Lion of Zarall

by E B Rose

  Despite genuinely craving for some sparring today, Lion was excused from weapons training again. His shoulder didn’t even hurt. This much caution was ridiculous. But as always, he kept his opinion to himself and complied.

  After dinner and a bath, he headed to his room early, scratching his brands absentmindedly. The fourth brand had stopped hurting and had started itching relentlessly. When he arrived at his room, he walked straight to the basin to soothe the brand with cold water. He didn’t even glance at the girl until he was out of his tunic and pressing the wet towel against the mark on his chest.

  His eyebrows were drawn together when he finally looked at the girl. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed. There was nothing unusual about that, since there was no other furniture to sit on. However, there was something off about her today.

  Although her eyes were still puffy from crying the last few days, they were dry now. Moreover, they had a gleam in them as they perused Lion’s face attentively. Her lips were pursed, and a curious scowl graced her face. She sat still, looking excited and guarded at the same time. Her expression unnerved him.

  Just when he’d decided to ignore her and put the towel away, he froze. Her hands were resting on her lap and one of them was tightly closed around a small object.

  The towel slipped from between Lion’s trembling fingers. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach.

  The ghost of a grin played across the girl’s lips.

  Lion lunged at the girl at the same time she jumped out of the bed and held out a hand. “Stop, or I’ll scream,” she hissed rapidly.

  Lion halted, despite being within an arm’s reach from the girl. She was holding her free hand in front of his chest, and had tucked the other one behind. Lion could easily grab her, restrain her and snatch the object out of her fingers.

  As if reading his thoughts, she forced a confident smile on her lips.

  “Go ahead and beat me unconscious for all I care. The first thing that’ll come out of my mouth will be ‘look under his bed’.”

  Lion let out a weak groan that sounded like a whimper. She licked her lips. “That’s right. You hurt me, and I’ll tell your Masters all about my discoveries. Now, back off!” She pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him away.

  Lion walked backwards until his back hugged the far wall. He was struggling to breathe and he felt lightheaded. The girl wasn’t yelling, but she wasn’t whispering either. Anyone who walked past the corridor outside could hear her. His eyes darted to the door, then to the wall which neighboured Badimar’s room. She followed his gaze.

  “He hasn’t returned to his room yet,” she said, referring to Badimar. “I’ve been listening all day. I recognize how that prick walks.”

  It didn’t matter. If any free man or woman should hear what he’d done… He would be sent straight to White Tower.

  White Tower.

  White Tower!

  He was going to White Tower.

  The black hooded figure.

  Not human.

  A whole lot of them.

  Pale, wrinkly, parchment-like skin.

  Cold, wet tongue.

  Mouth and teeth sucking the blood off his fingers.

  Sucking everything out of him.

  The slave named Ratsack.

  Empty shell.

  Slicing his own ear, biting his fingers off.

  Lion’s thoughts were disorganized, incomplete, interrupted by each other. Black spots started flying across his sight. He couldn’t think, breathe. His life was over. The worst fate he could have ever imagined - the one he thought he’d be safe from, as long as he followed his training - had been sealed shut. Like a tight collar around his neck. Strangling him.

  “Merciful Alunwea, you’re shaking like a leaf,” the girl frowned. Despite looking angry, she lowered her voice down. “Relax. I won’t tell them anything…”

  Lion was leaning against the wall, his legs shaking under his weight. His throat was so dry, he half expected it to bleed when he swallowed.

  She won’t tell. She won’t tell them anything.

  He clung to that promise as if his life depended on it. It did. He managed to reign his growing panic.

  Until she added: “… as long as you do what I say.”

  Lion groaned.

  She grinned smugly. Coldly. She wasn’t that girl who cried and trembled underneath him anymore. She had the power to ruin his life, and she had no reservations about using it.

  She stood straighter, like a free woman. Her sky-blue eyes were bright. Her busted lip and bruised cheekbones didn’t make her look like a victim now. They made her look like a fierce fighter.

  Can’t disobey.

  If she’d asked him to do things that conflicted with his orders, his training… If she’d ask him to commit an Act of Defiance…

  Can’t go to White Tower either.

  He was trapped. His life was done either way.

  She brought her other hand to the front, turning and twisting the object between her fingers. It was a piece of hard rock, small enough to fit in her palm. One end was sharp and pointy. Her grin spread wide as she studied the longing in Lion’s face.

  “I saw this under the bed the first night I was brought to this room,” she explained quietly. “I thought it was just a piece of rubble. A useless rubbish. Then I realized; there is no rubbish in this room. You’re not allowed to possess anything, not even rubbish.”

  Lion’s shoulders sagged. He listened helplessly as she continued.

  “Then I realized how this is sharpened and I had another look under the bed.” Her grin disappeared. She narrowed her eyes into slits, as if trying to see inside his head. “Care to explain, why you have a half-finished map of Chinderia carved under your bed?”

  Lion lowered his head, staring at his toes. No, he couldn’t explain this. Not to her, not to Master Badimar, nor anyone.

  Not even to himself.

  Her face lightened up; her cheeks flushed. She lowered her voice until it was barely audible. “Are you planning to escape?”

  Lion flinched, shaking his head frantically. Escape? Never! He would never, ever even think about escaping.

  Hunters always find you.

  Hunters were not human. They could track escaped slaves all the way to the Darkhome. And the punishment for escape was a straight trip to White Tower.

  No. No, no, no, no. He would never escape.

  Plus, he didn’t even want his freedom. What was he going to do with it? Not having someone to tell him what to do was terrifying.

  The girl’s face hardened. She levelled him with a glare. “Then why did you draw the map?” When Lion didn’t answer, she snorted. “You’ll have to speak to me.”

  Lion shook his head again. He wasn’t going to speak without permission from a free man or woman.

  She flashed him a toothy grin. Tilting her chin up, “Speak,” she ordered. “Tell me to stop now, or I’ll scream.”

  Lion glanced at her face, trying to understand if she’d really do that. He imagined the events that would occur if she did. Every scenario ended in Lion heading to White Tower with the Hunters.

  “Fine,” she said, raising one eyebrow. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth.

  “Stop!”

  The word came out of his mouth in the form of a harsh breath. He resisted the urge to cover his lips with both hands.

  She closed her mouth, showing him a self-satisfied smile. “See?” she said arrogantly. “It’s not that hard.”

  Lion swallowed hard. She was wrong. Sweat trickled down from his face. His body felt too hot.

  He’d committed an Act of Defiance!

  He half-expected to hear his Breeder Astaldo’s voice, barking his Pain Word.

  “Why did you draw the map?” she asked again. “Speak.”

  Lion pressed his lips together. His mouth was almost too dry to speak. “I don’t know, M…” he whispered, stopping himself just in time before finishing it with a ‘Master’.

  He
’d almost called her ‘Master’! He clenched his fists, feeling even hotter. He didn’t look to see if she’d heard his slipup.

  She scoffed. “Are you saying, you just woke up one day and started drawing, for no reason?”

  “Yes…” he muttered under his breath and snapped his mouth shut immediately.

  It had pretty much happened the way she’d described. He’d been studying and admiring the map on the floor of the throne room since the day he was bought by King Leonis. He’d started memorizing it before he realized what he was doing. The map had floated in front of his eyes every time he’d shut them closed. It haunted him. He’d denied its call for more than three years.

  Until several months ago, he couldn’t resist the urge to bring the images alive anymore.

  It was like an itch he had to scratch. He’d crawled under his bed and started carving under the wooden bedframe with his fingernails. Nobody would have seen it there unless they’d snuck their head under the bed and looked up. Even then, it was too dark to make out the shapes.

  He was making very slow progress with his fingernails, not to mention risking getting a splinter and bringing unwanted attention to his bleeding fingers. A couple days later, he’d smuggled a rock he’d found at the training yard to his room. He’d sharpened one end of the rock by grinding it against the stone floor until it was pointy enough. After that, he’d made quicker progress.

  He was close to finishing the whole map when the girl started staying in his room. He didn’t have the time or opportunity to get under the bed and hide the rock more appropriately. Anything he could have done would have evoked her curiosity. He was hoping she’d be gone before she’d made the discovery.

  He was wrong.

  He was doomed.

  She squinted her eyes at him, studying his face carefully. Lion felt like he was being displayed at an auction, naked, being prodded and examined by potential buyers. He was starting to hate to think of the girl as a Master or an Owner. She was a slave.

  Yet, she had power over him now.

  “I’ll keep your secret,” she decided, still twisting the rock between her fingers. “But you’ll do exactly what I say.” When Lion shifted uncomfortably, anger flashed across her face. “Relax. I won’t ask anything too difficult.”

  Lion suppressed a scoff. Their definition of difficult was very different.

  “I want you to look at me,” she ordered.

  And there it was. She’d said it so casually, not realizing her request was impossible to him. He shook his head, his eyes bulging in panic.

  She took a step forward. “You’ll do as I say.”

  He shot a quick glance at her face; his eyes lingering between her cheek and ear, without making eye contact.

  She shook her head. “No. You’ll look into my eyes.”

  A whimper slipped past Lion’s lips. His breathing quickened. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t do it.

  She took another step forward. “It’s not that hard,” she gritted her teeth. “Just do it. Look at me.”

  Lion’s head was spinning. He had no choice. Helplessness struck him like physical pain. He closed his eyes and he was back at Faychill Ranch, standing in front of Astaldo. The slave breeder was yelling…

  *

  “Look at me!”

  The slave who wasn’t given the name Lion of Zarall yet, had no more than nine winters behind him. He had lined up in front of Breeder Astaldo, along with four other boys. They all had their heads down, hands clasped in front, eyes on the floor; their stances had already been mastered.

  Astaldo paced back and forth along the line, looking down at the young slaves. Each had a Beast tattoo, the ink still dark and fresh. They were all naked, trembling slightly under his hard gaze. Unless it was part of an armour, they never wore any clothing. They were used to nudity. Feelings such as embarrassment or shame have long been scraped off of them. The only thing left was fear.

  Not fear of physical pain.

  Fear of disobeying.

  Astaldo stood in front of a boy. “Look at me,” he ordered.

  The boy’s chest rose up and down rapidly. He forced his head up, his neck visibly clenched with the effort. As soon as his eyes met Astaldo’s, the slave breeder spoke: “Caniarepetois.”

  The boy fell down, consumed by excruciating pain. Astaldo watched his thrashing, convulsing body until the effects of the Pain Word receded.

  He ordered him to get up. The boy had to bite his lips until they bled, just to stop himself from begging. They’d learned that begging was another form of defiance; it was no different than rejecting the punishment, or requesting for mercy. All punishable behaviours.

  The boy managed to remain silent. When he took his stance, still shaking, Astaldo spoke again: “Look at me.”

  The boy forced himself to obey, lifting his head inch by inch to meet Astaldo’s eyes again.

  “Caniarepetois,” said Astaldo, the second they made eye contact. The boy fell one more time.

  They practiced this a few more times - Astaldo ordering the boy to get up, to look at him, and speaking his Pain Word as soon as their eyes touched - then Astaldo moved on to the next boy.

  “Look at me.”

  They’d been practicing this for weeks already. His body started shaking as soon as he heard the command. His knees felt weak. He raised his head, slowly, to look at the Breeder’s eyes. They were dark as pain.

  “Prihjtivaviula.”

  He fell, writhing in agony. It was hard to believe the Pain Word only lasted for thirty seconds. One eternity was trapped in every heartbeat. His blood, bones, and flesh burnt from the inside, consumed by pain.

  “Get up,” Astaldo ordered, and when the boy did, “Look at me,” he repeated.

  They continued the training, at different times of the day, with different trainers. Even an accidental eye contact was punished immediately.

  By the time he was auctioned at fourteen, the slave had become an expert at avoiding those accidental eye contacts. Even the thought of looking at another person in the eye was enough to make him tremble.

  *

  “Look at me,” the girl repeated impatiently. “Now!”

  He held his breath, closed his eyes, tilted his head up slowly. He tensed, his stomach clenching. Forcing his eyes open, he made contact with the girl’s sky-blue eyes. It only took the length of a heartbeat for his body to react.

  He dropped on his knees, doubled over, and threw up. His body shook with the expectation of the Pain Word. The pain was not there, but the fear was strong enough to trick his body into believing it was. His muscles twitched and convulsed. He hugged himself, clenching his teeth and gasping for breath.

  It’s not real. It’s not real.

  It was surprisingly difficult to convince himself that there was no pain; just the ghost of it.

  For freeborn slaves, eye contact was just a taboo. For purebreds, it meant pain.

  The girl mumbled something that sounded like, ‘What have they done to you,’ under her breath. She paled. By the time Lion had finally recovered and stood up, shaking slightly, she had an irritated glimmer in her eyes.

  “Again,” she ordered.

  Lion stomped down the urge to beg her. He’d learned that pain was the only constant, inevitable experience in life, and there was only so much he could do to delay it.

  He sucked in a deep breath, braced himself, and raised his gaze. He’d almost expected to see Astaldo’s dark orbs. His eyes met hers once again, and he managed to take one full breath before he averted them and leaned against the wall. He groaned, hugging himself and shaking. It was as bad as the first wave of ghost pain.

  “You’ll get better,” she said, triumphantly.

  Lion stilled. Her comment sounded like she was going to…

  “We’ll practice it every night,” she decided. “You’ll look at me… and you’ll talk to me. I want you to tell me something nobody knows about you. Not even your Owners and Masters.”

  Lion groaned. What
did she want to hear? Why was she doing this?

  He slid down to the ground, his eyes closed. He pressed his palms against his eyes. Why? Why was she doing this? Revenge was another abstract concept free men and women were obsessed with. Was she torturing him because he’d hurt her? Didn’t she understand he was under orders?

  When she kneeled next to him, carefully stepping over the puddle of vomit, he flinched. She’d picked up the towel he dropped earlier. She tilted his chin up with and wiped his mouth. The little rock was nowhere to be seen. When had she hidden it? And where?

  “So,” she said, putting the towel aside. She brought her face closer, forcing him to look at her. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  He gritted his teeth. What did she want to hear? Typically, he’d always known the right thing to say when a free man or woman talked to him. It was either ‘Yes, Master,’ or ‘No, Master.’ Not much room for error. But this wasn’t a yes or no question.

  “I’ll start,” she said. “My name is Saradra.”

  He scoffed, though it mostly sounded like a growl. Anger flared up inside of him, consumed the fear. He stood up, and she stood with him. When she attempted to take a step back, he grabbed her arms and held her in place. Muscles on her neck tightened as she plastered a brave face.

  “No,” Lion growled in a low, husky voice. “It’s not. You’re a slave.”

  He squeezed her arms firmly to emphasize his words. She grimaced, but kept her mouth shut. Her expression cracked, and hurt peeked underneath.

  Satisfaction caressed Lion’s tone as he continued: “You are what your Owner calls you. And right now, it’s a Breeding Bitch.”

  He tightened his fists around the collar of her dress and yanked it down hard, tearing the fabric. Her bare shoulders popped out of the dress. Her face flushed red.

  Lion expected her to either stand still, or struggle against him. He’d preferred the latter. It would have given him a reason to hurt her.

  Instead, she surprised him by pulling her arms free of the dress and tugging it down. She stepped out of it, kicked it to the side, and moved into his space. Without taking her fiery eyes off him, she fiddled with the strings of his pants and pulled it down.

  Her firm breasts touched his chest. She stood straight and proud, staring at his face. A smug smile graced her lips. It was almost as if she was challenging him to a fight, daring him to look back. Realizing he didn’t have the guts to meet her gaze, Lion growled quietly.