Page 8 of Daughter of the Serpent

The market buzzed with a distinguishable energy, the village lively and spirited. That morning's ceremony had uplifted the people, and with the anticipation of three new devotees and the evening’s festival to come, the excitement was palpable.

Encircling her arms, Sylvie wrapped her white robes closer around her body, begrudging that she couldn’t just wear the thickly padded breeches and colored cloaks of the townsfolk. Clutching her hood tightly around her face, she kept her eyes downward and concealed as they braved the crowded streets, the instant scent of fresh baked bread and meat pies hitting her nostrils. Her mouth began to water. There was nothing like Molly’s minced meat pies and honey cakes, and the mere scent of them made her crave the simple and yet coveted delight. It wasn’t often that the children were awarded sweets, or anything but the scraps they were given, so as not to become gluttonous or greedy. Each day they were to suffer as the lowly suffered, to experience pain and struggle, so as to remember their place. Life was to be hard and arduous - and they were to be grateful for any meer morsel offered. This kept them humble and compliant - just as any servantshould be.

Powerless.

That’s what being a humble servant meant in Sylvie’s eyes, and she had never felt more powerless then than she did now. Stepping out into the streets of Mardova with Tara felt like a mouse strolling into a den of wild cats starved of fresh flesh. It had been a few weeks since they had sent her out to the village to collect the high priest’s requests, but not long enough to strike the painful memories from her mind.

Maybe today would be different.

Maybe today the people wouldn’t notice.

Maybe today she could blend in.

Tara squeezed her hand, bringing her frenzied thoughts back to the present moment. She wasn’t alone this time.

She had Tara, and Hjalmarr - only a few footsteps behind.

She could be safe.

Keeping her gaze downward they strode forward, and she could feel the excitement rising from Tara beside her. Tara loved people, and favored the high energy of the market where the village folk came together to make a perfect blend of chaos and life. Raiders and Fishermen were back with their wares, salt and freshly caught fish hung in the cold breeze as they descended further into the marketplace. Sylvie’s eyes drifted to the distant ocean, where the ships bobbed gently on the waves, stirring a pang of longing. She remembered seeing them up close during festivals and farewells, their every detail etched in memory. Her gaze had traced the wood, fascinated by the intricately carved knotwork that was testament to her people. The dragon heads that were fixed at the bow of each ship, a sacred symbol of protection and intimidation.

Every day, she scanned the shoreline for those ships, cursing her fate.

If only she had been born a man. If only she were a shieldmaiden, free to follow her desires. A warrior, raiding and pillaging, sailing the open sea, wind on her face, and eyes on the horizon.

But her destiny had been sealed long ago. A far cry from her heart's true desire.

Tara pulled her from her thoughts with the tug of her hand, pulling her back to the present moment. She met her gaze, quick to bury down the swell of emotion that had snagged in her chest. A smile swept onto Tara’s face, dimples folding in her cheeks as a light dawned in her eyes. Sylvie didn’t need to look at her to know she was bursting at the seams, ready as ever to greet the people, the market, and anything and everything it had to offer. Unlike her, Tara didn’t long for anything beyond her life given, didn’t ache for what was not to be hers - and Sylvie envied her contentment. Nonetheless, it gave her joy to see Tara like this. It wasn’t often they were free from their duties to seek their own pleasure, and she needed to enjoy it.

“Can you feel it Sylvie?” Tara beamed mid twirl, before sticking out her tongue. “Taste that free air!”

Tara always reminded Sylvie of a younger sister, vibrant and innocent to the harsh realities of the world. Sylvie had to instruct her thoroughly in the ways of the Light and ensure she stayed unnoticed by the priests for her own protection. Tara was too young and pure, and Sylvie had fought hard to keep it that way. The priesthood of the Light upheld a high level of dignity and perfection, swiftly punishing and discarding anyone who failed to meet their standards. Though Tara was unaware, Sylvie had taken the fall for her more than once, gladly bearing the burns, lashings, and punishments. Sylvie had known such hardships all her life and would do anything to protect Tara's innocence and the childish grin on her face.

“It is a fine day.” Sylvie agreed, still mindful to keep her gaze down.

“I wish you wouldn’t worry so, no one will notice you - not today!” Tara exclaimed. “Everyone is too busy getting prepared for the feast tonight!”

Sylvie squeezed her hand. She hadn’t known about the week prior, the hate, the threats, the strangers who had spit at her feet andher face, nor had she known about the weeks or years she had endured it all before.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe today will be different.”

Tara's smile spread wide, but Sylvie could taste the lie on her own tongue. Feast day or not, she would remain as cautious as ever.

Moving through the crowd with care, she kept a watchful eye on Tara. Though the people didn’t see her as a threat, her association with Sylvie could cast her in an unfavorable light. Letting go of Tara's hand, she allowed her to wander freely, staying a few paces behind. She wanted her to enjoy this moment without anything ruining it.

Passing the many carts and shops open for business, the air carried the hum of raised voices and the clatter of horses hooves against packed earth and stone. Everyone from the village was there, the many sights and smells overwhelming the senses. Amongst the commotion, a woman called out Tara’s name, her hands reaching for her pale robes.

“Tara!” She exclaimed excitedly, folding her into her arms. “I hadn’t expected to see you here today!”

Tara turned toward her, light pooling deeper in her eyes at the sight of her friend.

“We have been awarded a precious few hours before nightfall,” she beamed, “With even a few coins to spend!”

Sonya was the local seamstress who often visited the temple when robes were in need of mending. During her time at the temple she was always kind, never once mentioning Sylvie’s deformity or judging her for it. Being a foreigner from another tribe offshore, she too had known what it was like to feel like an outsider. It had taken a few years before the clans had come around, and welcomed her as one of their own.

Yet now, Sylvie could see that one would never know it had ever been any other way.

Sonya belonged.