Story for the day: The Myth of Persays

Den Asaan does not care about your woman problems.

I love seeing Rautu in awkward situations. He gets so angry so fast. 

The Myth of Persays

                There was a commotion of grave consequence in the garrison of the Diras castle keep. Nerri, the newest recruit in the Den Asaan’s regiment, had given the remainder of the Frewyn troops much cause for alarm. Many of the men had taken a general interest in knowing the first female infantryman of Diras and when they found her one morning huddled in the corner of the barracks gazing at her hand in horror, they approached with genuinely worried expression and an eagerness to assist, but their attempts to near her were thwarted by Nerri who shouted at them not to draw close to her. She showed them the means of her distress. There was blood on her hand, and even more concerning was that she had little idea of how any at all had come to be there. She felt no puncture or rupture on her body, she had not been careless while sharpening her blade, she was certain she felt no pain. She was under the mistake of it being a curse sent by her clansmen for leaving them in so abrupt a manner and was therefore convinced of it spreading to those around her who had shown her much in the ways of care and consideration. She was determined to be alone in her horror until the Den Asaan was called to assess her condition.

                Rautu was mindful of her state from the opposing side of the barracks. The manner in which she crouched and held her hand in fright though there was no visible laceration recommended her situation severe. He believed she had injured herself internally and neared to examine her further. “Do not move,” Rautu ordered.

                 Nerri cast out her hand to impede her commander’s approach. “Please, Commander Den Asaan, sir,” she cried, entreating him with all his possible designations to show she meant no offense. “Please, don’t come any closer. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I may be dying if it’s the curse from my people.”

                The Den Asaan scoffed and rolled his eyes, hardly believing in such imagined contrivances as curses. “You will extend nothing to me,” he demanded. “You are not ill. Sit so that I may assess your wound.”

                “I don’t know where I’m wounded,” she said beginning to cry more out of fear for the strange occurrence than for any pain she may have felt. “Please, commander, sir. If I am cursed, everyone in the garrison will be effected.”

                Rautu knelt to the crouching woman and forced her to recline by placing his hands on her shoulders and laying her on the ground. “You will be quiet and you will not cry,” the Den Asaan said with mild agitation. “Amghari do not cry, Mivaari.”

                “Yes, sir,” Nerri sniffed.

                Rautu commanded the regiments to leave the garrison and they speedily obeyed his word. He removed certain portions of Nerri’s armour, being as discreet as was possible in his assessment, but when he noticed the wound originated from the more intimate space between her thighs, he stood back and eyed his new recruit with circumspection. He judged her age and her time of life and thought she was old enough for a Frewyn woman to know of such an injury. Perhaps her ignorance was owning to her heritage as one of the Nnodainya or perhaps her clan had perform some horrific ritual on her before she took her leave, but even if either instance could be supposed, the Den Asaan resolved to consult his mate before any other action was taken.

                The commander was fetched and an answer was soon supplied. “Things of this nature happen late in Nnodainya women, as I understand it,” she said quietly to her mate. “Their clan sees such an unpleasant business as a sign for marriage and as a means for children. I do wonder why she should believe it’s a curse. Perhaps they still learn the old Frewyn myth of Persays.”

                “Is that another of your invisible gods?” the giant groaned.

                “She is the goddess of fertility. The story is such that Persays was the daughter of one of the higher gods. She was the only one of her sister who could not bear a child. While the other gods and goddess were occupied with having a few dozen children every other day or so, she was barren and therefore she could only be miserable.” She exchanged an arch smile with her mate. “She mated with every one of the male gods in hopes of baring a child. Eventually, she became desperate and sliced open her belly to discern the problem. She looked about and found that she had no womb unlike her hundreds of sisters, and she decided to make one for herself. She was then able to have children but when her father saw what she had done to herself, he cursed her and all of her children, making them destined to bleed as a remembrance of what Persays had done.”

                Rautu stared at the commander for a time and did not blink in his deliberation on the subject. “ . . . That is ridiculous,” he asserted, astonished that such a terrifying history could be believed.

                “It is utter nonsense, Iimon Ghaala, and most Frewyns don’t believe this fathomed bilge, the devout will undoubtedly believe anything the Church tells them. You mean to tell me your people don’t have a similar senseless story to explain a natural occurrence?”      

                “No,” Rautu grunted. “My people are taught to understand themselves.”

                The commander grinned at her mate’s irritated appearance. “I  suppose then you understand why a woman-“

                “Yes,” the Den Asaan said, giving his mate a precarious look.

                “Then I’m certain you shall have no trouble explaining to Nerri why that is. I think you would enjoy impressing your Haanta understanding of it upon her.”

                “No, I would not. That is the Ankhimari’s task.”

                “You would prefer Bilar, the young, male, magically inclined cleric to tell her?”

                The Den Asaan could not decide if the presence of a mage in his garrison would only aggravate the already difficult situation or alleviate some of the awkwardness of it. He grumbled and sighed, professing that Bilar was not the prime person to tell her that the condition from which she suffered was hardly a curse by any means.   

                The commander laughed at how quickly the Den Asaan became discomfited by so small a concern, and once she had enjoyed the diversion at her mate’s expense, she volunteered to assist. “Not to worry, Iimon Ghaala. I’ll send the herald to Rithea so that she can examine Nerri while I illuminate her susceptible mind. Perhaps I shall tell her the true reason women are made to suffer.”

                Rautu raised his sparse brows in expectation.

                “So that they may warrant eating all the chocolate in the world,” was the commander’s explication.

                Rautu immediately went to check his stashes of treats about the garrison to make certain they were still untouched. He made a secretive wish that Nerri would never find his many hiding places but to be assured of his confidentiality regarding his greatest love, he gathered every bar concealed in the garrison and took it to the commons for safety. He knew his mate would not touch that which was his and therefore believe his stash was secure, but to be not terribly unfeeling to Nerri’s circumstance, he returned to the barracks after his mate had finished explaining the veracity of her state and gave Nerri a small bar of white chocolate, claiming it would soothe her when such a fallacy of a dessert could do nothing for himself.