WIP Post #6

A little bit longer one this time for you, but no more posts until next week! I have to give you some sort of craving, right? But really, I've appreciated the encouragement to keep these posts coming. The rest of the book is coming along swimmingly and I'm really enjoying writing it.

Jarta was not kind, but neither was he cruel. He and Azya remained in the town for a few days. She learned its name was Pelborne, and it was the largest metropolitan center in the area, which Jarta explained to her was the mountainous region of the land. “Aside from sea ports, the slave trade is booming here,” he told her over a meal one evening. “The Emperor often sends us to Pelborne to find the best selection.” Jarta often spoke at length about the land, explaining the geography, the culture. He seemed to take a personal, recreational interest in it. Most of it was new information to Azya and her curiosity was piqued. She wanted to ask questions, but a few mild beatings taught her that Jarta was serious about her remaining silent unless he prompted her specifically to speak. So she listened to him dutifully and rehearsed the facts she learned in her mind. She knew the information could prove invaluable one day.

            Azya grew stronger with the regular meals he provided for her. It was plain but hearty food, bought from the inn kitchen where they stayed. Her mind sharpened and she slept better at night. “This is not charity,” he explained roughly, perhaps reading her gratefulness and softening feelings towards him. “You have a hard life of work ahead of you. You must be strong for it or I could lose my job. It has happened to others.” He went on to explain that other slave buyers had even been executed for providing too many weak slaves who died too soon. He said it was less expensive to feed a slave than it was to keep replacing ones that died off. “It’s entirely pragmatic for business, I assure you.”

            When out and about, Azya accompanied Jarta with her hands and feet bound. He seemed to have other business in the town, and she waited outside many a building and shop, tied to posts, while he conducted his affairs. In the evenings, he unbound her in their inn room, but kept the door locked and the key on a string around his neck while he slept on the bed and she curled up on a blanket on the wooden floor. Azya only briefly considered escaping; ashamed of herself, she realized it was the regular meals that kept her with him. She realized that too was probably intentional on his part. Pragmatic for business.

            Before dawn one morning, when they had been in Pelborne nearly a week, Jarta roughly shook her awake. “Up,” he said. “Put this on.” He extended a dress towards her. It was plain, a dull tan color, but it was new and in good shape. She ducked behind a changing screen and obediently donned the new garment. Its fabric was rough and stiff against her skin, and the hem was slightly too long, covering her feet and dragging a few inches of cloth on the floor. Then he handed her a new pair of boots. Practical, heavy, and ugly, she pushed her feet into them. The stiff leather pinched her toes together and she winced when she tried to stand in them. When she was done, he bound her hands and feet again and she followed him. Outside the inn waited a rough-looking carriage pulled by two horses. Jarta pressed a few coins into the innkeeper’s hand and lifted her into the carriage. He sat opposite her and rapped his knuckles on the wall. The carriage jolted to a start and Azya fell to her elbow and she struggled to sit back up with her hands tied together. Jarta glanced at her as she regained her balance but looked away quickly. “We travel for two days. Sleep if you can. I can’t guarantee there will be room in the taverns along the way.”

            Azya leaned her head against the wall of the carriage and tried to sleep, but her stomach jumped with excitement. Instead, her gaze drifted to the scenery passing through the small window. To her surprise, no dust or wind came in through the window. When she put her hand to it, the material that covered it was cold to the touch. She looked at Jarta in surprise. He grinned at her, amused. “Glass,” he said. “It’s costly. Probably no one from where you come from has it.”

            Embarrassed by her ignorance, Azya pulled her hand away. The wagon traveled swiftly but the ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. Outside pale sunlight lit the countryside. They passed through the last few buildings of Pelborne, into small family ranches and farms, and soon it was the slow blur of woods and meadows. The carriage slowed as they climbed sloping hills. Azya wondered if they were getting into more mountainous territory. Jarta had already drifted off, his mouth wide open and snoring noisily. Soon, Azya dozed as well.

*          *          *

            Teldon had haggled a wheel of cheese for a map from a traveler he met on the road. He could not read, but after a few days of study, he could make out the pictorial symbols and figured out where he was and where he was going. A large house-shaped symbol marked a big city. He couldn’t read the letters of the name, but by his reckoning it was just a few day’s walk in the direction he was heading. He would reach it soon if he didn’t stray from the path and avoided the bandits that were plentiful on the road.

            Sure enough, two days later he found himself in Pelborne, learning the name from the gatekeeper. He blinked rapidly and tried to take everything in. He had never seen so many people in one place before. Even market day after the first harvest wasn’t this busy. Carts rattled across the broken cobblestones beneath his feet. People shouted, some in the language he understood but the way they said the words was different. Conversations wafted around his ears in foreign tongues that sounded strange and alien. He took a few tentative steps towards the town square and immediately pulled his bag closer to his body; he was jostled and bumped and didn’t want to lose any of his possessions in the chaos. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. Buildings towered above him. Most were made of wood, several stories high. Some were in obvious disrepair while others seemed to have been freshly painted. In the distance he could see buildings made of chiseled stone—a new sight indeed. Colors overwhelmed his senses—the normal grays and browns of homespun wool interrupted by brightly colored silks and satins and the glint of the jewels that speckled the wealthy flashed in his eyes. Some of these people didn’t even walk, but were carried in cushioned litters by servants or rode grand steeds or peeked from the velvet curtains of carriages so large they had to be pulled by four horses.

            “Watch it!” came a gruff voice from a man wearing a dented breastplate as he collided into Teldon. He had been standing still too long, he realized. The man gave him a dark glare as he passed and Teldon gulped and moved forward. His stomach rumbled with hunger and his rations were low. Strong smells of cooking came from the direction of a busy little building just ahead. He swallowed his nerves once more and made his way towards it.

            Expecting a reprieve from the chaos of the street, Teldon gasped as he entered the crowded tavern. It was as if they had crammed all of the bustle of the street into a small room where people sat at thick wooden tables, drinking from pewter tankards and eating meals off of pewter plates. The noise was deafening, unaided by a wiry man who pounded on movable white tiles of some kind of musical instrument, accompanied by drunken singing in an unfamiliar language. Teldon’s stomach growled again and driven by hunger, he pushed his way to one of the remaining empty seats at the counter near the kitchen. The two people on either side of him—a merchant with a hooded face and a drunk soldier—completely ignored him. Teldon sighed with relief. He grasped his pocket, feeling the few coins he possessed inside of it. He hoped he could afford to eat here.

            “What’ll it be?” A young barmaid with a pockmarked face banged her hand on the counter in front of him to get his attention.

            “Oh…uh, a pint of ale,” he stammered. “And, um. Stew, if you have it.”

            “Two coin,” she said. With relief, he paid the small sum and minutes later a steaming bowl of stew and cold ale sat in front of him. He hadn’t had food that rich in ages. He slurped it greedily.

            His hunger satiated, Teldon wondered what to do next. If Azya was still in Pelborne, it would be impossible to find her in the crowds. And if she was a slave, like her brother said she was, she was likely being protected by someone who was armed.

            “Ma’am…Madam…” Teldon got the attention of the barmaid, who looked at him sideways, as if expecting a proposition she was planning to refuse. “You wouldn’t by chance have seen a woman like this? A bit tall, long brown hair, wide brown eyes?” She snorted.

            “That describes anybody,” she said. “Hell, that describes me.”

            Teldon thought the barmaid looked nothing like Azya. But he pressed her for more information. “Has there been a slave auction here recently?”

            “You don’t look like the type that can afford a slave, lad.”

            “I’m not looking to buy.” He was growing annoyed with her and started to glance impatiently around the room, seeing if someone else might be more helpful.

            “There was a slave auction three days ago. The next one is happening, oh, in twenty minutes or so.”

            “Were any of the slaves like the woman I described?”

            The woman laughed. “Do I look like I attend slave auctions? Now, if you’re finished eating, leave the seat for someone else.”

            Teldon drank the last swallow of his ale and got up. He moved towards the door, lost in his thoughts as he pondered what he would do next. The only thing he could think of was visiting that slave auction to see if Azya was one of the ones being sold. How he would get her out of it if he did find her there was something he didn’t know. He’d figured it out if it came to that.

            Outside a crowd was already funneling towards the town square. Above the heads of the people Teldon could see a tall wooden platform. He pushed through and managed to get close to the front, peering over those who blocked his view. He had never seen a slave auction before, and couldn’t help but be curious. His eyes darted around, keeping watch for anyone who looked like Azya.

            The first thing he saw surprised him. A man—fat, and opulently dressed—climbed the platform and spoke loudly. “Before the auction begins, behold the Emperor’s kindness!” Another man yanked something up the platform by a chain. Stumbling forward was a line of small figures, dressed in rags, and bound by chains to each other. Children. One or two cried. Most had dead, defeated looks. Teldon’s stomach grew sour.

            “These are the children of citizens who, in one way or the other, defied the Emperor. Instead of punishing the parents with execution, he accepted a donation of these brats as slaves. These children will be sold at a steep discount. May we start the bidding at five coin?”

            All around him people started shouting numbers. Teldon stared at the chained children. One in particular caught his eye; her face was gray and hair stringy from not having been washed in a long time, but her eyes forcefully reminded him of Lissella, and his stomach churned. Grief hit him like a punch to the gut. He doubled over, certain he was going to be sick, and fell to his knees. Those around him ignored him, even stepped closer to him, as if he were no longer there. In the dirt, he took great gasping breaths, feeling hot and forcing down the bile that rose through his throat.

            Just when he thought he was about to lose his lunch on the city street, a flash of light and intense heat surrounded him with a deafening noise. His nausea instantly passed but in his weakness he fell backward, scraping his palms on the gravel. The fog of his brain dissipated and he saw around him that the crowed had cleared. No, not cleared. Several people lay in the dirt around him, not moving.

            He scrambled to his feet and looked around for the attacker. The crowd was dispersing with panicked cries and he watched the auctioneer herd the chained children off the stage and away from the chaos. Still dizzy, he looked around for an escape route himself, and located a mostly-clear path towards an alleyway. He didn’t know where it went, but it would get him away. He took another look at the people lying in the dirt. They were still and white. He knew of no way to help them, so he grasped his pack close and took off running.

            Strong hands suddenly clamped down on his shoulders and he cried out. He clutched the strap of his bag and tried to wrench free but the people holding him were too strong. Or there were too many. He couldn’t tell, because a large hand smothered his mouth and someone roughly tied a cloth over his eyes. He was dragged, struggling, towards a nearby building, down some stairs and slammed into a chair. He felt someone tying him up and he strained against the ropes.

            “Let me go!”

            “Was that the first time that happened?” someone demanded. The male voice spoke the common tongue but with an accent Teldon didn’t recognize.

            “The attack? I’ve never seen anything like it. Was it your doing?”

            “Our doing? You did it!” accused another voice.

            “And you’ll talk, now,” said the first.

            Teldon fought down his panic. “Honest, I’m poor…and homeless. I’ve only just arrived. I’ve never been here before. I’m looking for a friend, that’s all.”

            Someone tore the blindfold off his eyes and he saw that he was in a dark cellar, lit only by a single oil lamp that smoked. Two men stood over him, both of them with masked faces. One wore a red tunic and matching pants that stopped short of his ankles. A leather utility belt crossed his chest. His skin was dark, darker than Teldon had ever seen before. He wondered if he was wealthy, considering the color of his clothes, but they were worn and torn in places. The second man was tall and thin with a sword on his belt. He wore clothes that were plain but in good condition. It was his voice that Teldon had first heard, and he addressed him again.

            “Where are you from?”  he demanded.

            “A village, two days walk east of here. It has no name. Really…I don’t know who you are…I’m no threat to you!”

            “We’ll decide that,” said the red-clad man. He crossed his burly arms over his chest. Dark eyes stared at Teldon through the slit in his mask.

            “Explain to us what happened back there.” The tall man likewise crossed his arms.

            “I…I don’t know. I saw the children…those, poor children…” His nausea returned and he choked. “My sister…” He started to sob.

            “One was your sister?”

            “No!” Teldon shook his head, trying to collect his scattering thoughts. “I…I don’t know what happened. I saw the children being auctioned off and I got ill…I saw a flash and heard a noise and the next thing I knew those people were on the ground and everyone was running.”

            They all started as a trap door above them opened and a third man; this one squat and heavy, his wiry red hair braided into a ponytail on top of his head and missing two fingers on his right hand, climbed down.

            “Four confirmed dead,” he said. “The authorities are looking for the culprit.”

            “What? Who attacked them?”

            The three men stared at him. They looked to each other, conversing with their dark eyes behind their masks. One shuffled a boot uncomfortably on the dusty floorboards of the cellar. Another cleared his throat. The tall one in black spoke first. “Well, you did.”

            Teldon couldn’t speak. He felt his mouth drop open. “I…I couldn’t have…I have no weapons…I didn’t want to…”

            “You are absolutely certain you’ve never seen or done anything like that before?” asked the dark man.

            Teldon shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done…are you asking if I’ve ever murdered innocent people before? NO!” He struggled against his bounds, but the thought started to niggle in his brain…could he have done something like that? Without trying?

            “Another case of latency,” the squat man said, his voice low. “We’re seeing more lately.”

            “Yes, but it is rare that we come across one that is so dangerous,” said tall man with a sword. He directed his next address to Teldon.

            “Why are you in Pelborne?”

            Teldon strained again at the ropes that bound him. “I’m looking for a friend. Now please, let me go. I promise not to harm you.”

            “What happened to your friend?”

            “She…” Teldon grunted as he twisted the rope. The squat man chuckled at his distress. “She was taken by soldiers to be sold as a slave.”

            “And what? You thought you’d find her and rescue her?” The tall man laughed. “You are quite gallant. And stupid.”

            Teldon felt his stomach clench with anger. “It’s really none of your business! Let me go!” He rocked the chair so hard that it upended. He tumbled over with it, feeling his face crash on the dirt floor of the cellar. The men laughed. The big dark one, to his surprise, righted him and loosened his bonds.

            “If we let you go,” he said, “you’ll be captured by the Emperor’s army and executed swiftly. You’ll have no chance of finding your friend then.”

            “Why?”

            “Well, you’ve just done something the Emperor fears most of all. He doesn’t put up with the likes of you.”

            “I don’t know what you mean.”

            “Look,” said the tall man, his hand on his sword. “You have two choices here. We can let you go, you figure things out on your own, and inevitably be captured by the Emperor’s army and executed. You’d have a week, at most, to live. Or, you can stay with us. We’ll keep you alive and safe. And we’ll tell you what you just did back there.”

            “What about my friend?”

            “What about your friend?”

            “She was sold into slavery by her family. I have to find her.”

            Man-with-sword sighed. “You realize that idea is hopeless, don’t you lad?” he said. Teldon had to concentrate to understand him, so bizarre was his accent. “Slaves don’t last long in the Emperor’s employ. If she doesn’t die in the next couple months, she’ll be unrecognizable to you. What makes you think that even if you could get to her, she’d want to go with you?”

            Teldon sighed. These were not unfamiliar thoughts. “Look. I have nothing left but her. I have to try.”

            The tall man made an understanding noise and nodded. The other two looked at him, consulting with glances. The tall man nodded, and stepped forward. “If you come with us, we’ll try to help you find your friend.”

            Teldon rubbed his wrists where the rope had cut into them and looked up at the men. He wondered if he had heard correctly. “You will?”

            “Yes. You’ll die if you’re on your own. If you’ve got our help, well, there’s at least a chance you won’t die. Can’t promise anything about the girl though. But we can keep you alive. We can keep you out of the hands of the Emperor.”

            “I did not kill those people back there!” Teldon said, standing suddenly and felt a fever rise. Was he ill? Was it the blight? He sat down again and put his head in his hands. What was happening to him?
            “You did,” said the squat man solemnly. “We know you didn’t mean to, but you did.”

            “We will explain it in good time,” said the tall man. “But you need to agree to stay with us. On our terms.”

            He wasn’t sure he could trust them. But they were right. He knew nothing of the world outside his village, other than he lived under the thumb of the Emperor, just like everyone else. And something happened in that town square. As hard as he tried to push down the thought, his gut told him it was true. Somehow, he had killed those people back there. He was a danger to others. His heartbeat slowed and he steadily approached.

            “How do I know you’re not working for him…the Emperor? How do I know this isn’t all a trick?”

            The tall man shrugged. “You don’t. You don’t know anything. You’ll just have to take our word for it. We’re on your side. We’re on anybody’s side who wants change.”

            Teldon shook his head vigorously. “I’m not a revolutionary. I don’t want to be a part of any fight or war. I just want to find my friend. I want to live in peace.”

            “And as long as the Emperor is in power, you’ll never have it,” said the dark man.

            “We’ll help you,” the tall man said again. Teldon had gathered that he was the leader of sorts. “And you’ll help us.”

            “Help you with what?”

            “Do what we do,” he said enigmatically, elongating his vowels. “Granted, we’ll need to set a trial period. You could be useless. But we’re…down a man.” The other two shifted uncomfortably. One of them sniffed loudly. “You might be the right person to replace him.”

            Teldon walked out of the shadows. He didn’t know what choice he had. If they were right, he could be dead within the week. If they were wrong, he could still be dead within the week. But they did seem more knowledgeable than he was. And he needed knowledge. And if they were right about what he had just done, that he had committed a heinous act that he had no control over, he needed protection too. He sighed, resigned to whatever fate awaited him.

            “Fine. But you’ll have to tell me your names.”

            “Can’t do that,” said the leader.

            Teldon threw up his arms. “How can I begin to trust you if you won’t even tell me your names? My name is T…”

            “Sssshhhhhshshhhhhh!” The leader waved his gloved hands vigorously, his eyes wide behind his mask with panic. “Don’t tell us! We don’t even know each other’s true names.” He shook his head, as if clearing fuzzy thoughts. “I am called Seventy-Seven. I hoped to go longer before I told you that, but…there you go.” He bowed.

            “Your name is…a number?”

            “Mine is Fifteen,” said the dark man.

            “And I’m Twenty-Nine.” The fat man bowed with a flourish, his braided ponytail flipping over his head.

            “And you’ll be Eleven.” Seventy-Seven patted him on the shoulder.

            Teldon stared at him. “Why?”

            “It’s the one we lost,” said Fifteen.

            “There are a hundred of us,” Twenty-Nine explained.

            “The higher your number, the more authority you have,” Fifteen interjected.

            “That’s enough secrets for the day, lads,” said Seventy-Seven, clearing his throat.

            Teldon stared at all of them. “Must I wear a mask?” To his surprise, Seventy-Seven peeled his off, and the other two followed suit. “Only on missions.” He smiled. His teeth were white and straight; if he wasn’t rich now, he certainly had been.

            “Was…was I a mission?”

            “Well, yes. I suppose you were. Granted, an unplanned one. We prefer to plan them ahead. Less risky that way.”

            Teldon sighed. “All I want to do is find my friend. And rescue her, if I can.”

            Seventy-Seven nodded, and smiled at the three of them. “A new mission, boys.” He grasped Teldon’s hand. “Anything to put a barb in the Emperor’s ass. Welcome, Eleven.”