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"it"

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5​


I examine the skewer carefully, gingerly touching the hot metal, and she grimaces and moans as I slightly move it to get a better look. I’m puzzled. It’s so well made I can see no way to remove the rings at the ends. My few woodworking tools I’ve brought with me would make no impression on the metal, especially if it is quality metal like the name-plate.

Why would a criminal be adorned with these hideous things that are so well made? Maybe the man next to her would give some clue. He’s made some moans and gasps, but my attention has been on the girl, I’ve barely looked at him.

He’s in his thirties, probably not bad looking though I don’t look much at men, naked of course and staked out spread-eagled. Hair and beard straggly and matted with something, and a stronger smell of urine and shit than from the girl. His body’s much more bruised than the girl’s, with wounds oozing pus as well as blood, and when he breathes his chest flops about rather than going up evenly. The barbarous inhabitants of this town aren’t content to kill him though, they have to torture him right up to death; delicate hooked wires hold his eyelids open, anchored into the skin of his forehead, and metal wedges pressing onto his teeth keep his mouth wide open. His tongue is pulled through this hole, held out with another skewer pierced through it. What evil man can do to man. I move so my shadow blocks the sun from his eyes, then wave my arms. He stares straight ahead, the eyes not even flickering. The sun must have blinded him already.

He has a nameplate. Fastened to a skewer through his cock. The bloody mess that was his cock.

I look back at the girl, thinking it was her perfect cunt I’d seen first. Yes, she was perfect except for her breasts, no mutilation, no blood, not even fresh or dried cum. Apart from the fact they’re fastened together to die, and she’s bruised and dirty, they’ve been treated very differently.

I still know nothing about them, so decide to go back and talk with the guard officer. “Who are they? What have they done? Why must she die?”

“It” he says, pointing to the man “bad man. It merchant cheat.”

“It” pointing to the girl “good girl. Its marry” waving his finger to both of them. “It” again pointing to the girl “Ironmaster daughter. Money much. Its” again pointing to both “die good”.

So the girl has to die because of her husband’s crime. My brain says get the goods sold, get out of here, never come back despite the good prices. My heart and loins say help her till she dies.

One of the guards on sentry duty shouts something to the officer, and he gives a command to the group of men near us. They quickly circle me, and two grip my arms.
 
6​


The knife is only in my boot, but the odds are against me so I stand there terrified. Over away from town I see a line of people approaching. As they get nearer, I can make out that most of them are naked; slaves.

Peering past the guards who seem to have simply formed a shield between me and the road, I can see a couple of guards with whips, and about twenty naked slaves, both men and women, young and old. Metal collars round their necks are linked with slack chains from collar to collar, with the first one in line being led by a guard. Thinner chains drop down from the linking chain to their groins, but I can’t see from this distance why. They have no other restraints on, most of them with a hand on the linking chain.

The line is stopped near the man and girl, and turned to look. There is talking and weeping and wailing. Then at a word the line turns smartly and walks away briskly, all the coffle keeping up so the linking chain stays slack.

The guards shielding me walk away, the ones holding me let go. The officer walks up smiling.

“It” again pointing to the girl “family. Father, mother, brother, sisters. It (to the man) family. Grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, brothers, sister, slaves. Merchant slaves take. Slaves work dig. Slaves its see. Its die. Slaves its see. Birds its eat. Slaves its see. Merchant money gets. Merchant slaves free. Family plates take. Altar plates put. Its spirits rest”

I think I took all that in. His speech was very strange. The way I understood it all the family of the two condemned are enslaved till the merchant has his money, and they have to see them die and get eaten by the carrion birds. Then they can collect the fancy nameplates, and do something religious with them which gives a good closure.

“Slaves you see no” he says, “Slaves suffer. You it go. You it talk. You it enjoy. It beauty. It die”.

So I was free to go back to ‘it’ Do they not have a word for ‘she’ or ‘her’? Or are the condemned automatically an ‘it’? I’ll never understand these people, and I don’t want to.

She’s shit herself, and lying down as she is, it’s just a sticky heap between her thighs touching her cunt, crawling with flies.

I scrape it away, get some more water and a rag and clean her up, fully aware of how intimate an act this is, a complete stranger, me old enough to be her father, touching her there.

I mime eating, “Sa” and a nod, drinking, the same. I get some bread, the berries, and another water skin. The rock the donkey is tied to has a hollow in the top, so I give her a drink, and take the rest to the girl. She drinks a lot, has a few berries and a tiny piece of the bread, saying “Yi” and shaking her head to more, so I eat the rest.

I kneel at her head, so she can rest it on my thighs. I talk to her about my life and work, I know she can’t understand but human contact must be important, mustn’t it?

She says a few words herself, but she’s obviously getting delirious. The man’s breathing is very noisy, shallow and irregular, he won’t last long, but her breathing is still good and strong, those magnificent mutilated breasts rising regularly.

“Hrund wa, froop. Hrund wa”

I try miming sleep “Yi, yi, hrund” That’s not what she wanted.

There’s not much more I can do for her, it’s not cold yet to need covering her, and I have to give up on trying to understand. The officer ambles up “I town go” he says “You it stay”

“What does she say?” I ask.

“Hrund wa, hrund wa”

The officer bursts out laughing, slaps me on the back, and walks away in the direction of town, still laughing. She must want something I can’t give her, like release, or death. If she wanted death, could I do it? I can kill a chicken or rabbit, but a beautiful girl? With my knife? Even if in terrible pain and death will come anyway? Too much for my brain to take. And the officer had said “You it kill no”. I look at her, her eyes are closed, she looks asleep. I shuffle away, gently putting her head on the water skin, and ease my aching legs. I eat a bit more, tie the donkey to a shrub where there’s a bit of grass, and have a walk towards the other criminals.
 
7​


There’s several men and a woman spread-eagled out about 50 paces from ‘my’ girl and her man. None of them have name plates, so I guess they were slaves. They’re all dead by the look of the colour, and I go to turn away but my eye is drawn to the brass glinting at their groins. I’ve always had a fascination for tools and devices that do things, so telling myself not to look at the bodies, just this adornment, I look closer at one of the men. The device encircles his cock and balls, and has a ring with a bit of broken thin chain attached. Now I understand. I’ve seen these in the market, but not having the words never understood them; they had a few with the cover off so I could see how it worked.

A brass ring of links, with spikes pointing inwards, fitted into a ratchet so that the ring could easily be tightened, but with the cover on couldn’t be loosened. Looking at the body I could now see it went at the base of the cock and behind the balls. I guessed the action. The thin chain connected this device to the coffle chain. As long as the coffle chain was slack, the ring stayed still, but any tension and the ring tightened. And there was no escape, the ring could only get tighter with each pull. No wonder the slaves I saw this afternoon were so well behaved with this little marvel of craftsmanship. And the genitals of this criminal before me were much blacker than the rest of the body. As a final act, they must have tightened it as far as it could go.

My curiosity wondered about women, all the slaves, whether men or women, seemed to be treated the same. The nearest woman was starting to decay, but all I could see was the end of a brass thing sticking out of her cunt. Not wanting to get any closer, I walked away a bit, till I came to a skeleton. The brass object was clearly visible lying in the bones, still with some chain attached. My gods, it was a brass cylinder as long as my foot with terrible backward-facing barbs on it. Chains front and back linked it to a chain at waist level. If that was put in a cunt, it would go in but cause terrible pain to come out; and any yank on the coffle chain would drive it in further. It was completely in on that body back there. They must give that final torture of impalement to a woman slave.

These people are sick. I’ve been coming here for several years, but stayed away from this killing field. And only seen slaves being sold in the market place, but usually looking healthy and with simple manacles on. I’ve kept away from their politics and morals, preferring to take their money and sometimes a woman to bed. Nothing to do with me what other towns do to their citizens. They probably deserve it. And most of those killed here are slaves anyway, not decent citizens. Except for that girl. ‘It good girl’ he said.

Gods above and below, what have I got myself into?
 
cmeinsen said:
T thought "IT" was a movie with a scary clown?
Click to expand...

Thanks for pointing that out. I never thought to look if that title had been used by anyone else. Anyway mine has quotes. And nothing supernatural but plenty of evil.

Maybe I can drag a connection; the film has "Pennywise the Dancing Clown", is my narrator pehaps 'penny wise but pound foolish' by trading with these people?

Just trying in the story to get an onlookers view of a girl he doesn't know, a system he's managed to ignore, and how it might affect him long-term.
 
8​


I walk wearily back up to the guards’ camp, feeling the conscience of the whole town on my shoulders. No-one else there speaks my tongue, but I barter some wooden spoons for more food, drink and water, these men will brag about their new spoons for months.

It’s cooler now so I can handle the skewer though her breasts more easily. No, despite pulling and twisting it, which made her groan pathetically, I still saw no way to get a ring off one end so I could pull it out.

“Musho” she says, now in a croaky whisper. “Musho froop”

The last time she said something like this I gave her water, so tried again. She wanted it. I offered her some spirits the guards had given me, goodness only knows what they distill it from, nothing worthwhile seems to grow for miles. She drank it, shuddered, and looked at the flask. I gave her more, then water, then more spirit. Her smile grew and she started giggling as the drink took hold.

Just looking at her face, my cock was hard. If I ignored the spikes through her wrists and feet with their congealed blood round them, and the name plate hanging from her breasts, she was the most perfect girl in the world. I wanted her now, but how could I? A dying girl in a killing field, I could so easily rape her, the way she’s positioned it invites it. I brush away some ants which were climbing inside her, she raises her head and giggles as she smiles “Froop, froop, hrund wa”.

I offer food and water, which she refuses. I fetch my tent and lay it over her as a cover since the nights are very cold, and offer more spirit which she accepts. She pouts her lips and mimes kissing, I lean in and we have a long kiss, she giggles again. I give her another kiss, and my cock almost tears from my leggings. This is too much, I must back away, can’t let these feelings run their course, not right to rape her.

Strange, it doesn’t seem to be normal to rape a criminal here, no sign that it has happened to her, no guard has come down to have her.

She looks sleepy now, the spirit has taken hold, at least she might have a few hours without pain. I slide under the tent and lie close to her, my head on her outstretched right arm, my right arm hugging her chest.

“Frarp, frarp” she whispers, and her voice is very croaky now.

I wake in the night and her breathing is getting shallow and is rasping.

In the morning she is cold.

I stand, fold the tent up. Put the pack on my faithful companion.

The officer walks up “It die?”

“She’s dead” I reply

“Guards town go. Guards drink”

“What was she asking me, when you laughed?”

“You it fuck. It you fuck. You fuck?”

“No”

He shrugged, walked away to his men shouting orders. I looked at her, ants climbing into both her open mouth and her cunt, the cunt she was asking me to have but I didn’t know, birds swirling and calling in the sky.

Wares to sell, money to make, tools to buy.


(Two short epilogues to follow)
 
9​


I sold up in one day.

Had a good meal, and the donkey got good fodder.

Although my heart wasn’t in it, my loins won the war, and I got a girl, a bed with a girl in it wasn’t much more coin than one without. She was a slave captured from near my forest, so we could talk fairly easily together.

She told me that condemned prisoners were kept in isolation for months, and their treatment depended on their degree of guilt. The man, who did the crime, was likely beaten severely many times during this incarceration.

The girl, who was married so had enjoyed sex with him, had to die because crime was contagious, and she would have been contaminated. No man would risk sex with her, as they could be infected with crime as well. She would likely have had her hands shackled to a collar so she couldn’t pleasure herself, and been stimulated, but not enough, by a prison slavegirl. After several months of such sexual stimulation but deprivation, the evil would want to leave her body once she died, so her spirit, once it had found her name written on the plate, could rest in peace. Her legs would have been kept apart to let the evil escape.

Even as I was enjoying this slave, my mind was on that dying girl. No wonder she wanted a fuck, why, why didn’t I realise? I made her last hours at least a little more comfortable, but failed to give her, and me for that matter, what we most wanted. All from a sense of decorum, of decency, of respect, which this damn town doesn’t give a toss for.

I wished the slave well, paid her master, bought more tools than I had intended and set off back to the forest, riding the donkey as there was no big load.

This time at the killing grounds, I kept my eyes away. The guards had gone, the birds had flown in, much cawing and fighting for meat.

I passed the coffle of relatives walking briskly towards the scene, linking chains slack.

I hate that town.

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For those of a pedantic nature (like me) who want to know what was said in this story:

Blap Forgive

Frarp Thank you

Froop Please

Ganta Help

Hrund Fuck

Musho Water

Sa Yes

Vrag Stop

Wa Me

Yi No



(Chapter 10 to follow)
 
old slave said:
2​


We set off early in the morning, the donkey trotting along quite briskly now it was downhill, and after she’d had a rest. I felt much better too, full water skins and some fresh-picked berries to eat on the journey. The town lay in an arid bowl in the hills, I remembered it was even hotter than in the mountains, a Gods-forsaken place to live, but rich, so that was why I come.

The town makes its money from metal. There are mines in all the hills around, with rich seams of iron, copper and lead, some gold and silver. They cut all the trees down a long time ago for the furnaces to smelt the ores, but found the black stone that burns, we don’t have a word for it in our tongue, we’ve never found any, but why should we worry, we have the forests.

And they know how to make strong metal. We have learnt to cast iron as well, but it’s brittle, will break without much warning, whereas the stuff made in the town with the smoke hanging over it is extremely strong, and they make weapons, tools, chains, I even buy some of their nails. How they make it is a closely guarded secret, but it’s big business, plenty of rich factors and merchants. The thing I don’t like about the town is the ordinary workers. Most of them are slaves, either born into it from several generations of slaves, else captured from the surrounding area, or criminals. I've been told I have nothing to fear, they want my goods and they want me to return, and nothing untoward has happened so far. I keep a sharp knife in my boot, and know how to use it. May my Gods protect me.

Because they cut down all the trees generations ago, wooden objects are a status symbol. Where I come from the peasant eats with a wooden spoon, the noble with a metal one. Here it’s the other way round, for a quality piece they fight me for it when I spread my wares out. I doubt I’ll need more than a day to sell everything. Then an inn and stable, a blow-out meal and plenty of beer, maybe a girl if I’m sober enough to do it, and the next day buy what I need and head off home.

I can’t speak their tongue. You can sell and barter with fingers and gestures, I just know the words for the ‘Essential B’s: Bread, Beer, Bed’. I get by.

There are a few tents and huts up ahead, and the land is a little greener with some scrubby bushes. This is the part of the trail I do not like, the town’s execution ground. They have a particularly vicious way of putting criminals to death, driving spikes into their wrists and feet. I hope all I see are bones, I really must try to look the other way.
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madiosi 2016 - 140 it.jpg
 
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