Ri (age 29)

I decided to share a story or two. I have many short stories. The theme that is consistent in all of them is that the gorier the better. Be warned





I was born with the inherent knowledge of who I was. I never question this knowledge, I wouldn’t until I was much older. I was born into a family with only a mother and father. I would never have any brothers or sisters that I could call blood. Aye, there were many people that came in and out of my life that would call them selves my kith, but they were never truly my blood. One could assume that because I was my parents only child that I was spoiled, loved beyond being able to breathe. I have seen those children, and I was never one. My parents wanted me to learn what real life, life outside of my thatched roof was truly like. The day I was birthed, my mother never touched me. Instead she had the midwife hand me over to my father, who verified that I was a male heir, then abruptly passed me onto what I would know from that day on as Myrtle, my wet nurse then nanny.
Myrtle tried to care for me. She was a young mother whose child had been ripped from her hands shortly after birth and thrown off of the Giant’s Causeway. I heard her sob the story to me over many years. The clan had done this under the orders of my father because the child had white hair. Yet with age I see that my father had no fear of the Sidhe, and this child was sacrificed so that I could be nursed. Myrtle was forced to continue to produce milk after she witnessed her child’s body smashed upon rocks. She was forced in a way that I could never had allowed if I had a choice. Myrtle was and will always be the only woman I loved. She was the first voice I heard upon waking, and the last voice I heard before I slept. Her face haunts my dreams ever more, her soft young body holding me close when my infant clamor began. I remember feeling her own warm tears falling on my face before she placed me on the floor, in a dark damp corner. This was my father’s doing, I had to learn not to cry over anything. I was the heir, I was to be a man.
My mother, she seemed to always be sick. She would hide behind her hair that should have been plaited, yet my father allowed her some freedom. She never spoke to me, and I only know the sound of her voice from over hearing her speak with Myrtle about my well being. Maybe she did care, I will never know. I fear she was forced into my father’s home, just as my wife would be forced into mine.
My father is Ri, just as I am now. He cared more for the clan then he did for me. I was only his guarantee to rule ever more. I was his immortality. I find that ironic since it was I that ended his life. I grew to be a stout child, and I would become Ri before it had been expected.
I spent some of my time with young Druids, and learned about reading the intestines of our cattle. I found this to be fascinating, and soon my small hands wield the knife that disemboweled the living heifer. I was alone and squealed in my childish glee as the guts tumbled out onto the ground. I laughed in delight as the small heifer fell heavily to the ground, and I smiled ruefully as my small hands petted and grouped the slippery bowls. I never did attempt to read the future. The future was part of my inherent knowledge, and disemboweling the cow was just another step into my destiny.
The heifer did not quench my deep painful thirst for life ending with my hands. I increased the time between sacrifices. But after a time, no more joy was help in the heifers. Nine summers after my birth, I found myself sitting next to a fire with a girl of five. A dark hair beauty that would be my wife, her large victims eyes sparkled the reflection of the fire light. I find it unfortunate that her mother, knowing who I was, felt it fit to leave us be. She masqueraded as doing chores, and I found myself alone. As I reflect on the emotions that reeled through me I realize that they are similar to those of intercourse. My hands felt clammy, small beads of sweat form on my brow, my heart tried its best to escape from behind its prison of my chest. Without mush thought, my knife came out from its hiding place in my leather scabbard that was always belted to my waist. The girl moaned with unanticipated un-comfort, as the blade smoothly crossed over her flawlessly fleshed neck. He eyes no longer looked at me as a victim, but more with a surprised hatred. They were hard and cold, it was that look that caused me to think that I could have eventually wedded this child. Yet alas, now it was too late, for the blood oozed from the thin wound and she slumped, still sitting, before me. I yearned to do more to her, instead I walked out to where the mother stood, waiting for the perfect moment to walk in and find us embracing. I walked somberly by her, and only glanced at her once to inform her that I found her daughter unacceptable to be my bride. The screams that followed me down the worn dirt path troubled me not.
That evening I had a stern lecture from my father. About when murder was appropriate, though I could see it in his eyes, and the way he carried himself, that he was proud that his son was able to kill without thought, without remorse, for that was a sign of a great warrior Ri. I could be the one to lead the clan into war, and to conquer surrounding clans. I never cared if I reigned over a largely populated land, that was for my father to dream. I had another destiny to fulfill.
I being kith to the Ri, was allowed to walk into any of the homes under my father’s care. They were unable to stop my wanderings. Every other day, mother’s could be heard screaming and wailing over the loss of yet another beloved child. Their ages nor their sex determined weather or not I would sacrifice them, it was convince that they happened to be inside when I entered the home. Their were a few lucky ones that I allowed to live. This was only because they happened not to be inside when I walked into their homes, and I had made it a point to only enter a home once.
With all the homes visited and all the child I found, dead, I discovered it was necessary to find new sport. Woman were just as easy as the children. They would fall to their knees in front of me, bearing their necks, or exposing their bellies. There was no entertainment in this simplicity. I needed more of a challenge. It was my twelfth year that I decided to stalk my prey. My father and his brother’s had taught me that art of hunting. There was a subtle thrill in being quiet and waiting patiently for the meat to come to me. I began to follow small hunting parties out into the woods. Allowing them to get some distance between us. Here is where I began to lay in wait, not on any known path, but off it a distance so that if a man was spotted I would be able to stealthily track them. For some time I was unable to capture anyone in this manner. After many attempts I made my first wood kill. He was a man that had been honored by my father for some long ago deed. To old to be much of a match for my youthful strength. He did but up a fight, flopping about as though he was a fish in need of water. It was a sloppy death, I was unable to execute any elegance, and his blood ended up high in the trees as well as on my face.
Another lecture from my father ensued, yet it did not deterred me and I continued the hunt becoming proficient in stalking and then I moved into trapping. The sounds of a man screaming as he falls into a hole and then is impaled on sharped sticks is akin to the sounds of the Druids hymns. Never had a heard a sound so enchanting. It was the discovery of this man that lead to my becoming the new Ri.
My father was bloody faced angry at who had fallen into my grasp. Apparently my warring had become too much with the loss of this important advisor. This was the first time my father had ever struck me. His fist broke open my nose, and the sight of my own blood falling onto the dirt floor erupted an anger deep inside my throat that I had never fell victim to before. It took only a moment for me to leap up onto my towering father. My teeth clamped down tightly around the front of his throat. he was unable to call out for help as his breath was quickly taken from him. Thus began my reign. My clan will tell you that I was good for their prosperity. We warred against our neighbors, and I learned to stop pillaging life from my own people. But that is a story for another time. I am Shéamais, the Ri tuaithe of Faolán.