PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My village had always been a peaceful village. Simple, always beneath notice; beneath concern. We were not even deemed worthy of pillage or plunder by roving war bands for what prize would we be? Such a small town so far out of sight would assuredly be far out of mind. What could we possibly possess of any worth? We could not even boast of horse or oxen. As a town, we were poor, but as a people, we were wealthy.
I remember the Spring. It would break free of the harsh Winter, causing great rejoicing and festivity in our small village. At the equinox we would gather about the Great Priestess, excitedly awaiting her blessing of the fields. The Priestess, who was my mother, would call upon the Great God and Great Goddess, imploring their sanctification. She would then wait for the sign of the Choosing.
One man and one woman would be chosen to become the vessel of the God and Goddess. I, being the Priestess in training, would remove all of their earthly arraignments, leaving them free of the lesser inhibitions of humanity. I would then anoint the chosen maiden with the signs of the Goddess, blindfold her, and lead her to a secluded glade. There she would become one with the Goddess and await the God. I would then anoint the chosen male with the blood of the stag and place its antlers upon his head. We would lead him to the roving herds where he would become one with the God and run as would the stag. At nightfall, the God would seek out the Goddess. That night they would couple, consummating the fertility of the fields.
We were an intrinsic people, dedicated to the Ancient Ways. We honored the God and Goddess in all aspects of our life. In our ideals. They blessed our bountiful harvests, so that we were never hungry. They protected us from the untamed forces of nature; we were always in tranquility. They granted us our ethereal desires; we never did without. Yes they are real. To feel their power manifest is to never doubt. It is a feeling beyond normal comprehension. You are surrounded by their presence. You become the God and Goddess. You become a part of all of the creative forces that manifest in all life. It is a feeling beyond understanding, but it is there, and it is real. They are apparent in all of us. They guide our arrows true. They give us knowledge. They give us love.
The Priestess taught us all that she had learned. She taught us they way of the hunt and the way of survival, for she was the fastest and truest of the village. She taught us the ways of knowledge through song and through script. She taught us the ways of home and family, for she knows of all. She taught us of the Ancient Ways, the ways of balance, the ways of creation, the ways of entropy. She taught us of life. She taught every man, woman, and child, any who wished to learn. We shared. We were a people of love and caring. But that was before... before They came.
The Autumn of my fourteenth summer came early, bringing with it an ominous feeling that perpetually lingered throughout the village. Feelings of anticipation and change hung forebodingly upon us. Fears and doubts reigned free where there were none before. All premonitions of forthcoming tragedy.
And then They came. Many men on horseback arrived at the outskirts of the village. They demanded to speak to our village counsel. Being such a small village, there were only two counsel members: my mother and Fegan, our greatest land holder. I explained that they were about business and would return until nightfall. They disregarded my reparation, not even acknowledging my existence. They remained closed mouth, ignoring any offer of conversation or hospitality. I did not trust them, so I watched them intently, wary of their every move.
They were a gruesome lot. Dressed in solemn colors of blacks and grays, ornamented with a single silver cross upon a silver chain. All but one of the men appeared to be of the warrior breed. They were all of stocky build, wearing black leather breast plates atop their gray linen tunics that were neatly gathered about their black leather breeches. They each brandished an unornamented sword at their right side and a dagger at their left. They each sat astride a black horse of great girth and stance, a breed much larger than any known to our region. They were regal, yet feral and remained ever attentive to the meticulously prudish man that appeared to be in charge of the assembly. He wore his robes as would a person of great stature. He was a frail man of great height, but he held himself with an air of authority, an air of superiority. In my eyes, he was a man to be aware of.
They remained mounted upon their steeds until word arrived that the council had returned and would receive the entourage at the village well. The austere man in the robes quietly administered orders to dismount. He chose four of the larger men to accompany him, the rest were ordered to remain behind. He turned his cold, hard gaze upon me and demanded that I lead him to the well. I complied with his wishes, more out of curiosity than obligation.
Acknowledging him indirectly, I made my way to the well, never looking behind to see if they followed. I announced their arrival to the council then turned to the stringent man, bowed, and dismissed myself, all in obvious mockery. I quietly took my seat at the foot of the Priestess and waited for the proceedings to begin.
The robed figure strode and openly glared at my mother and I. He turned to Fegan and bowed before him, introducing himself as Thomas of Canton. He rambled on about being a servant of the one true God. He said he had been chosen to go forth and spread the great word of God to us barbaric and uncivilized people. In my opinion, he was quite mad, caught up in a religious fervor that he wished to inflict upon everyone, willing or not. I cautiously watched my mother out of the corner of my eye. Her calm formal appearance never changed yet I knew what disquieting and disturbing thoughts ran through her mind. The travelers that traveled through our village, few and far between though they were, relayed to us the horrors that fanatics, such as this Thomas, had rendered upon past "heathens", or victims as I saw it.
After spewing forth his glorious intentions he quietly drew back and awaited our response. The silence had settled upon us as would a burden, very heavy. No sound was made, no breath was heard. Then just as I thought I would break from that silence, my mother spoke. Without casting a glance upon the priest, she asked him why he was so sure that we wanted to change. The priest stiffened and turned white with rage, shaking uncontrollably. He turned to my mother and damned her in the name of his God. He called her evil and vile, all the while praying to his God that she be cursed as should all women. The villagers became restless and began to whisper amongst themselves. The priest turned to face Fegan once again and demanded that my mother and all other women be removed from his sight. I had held my anger and patience longer than bearable. I stood and faced the priest, daring him to say one false word more to my mother lest I run one of our evil spears right through his self-righteous heart. Angered, he turned and fled back to the outskirts of town, mounted, and rode away. Wishing that I had seen the last of this pious lot, I dismissed the villagers and led my mother back to our home.
A great upheaval had descended upon our small village. And as I lay in rest that night, I prayed to the Goddess for guidance, but I could already feel her sorrow and tears of loss. She could not intercede in the wars and injustices that man put upon man.
The next morning I awoke to the sound of confusion and fear. Thomas and his men had returned at sometime during the night and set up camp right on the outskirts of our village. I stood and contemplated, watching the men as they wandered about their camp. I knew things would never be the same again.
Our lives changed drastically over the next few months. We were not a fighting people and many of the villagers succumbed early to the harassment of these holy men. And the first to fall into the "path of righteousness" was Fegan. He had always been intimidated by my mother, envious of her importance and popularity. It was all too easy for him to see the evil of women for it was a woman that provoked such greedy and malicious thoughts in him. He was the first to convert, but not the last.
Life became unbearable. We could not perform the smallest homage to the God or Goddess without being harassed, and sometimes beaten. We were never alone. Where one turned, one would surely find a man of the new order preaching the evils of the Old Ways; always preaching the unworthiness and ignorance of women. But the most devastating blow of all was that some of the menfolk began to believe in these new preachings. They began to openly look upon us with fear and suspicion. They would avoid us, ignore our pleas of compassion. And those men that still believed in us, spoke not. For those that did speak out were confronted in the dark of night, and the words of the one true God were left upon them in the form of welts and bruises. They learned quickly to not speak openly of their thoughts. We, the women, were alone. It soon came to pass that the Old Ways were vehemently forbidden, and those of us found practicing in secrecy, suffered indescribable tortures by the hands of theses pious men. Many chose to abandon their lives and beliefs in fear of persecution, in fear of death. All had been lost...
And all this time my mother protested against these violent ways, and she suffered horrible atrocities for her objections. She had been beaten, tortured, and raped by these honorable men. They broke her.
They had won. The women had been forced into submission by fear and pain. The Old Ways were gone in all but our memories. The men controlled everything. We were no longer equal. We were valued less than any livestock, tolerable as only child-bearers and servants. They had won.
They said we were "saved". Our "voluntary" reformation had gained us a place in the after-life. There was but one thing left for the townspeople to do in order to guarantee their salvation: rid the village of the harbinger of evil, the Priestess...
And so I watched, gagged and bound upon a horse, as my mother was stripped, beaten, and banished by her own people. And I cried as they led me away. I knew that I would never see her again....
Two summers have come to pass, yet it seems an eternity. I sit alone, crying. My home is a distant, distant memory that forever haunts my dreams. I cry for my mother, for she is ever lost to me. I cry for the loss of the God and Goddess, for their children have left them. I cry for my loss of life. I know I will never feel the compassionate touch of a gentle man. I will never know the joy of having a babe in my arms. And never again will I know the thrill of the Spring hunt. I am cloistered to the merciful God and must willingly obey his minions or suffer at their hands.
And now the dreadful bells toll their hollow cries, calling me once again to come forth and repent for my sinful memories...