Lion of Zarall

by E B Rose

  Saradra buried her face in the crook of Lion’s shoulder. He caressed her hair. Their display of affection satisfied and disgusted Kastian at the same time. Sir Gwodd’s blank expression didn’t change. He watched Lion with vigilant eyes.

  “Eltian was a little bit… how should I put this?” Kastian tapped a finger at his lower lip. “Disturbed should do fine. He was a disturbed child. He started hitting and kicking Dinky. He grew more violent as he grew up. He would torture him with his Pain Word. He would mutilate him. Raped him when he was old enough.”

  Lion kneeled down, pulling Saradra with him. “Please, Owner,” he begged, no louder than a whisper. “Spare her, please. Please…”

  All his life, he’d been taught begging would not change anything for a slave, if their Owner had set their mind on something. Begging was dangerously close to requesting. Nearly an Act of Defiance. Disrespectful at the least.

  Yet, he couldn’t stop the words from spilling from his lips.

  “Please, don’t hurt her…”

  “Eltian, may his rhoa rest in peace,” Kastian tapped four fingers on his forehead at that, “did things to Dinky that you cannot even begin to imagine. Even our parents were disturbed by the things my brother was doing.”

  Helplessness was a powerful thing.

  Something shifted in Lion’s eyes; in the way he held his body. Desperation took over his thoughts.

  Begging was not going to work.

  Sir Gwodd noticed the subtle change in Lion’s muscles. He took half a step forward. He neither made any move to reach for his sword, nor displayed any other intimidation. He simply pressed his lips together, ready to speak Lion’s First Word if he so much as looked at the King the wrong way.

  “But the slave did not break,” Kastian continued. “He never did. He would still walk - when he could - and behave and serve like a perfect slave. A purebred.”

  “I’ll lose the fight,” Lion went back to begging. “I’ll do whatever you ask…”

  Kastian raised his voice to cut him off. “Everyone appreciates a well-trained purebred for being the perfect tools. A valuable property. However, I used to admire them for what they are.” He smiled, but his green eyes lacked the joy of it. “I think a purebred is not a mere well-trained human. I think it is a different species; something more evolved than humans. They are easy to control, because they possess an inhuman amount of control over themselves. It’s really surprising not everybody sees how remarkable they are.”

  Kastian’s smile faded. “If anyone had told me that a purebred could cause so much trouble for a King, I would have found it very amusing.”

  Saradra’s hand found Lion’s and squeezed it. She sobbed and her tears fell on his armour. He pressed her against his chest, as if wanting to tuck her safely in his heart. To protect her.

  “I will obey,” he whispered, his throat bobbing. “I will do whatever you wish. I… I live to serve; I breathe to please. Please, Owner…”

  “When I sent you into the arena with Marzul, I didn’t think it was necessary to order you to die. I guess I underestimated what a purebred can do. And now, I can’t risk trusting your obedience again.”

  Lion took Saradra’s face between his hands and kissed her. He covered her face with kisses, every one of them hungrier than the last. His hand slid down to her belly and he understood why she was so obsessed with her unborn child, even before it was conceived. He felt protective of the child growing inside. He wanted to hold it, guard it, care for it.

  “Your five minutes is up,” Kastian gritted between his teeth.

  Saradra wrapped her arms around Lion’s neck. Tears still trailed down her cheeks, but that strong, fierce fighter returned to her voice. “Look at me,” she ordered. “Fight it.”

  The blue of her eyes crushed Lion’s heart. He wanted to lose himself in them.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  A lump sat on Lion’s throat. He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her back, but Kastian spoke before he could make a sound: “Dracistuecto.”

  The accursed red mist pressed down, hard and quick. Lion tried to shove Saradra away, but she clung to him.

  “Run!” Lion pushed through clenched teeth.

  “No,” Saradra refused. “You can fight it!”

  He fought it. Gods and dragons knew, he fought it with everything he had. He focused on the colour of her eyes. Blue fought red.

  A pressure started building up inside his head. The blinding rage accumulated in his tense muscles.

  “Kill her,” Owner commanded.

  “Fight it!” the blue whispered.

  The purebred planted his fingers on the sandy ground, forcing himself to stay still. The red mist was seeping into his mind, surrounding the blue.

  His heart pounded against his chest. His breathing turned into a growl. A loud humming filled his ears, muffling all sound. The pressure at the back of his head grew, until it exploded.

  In red.

  20

  OLIRA

  Olira walked out of the farmhouse with the heavy tray on her arms. A large bowl of meat stew, a jug of water, and a wooden cup were balanced on the tray. No cutlery. He’d have to eat with his fingers.

  She kicked the door closed behind her, took two steps, then paused, glaring up the road.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…” she growled quietly, cursing under her breath.

  Jygan trotted down the road on his horse. His saddlebags were bulging. He waved a hand, his bearded face bright with warmth. He was met with a sharp glare.

  “I don’t need your help,” Olira snapped as soon as Jygan was within earshot.

  “What?” The tanner blinked, innocently. He pulled his horse to a stop in front of the farmhouse and jumped down.

  Olira growled again as she stormed off towards the barn. Jygan stalked after her.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, okay,” Jygan said as he caught up with her. “Gilann and I went there as quick as we could. We looked everywhere…”

  When Olira stopped abruptly, Jygan almost bumped into her back. He took a step back as Olira turned to pin him where to stood with a fiery glare.

  “I’m not angry at you because of that.”

  “But you are angry at me?”

  “No, it wasn’t your fault. It was my decision to leave my supplies behind. It was my decision to buy a slave. And it was my decision to do business with a slave trader in the first place…”

  “You’re being too harsh on yourself.”

  “… So, if my supplies are stolen because I decided to leave them behind to save the slave’s life, that’s my fault. I’ll take care of it. I don’t need your help or pity.”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Jygan said, resentment in his voice.

  Olira scoffed, pivoted on her heels, and headed towards the barn. Jygan matched her steps.

  “I’m running out of incense.”

  “I can smell that.”

  “Hey!” Jygan scowled, but a grin played across his lips. He raised an arm to sniff underneath it. He was so used to living in the awful smell of his tannery, his nose didn’t work anymore. “I took a shower, I swear,” he said, and the embarrassment in his voice broke Olira’s heart, took the edges of her unjustified anger.

  Despite his attractive face and his single status, the smell Jygan had lived under was enough to put off all his suitors. And he wasn’t rich enough to make up for it either.

  Oddly, the smell never bothered Olira as much.

  “Look,” she said, forcing some warmth in her voice. “Talk to Gilann. He’ll give you another bag.” She nodded her head towards the unkempt looking herb garden where Gilann was stretching a tarp over a group of wild plants that didn’t tolerate prolonged exposure to the sun.

  “Great,” Jygan grinned smugly. “And I’d like to make payment with rice, flour, and salt.”

  “Incense doesn’t cost that much.”

  “Well, I need a lot.”

  Olira bit her tongue before she hissed out ano
ther hurtful comment. A smile tugged at Jygan’s lips. He raised an eyebrow, daring Olira to go ahead and say something.

  Two little shapes, made of energy and mischief, lunged themselves at Jygan, saving Olira from giving a reply.

  “Uncle Jygan!” Andar chimed brightly, wrapping his little arms around Jygan’s waist.

  At eight years old, Andar and his twin were the youngest of Olira’s little brothers. Jygan tousled their wild, dirty blonde hair while the two boys looked up at him admiringly.

  “He’s not your uncle,” Olira grunted.

  “Yet,” Kowas grinned, causing Olira to blush and growl, while Jygan smirked pleasantly.

  “Have you seen our new slave?” Andar asked as he jumped up and down in Jygan’s personal space.

  Sometimes Olira thought the Twelve were going to bless her family with a dozen children, but took pity on their poor mother, and stuffed all the living energy of those unborn children into these two instead. The twins always had so much juice in them, Olira had never seen them tired. They were incapable of sitting still for the length of five heartbeats. It was infuriating.

  “Because we haven’t,” Kowas complained with a pout.

  “And you never will,” Olira snarled. The tray was weighing heavier in her arms and she was losing her patience. She had work to do. “You two, go unload Jygan’s saddlebags inside.”

  “Why can’t we see him?” Andar protested. Olira’s words had flown way over his head.

  “Torren says he’s a purebred beast. I wanna see what he looks like,” Kowas joined in.

  “Don’t make me put this tray down,” Olira warned. She supported her warning with a sharp glare.

  The twins stalled for a moment, debating whether they could challenge her on this. Andar caved in first.

  As they stomped towards Jygan’s horse, they were still complaining about how unfair this was. Olira rolled her eyes and took a deep breath before she faced the barn again.

  “How’s Torren?” Jygan asked as he fell in step behind Olira.

  The boy had recovered quicker than Olira had thought. His neck was still bruised, considering the attack had only happened two days ago, but it didn’t affect Torren’s behaviour at all. He was back to his usual, cheerful self the next morning.

  “He’s okay,” she paused, biting her lips. “He’s blaming himself.”

  “Blaming how?” Jygan scowled.

  “He thinks he scared the slave.”

  Every time Torren had recalled the event, he was adding more details about how it was his fault he was attacked like that. He’d defended the slave, claiming he was having a nightmare and Torren had sneaked up on him. That the slave wasn’t conscious and didn’t realize he was hurting Torren.

  Olira didn’t understand why the boy thought he was guilty, though the slave’s behaviour supported Torren’s claims. He’d still been on the floor when Olira had returned to the room that day. He’d complied with Olira’s orders without delay and hadn’t tried anything else. He’d even looked pale and shaky, though it could have been the result of his punishment, or his injuries as well.

  The double doors of the barn were sealed with a chain and a large padlock. Olira balanced the tray on one arm and fished out the key from her dress pocket.

  “Here, I’ll hold that for you,” Jygan said, taking the tray off her. “And how is Gilann taking all this?”

  Olira sighed. Gilann wasn’t comfortable with the idea of owning a slave. No more than Olira was. But he was a reasonable young man, and once Olira had explained to him the difficult position Master Gladwiel had put her in, he’d understood.

  “He’s trying really hard not to say I told you so.”

  She turned the key in the padlock, and took it off. She started pulling the chains free from the handles.

  “I just wanna get rid of him,” she muttered.

  Slave trade made her sick, but she’d lost so much money already, not to mention almost her brother’s life. The slave was trouble. She was going to sell him as soon as he’d recovered from his injury. She needed the money desperately.

  She pulled the barn doors open and walked in with Jygan trailing after her. Warrior snuck his head out of his stall and greeted her with a cheerful bray. She gave him a quick pat before heading to the third stall on the left.

  Olira and Gilann had installed a simple latch outside the wooden door of the stall. It wasn’t anything sturdy, and Olira had a feeling the slave could easily break the door in half when he felt strong enough. But it eased her mind.

  She undid the latch and pulled the door open to find the slave lying in his makeshift bed of hay. She’d given him one of her father’s old shirts, which was stretched tight over his broad chest and soaked in sweat. Despite the chilly temperature inside the barn, he’d pulled the blanket down his waist, sweating and breathing heavily.

  “Is that really necessary?” Jygan asked, pointing with his chin.

  Olira had put the slave’s collar back on, and tethered the other end of the chain to a ring on the wall, which Gilann had installed with plenty of nails. The chain was barely long enough to let the slave sit up, but not stand. It was a sturdier restraint than the latch outside the door.

  But perhaps the most powerful restraint was Olira’s promise that if he’d left this stall without her permission, she’d punish him with his Pain Word until he didn’t remember who he was anymore. Although the thought of inflicting pain made her sick, the slave seemed to believe her.

  “I can’t be careful enough with him,” she muttered.

  The slave hadn’t shown any signs of waking up. Olira pulled her sleeves up as she scowled at the man’s irregularly rising and falling chest. She didn’t care if he was awake or not. She just had to check his leg to make sure he was recovering fine. He could eat his food whenever he’d wake up.

  Jygan put the tray down on the floor before walking up to the slave. “Hey buddy, wake up.”

  The slave’s mouth moved, incoherent whispers spilling out of his lips. His eyes were shifting rapidly under his lids. He breathed out a strained plead: “Run!”

  “Jygan, stop!” Olira urged as she grabbed the back of Jygan’s shirt and pulled him back.

  “What? Why?”

  Olira scowled as she watched the man toss and turn, scattering hay everywhere. His breathing became erratic.

  “He’s having a nightmare,” Olira explained. Just like he had right before he’d attacked Torren that day.

  Jygan’s brows dipped when Olira stepped back to the opposite wall of the stall.

  “Hey!” Olira yelled, “Wake up!” She banged her fist against the wall until the slave’s eyes popped open.

  He let out a howl, angry and hurting. A snarl twisted his face as he swung his arms in panic, kicking and fighting off invisible enemies. His pupils were dilated, concealing the colour of his eyes. When he spotted Jygan, he pulled his lips back before lunging himself at him.

  The chain stretched tight, holding the man in place. With a deep growl, the slave threw his full weight on the chain, yanking wildly until the ring on the wall came loose.

  “Prihjtivaviula!” cried out Olira at the same time Jygan cursed “Shit!”, stumbling backwards with an arm stretched in front of Olira.

  The slave collapsed on the hay covered floor, writhing in silent pain.

  “Kiejain’s balls!” Jygan cursed. “Are you okay?”

  Olira nodded, though her heart was beating hard against her chest. She pressed her lips, feeling sick as she watched the man suffer at her feet. She could have used his First Word, but she wasn’t sure if it would have been enough to snap him out of his nightmare.

  When the convulsions slowed down, Olira held her breath, waiting. Jygan tensed, keeping himself between Olira and the slave, but she pushed him aside. As she’d expected, the slave rolled himself facedown, connecting his hands behind his head one more time. A mixture of growl and moan hummed out of his chest, his whole body shaking.

  “I know what this is,” Olira s
aid, a victorious smile tugging at her lips, despite the fact that she’d had to hurt a man seconds ago.

  Jygan raised an eyebrow at her while the slave stilled, listening.

  “He’s possessed by night demons,” Olira explained, drawing the sign of the Twelve in the air, then touching four fingers against her forehead.

  “Demons are banished to Darkhome,” objected Jygan. “They can’t possess people…”

  “Yeah, but he’s a purebred. They don’t have rhoas, remember?”

  It all made sense. The slave must have been haunted by night demons. In that case, Torren was right; the slave wasn’t fully awake when he’d tried to kill him.

  The slave pressed his forehead against the floor. His shoulders relaxed. Tired. Hurting. His face was hidden beneath his arms, though Olira would bet it was stripped of any emotion. The slave was an empty shell without a rhoa. No feelings. Not human.

  She still wasn’t at peace with the fact that the man had laid a finger on one of her little brothers. The slave was still dangerous. But at least now she knew he didn’t do it intentionally.

  Moreover, she knew how to prevent it from happening again.

  21

  PUREBRED BEAST

  “Fight it!”

  “Look at me! Please! Just look…”

  Screams.

  Soft skin against his knuckles.

  Teeth biting into his hands.

  Wet sound of bones cracking under his fists.

  Red. Only, red.

  22

  LION

  The rage faded. The red mist slowly receded.

  His eyes were drawn to the wet pile of flesh at his feet.

  He fell on his knees, tilted his head back and howled.

  Outside in the arena, the fight before the last one came to an end. The audience was demanding blood.

  Blood coated Lion’s hands, arms, and the front of his armour.

  He pulled Saradra’s lifeless body to his chest. Her bones were broken in so many places that no matter how careful he held her, her limbs fell into queasy angles.