickly dwindled down to nothing. Junia did most of the talking. Much of their older gear would be made redundant with the new purchases, and so Junia had haggled and sold them at the same time.

Thessa had opted to remain behind today, instead staying in their room at the Sword and Scroll. Aurelia didn't blame the tauren, she herself wanted nothing more than to flop down onto a soft bed, wrap her arms around her two lovers, and close her eyes. Unfortunately, she had to watch as Junia spoke with serpent-tongued merchant after merchant. They didn't actually carry around all the As, that much money was simply unfeasible to carry. Instead, they had been given a portion of the sum as well as promissory notes by the bank to give in their stead. It was all rather confusing for Aurelia, but Junia seemed to cope well enough. Most merchants were willing to accept a deposit, as well as a note in the bank's name in exchange for their services.

Most of their purchases supplies wouldn't be ready for days, having to be made to order, but some they were able to take on the spot.

The frankly enormous tent they now possessed had originally been made for the mustered army. Through some paper-pusher's error an extra had been made, and so they had scooped up the extra Contubernium. A tent meant for a squad of eight soldiers. She was frankly amazed by all the iron pegs, cords, and support poles, but the results couldn't be argued. They would have much much more space than before. It was three by three meters at it's base, and one and a half meters tall at the centre. Plenty room for the three of them to relax comfortably. They had tried it out, her and Junia, setting it up just the two of them. It was a beast of heavy linen and leather which would keep any rain off their backs during the long nights sure to come.

Clothing and armor took the longest, they had been measured in excruciating detail compared to before. Aurelia in particular seemed to stump the seamstress, and she'd had to find a stool to reach up to her height. Aurelia had been measured from head to toe, fingertip to fingertip, around her hips, waist, and bust, from shoulder to shoulder, bust to shoulder, navel to waist, and many more. The seamstress had almost had a fit when she had begun measuring her back, her wings and the altered musculature to support them making the woman mutter under her breath the entire time.

Her wings weren't alone in stumping the woman.

Aurelia had officially passed seven feet in height. The seamstress checked three times. She had thought her old dresses felt slightly shorter, and her leather armor (before it had been reduced to bits) had grown uncomfortably tight around her chest and hips in particular. At the time she had thought it just lack of quality maintenance on the road, but evidently it had been symptomatic of her growing stature.

Outer clothing and weather wear were relatively easy. Dresses were either given slits for her wings, or were cut so low backed as to avoid the issue entirely. Cloaks could simply be made large enough to cover her feathered appendages. Armour was more difficult, however. Cloth could be adjusted easily to fit tight or loose with belts and such. Armour could not.

She had considered something like the large bronze plates worn on the chests of Roman soldiers. But the problem was: Large amounts of metal, be it bronze or iron, were heavy and could be extremely uncomfortable when exposed to different temperatures. Bad if say, someone were high in the air. No, metal armours made of large solid pieces would remain out of reach for now. Instead, upon discussing it with the seamstress, and visiting Monin's smith relative, she had decided to take a different direction. Linothorax, a style of armour which had seen decline since it's use since Alexander's conquests, made perfect sense for her. It was light, flexible, handled temperatures well, could be adjusted or expanded later (and it could be made to conform to her curves easier!), should she go through any more growth spurts.

A set covering her torso would be made of many layers of silk and linen glued together, in addition to hundreds of small bronze scales. It would be expensive, though simpler to make than pieces involving more complicated metallurgy. It was probably her best option, even if it wouldn't be quite as strong as more solid metal. The thought of the dwarves in the bank, encased head to toe in iron had made her shudder, those suits must turn into ovens on a hot day.

Ancillary items like helmets, bracers, and greaves were easier. And sets for Junia and Aurelia were quickly being shaped under the hands of smiths and artisans.

Weapons were easier. Thessa would be staying with her crook for now, though she had concieded to carrying a sling pouch. As was the way of shepherds. Maybe in the future Aurelia could convince her to carry one on her person. Junia already had a fine iron sword, so instead they commissioned a parma. A round shield large enough to offer her decent protection, but small and light enough to both be used easily on horseback, and not encumber her on the ground. Aurelia herself had a long sword made in the style of a Greek xiphos to accompany her spear. Though xiphos they were typically shorter, Monin's smith cousin was well versed in the armaments of man. And had set to work creating a much longer version of the leaf-bladed weapon which would better suit Aurelia's stature.

After what felt like a whirlwind of coins and papers changing hands and fittings and measurings all day, Aurelia and Junia turned and began to walk back to the Sword and Scroll. Where cold drink and hot foot awaited.

Thessa's knees ached as she knelt. The wood floorboards rubbed against her skin as she adjusted slightly. Her legs were starting to get numb. She would have to get up soon, but not yet.

In front of her on the floor sat three items. A small set of wooden pipes bound together, a shepherds flute. Next to it lay a small round stone, polished and smoothened with a divot about the size of a man's thumbprint. The last was a child's rattle made of soft wood, crudely carved into the head of a cow. It lay broken in two pieces pressed together, the smallest touch would pull it apart.

Her lips moved, though no words left her mouth. She didn't speak, she didn't need to. Though, if a skilled lip reader happened to be in the same room, her lips might have spelled: "Glorious Ceres, Mother of Grain, Goddess. Hear me now..." The words felt familiar on her lips as she silently spoke her prayers. She prayed for good health, she prayed for good fortune in the days to come. Not all of what she asked for would be given. Not all of what she asked for was the providence of the Goddess, but it was enough for her.

She told her Goddess of dwarves and loans, of winged women and restless nights. Mundane things all. As she did so, one of her hands slowly shifted down to rub at her belly absentmindedly. Perhaps her prayer was not in the manner of the Romans, or even the Greeks. Some people spoke up to the Gods, high in their celestial halls. She didn't. A holdover from the days when she had family and clan. Days spent walking the fields and nights under star-filled skies, the scent of trodden grass and woodsmoke filling her lungs.

On her knees, she began to drift away into days past.

Blades of grass tickled against Thessa's legs. A warm, late-summer breeze caressed her skin as she looked out over the surrounding hills. Long grasses danced and played to the tune of the breeze, lazily swishing this way and that. In the distance, farmland was overshadowed by high walls and terra-cotta rooved buildings. She could faintly hear the bleats of the herd, just on the edge of earshot. They were quieter than they had been just days before. But as her father had told her as they had led sheep down and towards the city: Here, there were always hungry mouths for fresh meat and bare shoulders for wool. Enough need to necessitate the fringe living the tribe inhabited. Wedged in between the walls of The City and the wilder lands further afield. Perhaps they could make a go of it in more distant lands, but here they could trade with peoples other than just tribes similar to themselves.

As Thessa knelt, her fingertips brushed against her waist. A soft leather belt bound her hips, a shiny metal buckle glimmering in the sunlight. It's surface was bright and unblemished. She did not remember shiny belt buckles before when she was little. She had it folded rather than using the buckle itself, it kept the metal and leather pristine rather than the light chafing which came with normal use.

"Thank you, Baba." She muttered.

In the seasons since her uncle, the chief, had acquiesced to venture south and guide the tribe into the vicinity of The City, trinkets like metal tools and shiny coins had become more common. She had even seen a cup made of hardened clay in her one of her cousin's tents. Dangers to the herd, like wolves, were also dramatically lessened this close to the farms nearby. And so, they had stayed for many winters longer than originally intended.

Though, as the patches in their clothing lessened, and the last of the children with visible ribs became hale, the number of tents shrank. When they had first arrived, more than fifty coverings had littered their encampment. Each filled with with tauren young and old. Today, if Thessa rose and looked, she would see less than thirty. They had not dwindled to the drums of battle, nor to the stench of sickness. And yet, each year there stood fewer tents than the year before.

The old ways, the old gods, the old tongue, all of them had provided for the tribe in winters past. But when one bad storm, one bad lambing one stray wolf could lead to catastrophe, the smell of woodsmoke and grass quickly turned sour. As the tribe dwindled, the farms and estates around The City found themselves swelling with hands eager to toil and do work. Thessa's uncle had tried to stop them from going, he had threatened them with shaming and whipping. But instead, now her cousins just slipped out quietly into the night.

Old gods, she thought. The gods of her people. How did they compare to the Gods of the settled peoples? This... Pantheon they worshipped. In front of where she knelt was a small stone statue, just high enough to reach her waist when she was standing. It's features were chipped and weather worn, but it's figure could still be clearly discerned. It depicted a woman with flowing hair which reached far down her back. In her hands was an overflowing bushel of grain. Her proportions were generous and bountiful, and there was a slight curve to her stomach. At her feet were several small lambs and calves.

This was one of the Pantheon, the one that the farmers and shepherds of the city worshipped. Ceres, the name she had heard them speak. Perhaps it was wrong to try and compare her gods to these new ones, but the shepherds of The City were not whipped should they explore freely. They had sturdy clothes and nice leather belts with shiny metal buckles. She would not sneak out into the night like others before her, but she had never seen the old gods, and the city shepherds had spoken of marble statues wrought in the likeness of their pantheon. Images carved so masterfully, one would swear the Gods walked among them. Thessa would like to stay with Mama and Baba, but perhaps she could get a glimpse of these wonders before Uncle led them away from The City.

"There you are!" Lost among her thoughts, she had not heard the footfalls of a heavy man approaching her from behind. "I summoned you an hour ago!"

Thessa turned and snapped to her feet quickly, dusting off her knees. "I am sorry Uncle, I didn't know." She made sure to stand between the man and the statue, obscuring his vision.

The tauren man was big and broad, like most of his ilk. Dark hair bound his hair away from the severe features decorating his face with a leather thong. A frown twisted his lips. His eyes raked across her, pausing slightly on her waist and then on her chest.

"The cookpots are hanging over the fires for dinner, and you are here, choosing to waste your time brushing grass and counting clouds?!"

Thessa tried to open her mouth to say "I'm sorry", but before she could get a word in he cut her off.

"I had hoped to inform my brother, so he could have you prepare yourself properly for the coming night."

Being the niece of the chief meant she had been able skip some of the more mundane tasks which filled her life to find occasional moments to herself. Little slices of time away from the same people she saw every moment of every day. It was impossible for her absences to remain unknown, but in the past they had been... overlooked.

"Come now, girl. I have arranged water so you can clean yourself."

"I um, thought there was more time before our evening meal, Uncle."

"Of course there is, girl. But you are already behind for tonight's ceremony."

"Ceremony?!" Her voice squeaked slightly. Like a stormhead on the horizon, a sense of foreboding began to swell in her chest.

Her uncle looked down at her the same way she had seen him look at a child who had failed at tying down a tent, after a particularly detailed explanation.

"Of course. My son Aangus is a fine man, and is in need of a second wife. He shall be wed this evening, so the first child borne of this union shall arrive in the spring."

Her lip began to tremble slightly. There were not a lot of options in a tribe of less than a hundred souls.

"And who's the lucky woman?" Thessa asked, her voice full of trepidation.

Her uncle's scowl curved into a slight smile.

"You."

Thessa's heart stopped, but he wasn't done. "You've grown into a fine young woman, Thessa. Really filled out these last couple years. It's past time you set down the crook and took your duty to the tribe more seriously. Aangus is more than a fine match for you."

Her feet shifted uneasily beneath her as she stepped in place. "I'm, uh, more than flattered that you and Aangus think of me like that-"

He waved her away. "Good! Now, we don't want to keep my boy waiting. Let's get you going."

She scrunched up her eyes, balled her fists, and blurted out: "I'm flattered but I don't want to marry your son!"

Her words rung out in the open space. The wind seemed to still as silence hung for a long moment. Any sense of warmth to be found in her uncle's demeanor vanished in an instant as his face darkened.

"Now you listen here, girl. I've given you more than enough time to grow up and settle down. When your mother was your age, she was already well on her way to her third child. We all have our roles, our duties to the tribe. You will do yours."

Thessa looked down at her empty hands. She had left her crook in her family's tent.

"But I do serve the tribe, let me shepherd as I have always done-"

"Silence! You will marry my son if I have to prepare you myself! You-"

As he spoke, he stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. He broke off mid sentence as he stared behind her. Glancing at something about waist height.

"What do you mean by prep-?"

"You were on your knees, when I found you." He said softly, but in a accusatory tone. His grip tightened on her shoulder. "You were kneeling in front of a fucking Roman statue. " His voice grew with each word, from barely more than a whisper to practically roaring. "You were praying to those fucking Roman Gods!

"No no I-"

"I work for, the tribe works, to put food in your belly, clothes on your back. A tent over your fucking head. And this is how you repay us?! Kneeling here, praying to Roman Gods, wearing Roman clothing!" He shouted, grabbing her belt with his other hand. "You don't stay with the tribe, you don't marry, you don't do anything right." He was quiet again. Like he was speaking to himself and it was only coincidence that she was there. "I don't think you're really part of the tribe at all."

She felt words inside her screaming to be let out. They were burning her throat.

"No! It's not what it looks like-!"

"Maybe it's better this way. Maybe this is right. We used to have a place for women your age who weren't part of the tribe."

She jerked and tried to pull away, but his grip on her was like stone and he manhandled the beautiful belt Baba had given her.

"My boy will be disappointed, and my brother will have to be dealt with. But this is good, my first wife is starting to get too old."

Thessa screamed and cried out, flinging herself backwards, but her uncle was bigger, stronger, heavier. All she managed to do was spin them around. He looked down at her, his face a leer as he licked his lips.

"The wedding was supposed to be tonight anyway. We'll do it here and now, the old way. I'll make a woman out of you, girl."

She tried to fling herself back as he yanked on her belt, pulling her towards him. But the belt, which had merely been folded around her waist, came undone under his hand. The shiny new buckle gleamed in the air as he was thrown back by the sudden give. Thessa was dropped to her knees by his pull, but the dull thud! and crack! which filled her ears next made her look up in surprise.

Thrown off balance, her uncle had fallen backwards landing on the soft grass with a thud. He was a strong man, and the ground was cushioned with the tall green blades. Under any other circumstances, he would have been on his feet in an instant, face red enough to burst, and his hands grasping for her. But the small red smear on the stone statue filled the sudden quiet with dread. On the small swell of Ceres' belly, was a smatter of bright red blood. In the new silence of stillness, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. The red liquid was made more vibrant by the dull grey surface of the statue, visually announcing to all who had eyes to see her guilt.

Her uncle lay motionless by the base of the statue, his head propped up by the stone icon. His eyes were open, and yet unseeing. His hands were still gripped tightly, one fist held her belt, it's polish creased and worn. The other held a fistful of fabric. Looking down, she could see the pale skin of her shoulder, bare to the world.

Her uncle was a big man, a strong man. He would be fine surely. Right? Surely there was no way such a small fall could seriously hurt such an important pillar of the tribe. No. Never.

And yet, as her mind raced in circles with those thoughts. Her feet began to guide her away from the bloody statue and the prone man, away from the thirty tents and the bleats of sheep. Away, and towards fields of crops, and high walls with terra-cotta rooves.

That night she had taken in with a farmer's family. The wife had taken one look at her out in the open, pity in her eyes, and had invited her into their home and shared their bread. In the morning, with a cooler head and time to think, she had walked back into the hills. Apologies on her lips, even her back braced for the whip's kiss. But when she stood by the cold ashes of her camp's fire there were no tents to great her, nor faces or relatives to scold her. The wind carried the rustling of leaves and grass, but no sheep's bleats. She stood in an empty field. A quiet field.

Thessa sank to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest as tears ran down her cheeks.