One Great Year (14 page)

“I'll be good, Mama.”

“Please, Mama,” so many little voices rang out. “Let me stay.”

“Why can't you come?” the voices wailed, but on and on they moved, bewildered and lost before they were even outside the walls.

More than one young mother was unable to bear the parting and chose to take her own life and that of her children rather than sending them to the certain death outside the gates. Their huts were emptied and they were buried without ceremony, without prayer, and without respect.

Women continued to disappear in the weeks following the expulsion of the boys, unable to live with what they had done, searching for their lost children. Most of them were dragged back to the city in varying states of hopelessness, hysteria, and injury without their children in tow. They were punished publicly as an example to deter others.

A dark, heavy pall blanketed the region. The devastated citizens sadly accepted their new high priest and self-pronounced king and were as helplessly divided as the spoils of war.

Despite his disdain for Marcus, Katari was a wise and strategic leader who clearly understood Sartaña's influence. She was born of a highly revered family and was believed to have been ordained by the gods. The people were devout, and Katari intended to use her influence to control them. As he plotted, his plans for Sartaña reached beyond her role as the high priestess.

Two days after the death of her son, Katari sent an order for Sartaña to appear before him. He reclined nonchalantly, cracking a peanut and popping its meat into his mouth. The shell fell to the floor, adding to the heap already there. His breastplate and thin beard were littered with crumbs and casings, and he breathed loudly as he chewed. The ruler looked up from his food as Sartaña entered the large chamber, formerly her husband's private room. She still wore the blood-stained dress she had been wearing days before and was held on either side by a guard. Her hands were bound tightly in front of her, and a large bruise had swelled on her cheek where the butt of Katari's spear had struck her. Though her eyes were puffy from crying, there was no sign of tears as she stared hatefully at her captor.

As she entered, an unpleasant odor of rot mingled with body odor and smoke assaulted her immediately, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. It was so unlike the scent of copal incense that used to draw her in. It was the first time she had been there since the invasion, and it pained her to see this pig of a man lounging so disrespectfully and familiarly in her mate's space. She noticed the head so casually overlooked: rotting, stinking. She forced herself to look away. She was determined not to cry in front of him, but for a moment a wave of nausea twisted her belly, constricting her throat, causing her mouth to water.

She turned her gaze toward the opposite side of the room where the bedroll lay, soft and inviting, a place where she had found so much pleasure and tenderness in times past.

Katari studied her as she adjusted to the scene. Even in her grief Sartaña was striking to look at. Her nose was prominent, and her mouth was full and sensuous. Her thick, luxurious hair hung to her narrow waist in loose dark curls, concealing the missing patches that the headdress had torn from her scalp. Katari let her wait while he dropped more discarded shells and chewed noisily.

Sartaña studied him, trying to reconcile the memories of Helghul that had been flashing back to her constantly over the past two days. Clearly there was something Marcus wanted to convey to her. Helghul's dark, prickly aura was obvious, and he revolted and offended her in every way—even without warning from her higher self. He had murdered her husband and her son and conquered her city; it was obvious he was a beast. Why had they been brought together?

Katari's energy raised the hairs on the back of her neck and arms, and she shuddered involuntarily. He felt her hatred and enjoyed it. He stood and walked around her, looking her up and down lasciviously. He stopped directly in front of her and finally spoke.

“Nice breasts, Marcus,” he taunted, reaching out and roughly grabbing her through her blood-encrusted dress. Bits of nut flew out of his mouth as he spoke, and Sartaña stepped away from him, unable to use her hands. She had dreaded this.

Katari made eye contact with her for the first time, and a sharp pain shot through her skull to a bulging gland throbbing behind her eyes. The discomfort was hers alone and he smirked at her, seemingly unaffected. He grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck and wrenched her head back as he spoke menacingly into her ear. “I intend to take you as a wife. I want a child, a son to unite the people.” Sartaña winced painfully at the word
son
.

“You disgust me! I will die before I let you touch me!” she snarled through clenched teeth, hoping to provoke him, hoping he would end her misery on the spot. Sartaña looked strong and defiant, her jaw jerked forward and her eyes on fire. But the truth of it was that she was tired, exhausted and beaten by the death of her mate and son and her inability to help her people. She had entirely lost the will to live.

“You are weak, as you always were! A cruel, unloved dark soul!” she goaded. Katari slapped her hard—once, twice, blow after blow. She was stunned, but she would not be silenced. She fell to the floor but her diatribe continued. “You are a pawn, used by darker souls like a fool,” she continued, Marcus urging her on, sure if she continued that Helghul would murder her, releasing her tired soul to the Universe.

Sartaña begged for death with her venomous attack. Enraged by her relentless curses, Katari wanted to silence her but refused to strike a fatal blow. He was determined she would bear his child; he would own her, control her.

“You will die when I decide,” Katari shouted. He nodded to the guards and they released her and took a step back. “I like to know exactly where your spirit resides, it eliminates any chance of surprises.” Marcus understood that Helghul saw him as a threat. “It is my plan that you will bear me a son. He will be a king accepted by the people, and he will be wise and powerful, unlike your foolish first-born, who I happily destroyed.”

Sartaña threw herself on him, her bound hands working together feebly to strike blows. Katari easily pushed her off and she slammed to the floor, unable to break her fall.

The guards hauled her up painfully, and she cried out against their grip and against Katari, spewing more hatred at him. He approached her now, the guards easily constricting her struggling frame.

“Oh, the hopelessness, the despair!” Katari gloated, holding her chin tightly in his coarse hand, his foul breath only inches from her nose. Then dropping his voice he added, “I feel your despair, Sartaña. You reek of it! I taste it and it arouses me. Have you considered it … killing yourself?”

“Never!” she said defiantly. Marcus knew that suicide was not an option. It brought disharmony in the afterlife, and he would never find Theron if he was stuck in limbo, his energy trapped and suffering in the world between.

“You'll wish for death,” Katari warned, and in one motion he grabbed the collar of her dress and tore it clean down the front, exposing her breasts. The guards were fiendishly excited by the show and held her more cruelly, twisting her arms over her head. Katari directed the guards to turn her around, not wanting to look into her eyes. He lowered his trousers to his thighs and lifted the shredded garment still covering her. Excited by his power over her, he then entered her violently from behind, tearing her tender, fragile skin. Katari pushed her away when he was through, and she was taken back to her guarded room on the far side of the palace.

Sartaña had screamed and struggled that first time Katari had forced himself on her, but she quickly realized that the fight thrilled him. Regardless how much she resisted, he would injure but not kill her, though she wished he would. In the weeks and months that followed, Katari came to the small, plain chamber where she was imprisoned many times. She chose to lay limp and lifeless, though he struck her and goaded her mercilessly to try to elicit a response from her. He bombarded her with cruel comments about her dead son and husband, but she refused to rise to the bait. Her courage and self-control enraged him, and he was often unable to maintain an erection.

No matter what she did, he beat her, but through all of it Sartaña was comforted by her Marcus-brain. Her inner spirit offered some strength, aware that there must be a reason that she was still alive. There was a purpose and lesson to be learned in every lifetime, whether it was known or not.

Marcus spoke to her gently, soothing her, reminding her that Amaru's spirit was safe, and she could feel him still around her. She spent many hours alone praying, comforted by the soothing spirits that surrounded her in her meditations, dreams, and silence.

Sartaña's menses stopped by the second moon cycle of her captivity, and soon her belly became round. At first she was distraught, wondering if the child would be a demon like the father. Would she give birth to a dark soul sent only to cause pain in the world? Her concerns disappeared with the first movement of the fetus inside her. A baby was a miracle, and Sartaña filled with the wonder of the soul inside her. Marcus was awed once again to know a mother's heart and feel the overwhelming love and selflessness.

Unhappy to give Katari what he most desired, but grateful to end the cycle of rape and abuse, Sartaña announced her pregnancy to the wretched king. Katari was satisfied and halted his cruel visits to Sartaña. He was determined that she have a healthy child, so she was brought food and fruit and wine to comfort her as the baby grew. Her cold straw mat was replaced with a soft bedroll, and though she was always guarded and isolated, she rested comfortably in her humble room.

The flow of pilgrims and traders to Stone-at-Center had slowed since news of the violent takeover had spread. As a result, the prosperity of the city had waned significantly. Katari realized he must re-establish the confidence of the surrounding lands if he wished his kingdom to return to its former prosperity and stature. He began to parade Sartaña in public as the high priestess, but he never spoke to her except for the occasional harsh remark. Sartaña complied willingly, more concerned for the child in her belly than for herself.

The pregnancy was difficult; the fetus was never at rest and rolled, turned, and kicked relentlessly. Her labor started without warning, and in less than two hours, with the help of a midwife, a slick, healthy baby boy slid painfully into the world. The child was easily soothed at his mother's breast. Sartaña held his tiny hands and stared into his face as he sucked and slept. He briefly opened his squinting eyes to the newness of the world, and she wept uncontrollably for the love of her new son paired with grief for the one murdered before him.

Inti was a happy infant and made it easy for them to bond. Sartaña held him and sang to him for hours. Mother and child spent every day together, and their special relationship grew exponentially as time passed. Yet Sartaña lived in constant fear that at any moment her son would be taken from her.

The city and surrounding areas, desperate for good news, rejoiced at the announcement of the birth, and a carefully calculated celebration of one hundred days ensued. Determined to restore prosperity to the region, Katari hosted extravagant feasts and celebrations. The downtrodden citizens were easily manipulated, and they warmed to their new high priest when he joyfully presented his new son and heir. Katari insisted that Sartaña sit at his side, smiling and nodding regally to the people. She was determined to make no more trouble for Katari. She wanted only to protect and teach their son as much as possible.

Within months of Inti's birth, Sartaña found herself wondering at the spirit that had been born to her. This child was so familiar, touched her so deeply, that she ached at the briefest parting. Sartaña kept Inti with her always; he was typically slung across her body in a fold of finely painted fabric. The boy never cried except when parted from his mother. He radiated light and goodness to everyone he met. Sometimes in the quiet moments of the day she would see visions of him as someone else—a woman, vibrant and shimmering, but always so dear to her, so familiar and good. Finally, her Marcus-brain recognized the violet karmic code of Theron.

Sartaña knew it was inevitable that Helghul would also recognize Theron's aura. It was an energy completely opposite to the darkness of his own. Most likely Katari had already recognized Theron's spirit, though he continued to show little interest in Inti, other than at public events. The busy leader generally left the pair alone, consumed by his role as the high priest and plotting further conquests to the north and east.

As Inti grew, he spent many hours in Sartaña's humble chamber playing, singing, and telling stories. Early in life he proved himself an extraordinary child. He began walking very young and showed a remarkable ability for language and reason. Sartaña educated him in mathematics, healing arts, the science of the stars, and spirituality. She recited for him her imprecise memorization of the Emerald Tablet and taught him the nature of the Universe and Oneness. The universal truth was clear to Marcus, like it was for the other Emissaries, though loneliness and isolation remained a confusing aspect of the human condition.

Often, while Sartaña was weaving, Inti would climb into her lap and take her face in his pudgy toddler hands, bringing his forehead to hers. He would sit there, remaining still, unlike children of his age, and she would feel Theron's energy flowing through him.

Four years had passed since Inti's birth, and Sartaña had been permitted to resume her work as a spiritual guide and healer to her people. She had cultivated a garden of useful plants and herbs at the southern tip of the palace walls, and she and Inti spent hours there together telling stories, laughing, and learning from one another.

One day Sartaña sat against the shaded stone wall taking a break from the heat. Inti leaned against her and they shared a pear as he traced the scarred ridges of the seed of life on Sartaña's upper arm, just as Amaru used to do.