Perhaps it was because, regardless of how I had felt when he looked at me, he had never actually done anything to show he was untrustworthy. He was unlike some of the other slaves who would steal and lie at any given moment to make life easier, even at the expense of another slave.
“Could you undo my shackles too, then?” he asked, stretching his legs out towards me. Once again, I didn't hesitate for an instant to put my trust in him and reached towards the manacles. His were a bit harder than expected, as they appeared to have never been removed and the mechanisms were slightly rusted from disuse. Still, it took only a few extra moments of playing with it before they snapped open, a bit louder than I had hoped. Thankfully, there was no sound of interrupted slumber from the slave quarters.
The nameless man stood and stretched his legs, bending them back one after the other in a way that moments ago would've been impossible. A sudden pang took him and he doubled over, but he held a hand out to stop me when I approached with concern. When he caught his breath again, he sat back down and looked to the sky. The way he stared, it looked like he was taking it all in for the first time ever.
“Magnificent,” was all he muttered, drinking in the sight for a long while without moving. For that moment, his pain had been left forgotten. I looked up too, enjoying it as I always did. Still, I couldn't help notice how far the moon had travelled during our time out here, and I knew I needed to get some sleep before the next day's chores were upon me.
“We should get to bed or we'll be punished tomorrow for being so sleepy,” I told him, turning to head back. I was stopped when his hand rested on my shoulder and held me back. It was surprisingly strong, the hand of someone who had been working hard for many years, and it scared me just a bit; it was almost like the hand of the lord of the manor. Still, unlike the harsh blows I suffered at the latter's hand, this was a gentle gesture that the nameless man was showing me. I turned to see his face full of anxiety again.
“Micasa, your gift,” he started, looking terribly unsure of what his next words should be. “Could you use it to get into the manor?”
I had more than once, I admit, fiddled with the intricate and expensive locks that closed off the manor, even at the risk of being flayed if I had broken them. They were tricky, but I had managed to undo them and lock them again without anyone being the wiser. I told the nameless man this, once again wondering why it was I could trust him so readily.
“Micasa, I need to get into the manor and see Master Morau,” he asked as he clutched at his sides and winced. I knelt beside him.
“Why, are you hurting too much?” I asked. “We can go get an overseer; maybe they have some medicine for it.” I knew as well as any slave that the Master never wasted medicines on us, but I figured it was worth a try.
“No, it's not that,” he said, his grip tightening ever so little. He must have seen on my face how much his hold scared me because he let go before explaining. “Remember that pull I told you I felt when I was near the ghoul? I still feel it, pulling me towards the manor. I know it has something to do with Master Morau, but I won't be able to get in there myself. Please, it can't wait. I don't want to get you in trouble, but I just need the door unlocked so I can get in. I need to know what this feeling is. Please.”
That was the first time I ever knew what it felt like to pity someone. Us slaves had it rough, without a doubt, but I had never seen someone so distraught as the nameless man was at that moment. I knew the overseers would be furious if they saw us sneaking around, but it seemed harmless enough to open a door for him so he could see the Lord.
So with a small nod, I led him by the hand across the field towards the manor. There were no clouds to obscure the moon that night, but it was waning fortunately and cast little light. We kept low to the greenery, slipping from bush to bush. We slowed as we approached the building – the overseers kept their patrol close, in case they needed to beat a hasty retreat from a sudden attack.
The side door was less guarded than the back or front, with only one burly figure standing maybe thirty feet from the door and looking out over the gardens. We snuck around the long way, moving as slow as we could to avoid him catching us from his peripheral, and made our way to the corner of the building. By creeping along the wall, we were able to pass right behind him, though each inch moved felt like a mile, knowing that any sudden sound would instantly draw his attention.
Getting to the door was hardly a victory, for now, the guard was only a stone's throw behind us, and all he had to do to see us was to turn around. Still, we had come this far, and I just needed to get the nameless man through the door. I took my customary hairpin and set to work.
It was a much more harrowing job than usual. Even though I knew just how to undo the lock, doing so without making a single sound was a different matter altogether. The first couple times I messed with it, I made only a little noise, but with the bustle of the day, it was usually easy for me to slip away if I thought I'd be caught after making a blunder. Now, the only other noise I had to work with was the occasional cricket chirp, and I couldn't count on that to cover my tracks if I made a critical mistake. Ever so carefully, I moved a lock pin here, a spring there, and finally I began to feel the handle resist less as I gently tugged it down.
As I slid the final pin into place, the lock popped loudly.
My heart skipped a beat as I looked over my shoulder to confirm my fears, seeing the guard turn sharply and give out a cry of surprise. The nameless man grabbed me around the waist and threw the now unlocked door open with his free hand. It crashed into the wall as he pushed it in, undoubtedly alerting any overseers who hadn't heard the first one's shout, but the damage had already been done.
The nameless man hauled me bodily into the manor, no doubt worried that I would have received the full brunt of the backlash if he had left me alone. Together we flew down the corridors, towards the staircase that led up to Master Morau's chambers. A guard had come through the front door and was standing at the foot of the stairs; but without slowing down, the nameless man put both his arms around me to protect me and charged full bodied into the overseer as he swung down with his supple baton. I heard it crack against my guardian's back, but he didn't slow down in the slightest as he collided with his attacker, knocking the guard backwards several feet. The nameless man hoisted me up in both arms and flew up the stairs before the guard could recover, but our ascent was a short one as we met with the point of a sword staring straight at us.
Master Morau stood on the top step, awakened by the commotion we had made in our endeavors. He was still wearing his night gown and was glaring at us with a mixture of confusion and anger as he realized the two intruders he now brandished his blade at.
I was well acquainted with this sword. It normally hung over the mantle in the Master's room, a brilliant blade made of polished silver (kept in that state by us slaves) with numerous precious gems inlaid in the hilt. The sheath he now held in his free hand was similarly valuable, made of high-quality wood with a gold lacquer and studded with gemstones. I had never seen the Master so much as hold the weapon before, but at that moment I half-wished that I hadn't done quite such a good job keeping it in perfect shape.
“What in blazes is going on here?” said Master Morau, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at the two of us. The nameless man had frozen a few steps from the top of the flight. I heard more footsteps now climbing the stairs and saw that three of the guards blocked our escape. One was the man we had just bowled over, still rubbing his sore back.
“I needed to see you, Hawke,” the nameless man said. I cringed at his casual address of the Master, having been taught long ago that doing so was a very dangerous thing to do. Sure enough, our owner bristled with indignation, but also looked rather befuddled; he was likely as confused as I had been at being addressed by a slave who had been considered mute up to this point.
“Why have you decided to barge in here in the middle of the night seeking my audience, boy?” demanded Master Morau in
the most commanding tone he could muster. The nameless man didn't seem to be listening, though. Those piercing eyes of his had glazed over, completely fixated on the Master's face.
“What is this feeling…” the nameless man murmured. “You have…something of mine…”
He took one hand off me and began to stretch it towards Master Morau, whose eyes grew wild with fright.
“You stay back!” he suddenly commanded, backing away. “I am Hawke Morau, the great Scholar! I was a slayer of demons and one of the Old Kings! You keep your filthy hands off of me!”
The Lord continued to shirk away, but the nameless man advanced just as readily. He seemed hypnotized, completely consumed by whatever feeling he had mentioned to me before. Master Morau commanded his overseers to attack, and they stepped forward in unison and lashed out with their discipline rods. The nameless man barely even flinched at their blows.
Master Morau eventually backed himself into a wall, holding his sword out at arm's length. I could see how he shook uncontrollably, unable to hold back his fear. “Stop!” he cried, “I am Hawke Morau, I am!”
I couldn't understand why he kept insisting on his name, but regardless, his pleas fell on deaf ears. As the nameless man's outstretched hand floated closer and closer to our owner's face, the Master made a wild stab at him.
The sword was heading straight for me; but without batting an eye, the nameless man grabbed the blade and stopped it, the sharp edge cutting deep and drawing blood. Still, he didn't wince, and I started to wonder if the nameless man even understood what was going on. He pulled the sword aside, letting go of it to reach again for Master Morau's face.
Our master was now paralyzed, unable to speak or move, as the nameless man's hand, cut and bloodied, hovered just in front of his face now. There was a tense moment where the nameless man stopped, and I thought that, for the briefest instant, a smile crossed his face. Then he leaned forward and grabbed Master Morau's face.
The Lord screamed, and there came a brilliant flash of light from the breast of his gown. I closed my eyes tight, unsure of what was happening, and could hear the guards shouting behind me. The light subsided quickly, and I felt the nameless man's chest heaving heavily as his breaths came in ragged gasps. I chanced opening my eyes and saw his own were nearly popping out of his head. They looked around crazily, as if he had just woken from a nightmare, but my attention was pulled away from him as I heard a terrible sound come from where Master Morau had been laying.
He was grabbing at his head and rocking back and forth on his back, alternating between quiet sobs and moans of anguish. “Who…where…why?” were the only words I could make out him saying, small blurbs of sentences between his sobs and moans.
“What have you done to the Master, you– you–!” I saw one of the overseers rush forward and swing his rod with all his weight behind it.
Everything that happened next all occurred in the blink of an eye. The nameless man turned with fluid grace and caught the rod, pulled it from the overseer's grasp, and struck the attacker with a single powerful blow on the neck using his own weapon. The overseer keeled over like a rag doll and went tumbling down the stairs. The other two scrambled aside, their mouths agape in shock. One of them lost their footing and went tumbling down after his comrade, adding to the pile the first overseer had started.
The nameless man looked at me, still coddled in one of his arms. “I trust you can stand on your own, Micasa?”
His tone had changed again. Confidence, control, and concern laced his words, things that men broken as slaves rarely spoke with. I nodded, and he set me on my feet gently, but my legs were a little shaky with fear and uncertainty. I had no idea what was going on, but after seeing the nameless man so easily beat down those who had been so terrifying to me my whole life, I felt safest doing what he told me to do at the moment.
He reached down and took the sword and sheath that Master Morau had dropped on the ground, brandishing the former at the last remaining guard who was still standing on the stairway, knees buckling.
“Stand aside, peon,” the nameless man commanded. “Tend to your wounded, and know that if you come after us, I'll finish what I started here. Come, Micasa.” He sheathed the weapon and started down the steps.
I couldn't imagine just walking out of the manor, but there was a thrill I had never felt welling up in me before. Was I really going to just leave, right past the Master and those fearsome overseers, and never see them again? Never again hear their horrible words or feel the sting of the lash? It was something I had never even dreamed of, yet the nameless man stood at the bottom of the step and looked at me expectantly. The remaining guard didn't lift a single finger to try and impede my progress, shrinking back as I passed by him and followed my savior straight out the front door. The other guards would surely hear of what happened soon, and yet seeing how terribly powerful the nameless man looked as he walked tall and proud, sword in hand, I couldn't help myself; I smiled.
We marched straight through the gardens, the nameless man slowing down only a bit as he looked to the sky again, muttering under his breath as he pondered the stars and moon, before speaking to me again.
“This way, Micasa. Stay close. It's probably going to be a bit of a walk, and it could very well be dangerous.”
A part of me wanted to say goodbye to the other slaves, perhaps ask them if they wanted to come along, but I also feared that if I didn't go with the nameless man right now that he wouldn't wait for me. I made a promise to myself right then that one day I'd come back and bring them with me, so we could see the world together. It was a promise I would never get to fulfill.
“Um, thanks for saving me, nameless man,” was the only thing I could think to say under the circumstances as we walked off the compound and into the wild, untamed lands I had only seen from a distance before. The sun was starting to peek up, tingeing the sky a pretty aquamarine color, and I felt my heart flutter at the way its rays played off the trees and tall grasses. It was like the world was coming to life before me for the first time.
The nameless man turned to me and looked into my eyes for a second, a slightly confused look on his face. Then his face broke into a small but warm smile. “Sorry, in all this confusion I guess I've yet to properly introduce myself,” he said.
“My name is Hawke Morau.”
Chapter 2: The Shady Man
The day that followed our escape from the manor was a strange blur to someone like me who had never set foot outside the compound in the short life I had lived up until then. We had brought no provisions with us and had no money to speak of, but the nameless man who claimed to have the same name as our old Master managed to procure some fruits and bread for us to eat. I didn't know how he had acquired it, but we had traveled within range of a small food cart that had set up shop along the road. I half-suspected that he took advantage of the 'five finger discount,' as the other slaves called it when they pilfered food from the pantries back in the estate.
After our meager meal, we napped under a large tree, since both of us had skipped on sleeping the night before. I couldn't shake the feeling that any moment the overseers would be bearing down upon us, reprimanding us for sleeping midday and dragging us back to the compound, but the man who now called himself Hawke had assured me that he was a light sleeper and would make sure no one came to take me away.
It was an incredible feeling, getting to sleep in the shade of that great tree in the middle of the day. Though I only dozed for a few hours, it was some of the most refreshing rest I can ever recall having.
A bit past midday we woke and continued our travels, sticking to the hills and fields just off the main path. Eventually, a horse-drawn cart came rumbling down the road, slowing at the driver's command when he approached us. The man who led the horses was a kind looking farmer with a big straw hat and overalls, clothing that I had only seen on overseers before. I instinctively flinched at even his mildest of movements.
I had never seen the overseers with such s
ympathetic looks on their faces, though. When he saw me in my ragged work clothes, Hawke said some things about me being an orphan from a demon attack and that my only remaining family was in Changirah. Since it was on the way to where the farmer was making his delivery, he didn't think twice about letting us hop on the back between some crates and milk canisters.
Hawke quietly whispered to me as the cart noisily started down the path again, telling me that a victim of a demon attack was more likely to be helped than an escaped slave. I didn't understand exactly why that would be, but I kept quiet nonetheless. Anything that kept me from going back was a good thing as far as I was concerned.
We made it to the city before the sun began to creep out of sight. I was completely awestruck at the sight of the great walls and the sturdy doors that protected it. I had never been taken on any trips outside of the compound, and seeing the city guards in their shining protective armor and their weapons that made the overseers' rods look like toys was almost more than my racing heart could take. I had no idea what was in store for us on the other side of that giant gateway, but I felt completely safe at the side of this Hawke I was with, a strange thing to think when comparing him to the other Hawke Morau I had grown up with.
We hopped off near a bustling marketplace, waving the old man on as his cart trundled off. Oh, the number of exciting things for sale! I could barely keep myself from running away from Hawke to get a look at everything, but he must have noticed how my face lit up, because he gave a slight chuckle and led us right down the main avenue past the vendors. Most of them scowled at us when we passed by, though looking back I can hardly blame them. We did have all the glamour of two penniless vagabonds who had just crawled out from some filthy gutter.
Hawke's stride quickened as the sound of a particularly loud merchant came within earshot of us. I couldn't quite make out what he was trying to sell, but it wasn't his wares that Hawke was interested in. As he marched up to the stand, the merchant – a small, bald man with large watery eyes and a thin, upturned nose – turned to him and flashed a smile composed mainly of jagged yellow teeth.
Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1) Page 2