Saerolyn crouched in the corner, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, as if its threadbare fabric could serve as protection from the chaotic activity in the lodge.The hard packed dirt floor was icy on her bare feet. She tried to tuck her cloak around them as well but its ragged edges thwarted her efforts.
Voices filled the room; harsh barking sounds of a language foreign to her ears. She let her matted locks fall forward, screening her face and any observations she made of the people around her. People milled about the large open space of the lodge. Servants scampered through the crowds bearing food and drink or firewood. Women slinked along the edges, some trying to entice the men into closer contact; others working to make themselves invisible. To her left stood the man who had accompanied the massive fur clothed warriors who had found her in the forest. He’d tried to soothe her fears on their journey but his words had fallen on deaf ears. Her focus had been the emptiness she endured: the emptiness of her body, the emptiness of her arms, and the emptiness of her heart.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him watching her, every few seconds inching closer, his hand reaching out to comfort then dropping in hesitation. She had no use for his comfort. He couldn’t give her what she needed with his words. Her stomach clenched, twisting in pain, and she grimaced. Memories flickered through her mind: the hulking men garbed in furs looming over her; pale, blue-tinged skin; the overturned earth. She clutched her now sagging stomach and felt the tears begin to cascade down her cheeks anew. In response to her aching belly, her breasts began to throb and expand, her nipples growing tight against the thin homespun. She could feel the cloth grow damp.
A hand on her shoulder brought her head up like a shot, the hair being tossed out of her face. The man crouched down, his gaze filled with sadness.
“Are you okay?” He whispered. She nodded tightly, struggling to control the wave of grief that was ripping through her. He glanced over his shoulder towards the far end of the room. The enormous stone hearth was located there and most of the warriors gathered near its warmth. The two who had come upon Saerolyn in the woods stood off to one side, deep in conversation with a regal looking man leaning comfortably in an over-sized wooden throne. Even from this distance, Saerolyn could tell that he was only half listening to whatever his men were reporting.
Upon arrival to the camp, Saerolyn had been marched past the man on the throne and she’d seen a grief not unlike her own etched into his features. She wondered for a moment what had made this man so sad before her own grief dominated her thoughts once again.
A shout echoed through the hall. The man who spoke Saerolyn’s language looked up and watched as one of the warriors he translated for gestured at him and yelled out an order. The man stood and pulled Saerolyn up along with him. She glanced over before casting her eyes to the ground.
“The prince wishes to speak with you. Come.” He gripped her elbow and guided her through the throng of unwashed bodies. Saerolyn quivered, her knees threatening to give way. She knew there were only a few possible roles for her as a captive: servant or prostitute. The man continued to speak, casting his voice low so it only reached her ears.
“He is possibly not really a prince, but it is the closest word in our language to what he is called in theirs. Speak clearly when he asks you a question. I will translate his words for you and your responses to him. Do not look him directly in the eye; it is not proper for women to be bold. Do not look down to the ground either.”
Saerolyn looked at him, questioning. “Where do I look then?” He paused and considered her query before answering.
“Look at his chest, at the amulet around his neck. That is where his warriors look.” He smiled at her, trying to ease her fears but failed. Saerolyn bit her lip and fought back the tears that threatened to flood her eyes. He tried again to distract her.
“What is your name?”
“Saerolyn,” she whispered. He smiled again and extended a finger to gently coil around a lock of her hair.
“Sun of the Morning,” he said. “A fitting name, considering your hair. It looks just like a blazing sunrise.” As they approached the throne he whispered a final missive. “Be easy, Sun of the Morning. They will not hurt you.”
Saerolyn stilled her features as they stopped in front of the prince. Up close his face was more haggard than she thought and his eyes were strained with pain. But even so, he emanated power. She could feel his strength, his physical presence, radiating off him. He shifted in his seat and looked Saerolyn over before addressing her companion. His words, though in the angry, sharp language that grated on her ears were given in a softer, yet commanding tone. Saerolyn’s translator was unable to hide the surprise on his face. He turned towards her and gestured towards the prince.
“He sends his sympathies to you on the loss of your child.”
Saerolyn was unable to control her grief at his words. She collapsed to the ground and sobbed. Her breast began to leak in earnest and she felt the front of her dress become soaked. The translator took a hesitant step towards her but stopped as the two hulking warriors stationed on either side moved towards Saerolyn. Each took one of her arms and helped her up to her feet. The prince watched it all, his face a stone mask but his eyes shared her pain. At once, Saerolyn understood he too had lost someone dear to him.
The prince spoke again to the translator. Saerolyn heard her own name in the translator’s answer. The prince nodded and then spoke directly to her.
“My men will escort you to my private tents. There you will find food and clothing.” Her language was harsh on his tongue and came out haltingly, the words stumbling over each other. She never expected to hear one of these fierce warriors speak to her in her own language and her shock allowed his men to grasp her by and arm and take her from the hall.
The prince’s tents were placed away from the main camp, protected from the smells of unwashed bodies and cook fires. The warriors pushed her within then closed the flaps. Inside she found clothing and food as he promised. Her fingers trembled as she peeled off her dress, the damp material clinging to her body. The skirts were stained and stiff from blood and fluid. She stepped out of them and used a small bowl of water to clean herself as best she could.
Her breasts throbbed as they filled with milk, milk that had no purpose anymore. She bent her head and let the grief overcome her. Her body wracked with sobs. She wrapped her arms around her belly and felt the muscles within contracting. Exhausted, she curled up into a ball on the floor, her cloak serving as a blanket, and fell asleep.
The sound of yelling woke Saerolyn abruptly. She scrambled to her feet and pulled the cloak around her naked body. She watched as the tent flap opened and the prince entered. He stopped at the sight of her. For an instant they remained motionless, Saerolyn forgetting the translator’s warning about making eye contact as she searched the prince’s eyes. He broke contact with a grunt and a gesture to her to sit. She lowered herself to a low bench and waited for him to speak.
“I need…you.” He said haltingly. “Help me, please?”
“What do you need?” she asked, her curiosity overcoming her fear. He spoke an abrupt command at the door to the tent and within minutes a woman entered, a bundle in her arms. The cry of a baby floated up from the bundle and Saerolyn felt her breasts begin to leak in response. The woman went directly to her and deposited the child into her arms. Shocked, Saerolyn looked over to the prince.
“She is hungry. Will you feed her?” He asked, his voice pleading. “Her mother died and the goat’s milk makes her sick.” He took a step towards them. “Please, she is all I have now.”
Saerolyn’s heart began to pound in her chest. She gazed down at the baby in her arms and smiled. She couldn’t replace this little girl’s mother, nor could this baby replace her own lost child, but for now they could serve as substitutes. Instinctively, Saerolyn brought the baby up to her breast and guided her frantically moving mouth towards a nipple already leaking milk down her chest. She watched the baby suckle, her eyes half closing in content.
“Hush, a leanbh, Mama’s here.”
~*~*~
You are suddenly (and unexpectedly) thrust into the position of substitute—indefinitely. Give us the details. Do you survive or is your next wardrobe purchase a straightjacket? Limit 1800 words
I’m not sure if I exactly followed the prompt but this was what popped into my head when I was thinking of substitute. The original piece is a LOT longer…like double the allowed word count . It’s amazing where your imagination will take you 
Yeah. What they all said. Damn, you make it difficult to offer any real constructive criticism. I will say this – one thing I do like is how you do not make the translator actually speak back and forth unless necessary. That added a bit of depth to this. I think a lot of people would have shown him speaking back and forth. Nicely done.
I liked this story. I assume it is a part of a much larger piece? If not, I would be surprised.
Oh, I loved this! A wonderful story, and I’d love to see it fleshed out into something longer. I’m going to have to reread it – I got so caught up in the story that I didn’t read very critically. I don’t know if I’ll have anything useful to say after a reread, though.
Raw and gripping. Carrie, I read you every day, and I have to say that I honestly think this is your best work ever. From the moment I felt her loss, we became one. VERY POWERFUL writing here. More, please!
This is so well done. I love the story, and the pacing was perfect.
Her awareness of her surroundings while suffering the awareness of her personal loss is portrayed very well.
The end was just as it needed to be. At least the end of this chapter. I’m sure there is much more. Right?
This is great – your pace is kept up throughout the entire piece – you have got instide not just your main character’s thoughts but also those of the prince’s, I feel for both of them, their anguish is most apparent. Your descriptions of where they are, their timeframe and their living conditions make me feel as though I was there. Have a feeling that this could be extended into a full novel. Many thanks for this.
Wow. You give such awesome concrit, and I’ll try to do the same. This is an awesome story. Just amazing. I really connected with her right away when she kept her face hidden to conceal her reactions to people in the room, it gave me a sense of someone wary, someone hurt.
I knew right away that she had lost a child, a baby, but I couldn’t tell if the baby had been stillborn, if it had been killed by the attacking tribe, or if it had died in some other way. It mattered to me, because I felt like she might not be sympathetic to a prince whose supplicants had just murdered her baby, but she instead seemed grateful for the translator, if put off by his efforts at comfort.
I absolutely loved the relationship with the Prince. I loved that she knew at the outset that she could only be a prostitute or servant and that the very thing that was crushing her soul turned into a third route. She could have been a wet nurse for the baby if her own child had lived. But she could never have been a substitute mother, really, nor could the baby have substituted for anything in her own life.
This is one of the most compelling stories I’ve read in a long time.
This was great. I can see how it could be double the allotted word count – there is definitely room for expansion here, and I hope you will.