Underestimate Me

She saw as Laila inspected Rowen’s back in the corner of her eyes. She had not looked upon his scarred back since the night she yanked up his tunic and called him a woman. Still she had wondered about them. The marks on his back had been too shallow to be knives, for Josselyn knew what those scars looked like. His marks were different; broader and less precise. Their edges were blurred and Josselyn knew for certain what kind of weapon left marks like that. It was a weapon that did not grant fair play. She heard the whips, breaking the air. The lashes, she heard them swooshing beside her ears. She had witnessed whippings. She had been forced to stand in that town square and watch ‘justice’.

Once a girl had been punished. She had stolen bread and wine, and was chastised in the town square with three lashes. Her dress tore with every beating, blood trickling through the fabric. Her father had made her watch. He had forced her to stand first row, holding her firmly at her upper arm. It had been to scare her. It had been to warn her for the same thing could happen to her if she did not pay attention. Discipline was harsh in the village and women easily sentenced. As she had closed her eyes and watched away, her father had clenched her chin between his fingers and forced her head up, telling her to open her eyes or he would re-enact the play at home.

Her father had been a weak man, only able to punish his daughters but no real strength to stand against the council. Her father had been a cautious man, drenching her in fear that day. Fear of doing wrong and ending up like that girl. His method had worked. Worked until the day she had finally let her feelings for Rowen be felt, as she had suppressed them with that fear for so long. Her father had succeeded in keeping her obedient, until her foolish love had driven her to his door and in his bed.

Do you spend your nights with all of your ‘sisters’ or is just that whore! His words had almost persuaded her to let the back of her hand connect with his cheek, though Maa had kept her from doing it. Maa knew that a touch was a powerful thing. She had touched Josselyn, moved into her. Touching Rowen was a risk her Goddess did not like to take. Old touches were most powerful. The only moment Josselyn had connected with Rowen was when they just captured him and something in her had driven her to kick him in the gut. Even the leathery boot, connecting with the cloth of his tunic and his body underneath had been enough to send memories through her skull. Memories she had pushed down for so long. Somehow they were fighting their way back up again. They tried presenting themselves every time she glanced at Rowen. His face not connected with the remembrance of her torture, only his name.

“Rowen asked me to take real good care of you.” a dark tone reached her as she was drifting in the twilight of consciousness and empty void. “He told me how you’d scream when I touch you here,” His hand encircled her left breast. Her nipples stiffened from the cold gush of air that blew between the cracks of her confinement. The man placed his thumb and index finger around it and pinched down hard. Her eyes flew open with pain and she screamed. She screamed his name in pain.

“ROWEN!”

Josselyn moved her fingers to her lips and blew, the memories washed over her and it took her more effort to push them down again. A shrill sound filled the air as her breath passed her lips and fingers. It did not take long before the sound of flapping wings reached her. She glanced into the air, the sun shining on her face causing her to squint. Falcon was descending with grace, his wings young and full of strength. With more grace than she had expected the bird landed on her shoulder. His training was paying off.

“You are always there when I need you, aren’t you?” Josselyn said with the pride of a young mother filling her voice. The little bird pushed his head to her cheek, like a cat begging for favors.

“Ok, don’t you get ahead of yourself,” Josselyn smiled. “I have a serious task for you.” With the bird on her shoulder she walked over to her tent. Meredith had gone hunting for a midday feast and Josselyn found it empty. Somehow it relieved her that her sister had not been around when Rowen spoke his hatred filled words. He had just demonstrated all she hated from her former life. His bashful words about the most beautiful act she had ever engaged in, they affirmed her hatred towards him. Josselyn had been able to let the words go past her; Meredith would not have been as strong. Meredith had always been the more proactive one. Her hatred did not just extend to the ones that had wronged her and her sisters. Meredith had been bashed around by men so much; she had evolved resentment against the whole sex. Rowen was the worst. Rowen had hurt her beloved, for that, he deserved death.

“But I cannot have him die,” she whispered. Falcon turned his head to her, looking at her with his wise eyes, as if to say: why not? Sometimes Josselyn wondered who had raised the little bird. If it had truly been her, or if he had inherited his hatred against men from Meredith.

Josselyn grabbed some parchment and took a quill that was drenched in black ink. With a few swift movements she scribbled a scripted note. Her words weird and incoherent; for unintended eyes it was a note written by a fool. For the intended eyes it was a note with a small message. The message of her visit. Between her lank fingers she rolled the parchment to a small column.

“Give me that strong claw of yours,” she whispered to the little bird and without hesitation she grabbed the warm skin of his talon. A little string bound the message to his skin and Josselyn granted his patience with a bit of raw meat.

“Now it is time for you to fly,” Josselyn whispered. She stepped outside the tent again, feeling how Falcon moved his feet on her shoulder, reminding her of the impatient stamping of anxious horses. One claw gripping her shoulder as the other left its grasp. Walking up to Laila and Rowen, the bird got even more excited. He did not like Rowen one bit and getting close it tried to peck his sharp beak to him.

“Falcon, No!” Josselyn said stern. She turned to Laila and watched the exit wound on Rowen’s back. The day was hot and the valley encased the heat between its walls. Drips of sweat were moving down from their prisoners shoulders, some following the pink scars that covered it. A large X covered his broad back. Lean muscles lay beneath the torture they put him through. Josselyn questioned herself. Had he been punished for betraying Hadrian, or had his father not liked him to be with a harlot like her? Whatever answers those questions contained, Rowen had been punished. He had been whipped like many before him, though Josselyn questioned herself; how many women had endured what she had been through. How many women had to die in the woods, and how many did?

“The wound looks nasty,” She whispered to Laila, the breathing of Rowen reacted to her voice. It sped up and his back moved in the cadence.

“Pull my garment down!” he growled, his vulnerability was new to him. For she had hung against a pole naked for days. She had been so helpless and so alone. This was nothing.

“She does not take orders from you,” Josselyn said as she circled him, finally facing those strong eyes again. “I am moving you. We have a long road to travel to save your sorry ass from fever.”

Falcon on her shoulder looked at him with an evil gleam in his strong eyes. Two sets of eyes, so familiar, looking at each other with distrust and disgust. Josselyn whistled once again and Falcon pushed his talons against her shoulder and lifted himself into the sky, his strong wings using the air for his ascend. He would bring news, news of their arrival. They would travel once again, but they would leave most of the sisters behind, for they were not to travel the dangerous road they would tread.

“Don’t worry, the blond bitch will travel with us,” Josselyn said. This time she did not walk away. She wanted to stand right there, before him. She wanted him to look in her eyes. She wanted his disbelief she was saving him. Joss faced him, as hard as it was for his name this stirred the pain. His eyes stirred even more.