Among The Gods 01: Cardinal Sins
It was a beautiful morning in the sprawling nation of Irnu. This was not a surprise: every day of every season was a beautiful one. Spring days were bright and bracing, the sun rising into a cloudless sky over dew-bedecked fields. Summer days dawned bright and hot, the heat of the day warming and tanning bare skin, warm breezes wending their way even into the cool shade. Autumn days were cool and damp, the trees gilded in all the colours of a sunset. Even the winter days were delightfully chill, snow and ice sparkling in the sunlight, the icy wind driving people inside to curl up together before an open fire.
It was no surprise because this was Irnu, the nation of the Old Gods. Other countries followed philosophies and idols, distant stars and veiled deities. In Irnu, however, the old gods still ruled - ancient gods of earth and wood, of storm and river, of pain, pleasure, sex, and blood.
Mia was having a nightmare, stitched together by her sleeping mind: a village - her village. Simple, inoffensive - a cluster of small cottages, centred around a circular yard. In the middle of that space, on a carved stone dais, the obelisk - a nine foot tall pillar of stone, carved with the tenets of the Litany of the Monolith, by which all good men and women lived their lives. It was market day, subdued crowds wending amongst quiet stalls, wares being fairly sold and exchanged. She stood on a blanket, singing - a simple childhood song, lilting and melodious.
The sky darkened. Cookfires became wildfires, licking up the sides of the buildings, turning wooden walls to smouldering rubble and soft thatch to black ash. Laughter and song became shouts, screams, wracking sobs. From the dark edges of the village, there came tall men in dark armour, cloaks and shields marked with the sigil of a rampant dragon. Wherever their feet fell, blood was spilled. The village ealdorman fell, hands up in peaceful supplication, a spear piercing his chest. A farmer tried to fight back, swinging a wooden work hammer, but was lashed across the chest and stabbed in the stomach. A boy, standing protectively in front of his younger siblings, was cut down without mercy.
A hand on her wrist, pulling. Cold wind, freezing feet. Sorrow, despair, grief, rage. Fatigue, weariness. Desperation. Pushing on through dark and light - the taste of tainted water and mouldy fruit. Cool wind and warm arms around her. The faintest glimmer of hope. Firelight on the horizon.
Mia spasmed awake, heart hammering in her chest. She rolled onto her back and took a few long, deep breaths, clenching her hands on the soft blankets that covered her. It had been more than a month since the Navian soldiers had come to her village. It wasn't the first time the village had been in danger - the village had been close to the borders that divided her home nation of Thusea from other countries, and the villagers sometimes saw squads of men marching down the road. This time, though, they had come with intent, slashing and burning and killing with a will.
The door opened and Mia sat up, rubbing the last of the sleep out of her eyes as Eli walked in, carrying a tray.
"You should have woken me," she said.
Eli shrugged. "You didn't sleep well." It was true - she often didn't. He sat on the foot of the bed, laying the tray on the blankets between them. Breakfast: warm bread, sliced apple, a small pot of honey, two small clay mugs of milk. She gratefully tore a chunk off the bread and spooned on a modest amount of honey, enjoying the sticky sweetness on top of the warm, earthy loaf. The meal was more flavourful than either had been used to, although they were both becoming accustomed to the richness of town food.
"I'll take this," Eli said, collecting the tray after they had finished. "You should get dressed and come down."
"What's on the chore list for today?" she yawned.
Eli shrugged. "Woodcutting, dusting, sweeping. Dina was talking about going to the market."
She nodded. "Okay - I'll be right down," she said, as she watched him close the door behind him. She stood up, casting off the blanket, and began to get dressed. Not that she was by any means undressed - she wore loose trousers and an equally loose, ragged tunic shirt, which with the blankets she slept under put several barriers between her and her bedfellow. It would have been beyond scandalous, back home, for her and Eli to share a bed, even while both were dressed. It seemed that things were very different here, though, and their hosts had seemed to assume that they would be sharing a room. Given that they were already being so kind, Mia hadn't wanted to press the issue.
The owners of the Cardinal Inn had scoffed when the notion of payment had first been mentioned. Mia and Eli, however, had been raised on the philosophy of the Monolith, Thusea's state religion - a faith with no god, only a long list of strict rules to govern proper behaviour. The obelisk in the centre of their village had been carved with the one hundred and one edicts of the Litany, not that anyone usually read them - the villagers could recite them all by heart by age fifteen. Edict number twelve stated:
I am without worth; through labour in the service of others, I am given worth.
So, they sought worth in the eyes of their hosts in the only way they could: helping with the chores. It was not hard: Eli had grown up on a farm, and was used to much harder labour than the wood chopping and heavy lifting the inn required, and Mia had taken over care of the household when her mother had died three years before, so was well used to cooking and cleaning. Both found the work required of them here to be unchallenging, but rewarding, and the owners seemed grateful. It was a small payment for all the kindness they had been given, but they did what they could.
After changing into her day clothes - ankle-length skirt, a high-necked chemise with woolen tunic, and comfortable hide shoes - she headed downstairs. In the taproom of the inn, the day's work was already well-begun. She could hear the steady thud of the wood axe in the rear yard, wielded no doubt in Eli's capable hands. Dina, the mistress of the inn, was already prepared for her trip to the market, empty basket slung over one arm. Their other host, Roth (who Mia assumed was Dina's husband) was busy at the fireplace, cleaning the narrow flue; his bare arms and face were already streaked with black soot.
"Well well, and good morning!" Roth called cheerfully.
"Good morning, master Roth," Mia replied, curtsying neatly. "How does the day find you?"
"Oh, fair," he replied. "Though I have been putting off cleaning this flue for too long, so I guess this is my morning now. You know what they say - avoid work, and the deities laugh!"
Mia blanched slightly. "I am sure that Eli wouldn't mind helping," she offered.
"Oh most kind," Roth said, waving his sooty hand. "But it is only a small fireplace, so just a one-man job. And anyway, he's busy out chopping wood to make it all sooty again!"
"And Mia is coming along to the market with me," Dina said. She had a thin slate in one hand, covered in a scrawled list of items.
"Then I suppose I'll be seeing both of you at lunch. Don't forget, more soap, love!" Roth added, waving his soot-stained arms in her direction.
"As if I would, with you looking like that!" she sniffed. "Come along girl," she said to Mia, "let's leave the menfolk to the dirty work." She led the way out into the mid morning light, basket - and hips - swaying as she did so.
The day outside was bright and beautiful. It was approaching late spring now, and the market was busy, carts and stalls weighed down with seeds and farming tools. Dina pressed herself through crowds of people to haggle and trade with the market traders, slowly filling the large basket that she had left in Mia's care. Mia herself mostly stood apart, keeping out of the crush as much as possible, observing the bustling street around her, reflecting how different it was from the small village where she had grown up. Her home had been severe and unadorned, the clothing conservative, the people reserved and stiff: polite conversations were held from a safe distance of two or three feet, any unexpected physical contact or collision was immediately followed by a flurry of heartfelt apologies.
The town of Settle, though, was the exact opposite. Walls and stalls were painted and hung with coloured weaves and curtains, and flowering plants grew from cultivated beds on every corner. The people, similarly, were colourful - bright, loose clothing, loud voices, light and cheerful conversation. The atmosphere seemed cheerful, almost festive. This merry demeanour, however, seemed to go hand in hand with a certain... indecentness. Clothing was revealing and scandalously cut, conversation was loud and raucous, and no-one kept a proper distance from each other, instead apparently preferring to
touch