Blue morning light woke her, along
with the cock crowing hoarsely. Azya sat up, her joints stiff with cold, and
pulled some hay out of her tangled hair. The cow had her back to her, and
chewed peacefully on her grass. Clearly, Morda or Kellen had already been in to
feed the animals. She wondered whether they’d noticed her there.
Outside,
their small farm was busy with the morning chores. Their one field hand, Labert,
an orphaned child who slept on the village streets and used the meager pay from
her father to get drunk in the pubs at night, followed Morda with the plow.
Kellen was near the house, blearily looking at a shovel and hoe, as if he
wasn’t sure which to use, and her father was carrying the last of their
firewood to the house. Food smells from the kitchen told her breakfast was
ready, so she headed that way.
Ma
didn’t speak to her, but grudgingly threw a bowl of porridge in front of her.
It was warmer than last night’s, and with a soft word of thanks—Ma always
punished perceived ungratefulness—she spooned it into her mouth.
Azya
was just scraping the bottom of the bowl when Kellen slammed the front door
into the wall. His grizzled face was pale. “Ma. They’re here.”
Azya’s
stomach dropped, and she looked at her mother, who stood with her mouth open.
Without looking at Azya, she walked outside. Azya rose and followed.
Two
men riding brown horses, one of which pulled a small, uncovered wagon, dressed
in light chain mail and fading blue tunics and trousers, approached the cabin. Fa
and Morda already stood still, watching them. If they spoke first, there could
be major trouble. Azya folded her hands docilely in front of her and lowered
her eyes. Ma assumed the same posture, which was quite an unnatural one for
her.
The
men stopped and dismounted. The older one wore a simple brass circlet around
his head. It signified higher rank. The younger, a scrawny, pockmarked man with
an overlarge bulge in his throat, was dressed identically but lacked the
circlet. Azya saw that his boots were worn to the threads. So the rumors were
true—the Emperor was having trouble funding his military.
“We’re
here in the name of Emperor Raneurin,” the older one said. He addressed all of
them but stopped in front of Father.
“Hail
to our honorable Emperor,” they chorused at once. It was the response required
by law.
“You
are the head of the household, I presume?”
Fa
nodded, but kept his eyes on the ground. “Yes sir.”
“You
stink of mead.”
“Yes
sir.”
“So
you lack the money to pay the tax, but you can afford to get drunk on mead?”
Azya
strained to see her father’s expression without lifting her gaze. His eyes
wrinkled but he showed no other emotion. “Sir, mead can be brewed at home.” Azya
stifled a dry laugh. Fa always bought his mead in the village.
The
higher ranking solider pulled a flattened scroll from his pocket and unrolled
it. He read, “ ‘This notice on behalf of our honorable Emperor officially
informs the vassal that they owe coin to the Emperor. Taxes have been requested
but not provided. This is in violation of law. The vassal therefore owes twice
the original amount of coin upon receipt of this notice, or must submit to
imprisonment.’” He folded the parchment and stuck it back in his pocket.
Looking briefly up, Azya noticed his expression was almost bored. “Produce the
required coin.”
Azya
sighed. Fa didn’t have any coin. Most of their crops had failed that year. The
dry spring months earlier had brought little rain, and an infestation of
insects over the summer had destroyed what little had grown. He made a little
money from the milk cow and trading what they could in town, but it was barely
enough to feed them. They were facing another winter with no firewood, since
the Emperor had outlawed gathering it and only allowed registered merchants to
sell it. He then collected a tax on the merchants’ profits, they knew. People
who cut firewood unlawfully risked being caught by mercenaries who got paid a
pittance by the military to turn them in. Morda and Kellen had gotten away with
it a few times, but a near miss the previous month had made them reluctant to
try again.
Ma
shifted her feet beside her. Kellen cleared his throat. Morda’s hands were
shaking. Fa sniffed. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t have the coin.”
“Right
then. Pittar, bind him.”
“Sir!
May I request an alternative?” He looked the soldier in the eye, risking a
reprimand or fine. Azya’s stomach felt like it just got filled with cold lead.
Her heart raced. She had heard the rumors of it happening to others. She knew
her family was desperate. Were they this desperate?
“Fa,
no…” Morda grabbed his arm but Fa shook it off angrily.
“My
daughter…”
They were that desperate.
“She
is pretty, no? Young. Just seventeen.”
Azya
willed herself to not collapse. Tears from the sting of betrayal burned her
eyes. She shut them, so she only heard the soldier’s approach. She opened her
eyes and saw his boots. They were in better shape than the young man’s, but
still worn. Shiny steel covered the tips.
“Look
at me, girl.” She wanted so badly to disobey, but she raised her eyes. His
bearded face was close to hers. His breath stunk of sour pipe smoke.
“Bad
teeth,” he said, his eyes peering over her. “Scrawny.” He reached out and
grabbed her chest. She cried out. He laughed. “Nothing there. No, she’s not what
they want.”
“Then
a slave, perhaps?” Azya let out a sob. She prayed Kellen or Morda would come to
her aid. They stayed silent. She glanced at Ma. She didn’t even look at her.
“Hmm.”
The soldier looked at her. “What can she do?”
“She
cooks, cleans, feeds the animals,” Fa answered. “She’s strong. Doesn’t need
much food.”
“Only
had two bowls of porridge this week alone,” Ma added. The soldier glared at
her, and she looked down again.
“Does
she mind?”
Ma
opened her mouth to speak, but Father shot her a glance. “If she doesn’t, a
beating will make her.”
He
clucked his tongue and crossed his arms. “You owe a large sum, vassal. Still
not enough.”
“A
donkey.” This time Kellen, the eldest, chimed in. “We can give you the donkey
too. It’s old but reliable.”
“Pittar,
go see the donkey.” The younger man peered into the barn. He looked back at his
commander, shrugged, and nodded.
“Fine.
The girl and the donkey. I’ll take them both and clear your debt.”
Azya
fell to the ground. She sobbed, her hands shaking in her lap. Her father,
mother, and Kellen deliberately turned their eyes from her, their faces stony
and white. Only Morda watched, tears cutting dirty rivers down his cheeks. “Morda,
don’t let them take me!” she crawled in the dirt towards him.
“Leave
her be, son.” Fa’s voice was ice cold and fierce. He clenched Morda’s arm; he
had no choice but to turn away. The older soldier pulled her roughly to her
feet and shoved her towards the younger one, who bound her hands with a thin
rope and hauled her into the wagon. Moments later, the older one came back with
Moss the donkey, lead by a rope. Her mother and brothers returned to their
chores, but Morda continued to weep silently. Fa stood, leaning on the side of
the house, watching with an unreadable expression. Did Azya see regret there?
No. That was her imagination. Wishful thinking.
“You’re
lucky you had a daughter,” the soldier said to Fa. “Young men are barely worth
anything these days, now that the games have been cancelled until the Emperor’s
coffers are fuller. I suggest you find a way to pay the coin next time. You’re
running out of options.”
“Yes
sir. Thank you sir.”
“Pittar,
let’s go.”
“Sir…where
will you take her?”
The
soldier laughed. “Do you care?”
Fa
looked down, as if ashamed. “No sir. Of course not, sir.”
Azya
curled up in the bottom of the wagon, nearly spent of tears. She felt the jolt
as they started off, and looked only once back at the small village as they
neared the tree line of the forest.
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