Topic: Freedom

Ember Wilson

Date: 2015-09-03 14:47 EST
Winter seemed to crawl that year. For some, it was a good thing; for others, it was interminable. Though the people of Pax and the surrounding villages knew they had a schedule, and were on the lookout for the signal from Mahon's spies within the Amazon valley, there was still a sense of reluctance in many of them about taking up arms to fight actual people. The mutants were another matter, but the winter seemed to have hit them just as hard as the humans who gathered together for shelter and warmth against the bitter snows. Every eyes, every ear, almost every thought was turned toward the valley, and the promise of some kind of change to the way of things when spring came again.

That wasn't to say there weren't events to celebrate in the midst of the preparations. Ethan had married Ember finally in a ceremony attended by almost the entire population of Pax; no more men had been stolen from their ranks. Mahon settled in at his family's farm with his sister, his son, and Nemone's father and brother. But there was no mistaking the fact that Mahon, of all of them, was itching for the thaw.

Yet when that thaw came, there was no signal. For weeks after spring began to make itself known, the anticipation mounted, the agitation, the need to know becoming harder to bear. And then, one balmy evening, one of the sentries came howling back through the village. The trees atop the highest peak that surrounded the valley were on fire. That was Nemone's signal for them to get moving.

Within hours, Pax's militia, led by Mahon himself, had left the village to begin the march to the valley. They'd practiced it many times, learned the route through the swamp that the mutants would not approach. They knew they would make the perimeter of the valley's defenses by the early hours of the morning, giving themselves time to snatch a brief rest before they continued on past the guards and into the valley itself. On the other side of the mountains, two other villages responded to the signal as well, marching their own militia through the secondary pass Ember had told them of to take up their own positions.

As dawn rose over the sleeping valley, Marka and her sycophants were unaware of the serpent in their breast. In the barrack rooms, the guards loyal to Gia braced themselves for the fight to come; in the men's quarters, hands gripped sickles, scythes, hammers. They were burning for the fight, but they knew they had to wait for their own signal before they could attack.

Carefully thought out plans went into effect; Mahon and several others from the villages were smuggled into the men's quarters to await the morning call. It was at that gathering that they would strike, certain in the knowledge that Marka herself would be captured long before anyone penetrated the hill.

Mahon has started to worry that word would never come, that something had gone wrong, that something had happened to Nemone. He'd voiced his worries and even gone so far as to volunteer to return to the valley to find out what was going on when the signal finally came. Of all of them, Mahon seemed the most eager for the fight, not because of bloodlust or some inner desire for violence, but because he wanted and needed to see his Nem and make sure she was safe - not to mention freeing the slaves in the valley and removing Marka from power. And so it was that he and a few others hand picked by him found themselves back in the valley, awaiting the morning call with the other men - his men, men who had once chanted his name and declared him their leader.

It felt like an eternity before the call came, the ritual of walking the men out onto the ground before the hill to count heads now so ingrained into many of them, they were already moving before the sound of the horn died away. Sharp eyes spotted the slight differences in their guards; more than half of the women were sporting white flashes wrapped about their arms, the sign that they were friends. Encouragingly, three of those wearing that sign were among the personal guard gathered around Marka as she looked down at the assembling work force, unaware of what was about to happen. And there, in the center of the gathering ground, was the reason the signal had been lit in the first place, an open and outward sign that could not have been mistaken by any member of the quiet rebellion for anything but a call to arms.

A stake had been erected, an upright bar with a crossbar secured to it, and hanging from that crossbar was Nemone, her red hair stained with long-dried blood. She was pale, her body bruised and put on display, stripped down to nothing but her undergarments to suffer the chill spring unprotected. She had been beaten and staked out to die a long, slow death under the eyes of everyone in the valley, Marka's message that not even her own blood were safe from the malice of her cruelty.

Somewhere within the ranks of the men stood one man who had more to lose here than any other. It was Mahon's lifemate who was bound to that stake, and it was taking all his self-control to hold himself back, as well as a few of his own men.

"Don't be stupid, Mahon," Ethan hissed in his ear. "Wait for the signal."

"Hell with the signal," the big man growled back, two of his own men on either side of him ready to hold him back, if he decided to be foolish, though it was unlikely they'd be able to do so. "I'm gonna kill her," he growled under his breath, eying Marka from where he stood amongst the ranks of men, eyes blazing with fury and hatred.

Despite the swelling of the men's ranks, the call seemed to be continuing as it always had for decades, the headcount taken, the duty roster declared for all who were there to hear. Only a few knew the reason for the delay; Gia, hidden among the ranks of the women opposite the men, was waiting anxiously for the news that their reinforcements were in place. She, too, was furious with the treatment of her daughter, despite having known in advance that Nemone had planned to have herself made an example of to incite the rebellion to flame.

As word reached Marka's sister that the militia from Pax, Onso, and Caligar had reached their assigned places, she raised her eyes to the guards surrounding the leader of the valley and nodded, just once. A single shot rang out; the woman declaring the roster for the day fell dead, and all hell broke loose.

Mahon broke loose with an enraged battlecry to lead his men into the fray - the ranks of the men and the women bearing the white armbands fighting together, side by side, for the first time since in anyone's memory, the first time since war had torn their world apart. And what were they fighting for? Liberty, equality, justice, and perhaps just a little vengeance. Weapons clashed, voices shouted as if in unison, and blood flowed. Mahon had vowed that they would not lose - not this time. This time they would be victorious; this time they would have their freedom. Ethan followed right behind, the militia joining ranks with the rebels and slaves and the women who no longer believed in Marka's right to rule.

Mahon and Nemone had spent five years working toward this moment; five painstaking years of moving at a snail's pace, of gaging the loyalty of the other women in the valley, of walking the fine line between open rebellion and healthy objections. The resentment among the men had reached fever pitch each time they were told to stand down - this time, there would be no standing down. As the men poured over the ground toward the women who opposed them, their allies among those ranks turned on their sisters, mothers, friends. They did not want a massacre, but they could not afford to allow even one sycophant to live.

Ember Wilson

Date: 2015-09-03 14:48 EST
Gia - peaceful, gentle Gia - disappeared into the hill with five of the better armed guards, seeking out the childrens' hall, to protect the daughters of the men fighting from the vengeance that might have been meted out by Marka's personal guard captain. And Marka" She had her own problems - her personal guard had turned on one another, and she stood, paralyzed, with a gun at her temple and a knife pressed against her back, in full view of the rebels as they charged.

And yet, despite all his rage and hatred and bloodlust, it was not Marka that was Mahon's objective - it was Nemone. In the heat of battle, in this moment that he'd been waiting for, planning for for so long, it was not Marka's death he craved so much as Nemone's freedom. Besides, it seemed Marka's own women had their leader very much in hand, and so Mahon struggled and fought his way, not toward Marka, but toward Nemone, calling her, shouting her name, so that she would know he was there and he was going to free her.

As the sound of fighting raged about her, Nemone stirred from her half-conscious state, the ache in her limbs almost drained from her body by the numbness of exposure to the elements. She had been up there for two days, a part of her almost delighted by how quickly the news had spread if this was the rebellion she had been hoping for. Forcing her blurred vision to focus on the mass of bodies around her, she heard a voice she hadn't heard in almost four months; a voice she'd told herself she would probably never hear again. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out, her throat too dry to give her more than a squeal of sound that was not speech in the slightest.

That familiar voice rose as he fought his way closer, shouting, screaming, hacking his way closer and closer, until at last, he was there and he was cutting her down. Covered in the blood of his enemies, mixed with his own gaping wounds, he cut her down and took her into his arms, tears streaming down his face, sobbing with relief. "Nem, Nem," he whispered her name over and over, kissing her hair, terrified he was too late.

Around him, the battle still raged, but it was clear the rebels and the militia and Gia's women were winning. It was Ethan who faced Marka, Ethan who made sure she knew she was defeated. "Your daughter sends her regards," he told her. "She's with child, and we are hoping for a son."

With her fanatical guard lying dead around her in the midst of a battle that was increasingly one-sided, Marka still made an effort to stand tall. She glared at Ethan, aware now that she was standing among enemies who all wanted her dead. For just a moment, as he delivered his news, her expression faltered, the wish for an heir born of her disobedient daughter almost fulfilled in a moment that was totally out of her control. Then that coldness touched her face once more, and she sneered. "May it kill her when it dies at birth," she spat at the man who had given her daughter everything she had never even tried to offer Ember. "I will find another way."

Ethan's rage momentarily turned to pity. As much as he hated her, he knew how different things could have been if she'd only shown her daughter a little love, if she hadn't been a monster. "I almost feel sorry for you," Ethan told her, with a grievous frown. He knew what had to be done, and it looked like he was going to have to be the one to do it. "I'm sorry, but you're wrong. It's over. You will never hurt anyone again," he told her, holding her gaze as his knife found its mark, driving it deeply into her breast to pierce her cold, unfeeling heart. She would never find another way; she would never see her daughter again or know the grandchild she had wanted so badly.

For all her faults, she did not beg or cry; she did not cower in the face of certain death. She accepted it, crumpling as the knife left her breast, her life's blood pouring from the wound to stain the ground as she fell to her knees. From the throats of the men and women who saw it done rose a triumphant cry - Marka was dead. Her reign was over.

Some might have reveled in the kill, but Ethan took no joy from it, and while shouts of triumph rose about him, he only knelt beside his wife's mother's body and closed her eyes, while whispering a prayer to the gods that they let her rest in peace, despite all she'd done.

Not far away, another man was weeping as he held his beloved close, stroking her hair and whispering her name over and over again. "I found him, Nem. I found our son, and he's ..." His voice broke, pausing as shouts of triumph went up around them. "He's beautiful."

Seemingly forgotten by the crowd around them as the fighting came to an inconsistent close, Nemone stirred in Mahon's arms - weak, yes, but definitely still alive. She had too much to live for to give up now. Her fingers gripped his arm, painfully weak for a woman who just a few days before had been capable of rendering any man unconscious with a single strike. She fought against the dry restriction in her throat, forcing the words out in a hoarse rasp. "You came ..."

"I promised I would come back for you. Did you doubt me?" he asked, pushing her hair back from her face and holding her tenderly close. She was weak and hurt, he could see that, but she was still his Nem, and she still had that same fiery spirit he had come to know and love. "Ethan!" he shouted, drawing the other man's attention. "Help me get Nem to her chambers. She needs a healer. She's in no shape to travel."

Even as all this was happening, all eyes were turning to the hill, where Gia emerged with the children of the valley in tow. Though there was gore and bodies strewn everywhere, they had to see the consequences of extremism. In a surge, the little girls ran toward the fathers and mothers among the crowd - some to both their own, some had only one parent to cling to in the aftermath of the fighting. But most eyes remained on Gia, the logical leader in the wake of Marka's defeat and death. The woman looked with anguished eyes toward her own daughter, the body of her elder sister, and forced herself to look away, swallowing hard against the desire to grieve too soon.

"Secure the survivors in the former men's quarters," she ordered. "Round up the wounded and take them into the hill. All healers, male and female - we need you. Kia will take charge of medical needs." The woman indicated nodded firmly - she had been one of the first to join their cause, years before, moving to give out her own orders as the wounded were gathered together. Gia paused at Mahon's back, touching his hair gently. "I will come when I can," she promised him in a low voice as her order were acted upon. "There is little medicine we can give her - warm her up, feed her, let her drink, let her sleep. She's strong."

Mahon nodded and swept Nemone up in his arms as he moved to his feet, his own wounds forgotten for now, until he could see to her.

Ethan remained behind a moment, his face a mask of grief. He had been raised to defend the village against threats, mostly those of the mutants, but killing people was not the same as killing mutants. "I'm sorry," he told Gia sadly, though at least Marka's death had been quick.

Ember Wilson

Date: 2015-09-03 14:49 EST
"It had to be done," she told Ethan quietly, knowing that her daughter, at least, was in good hands. "I need you to coordinate the militia that helped us, please. I should see to my sister before the wish to defile her body becomes action."

"Whatever you need," Ethan replied, pausing a moment before he went back to work. "You should know Ember is well. She is with child. She misses you and sends her love." It seemed strange somehow to be talking about love surrounded by the gore of battle. "It was the only way, Gia. You're leader now. The women respect you. They'll follow you."

She smiled faintly, glad to hear that Ember was thriving away from the valley. His reminder of her task now made that smile fade. "I know," she nodded in agreement. "And yet all I want is to see Uther and our son, to see my grandson, and know that they are safe. But I cannot have that, not yet. There is too much to do." She squeezed his shoulder. "Please, see to the militia. The last thing we need is power struggles starting up again."

"Uther is well. So is Han. He's a fine young man. You should be proud," Ethan said. He could at least give her that small bit of comfort. "Maybe they can join you here, now that ..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Whatever she'd felt for Marka, she'd still been her sister. It was going to take time for families to sort it all out - for families to find each other again and decide whether they wanted to live in the valley or the village, especially those who'd managed to escape. There would be none of that for him though, unless Ember decided she wanted to live in the valley.

"Maybe." Gia nodded once again, only the force of her gaze keeping over-eager attackers from taking charge of her sister's body. "It will take time. If you can, send a message to Mahon for him to rejoin us once Nemone is settled - we will need him to help us keep order while a new structure is put in place. And if you will excuse me ....I should see to my sister."

"Gia ..." he said, sensing their conversation was just about at a end. She was the new leader in the valley - at least, for now - though he wasn't sure if that would last. "I'm sorry," he said with a sad frown. Marka had died by his hand, after all. He would have asked if she needed help, but he didn't think he could bear to look on his handiwork again, and there were plenty of others willing to help their new leader.

Gia paused, but she didn't turn to look at him. Though she had known for years that she would have to witness, or perhaps even effect, her sister's death, the reality hit home far more sharply than she had thought it would. Memories of their childhood came to her unbidden; of the bright, carefree little sister she had so adored in her youth. "So am I."

He wasn't sure how Marka had become the monster she had, but he hoped Gia had some good memories to hang onto now that she was gone. Ethan's heart felt heavy, all the weight of Marka's death weighing on him, but someone had to do it, and at least he'd given her a quick end. It was better than the fate the slaves might have given her. There was nothing more to say to Gia really that he hadn't said already, not now anyway. He turned to leave without glancing over at the body of the slain leader, wishing things could have been different. Unlike Gia, he had only known her cruelty, not her kindness.

But there had been a time when Marka Keel had been bright and youthful, with a ready smile and an eagerness to engage with the world around her, before her mother had taken her in hand with the same methods she had gone on to use with her own daughter. Now, only Gia remembered the bright girl her sister had been in their youth. Only Gia would truly mourn the loss of her sister. All that remained now was to pick up the pieces and restore some semblance of order. The extremism of Marka's regime would not last the day; by nightfall, they would have men in positions of authority within the valley, working alongside the women who chose to stay here. It would take time and patience, but finally there was parity and equality within the bounds of the hidden valley. It was time to begin again.