The Pain that Made Her Beautiful

PMHB ch21

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Neorah stood outside of the tent as a man walked out, holding a spear. A single horn blast quieted all the noise that she had been hearing within the tent. When it went off, the man who had told them of their duties said, “Go! Go! Go!”

There were at least fifteen or twenty girls of Neorah’s general age of nineteen carrying trays that had about ten to fifteen bowls of steaming, fresh stew on them. The girls were tonight’s servers, also known as the entertainment of several hundred lust driven men who were ever more thirsting for the touch of a woman.

Neorah was the first in the line of girls, of course, and walked in. As soon as she entered the tent, she saw the man named Warick. Across from him sat a brute of a man. He was Roman, obviously, with his curly brown hair, brown eyes, and darkly tanned skin. The Roman man leaned over the table and said something to Warick that Neorah could only dread to know the implications.

For all the prayers she had sent to God’s feet, it seemed that everything that was happening, to both Nayeli and her, was just getting worse. First, the gruesome death of her parents and baby brother, then the separation of her from, not just Nayeli, but her little brothers and sister, next was Nayeli’s awful brush with fate, twice, and then… today.

All the events just seemed to make Neorah weak in her bones and already thin stretched spirit. What are you trying to teach me, Lord? Why have you taken my siblings away from me? Neorah was broken inside and did her best to try and hide it. She was so scared for… well everything. She wanted Nayeli to hurry up and heal, and, all she wanted was so little to ask. She just wanted to see, to look at, to embrace and know that her little brother and sister were safe. Neorah was the last person that they had left. It was she who was the only left to them with the ability to teach and mentor them in God’s love and devotion. She just wanted them to be ok, was that so much to ask?

She walked forward and began to serve the tables. Every time she set down a bowl, Neorah felt men’s gruff hands. She walked from table to table serving and keeping as much distance from the, already alcohol inebriated, shallow minded men possible.

When her tray was empty and she was on her way out of the tent to fetch more bowls of stew, Neorah felt two huge hands placed on her stomach. Pulling her backwards, Neorah landed gruffly on the knee of a Roman man. He tried to kiss her neck as one of his hands began to slide up Neorah’s leg that had the slit. She did her best to retain her resolve, but it was slipping fast; however, as soon as the man’s hand reached unwanted territory, Neorah’s resolve abandoned her and she bolted upright, swinging the hand in which she held the tray.

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Warick sat across from Apollo talking about the road conditions that the small caravan had faced so far when he saw Apollo’s expression go from exaggerated interest to roaring laughter. When he turned, Warick watched the girl that Nayeli called Neorah bolt up off the knee of a Roman guard and swing her, now empty, tray at his head. She hit him square on. The man was rather taken aback as he swayed and caught himself, almost falling. The man turned bright red with anger at being so embarrassed in front of his comrades; however, before he could do anything about it, Neorah had already gone out the tent’s threshold.

“I’d love to simply meet a girl with that much fire in her spirit. It would be an honor, indeed,” Apollo said winking.

I know one with even more fire than he could probably handle, Warick reminisced. He knew that his next statement was more than necessary, and almost wanted to kick himself for it.

Nayeli would hate him forever… “I would love to introduce you to her,” Warick said, hoping that the man had more honor than his brutish culture.

“Does that girl have a name that I may call her by so I do not look like a total fool?” Apollo said, his eyes gleaming with hunger.

Had they been in different circumstances, Warick would have started a fight with the man for the piggish look in his eyes. He didn’t want to tell him Neorah’s real name because of the events that may ensue, but he had no choice.

“Her name?”

“Yes, Warick, her name, what is it?”

“It is N—Neorah.”

“Neorah, you say? I think that she will be mighty,” Apollo paused in his sentence smiling lustfully, “useful.”

Warick was about to swing his fist when a bowl was set in front of him with a steaming aroma that made his stomach growl. Warick followed the, from the hand, up a girl’s arm to see the face of Neorah. Warick’s table was short and he counted the amount of bowls that Neorah had left on her platter and saw that the last bowl would be given to Apollo. May the gods, known and unknown, protect you, Neorah, Warick thought.