Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  Surely the very walls would cry out and call attention to her!

  Nonetheless, Ren’s fingers had a mind of their own, and found the small metal latch that would pull upon the coffer.

  “What is happening here, sweet Ren?” she asked calmly.

  Ren froze, her blood turning into icicles. She was stunned, motionless, with her hand on the latch, which was now lifted half-way up.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, Yuna was standing there, a coy half-smile on her face. Her eyes seemed to glimmer in the fading darkness.

  “Sleep,” Ren whispered breathlessly. “I couldn’t . . . and then I was tired and . . . I meant . . .”

  Her voice trailed off in confusion.

  Yuna reached down, took Ren by the hand and drew her to her feet. “Of course, dear sister,” she murmured, caressing Ren’s face with the lightest touch of her fingertips. “Of course you were.”

  “I’m tired,” Ren whispered. “I-I must go.”

  “Sleep well, sister.”

  Ren hurried out of the room, feeling Yuna’s bright and glowing eyes on her back as she fled.

  Celty

  Year 33th – Month of the Hare

  Emissaries from the other kingdoms flooded the city like rats to a rubbish pile. The people of the Nari Clan moved with a strange, fluid kind of grace, easily sticking out in the jade city of An Wan due to their impeccable clothes and elegant hairstyles. The imperial capital of the Hiwan Clan welcomed them, lost in the joy and freedom of a royal wedding. Every day the city was abuzz with wedding-related news. Newcomers to the city. Updates on the arriving Nari caravan. And cooks at the palace, who constantly boasted over their new creations of especially decadent dishes like smoked fish, glazed fruit, and more.

  Celty kept an eye on those comprising the Nari Clan, letting the gossip about them slide in and out of her mind: “No one can be that perfect and be trustworthy.” “They are entirely too clean and far too arrogant.”

  From in between the bars of her cage, Celty peered out at the street celebrations even though her pen was an old thing, one barely tall enough for her to stand in. It smelled like piss and vomit from the other slaves in there with her, and all those who had been there before.

  Her ragged black hair spilled into her eyes when she tried to peer out, so she batted at the strands impatiently, pulling the red-streaked locks behind her ears. The scent of fresh food filled every avenue with the heady smells of rice, dried seaweed, and smoked fish. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it.

  It was always easier to forget hunger when she acted like it wasn’t even there. Besides, Goro had to feed her eventually. A shrunken, weak slave brought almost no money.

  Fortunately for Goro, Celty was strong.

  A woman wearing a silk wrap festooned with creamy flowers strolled by, never casting a glance her way. All the nobles were like that, Celty thought fiercely. If they didn’t see the slaves, they didn’t exist.

  But the slaves bore the burden of their beautiful city on their weary backs.

  Behind the woman trailed a bevy of servants carrying heavy wooden cases gilded with gems. The colored jewels sparkled in the sunlight.

  Celty snarled under her breath, “Waste of wealth.”

  Even the woman’s servants looked pristine, their chins tilted up as if they didn’t see the riffraff in the streets as they crossed the city. Not far away loomed the imperial palace, glimmering in the sunlight and seeming to stretch above the whole city like an ancient memory. Celty cursed that too.

  “Busy out there,” murmured one slave sharing her cage, his eyes peering through the bars with unusual intelligence.

  Celty studied him again, still taken aback by his rough features and strong frame. She’d been a slave ever since she could remember – the shadows of her past lay beyond her recollection. Servitude had been her life, and she’d never met a slave yet with such calculating eyes.

  Behind him crouched another slave, this one with narrow shoulders, blond hair, and arms corded with muscle. His thin eyes narrowed as he watched the crowd. He looked over, grabbing her gaze, then feinted toward her.

  Celty turned away, cursing him under her breath.

  Outside their cage bustled a fat man with hairy arms and a bulbous nose. Goro. A squat, fat man as annoying as a sneeze. He clambered on top of a wooden platform while speaking with another slave owner who held his slaves in an iron cage wrapped in thorns. Celty noticed a few eyes peering out of it every now and then, but otherwise its slaves were barely visible through the strange foliage.

  None of them ever tried to escape, the way Celty did.

  “Three,” Goro said to the other slave master. “Mine have been working in the fields, but I need money.” He scowled at his slaves, as if it were their fault they were alive. “All three need to go today. You?”

  “Five,” said the other. “Let’s hope the Fox Clan is in search for a couple of good slaves when they come through today, eh? All these nobles have money to waste. Maybe we can use their coins to fill our bellies one more night.”

  Across the square was another slave master haggling with a member of the imperial court over a particularly broad slave with bulging shoulders and arms. The man stood with his eyes fixed on the horizon, his jaw locked. Behind him, several other slaves trembled back in their cage.

  “Then double your price!” shouted the court member. “I need him to work in my house immediately. Before the imperial wedding.”

  “He is not for sale,” the slave master objected ferociously.

  “Why is he here?”

  “Awaiting the next caravan back.”

  Celty sneered, and had the slave master stood closer to her, she would have spit on him. The masters were all miserable wretches, selling others’ lives for hard labor and eventual death from starvation or disease. If the slaves were lucky enough to die early, anyway.

  The imperial court allowed slavery, especially for the outcasts not native to An Wan, although it placed some restrictions on the taxes and the sale of them. All slave auctions had to be held in the city, but no one ever really cared about the slaves. No one cared enough, except about getting their dues and moving on…including the imperial court, which took a twenty-percent cut.

  A small crowd started to congregate when Goro held his hands into the air on the top of the wooden platform towering high above the cobbled road. The light chatter in the air faded, giving way to the distant creak of passing wagons and the voices of imperial guards questioning those trying to enter the palace grounds.

  Celty glared daggers at Goro, able to smell his sweaty body from where her cage stood just behind him.

  “The auction will now begin,” he called. “Please step forward.”

  A crowd surged into the empty space. Celty counted twenty people in all. Some were imperial nobles brave enough to stomach the sight of the lesser societies. Most were servants themselves, sent to fetch the next slave to replace one who had died. That’s how it always went. Work until you die, then no one remembers you. Celty growled at a passing man, who regarded her with open assessment and ignored her natural ferocity. He moved on, yawning, to the next cage.

  The slave master across the square stepped away from the imperial nobleman with a rude gesture of his hand and joined Goro. Fuming, the nobleman spun on his heels and strode away.

  In wake of the final slave master, five slaves followed, chained from their necks, hands, and ankles with heavy manacles. They trudged forward, following behind him until they stood in front of the makeshift auction block.

  All were men. Two of them were strong and wiry, holding their heads high while they assessed the crowd. The other three cowered, trembling their chains as a result. These had bodies half-past starvation and skin marred with scars. They kept their gazes on the ground.

  Within ten minutes, two of them had sold through the thick haggle of voices and the greedy hands of the slave master exchanging Hana coins. The clang of passing coins sent a chill down Celty’s spine, es
pecially as she watched the two slaves stumble after their new master, their legs weak from being chained for so long.

  Goro grunted. The slave masters tossed rocks into rings drawn on the ground to determine who would sell to the eager crowd next.

  Goro and his bulbous nose always lost, Celty thought with amused satisfaction. He had to be the most luckless man in the Empire.

  “Die in your sleep, Goro,” she muttered. The other two slaves glanced briefly at her, then rolled their eyes and turned away.

  Just when a slave master opened his mouth to offer another slave, there was a sound in the distance. It stopped him as the crowd, Celty included, turned to look in that direction.

  Down the cobblestone road came a long procession, a nine-tailed fox banner waving high in the air. Celty sat back on her heels.

  “Perfect. More nobles to clog the street and leer at us,” she muttered.

  The other slaves in her cage said nothing.

  The Nari Clan caravan arrived all at once, it seemed. Dozens of horses, on which guards in immaculate uniforms sat, preceded its arrival.

  Thin plates of metal covered the shoulders, back, and thighs of the guards in petaled variations. The guards had pressed lips and roaming eyes that seemed to take in every detail of the square.

  Behind them came a group of people walking, weariness in their eyes but no sign of true strain in their clothes or hairstyles. Only remnants of dust and wear lingered on the bottom of their clothes, as if they hadn’t just walked many days. Lesser nobles, no doubt. Their clothes were too fine to be servants. Their eyes too bright to be slaves.

  In the middle of the procession was an elegant coach pulled by two thick stallions. Many servants surrounded the coach, including guards. Celty thought she caught the gaze of someone inside the coach as it quickly passed on by, but she wasn’t sure.

  The famed Fox Princess Ren and her family, no doubt. Everyone in An Wan regarded her as one of the luckiest women in the Empire to marry the prince.

  Celty snorted.

  “Too pretty.”

  “Weak legs.”

  “The horse pulling the carriage is skittish.”

  The words passed quietly between the other two slaves in the pen. Their eyes seemed to glitter as they studied the passing crowd of Naris. Celty kept her back to them, pretending amusement at the sight of the caravan, when in fact she wanted to spit on all of the Nari Clan.

  “Think he’d loan me that hat?” one of the slaves with her quipped, laughing at a passing servant wearing a tiered hat shaped like a box. Streams of silk ran around the layers and fluttered in the gentle wind.

  Hearing the slave’s mocking tone, the servant looked over to them, eyes narrowed, and muttered something under his breath before moving on.

  “I think he just said you have to return it by dinner,” said the other slave, and the two of them chortled.

  Celty tried not to notice the elegance of the passing women, but something in their expressions caught her eye. She noted their shining hair, sculpted faces and perfect-looking skin. As for their attire, she’d never felt the touch of silk.

  Nor would she want to, she thought fiercely. No doubt it would fall apart at the first sign of strain, leaving her naked in the next field she’d have to harvest.

  Celty lived in a world of labor, survival, and filth. At least she was strong, capable, and able to fight. Not tied to a servant to work for her.

  What purposeless lives they must lead.

  “The girl is as dumb as these women, you think?” one of the slaves asked the other. “She doesn’t seem that intelligent.”

  Celty schooled her body into remaining calm, giving no indication that she’d heard. Their low tones were still careless, as if they didn’t expect her to know their language.

  “Purple eyes? Black hair with red stripes? No brains there. Just survival instinct. Savage.”

  “She growled at me earlier.”

  “Because you smell.”

  “Well, at least we know she’d look great in that hat.”

  The two of them guffawed.

  Celty turned, shooting them a frosty glare that silenced their mirth. Her fingers fisted into a tight ball. Both slaves met her gaze, then eventually looked away in startled silence. Satisfied, Celty glanced back to the procession.

  “Oi! That’s Gavan Jenzud,” Goro said, elbowing the other slave master in the ribs.

  He pointed out a thin, humpbacked man with a long face, and Celty leaned forward, her hair brushing her shoulders as she listened.

  “No.”

  “I swear it. Look at that hawk nose.”

  “What’s the Horalu Clan doing here? This is between us and the Nari.”

  “No doubt the lynx can eat the fox, eh?”

  Goro and his chum sniggered. Celty returned her gaze to the passing man, who kept his eyes on the palace. A servant jogged along beside him, struggling to keep up.

  Those in the courtyard fell into total silence, mouths agape, at the passing luxury of the Nari Clan. The flag of the nine-tailed fox brought up the very rear with another bevy of dazzling guards and strong horses. The banner whipped in a gentle breeze as the caravan moved through the street and into the palace courtyard.

  Celty peered over her shoulder to follow the last of the entourage. A bustle of movement greeted them near the palace stairs, and then they were gone.

  "Jin!" Goro yelled. "Get our guests some refreshments."

  A young man scrambled out of the shadows near the stables where a shoddy lean-to rested against the wall. He rushed toward the well with a bucket, his long, slender legs carrying him quickly through the crowd.

  One of the slave buyers closed in on Celty's cage with a sneer. “Ah, I like the look of this one.”

  His slimy hand reached through the bars of the cage, grabbing Celty’s arm. She snarled and shoved him back. The merchant stumbled, tripping over his own elaborate leather shoes, and fell down. Several slaves laughed. Goro rushed to his side, teeth bared at Celty, and helped the merchant stand.

  “Useless, rebellious slave!” the merchant shrieked, scrambling back to his feet, a knobby finger pointed at her. Two of the merchant’s guards now flanked him, and shoved Goro away.

  “Get her!” Goro hissed to his own guard. “Get her out of the cage and teach her a lesson. Jin, give this man some of that water to refresh him.”

  Celty braced herself, refusing to back away as two guards rushed inside, grabbed her by the arms, and threw her onto the ground outside the cage. She curled into a ball, tucking her head against her chest and throwing her hands over her neck. The blows came to the back of the legs first, delivered with the tips of the guards’ boots.

  A firm kick to her back near the ribs. Another to her shoulder.

  Celty bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. This wasn’t the first time, but it still hurt every time.

  “Take her to the stable with the rest of the animals,” Goro shouted. “Now!”

  The guards jerked her to her feet, shoving her through the courtyard as the crowd parted for them. She stared at all she passed, daring them with a defiant gaze to feel sorry for her.

  None met her gaze. In the background, the sound of Goro’s rapid apologies slowly faded.

  “My eternal apologies for your pain,” he said. “She is a rebellious, hot-headed girl, but has never been so insolent to a merchant and . . .”

  Celty spat at a noble as they passed. He recoiled, frowning at her. Every step the guards forced her to take met with excruciating pain, but she bit any outcry back. The agony would fade, eventually. She could already tell no bones had been broken.

  The guards shoved her through a wooden door into room that smelled like horse manure and wet, rotting hay. Her head hit a wall when they slammed her against it.

  Celty fell, crumbling into a ball on the floor. She fought to stay awake. The metallic clang of a hook rang on the floor. She looked up, and despite her head spinning, saw one guard bring a long swath of rope wi
th a metal hook attached to it. Behind him, Goro stormed into the stable.

  “What were you thinking?” he screamed towards Celty. “You are nothing! You’re merchandise. A slave. You don’t even have a soul. How dare you even touch a merchant? You spit on a nobleman! You’ve guaranteed your own death. No one will have you, including me. Why would I feed you? Why would I trust you?”

  The guards grabbed her arms, jerking them together. The rope cut into her wrists as they wrapped it around them, burning the skin. Her nostrils flared with pain. A dull headache spread through her skull in low, pulsing throbs. Celty met Goro’s beady eyes with insolent hatred.

  He stared at her for several long moments, then threw his hands up in the air.

  “Stay with the animals where you belong,” he muttered, turning. “Leave her there and let her rot. Maybe she’ll learn a lesson when she hasn’t had food or freedom for a few days.”

  The guards twined the rope around her ankles as well. She tried to thrash free, but her energy had ebbed. They stopped her struggles with yet another smack across the head.

  The stable whirled before her eyes, and Celty dropped back to the floor, her vision blurry.

  She dropped into the safety of darkness as the sound of the slave auction rang through the air.

  Rakesh

  One didn’t just escape from Iskawan. Rakesh knew that. He’d always known that. Because it wasn’t just that the permeating darkness of The Nothingness extinguished all light in Iskawan – and all the places around it – except for a few glowing fairy-fire globes.

  Life in the prison-city forgotten by the gods was one of an empty, cyclical existence. It drove the strongest of men mad in months. Which was precisely why Rakesh sat on the parapet of the outer wall, staring out at the dark lands of The Nothingness from which there was no escape. Unknown dangers and eternal darkness lingered north, east, and west of Iskawan. To go south was too risky by half. Still . . . something about the strange, inky blot of The Nothingness on the horizon drew his thoughts. He longed to be there – and hated himself for desiring it, at the same time. One day, he promised himself. I will go. Whether I must climb down the east or west sides, or fight the darkness of the north, I will go.