by V. A. Lewis
They found us, and they killed my mom. The only person in this world I even cared about was dead. Dead because a bunch of religious extremists hunted her down like unjustly. Like she was a Witch.
But she was not a witch. This world did not even have the word ‘Witch’ in it. But they killed her because she practiced magic. Because that was heresy.
And my mom was dead. Gone forever. I didn't even say goodbye. I couldn’t. I just ran and left her.
I loved her. I loved my mother more than anything else in this world. It was not even my world, but I loved her. Yet, I left her to die.
Now, somehow, as if the world was punishing me for it, I was being sold as a slave; perhaps I deserved this. Or maybe I should have been angry about it. Furious. But I only felt empty.
I felt nothing.
Not the hand resting gently on my shoulder. Not the tears streaming down my face. There was nothing.
I did not know how much time passed. Whether I sat there and cried for an hour, a day, or a minute. But eventually, someone picked me up.
It was the same man from earlier. He helped carry me out of the wagon, and brought me outside. People filed out of the wagon after him, as someone barked out orders. I looked around and saw dozens of wagons just like ours, all stopped on a grassy field just off the side of the road.
People streamed out of the wagons. People just like us, chained and dressed in ragged clothing. A small group of slaves hurried about unloading the other wagons, but most of us were gathered in a circle, surrounded by slavers dressed in rough leather armor. Mercenaries? Or maybe just guards, as they carried some crude weapons on their sides; only a quarter of them even had guns, the rest carrying daggers or swords as if they were a ragtag group of bandits.
One slaver, however, stood out amongst the rest. He was dressed in a nice business-suit, completed with a top hat and a tail coat. He looked to be around his 60’s, with a gray beard and a cane to help with his slight hunch. The elderly man was talking to another, much younger, slaver.
This younger man looked to be half the old man’s age, and was dressed just like the other slavers in that he had some leather-looking armor. But unlike the others, his armor had some mana crystals engraved on it, giving him an extra protection they did not have. He was also armed with a scimitar sheathed on his left, and a flintlock pistol holstered on his right.
After a brief conversation, the two men broke off. The older man turned and walked to a fancy-looking tent being set up by some slaves, while the younger man turned to address us.
"First of all, I would like to extend my congratulations to all of you. It was a long and tough journey, but we have finally made it. And now, as of today, all of you here are officially products of the Mancis Company."
The man raised his hands to his side and waited. He innocently looked around at the quiet murmuring of voices, and shook his head. "Well? Come on now, where is the applause?"
This time, the man got a rise out of the crowd. A young man stepped out and shouted at the slaver. "I am a citizen of the Rem Republic! You guys— you can’t do this! This is against the law! Let us go!"
Several voices of agreements echoed throughout the shackled crowd. The slaver stared into the young man’s eyes and gasped. He hurriedly walked up to the man and spoke apologetically.
"My dear good Sir, I am so sorry about this. If I had known— look, I’ll uncuff you right now."
The slaver got right up to the young man and reached for his belt. Then with one fluid motion, he whipped out his pistol and smashed the butt of the gun across the man’s face. There was a shout as the pistol came into contact with the young man; it was followed by a soft thud as he collapsed on the ground, clasping his jaw and groaning in pain.
The slaver looked down on the collapsed man bleeding from his mouth and cowering at the slaver’s feet with disinterest at first. Then a savage grin spread across the slaver’s face after a moment. "I knew there was at least one idiot who would say that."
The slaver turned away from the cowering man, and gazed at the crowd of terrified faces.
"Listen up! I do not care where any of you are from, or how you got here. All you need to know is that you’re now in the territory of the Free Cities, and the merchandise of my boss. We’re no longer in Rem, or Ferum, or wherever we collected you from. You belong to us now, so if you try to escape we are legally allowed to kill you. The sooner you learn to accept your new life, the easier life is going to be for you from now."
The man paused for a second, letting his words sink in. And once he was sure everyone heard him, he spoke mockingly.
"Well, as easy as it can get for slaves."
With that, the man turned and walked away.
After the man left, slavers came up and approached the more physically fit slaves, separating them from their groups and sending them off on various tasks. I barely paid attention to any of this; my mind was still a haze that could only focus on one thing— my mom was dead.
"So that’s why we’ve been traveling non-stop for the past few days. If they got caught smuggling slaves in Rem where slavery is illegal, they’d have been executed on the spot. But now that we’re in the Free Lands, they can move freely."
The voice came from the man that was carrying me. I only registered what he said because of those words. Free Lands? Where have I…
And suddenly, I remembered. My mom told me about the Free Lands: it was the territory of the Free Cities, one of the major powers on this continent.
They were a collection of independent city states numbering in the tens of thousands found across a vast swath of land in the heart of the continent. None of the cities alone could stand up to any of the more powerful countries, but together, they could even rival the Holy Xan Empire— at least, while fighting a defensive battle in Vitae. The only reason why they were not a bigger power was because they were always caught up in their own petty squabbles against one other.
When my mom told me this, I remembered thinking that they were just like the Ancient Greeks back in my world. That was until she told me more about them.
These Free Cities were not seen as a hub of culture, ethics, and progress, like the Ancient Greeks were back on Earth. In fact, the rest of the world views them as a backwards society that was reviled for one reason and one reason only: slavery.
The Free Cities was the biggest power in the world to still carry out such primitive practices. Most countries in this world had outlawed slavery as something that was inhumane— against even the Church’s doctrine. My mom told me that it was because all people belong only to the Goddess, so one man could not belong to another man. And yet, the Free Cities still did it.
This became a source of conflict between the Free Cities and all of its neighbours that had long since barred slavery, but everytime they were invaded the Free Cities would band together and fight the invaders back. Even the Holy Xan Empire once tried to invade the Free Cities over this, but because of the logistics required to fight in another continent, the world’s sole superpower lost the war. I remembered my mom calling it the Free War: named after the lands it was fought in and the Holy Xan Empire’s goal to free the slaves.
When I pointed out to my mother how ironic it was that a place literally called the Free Lands was invaded to free slaves, she laughed. She told me that that was the point of the name of the war— a spite against the Free Cities. I remembered that laugh. So gentle. So loving. And now, she was gone.
I gazed around at the camp being set up by the slaves for their captors. At the cages and crates being brought out of the wagons. At the sea of faces, all terrified, all uncomprehending of their situation. None of this mattered to me.
So what if I was a slave? So what if I was tortured or even raped? So what if I was killed? My mother was dead. I don’t care anymore. I hated all of this. I never wanted to come to this world. I might as well just curl up and die—
But would she want that?
The thought crossed my mind as my visio
n went blurry. I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to die. My mom fought to save me— she died so that I could live. But what reason would I have to live without her? She was my anchor to this world, and she was taken away from me. And how would she even know whether I lived or died right this instant? Was there really an afterlife where my mother could watch over me even in death?
My mind flashed. A memory of a man with blonde hair and blue eyes. A chance given in death; it was not the end.
I had no idea who he was. He might have been a god, and the fact that I had been dead confirmed that there was some sort of afterlife. And...
I grit my teeth. Was he the ‘He’ those three strangers spoke of? But if he was a god, then did the goddess of light even exist? Did my mom’s soul find her way to either of them or—
I never got to finish the thought. Someone was pulling my hair and it hurt. I was lifted off the shoulders of the man carrying me, and was being held up by my hair.
I looked up to see who was doing this to me and saw the slaver from earlier. He looked furious, and his fiery red hair only added to the effect. "Finally stopped ignoring me, huh? Of course it takes a little bit of pain to discipline little kids," he said, voice hiding no hostility as he tightened his grip for a moment. Then the slaver let go of my hair and let me drop to the ground. I fell face first as the kindly man who had carried me earlier scrambled over to check if I was alright.
"Please sir, she’s just a child! She doesn’t understand what’s going on!" he protested.
The slaver whirled and kicked the man on the face. He pointed down at the fallen man and shouted.
"Sir?! Call me that again and I’ll have you killed!" He turned and faced the crowd of helpless slaves. "We are your masters, and you shall call us that or be punished!"
The red haired slaver looked back down at the downed man, and stepped on his back.
"And never talk back to me again. Only speak when spoken to. Is that understood, slave?"
"Y-yes, master."
"Good," the slaver said, satisfied. Then he kicked the man one more time, before roughly grabbing me by the arm. "As for you, little girl, you’re coming with me."
The man brought me to the fancy looking tent I saw earlier, and called in. "Hey Julian, I’ve got her."
"Come in," an older voice called out.
He brought me into the tent and looked around. The tent was large and lit by a fireplace, with a metallic rod sticking out of the fire. Julian, the fancily dressed man from earlier, was sitting on a desk with a bunch of paper strewn about. He looked up and regarded the slaver who brought me in. "Good work, Marcus."
Marcus— the red haired slaver— grunted in affirmation and stepped back. Then, the old man got up from his desk and walked over to me; he slowly circled me as if he were inspecting a piece of diamond for any flaws in its cut "Hm, yes. Very good. Very good indeed," he muttered under his breath.
While he was doing this, I stayed quiet. At one point, he grabbed my hair and mumbled a question about whether it was real. Eventually, Julian seemed to reach a conclusion and sat back on his chair, satisfied. The old slaver looked me over and finally spoke to me— or was he speaking at me?
"You know, it’s not often I find a quality product like you lying on the side of the road, just ready for the taking. And right as we were about to leave Rem too. It was almost like you were given to me directly by the Goddess Herself!"
Julian chuckled, as if he made some kind of funny joke, before turning to the younger slaver.
"It is just as you said; raven black hair and silver eyes; a young and healthy body; all truly exquisite qualities a superior product should possess."
"Of course. I just didn’t want to show her to you until she was awake and moving, so you would be able to properly ascertain the quality of the product."
"Very good. That will surely drive up the base price by at least 20%. There is a market for little boys, but girls tend to be more popular amongst the more… wealthy. And her hair! I’ve heard of some nobles in Xanderia having such dark colored hair. Maybe she has some Elven blood in her? Whatever the case is, this is my first time seeing it." The old man stroked his finely kept beard, grinning. "Yes, we will definitely have to hold a private auction for you."
The younger slaver perked up at that.
"I trust I will be getting a percentage from this sale? I was the one that spotted her lying on the side of the road, after all."
"Of course you will, Marcus. But that’s something to be discussed later. And as for you." Julian turned to face me and smiled. It was not a gentle smile one would direct to a child. It looked more like the smile of a business man who found a new venture: a smile full of greed.
I felt my neck tingle just from looking at those avaricious eyes. Whether it was out of fear, courage, or something else, I finally broke my silence.
"What will you do to me?"
My voice came out as a whisper. Barely audible over the sound of the fireplace crackling in the background, casting haunted shadows over the otherwise pure white tent. The old man— the owner of this slaving company— waved his hand placatingly at me. He spoke reassuringly.
"There’s no need to worry. We’ll find you a good and rich owner to take care of you. Until then, we’ll ensure that nothing bad happens to you, of course. Wouldn’t want to sell a defective product after all."
"Sell me to whom? What are you selling me for?"
I did not know how I got the strength to speak, but I did. I spoke louder, with more energy behind my voice. But it wasn’t a shout. In fact I probably was talking in a normal speaking voice now.
"Child lovers." Julian replied without missing a beat. He met my gaze without hesitation, and spoke casually. "While I personally would never participate in such acts— I prefer the comfort of proper adult women— it is quite a profitable market that I can’t miss out on."
I felt my stomach drop. My legs shook, and I collapsed onto my knees. Of course it’s legal. My mother never mentioned it, but she never would have told me even if I asked. I should have known.
In fact, deep inside of me, I probably knew all along. But it was different from being told— from having it actually happen to me. I looked at the two slavers in the room, and I wished all of this was a dream.
I wished that I was back in Villamcreek, with my mother, just idly passing by our days. Safe. Happy. Or that I was back on Earth, with my family and friends. But I was not. I looked back up and saw the old man get up from his seat. Julian walked over to the fireplace as he calmly tried to assure me.
"There’s no need to worry. As I said, my people will not do anything to you. These buyers would prefer to have their product… untouched." The old man shook his head. He then reached for something in the fireplace and continued. "Of course, to do that, we would have to ensure that people know not to touch you."
I stared at the old man uncomprehendingly as he nodded to the younger slaver. Marcus grabbed me from behind and held me down as Julian pulled out something from the fire.
It was a long, thin, metal rod. On one of its ends was a circular shape, not made of metal, but glowing red. The man spoke nonchalantly as he picked it up and approached me.
"This would also let people know where you came from. That such quality product can only be bought from the Mancis Company. Now hold still, it’s only going to take a minute."
I looked up in horror as I realized what he was doing. I tried to struggle, tried to escape, but the red haired slaver was strong. Stronger than any man I had ever met back on Earth; he held me down as I tried to move. But I could not. I was completely helpless. I had no say in this situation, just like I never had any say in coming to this world.
I looked up and stared at the burning piece of mana crystal. It formed a symbol. A stylized letter M inside of a circle, with chains being unfurled behind its back, like a woman spreading a veil during a dance. But I saw past the logo— into the searing hot mana crystal blazing red. And I saw blood.
A young
woman dying, her blood pooling on the road beneath her. Then of a little girl, fighting to protect her friend, and losing her arm in the process. The memory of three strangers, and a broken child in the forest.
But most of all, I remembered my mom, dying, falling to the ground with a hole in her chest. She was protecting me, even in death. I was powerless— helpless to stop it. And it was all because of him.
It was because of him I died. It was because of him I lived. And it was because of him my mother was dead.
Everything. Even the situation I was in now, was all because of that fake god. So as I stared into the symbol about to be pressed onto my face, all I saw was red.
And as the symbol was burned onto me, I screamed. It was a scream of pain and suffering. A scream of anger and hatred. And a scream for revenge.
It was the only thing I could cling on to; the drive to fill the void in my very soul. I had lost my reason to live, and now I found a new one.
To make the Church pay. To make these slavers pay. To make god pay.
That was why I had to live.
Chapter 12: Slave
"Here you go," a voice said.
I looked up and met a pair of blue eyes staring at me. A middle aged man with brown hair was holding a bowl of slops out to me. I gratefully accepted the food— little as it was— and nodded my head to him.
"Thank you."
We briefly made eye contact before he averted his gaze. He sat down next to me, and we began to eat our meal; I did not say much, though he did not say anything either. Although he did keep passing glances at my face, which made me slightly uncomfortable.
I knew he was not being rude. I knew he had no ulterior motives for sneaking peeks at me. His name was Theodore, and he was the one who helped look after me since I first awoke. Yet, everytime he looked at me, I got a reminder. A reminder of...
I looked down at my bowl of soup and stared. A little disheveled girl looked right back up at me. She had silver eyes and black hair, which was quite unusual for a Human in this world. But I paid that little mind. It was the symbol on my face that disturbed me; the black letter M surrounded by a circle with chains spread from its back. It marked my face, next to my left eye. A logo showing that I was a product of the Mancis Company to all who saw me.