Dinavhek- The Fall

by Tal'urra Steelfang

  He twisted his boot, and she felt something crack.

  “Now, I didn't want to do that, but you didn't really give me much of a choice. See, you've got a big mouth, and you've been whispering dangerous thoughts into the other girls' ears. I don't take that very lightly, understand? Maybe tonight, I'll be whispering some dangerous thoughts into your ears.”

  He removed his boot, and moved to crouch down beside her. He looked directly into her eyes. “I'm feeling generous, so I'll make you a deal: if you're real good today, I might do a little less whispering tonight. Might take one of the girls that let you run off instead. Now... get up.”

  Aasimah thrashed a bit, trying to follow his command, but she found herself being held down. She looked up to see that he was standing again, and this time, he had his boot on her chest.

  “I need to make this lesson stick, or you'll just keep running away,” he explained, before putting more weight on his foot. Aasimah cried out again – rather, she tried to, but there was no sound that left her mouth. Dry as her throat was, she could not even muster up a whimper.

  “S-sir! We're – we're going to be late!” cried one of the women.

  Itholera?

  Aasimah looked around; the rest of the women were surrounding them now. Itholera was pointedly looking away, as though she were terrified of staring directly at her. Aasimah couldn't blame her. The slaver put on more weight, and she was sure that her chest was going collapse.

  Suddenly, he stopped.

  He reached down and yanked her to her feet. Her legs were wobbly and Aasimah nearly toppled back to the ground. He gave her a hard slap across her cheek.

  “What did I say about being good? Do that again, and that that little dirt nap of yours isn't going to end next time, you hear me?”

  He shoved his face in hers, and Aasimah nodded with all the strength she had left in her. He moved behind her and gave her a rough shove, nearly sending her back into the mud.

  “Move! We've lost enough time already!”

  Aasimah stumbled forward, and Jonellea moved to lead them. As the older woman passed by, she gave her a hard look. Try as she might, Aasimah could not read her expression.

  The central streets of Aranaot were considerably cleaner than everywhere else Aasimah had been since her capture. The slaver's shack was several miles away from the Aranaot marketplace, and was hard to spot in the poorer section of the city, as it blended in with the surrounding rundown cottages. It was an ideal location, Aasimah supposed. Hidden as it was from public eye, no one would ever suspect the great atrocities that occurred on a regular basis.

  The nobles of Aranaot likely had no idea, or simply didn't care. Some of them likely benefited in some way from it. For them, hardship was not having their floor cleaned and polished every day. For them, hardship held a very different meaning.

  As Aasimah stumbled after the Jonellea and the slaver in the blistering heat, Aranaot did not seem so glamorous. Unlike the slaver, who held a thin parasol over his head as he walked to shelter himself, the small group of women following were fully exposed to Dinavhek's blazing sun.

  For Aasimah, the walk was made even more unbearable by her bedraggled state. The slaver had not allowed her to wash before leaving for the market and she had not taken a single sip of water or eaten so much as a crumb of bread. It took every ounce of strength, every sliver of resolve that she possessed to continue.

  She thought about what would happen to her once they reached the market. Someone would purchase her, presumably – if she were lucky. If not, then she would go back 'home,' with the slaver, and he would “whisper” to her that night.

  “Stop right here,” Jonellea snapped, drawing Aasimah's attention back to the group. The rest of the girls did as they were told, halting in the middle of the street.

  “What's going on?” Itholera asked, lowering her eyes after Jonellea scowled threateningly in her direction.

  The oldest one, Amonantia, whispered back, “we're going to be auctioned off. Whoever doesn't get enough bids will be kept around until next season.”

  “Is that why the master had us wear these dresses?”

  Amonantia swallowed hard and nodded. Like the rest of the women, she had been forced to wear a more revealing dress for this occasion. Her normally cold blue eyes looked unusually bloodshot. Aasimah could tell she had not rested well last night.

  I'll kill him, she promised herself silently as she thought about the slaver. Someday, I swear I'll kill him. Her promise was an empty one, for it was more likely that he would kill her, but the words gave her comfort. She teared her gaze from Amonantia and Itholera and watched as the slaver chatted away with an armored guard.

  The guard wasn't much to look at. His armor was filthy, his beard unkempt, and his sword looked as if it had taken some good beatings over the years. If this was an example of Dinavhek's “elite,” then the kingdom was in worse shape then Aasimah previously thought. She had seen transients in Takirar that looked more suitable for such a role.

  Finished with their conversation, the two men laughed and clasped hands for a very short and firm shake. The guard walked off and the slaver headed back to his stock. His genial smile vanished as he approached the group of terrified and emaciated women.

  “You're all to go under that tarp, you hear me? I will have no fooling around this day. The prince is too busy with council meetings to stop by the market today, so this may be the only chance I'll have to show you all off for the whole month. Everyone, move! Except,” he added, jabbing a finger in Aasimah's direction, “for you.”

  He stepped in front of Aasimah, breathing heavily right into her face. “You humiliated me last night. You resisted me and ran away.”

  Aasimah cringed, feeling the blood in her cheeks run hot. How dare he? She opened her mouth to sling a few insults his way and was slapped across the face even harder than before. Aasimah's jaw ached; she tasted blood.

  “You are never to look at me again, so long as you belong to me! On your life, you stupid girl. You do not deserve to look at me. Do you hear me?” he growled.

  When Aasimah did not answer him, he raised his hand as if to hit her again. Aasimah closed her eye and braced herself for the inevitable blow. But the strike did not come. Instead, she felt his hot breath against her ear, smelled the vile mixture of alcohol and whatever this morning's breakfast had been, as he whispered, “you are not joining us. You will stay right here. I don't care if you burn to death, or die of thirst. This is where you belong.”

  Aasimah glanced at the rest of the women as the man retreated, all of them crowded under the tarp. A few looked at her almost sympathetically. Some, such as Jonellea, looked upon her with scorn. Only one did not seem to want to look at her at all... Itholera. She, instead, stared at her feet. Aasimah could see her trembling.

  It went on for hours. Men young and old shouted, joked, bargained, and argued. One of the other slaves was bought early in the afternoon by an older former-knight with two sons. She was sold at a bargain price of fifty silver. The slaver tried to get a bit more out of her, expecting sixty, but the former knight managed to talk the price down due to a few visible marks of previous beatings.

  Aasimah snorted in disgust. Damaged. fifty silver. For a life...a fellow human. They might as well have been talking about furniture or pottery. And so it went, another few hours without a single sale. The master tried every line he could think of, including “these ones are of child bearing age!” and “this one came from the distant lands of Karilar, she's quite a steal!” That last one was a lie – the woman in question had distant relatives that once visited Karilar.

  A few would pause to watch, then lose interest and carry on with their business. It was beginning to look as if there would be no more sales that day. The master was about to call it quits when a young man escorted by half a dozen guards approached him.

  Aasimah couldn't help but notice that the young man wasn't terrible looking compared to the other visitors. His were the only eyes she had
seen all day that held any sort of warmth, and although he walked with the gait of a noble, the man himself seemed almost apprehensive.

  His clean black hair was about mid-length, hovering just a few inches over the shoulder, and curly. He was also somewhat scrawny and unlike his guards, he wore no armor or heavy clothing at all – just simple, though very fine robes. He was a curious one, that was for certain.

  The young man was accompanied not only by an entourage of guards, but also by a slightly older man of similar bearing. This man had long silvery hair that fell about his shoulders elegantly. He was dressed in the greatest finery imaginable, and he moved with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. They didn't appear related, but there was no doubt that they were close.

  “My prince!” the slaver said in an awkward yet humble tone, “it is good to see you here! And you, too, Lord Hymuse! I wasn't expecting to see you here!”

  “I hope you can forgive me for being so late,” said the youngest of the two men, smiling. “I see that you were starting to pack up. If you were planning on leaving, I can come back another time.”

  Now that was interesting! Aasimah assumed that the silver-haired man must be the prince, for although the younger man wore finer clothing than nearly everyone else present in the market, the silver-haired man was dressed even more extravagantly. His appearance and gait implied royalty, and he seemed far more confident than the younger man beside him.

  As a matter of fact, the younger man shifted uncomfortably as Aasimah studied him. His eyes darted over to her, briefly, but the slaver caught his attention by clapping his shoulder.

  The slaver cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing that he was being a touch too friendly.

  “Oh, nonsense!” he reassured him hastily, eager to forget his great misstep. “Nonsense, I tell you. Why, we... well, I'm sure we still have something! You're the prince – you aren't late for anyone! Now, we have some pottery here somewhere...”

  “I think you know why we're really here, my friend,” said the silver-haired man.

  The slaver swallowed hard.

  “Why, the palace could really use some extra help,” he explained further. “I hear you employ the finest maids in all of Dinavhek, or did I perhaps hear incorrectly?”

  “No! No, not at all. I just... forgive me, I didn't think you would have much use for such a thing.”

  “Let us talk, then.”

  The silver-haired man asked a great many questions, pausing now and then to weigh the prince's opinions. Aasimah heard him ask the slaver where Itholera had been obtained, as the slaver had called her forward. The slaver assured him that Itholera was obtained 'legally,' for whatever that meant. Aasimah thought she heard him claim that her parents sent her to him for 'training.' This was not an altogether uncommon practice; sometimes, poorer families did indeed sell their children into slavery in order to make ends meet. It was just never acknowledged for what it truly was.

  Still, how could any rational person believe that Itholera, so clearly of noble blood, would have been sold off as a mere slave? The concept was downright laughable. Or it would be, if not for the situation at hand.

  The prince listened patiently, though he didn't seem very interested in what the slaver had to say. He just nodded a few times and let the other man carry the rather one-sided conversation on. All in all, it looked as if Itholera was going to be the second woman leaving that day.

  Not far into that conversation, Aasimah began to look elsewhere, preferring not to watch the hideous transaction take place. She wasn't sure what exactly it was that compelled her to look back up, but when she did, she found that the prince was staring at her openly. Their eyes met again, and his lips parted, as if he intended to say something, but he quickly caught himself.

  He watched her with a sense of utter enchantment and seemed not to be paying any attention to what the others were saying. Aasimah, in that moment, forgot that a slave must never meet a superior being's gaze. She forgot her place and stared right back at the prince, but only for a moment. The slaver stopped talking, and she knew she'd erred – greatly so. Her eyes dropped to stare at her bare feet at the sound of her captor's furious, strangled voice.

  “I am so sorry, my prince. Please, forgive me! I have not neglected my training with this young girl. She is... well, she was never intended to be here with us today. Such a long way to go! The daughter of a lame and illiterate farmer. Really, it will be some time before she's ready. I only brought her because I didn't want to leave her alone in my home. Now, this one, on the other hand, yes, she's a looker, all right, and she has shown herself quite capable of following directions—”

  “I don't think I need to hear any more.”

  The silver-haired man cast him a curious sidelong glance. He cleared his throat, clearly about to protest, until the slaver spoke again.

  “Then...?” The slaver asked in a hushed tone, as he feared the worst.

  “I would like this one here,” the prince clarified, pointing directly at Aasimah.

  “What? Her? O-oh, uh, of course, my prince. But you know, I really do have much better girls available. Perhaps you would be interested in this one—”

  The prince merely smiled and shook his head.

  “No, don't trouble yourself. Here,” he said, taking out a small, heavy pouch, “I hope this is enough.”

  His companion's thin eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “G-gold! And silver, too... Dear me, prince, this is more than enough! But—if you don't mind my asking, why would you overpay for—oh, never mind! Who am I to question you, my dear prince?”

  “Take it, then,” the prince said, “and I hope it will be enough to provide for you and your...stock. It looks like they might benefit from a bit more feeding, wouldn't you say?”

  The prince and slaver shook hands and before she could even think about what had happened, Aasimah was being herded away from her spot in the sun by the prince's escorts. “This way,” the silver-haired man said as he moved in front of her.

  The guards surrounded them, and Aasimah wasn't sure whether she felt any safer in their company or the slaver's. She was even less sure that she would be capable of walking all the way to wherever it was the prince was planning on taking her.

  It wasn't long before the prince turned around a bit to talk to Aasimah. “Do you need cover? You look like you have been in the sun for a while.”

  What?

  Aasimah just stared at him in silence, not sure what to make of him. Was he playing some sort of cruel joke on her?

  The silver-haired man cast a glance back at them, similarly taken aback. She thought she saw a faint smile touch his lips before he turned away from them again.

  “Right, well, here you go,” the prince said, bidding one of his escorts to move closer and hold the prince's parasol over her.

  The shade gave her some relief, but she was still weak. She trembled with every step, she felt light-headed, and she thought she would succumb to weariness more than once on their journey.

  “I... I know you must have been through a great deal and you must be very tired,” the prince said to her, “but don't worry, the palace isn't too much farther. We'll be there in no time.”

  His tone was gentle, sympathetic even, but Aasimah did not trust him. Neither did she trust the silver-haired man, who periodically checked in with them.

  She trudged along behind them in silence.

  Part 2:

  Dinavhek

  Chapter 7

  Reunion

  ∞∞∞

  The previous day felt almost years away. Aasimah felt her grasp of time slipping away as she attempted to adjust to her new life of servitude in the Dinavhene royal palace.

  Unaccustomed to such luxuries as a warm and soft bed with clean linens, Aasimah was certain that she had to still be dreaming when she awoke. Before long, she would find herself back in the dirty shack, back to the stench of mold and human waste, and back to the slaver's brutality.

  When instead sh
e found herself in the room that the prince had sent her to at the end of the night, she was overcome with relief. It was fleeting, however, as she remembered that poor innocent Itholera was still trapped in that horrid place. What had become of her? So much could happen in such little time. Had her actions toward the slaver been uncovered? Was she alive? Was she unharmed?

  Aasimah almost couldn't believe that she found herself caring so much for the girl's well-being. To survive in the wild deserts of Takirar, one had to be ruthless. It wasn't a peaceful life, but Aasimah was used to that by now, and she was accepting of what she had become.

  A light, almost timid knock on the door roused her from her thoughts.

  She rose to her feet and was momentarily taken aback by how incredibly painful it was to be standing again. She tried as best she could to ignore the soreness of her feet as she reached the door to what she presumed was merely her temporary sleeping quarters.

  “What it is?” she asked, leaning against it for support.

  “Are you decent?” came the prince's voice.

  “Yes,” Aasimah answered, opening the door for him.

  Prince Adsuni entered with a warm smile across his face. The young man smiled far too much for Aasimah's liking.

  The more people smile, the more they have to hide, she thought.

  “I didn't want to wake you, but it is rather late,” he said apologetically, earning a suspicious stare from her. “I assumed you would need some rest after the day you had.”

  You mean the life I've had? Aasimah thought.

  “I must confess, I'm rather new to this whole, erm, practice. You see, my father sent me to – ah, erm, that is, oh...”

  “To buy me?” Aasimah offered.

  The prince sighed.

  “I suppose there's no way of honey-coating the truth, is there? To be honest, we do need help around here, though I fear it is far too much for one person to bear. As you can see, our home is nearly in ruins. It only continues to stand because Glanen – you'll meet him soon enough – devotes so much of his time to maintaining it. My father insists that the work is beneath a knight of his station, but, until now, we've had no other option but to accept it.”