Writing: Winter Stores

The small village hidden away in the mountains had always had it tough. Food was hard to grow in the summer months, the stores were small and the lottery a necessary evil during the winter years.

It had grown harder still, a few decades prior, when the fallen gentry of the nearest town had fallen foul of their neighbours and fled to the mountains. Weakened but desperate, they were still enough to overpower the simple folk of the mountain and had soon established themselves as rulers over the small community.

And they had done the unthinkable, committed the heaviest sin – they had interfered with the lottery. To the mountain folk, the lottery was the fairest and most even way to survive the winter – and more than that, it was a vital founding stone of their community.

At first when they had found out about it, the nobles had tried to abolish the practice, saying it was evil. But when they had reached the half-way point of winter, when the wind was howling down the mountain side and the stores were low enough that licking the moss from the walls sounded like an appealing idea – then they came around to it.

And then they corrupted it for their own use.

Previously the lottery existed to give everyone a fair chance. Everyone’s name was entered, except those exempt due to age or necessity, and the names were picked under everyone’s watchful eyes. Those who were chosen accepted their fate and were honoured by everyone leading up to the feast. They were revered as life givers and treated as such. Lotteries were only held at times of great desperation and everything was used – from the hair down to the marrow in their bones. Their names were written on the Wall of Remembrance and every year they had a holiday to commemorate their sacrifice.

The nobles treated them like food.

They created a special section of women called ‘Breeders’, from the children born from them, each noble chose a child for himself. The child would shadow the noble from birth, waiting on them as manservants, obeying their every whim. When the winter hunger struck, they would be sacrificed for the lords’ dinner table.

These children were known as ‘Stocks’.

Typically the lords chose for themselves young girl babies, as they believed their meat would be tenderer. You would think that having a young lady follow them night and day would tempt them to give into other desires, but the very idea of this turned the noble’s stomach. The stocks were food, nothing more, nothing less.

But then again, exceptional beauty does have a way of altering the rules…..

The young heir was, as these things were judged, handsome, impetuous and a brilliant hunter. He was much sought after by the young ladies of the nobility and his dancing was considered top rate.

The mountain labourers thought him cruel and arrogant but when did their opinion count for much?

As all nobles, the young heir r had his own personal Stock, picked for him when he himself was a mere babe. You may think that growing up together would have caused him to feel a fondness for her, even if just out of habit, a fellowship for her as another human his own age.

This was not the case.

He saw her as nothing more than his property, to do with as he wished. He routinely ordered her around, kicked her when she didn’t do something fast enough and more often than not took out his foul temper on her when things didn’t go his way.

And then they both hit puberty.

Stocks had their tongues cut out and birth, so their crying did not disrupt their masters. They were given the most sufficient care, but only so that they grew strength and healthy, the better to feast on. They were kept clean only so that their masters didn’t catch infection from them. They were only given the most rudimentary of education – enough so that they could understand their master’s orders. Their clothes were hand me downs and were for the purpose of shielding their bodies from the elements. They didn’t have names – they were identified by who owned them.

But the Heir’s Stock was beautiful.

Her hair was the colour of sun ripened corn (or what people assumed was the colour of sun ripened corn, theirs not being ta farming community. Actually it was more the shade of rich honey stored in a warm larder), her eyes were the deep grey of the mountain deeps, almost purple in shade. Even the nobles were heard to remark in whispers that the Overlord had made a mistake in choosing the babe for stock.

And of course, the heir in his 17^th year could not help but notice this.

Any noble caught whispering that she was too good for stock was whipped to within an inch of his life. Any who dared look too long at her or even glanced her way was punished.  He started keeping her within arm’s reach at all times, even taking to locking her away within his suite for hours or days at a time.

And no one was more punished than she. Her body was constantly covered with the dark marks of his hands, her frame grew frailer by the day as he denied her food and once, she appeared with a large chunk of her hair seared off, the heat still staining her cheeks.

And yet it was not this that worried the Overlord.

The Heir’s Stock clothes were clearly if high quality than what was normally issued. Her chores seem to have dwindled to nothing but sitting quietly within sight of the heir. After her hair had been burnt the servants had whispered of how they had been ordered to attend to her to repair the damage, cleaning and cutting her hair – and of the expensive comb that graced it.

The Overlord was severely frightened that for the first time on decades a noble had committed the ultimate taboo.

He had fallen for his Stock.

The Overlord knew he had to take drastic measures before it got out of hand.

He summoned his son and informed him that his stock was to be slaughtered the next day and he would be granted another. Surprisingly, his son seemed to accept it with good grace.

As he and his court lay dying from the poison laced stew later that evening, he realised he may have jumped to conclusions somewhat. Alas, it was too late to change fate.

The Heir stood in the middle of the courtroom, surrounded by the bodies of the dead. To ensure that he father died and there were no repercussions, he had poisoned and sentenced to death the entire court. He felt no regret.

He turned to his stock, mute in the corner. Her face had not changed once from its usual serene expression.

“Now then darling, nothing can separate us ever again.” He embraced her, and she returned it.

She lifted her face to his and for the first time in her life smiled.

And then she plunged a dagger into him.

He fell from her grasp, blood dripping from her lips. “why.” He gasped. “I love you.”

“Because that is her purpose for existing sweetie.” An old woman’s voice sounded behind him, one of the mountain labourers.

“You nobles are such the romantic sort.” She sniffed. “We knew that sooner or later, if we bred for beauty, one of you wouldn’t be able to resist. And then we would have our chance.”

She turned to him, sprawled out on the floor, but he was already beyond hearing.

“Ah well, never mind.” She turned to the Stock. “Well done girl, we’ll have food enough for generations with this lot.”