The Girl with No Name Copyright 2013 by Edward -EC- EC's Erotic Fiction - /~caligula97030/ (warnings: public nudity, sex between adults, corporal punishment, maledom, humiliation, war violence, occult, language) Introduction - Forward by Master-Historian Maritza Ortskt-Dukovna Every country has its legends; the stories of people whose lives have transcended historical reality into that strange space between truth and fantasy. The Grand Duchy of Upper Danubia (or the Danubian Republic, as we prefer to call ourselves today) is certainly no exception to that common trend throughout humanity. In our case we have the stories of the Ancients, the Byzantine Priests who converted us, the exploits of King Vladik the Defender and his son-in-law, and songs about the Nymphs who defended the Duchy when almost all of its men had been killed. However, Danubia’s favorite story has always been the saga of the girl-with-no- name. She shows up in historical records starting around 1750, and seems to have completely disappeared around ten years later. According to witnesses who claimed to have seen her, she was the prettiest, smartest, and nicest young woman imaginable. However, she was condemned to always be on the run, tormented by the Destroyer who followed closely behind her. In earlier versions of the story, the Destroyer, who at the time still was identified with the Christian Beelzebub, had a semi-human form and rode on her shoulder. Later, the story goes that she was running from the Destroyer. Because the Destroyer could never quite catch her, the Destroyer’s vengeance was inflicted on anyone the girl-with-no-name tried to love. The girl-with-no-name’s adventures began at her home in Rika Heckt-nemat. The legend claims that she was so beautiful that the town’s other women couldn’t bear to look at her, and demanded that the council’s elders order her executed. The girl-with-no-name made a pact with the Destroyer to escape, and as soon as she was gone, the Destroyer condemned everyone in the town to die from the plague. The girl-with-no-name ran from province to province, trying to find love, protection, and peace. Many men loved her, and all of them died tragically. When the girl-with-no-name fled to Danúbikt Moskt and the Grand Duke fell in love with her, to punish the Duke, the Destroyer burnt the entire capitol. In the end, no one knew what became of the girl-with-no-name. For a decade she wreaked havoc on the people who crossed her path and then vanished without a trace. She became the favorite subject of campfire songs and a story to scare children, especially boys and teenagers. I think every mother in Danubia is guilty of telling her sons to avoid strange women who seem too beautiful to be true, especially ones in the woods or on the roads, because somewhere the girl-with- no-name continues her tormented voyage. In 1855, on the 100th anniversary of the Great Fire that destroyed the nation’s capital, the famous Danubian poet and song-writer Dangúckt Tók compiled the stories of the girl-with-no-name into a song, which, although over-simplified, continues to be the best-known version of the legend. The girl condemned to wander… The anguish in her soul… Her Path in Life is destruction… The darkness rides her shoulder… In her eyes there’s nothing but pain… She will reach out to you… Yes, you’re the one who’ll save her… But take her hand… …and her kiss will seal your fate… The Destroyer holds out his bait… …and for you, oblivion awaits… One important job of the historian is to attempt to reconstruct the events that inspired a legend. Many historians will reject a legend on impulse, only to later discover archeological or documentary evidence that does indeed offer proof that events described in the story actually did happen. I take a different approach, because I believe that most legends are embellished truth, not pure fantasy. Those stories exist for a reason: they were based on something that at one time was factual. Therefore, we must start our investigation by taking these ancient stories at face value and only dismiss details as we find direct evidence that discredits them. Even when events turn out to not have taken place as described by the chroniclers, we can use other research to reconstruct what actually did happen and often end up with a narrative that is considerably more interesting than the one given in a simplified campfire song. The girl-with-no-name always fascinated me. As is true for many defiant Danubian children, I remember several times going out into the forest and looking for her, and receiving the switch for my efforts. As an adult, I pursued plenty of “serious” historical research endeavors, but in the back of my mind I always wanted to find the truth about the girl-with-no-name. Whenever I looked at church records and personal diaries for other projects, I always hoped to find some reference to her. My search narrowed when I read the diaries of a city councilman written during the years immediately before plague struck down Rika Heckt-nemat’s population. One paragraph that fascinated me focused on the punishment of a peasant girl called Danka Siluckt in the early summer of 1750. He described her as unusually pretty for a peasant, mentioned that she worked for him, and added that she was sentenced to the pillory for stealing apples. She was then either expelled from the town and fled, or thrown into the Rika Chorna by the city guards to drown. The councilman complained that the mystery of the girl’s disappearance kept him up at night and troubled his conscience. An account from the town priest for the same time period corroborated the councilman’s diary entry. The clergyman added that Danka Siluckt was viciously mistreated by the townsfolk, especially the women, while she was restrained on the pillory and that it was a shame to see such a pretty girl treated in such a harsh manner. Surly the Lord-Creator would punish the city for such an immoral act. Interestingly, the priest also seemed unsure whether Danka Siluckt drowned in the Rika Chorna or somehow managed to escape the city. So…I pursued that lead, suspecting that the-girl-with-no-name had started out as the peasant Danka Siluckt. I followed clues around our country, establishing a time-line of her travels and the events of her life. The search was not easy, because Danka was forced to assume different names during her travels, but I am confident I accounted for the ten years of her wandering. I took it for granted that she was in Danúbikt Móskt during the Great Fire of 1755, and found references to a woman who matched her description in the diaries of several of the Grand Duke’s advisors, castle song-writers, and concubines. The most important reference I found for that period of her life was in the memoirs of Alexándrekt Buláshckt, in which he described his escape from the Great Fire with his family and one of the Grand Duke’s mistresses. I am also convinced I know where Danka Siluckt ended up, after having read the diaries of the Orsktackt family, which they so graciously shared with me. During his later years, the farmer kept a journal of his city’s progress and politics, while his second wife, Vesna Rogúskt-Orsktacktna, wrote extensively about the farm and the growing Orsktackt family. She also wrote some lines about what Rika Heckt-nemat was like before the plague, and other comments about various places she had seen while traveling around the Duchy. Those entries convinced me, more than anything else I researched, that Danka Siluckt, the girl-with-no-name, and Vesna Rogúskt-Orsktacktna were the same person. So…years ago I started looking for the girl-with-no-name, and I found her. Danka Siluckt’s story inspired me more than I can put into words. She was not a tragic figure at all, but instead an incredible young woman who overcame tremendous odds in a Duchy that was much harsher than the comfortable country we live in today. As I traced her footsteps, I felt I got to know Danka. She’s part of me, as she is part of everyone who is a citizen of Danubia. And…as best as I could reconstruct it, this is her story...