The Price of Love

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

The Price of Love

By Plot Roach

In a small village at the edge of the world where time has stood still since it began to creep like a turtle, but before it could run like a rabbit, there was a woman who walked with a wobble and a limp. She was the most loved woman in her tribe, though she had had to pay a terrible price for it.

Years before, while not a young woman full of bloom, she was still a prize for any man to call his own. She was, in fact, the wife of the patriarch. She ruled beside him, offering her wisdom when called upon, and often her opinion even when it was not. And though the village knew from years of experience that she was by far a fair and generous individual, one day there came allegations against her.

A young warrior, wishing to be the leader himself through force and trickery, claimed that she was a witch. She had crept into his tent in the night and stolen his essence, making his hunts no longer successful and his body fall ill. Now while everyone in the village knew this man was nothing but a fraud and a failure, ready to blame others for his shortcomings, his allegations were still valid under the law of the tribe. The village matriarch would have to be punished, and if found to be a witch, killed.

The false warrior had chosen his target well, knowing that only two men in the village could punish her: the one who accused her or the village leader. In any case, if the punishment were severe enough, it could kill her. And if it was too lenient, she would be stoned to death by the whole village. She would be permanently wounded physically, and the village elder would suffer along with her. The warrior knew that this would break the man’s spirit, and then the leadership of the village would be his for the taking.

She was placed under trial and found guilty by the spirits under village law, none having any proof of her innocence to defend her. The warrior stood ready to mete out her punishment, thinking that the village leader would not dare beat his own wife.

But much to his surprise, the leader chose to punish his wife in front of the whole village. As he beat her, his hand did not sway from its target nor lessen in its intensity. If anything, the love that he had for his wife made his blows land even harder. For if he deviated in even the slightest in his punishment, she would be killed outright. The old man’s heart wept, though he showed not outward signs of it. The punishment concluded, his wife was taken to the healer’s hut where she battled the spirits of the dead for many days until she was healed enough to return to her husband’s side. That she had survived was proof of her innocence. That she stood by her husband rather than leave the village, was proof of her love, patience and generosity to those who had judged her in the village.

Not long after, the false warrior was killed in a hunting accident. And though his wife cried foul, no one dared to accuse the matriarch. She stood by her husband’s side in all things. And stayed in the people’s hearts above everything else.

She walked beside him until the spirits called her home. A wobble and a limp that spoke of a price paid, of love earned, and of innocence redeemed, in a small village at the edge of the world where time has stood still since it began to creep like a turtle, but before it could run like a rabbit.