by Farah Cook
II
ARRES - FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AGO
8
NORA
THE AIR IS hot, unfamiliar, and strange. I don’t know where I am, and I can’t seem to remember how I came to be here. A storm, there was a horrible storm, and I was with someone. Now, I am not. I am alone, and the only sight at the crack of dawn is a magnificent castle far from my reach. I force my feet to carry me beyond the endless shifting sand dunes, stepping onto crumbling rock. The taste of tangy metal is on my tongue. I lick my lips and the taste gets stronger.
I spit out blood from my lips, cracked and bleeding. Panicked, I look around. I hear something—birds cawing? Screeching eagles? Or am I imagining all this? There’s an odd, heavy silence, and then I hear something. The sand trickles down the hills behind me. How did I get here? And where are my friends that came with me? A boy and a girl. I am certain of that or maybe not. I don’t know. I might be going insane. I remember nothing and my head hurts, and my back feels like it is on fire. Hot burning coals like the scorching desert sun.
My eyes pinch as the day breaks out of the night. I look around this deadly wasteland. I have to get to the castle. I reach out my hand as if my touching it would get me there. It will not. The castle is far away. How will I ever get there? And is that where I am meant to be going? My body slips from mental exhaustion and falls into hot sand. I lie flat for a while on my back. The thoughts I carry erupt into madness. My senses feel raw. Empty. The feeling of where I am going is terrifying. I might die out here. No one is with me. Not even a horse or a camel.
Maybe someone left me out here to die. Could it be the boy and the girl? Are they real or a part of my imagination? If I don’t make it to the castle soon, I’ll die out here. I am certain of it. I am thirsty. There’s no water, no life, nothing. I get to my feet. My body feels weak, frail. How long could I have been out here? Maybe it’s just a matter of time before I die. I drift in the direction of the towers of the castle. It seems so near, and yet it is so far from my reach. What hides behind those walls? People, food. I’m starving. I don’t think I have eaten in days.
Suddenly, I hear the neighing of horses from a distance growing closer. I turn around, and see two men flying in my direction. The horses have large black wings and fiery red eyes. One of the men is wearing the finest silver armor and soft leather boots. The sword to his side is wrapped in blood. It doesn’t smell of salt and iron but of something else. Rotten corpses. But how do I know this? And why do I know what a rotten corpse even smells like?
The man makes his presence known, dismounting a fine dark horse. A dry desert wind billows his cape. He says nothing just stares pointedly at me. His looks are severe, evil. His breathing is heavy, and still he says absolutely nothing. He stares, now more interested and curious than before. He tilts his head slightly to the side. He’s thinking something unpleasant about me. Or maybe he’s trying to figure out what I am doing out here. But that can’t be it. There’s something else on his mind. I can tell from the way his square jaw moves from side to side.
“Titus,” the man calls. “Bring this slave to the city with you.” He climbs back on the horse and waits. He looks over the dunes stretching as far as he can see. His eyes are sharp, deep, and raven black. They remind me of someone. A girl I know.
The other man, Titus, appears from behind. He is tall with dark, silken skin. He grabs hold of me, tossing me over his horse like I was no more than a dead log. Wait! I am no slave, I am… Who am I? What is my name? I lean on the horse uncomfortably. I feel weak, and vulnerable. I wonder how long I’ve been out in this desert. This hot climate seems to have clouded my memory. Why are my bones not among the sun-bleached carcasses hidden in the dunes?
I straighten my spine and sit up. The heat strikes me so unexpectedly. I fall, rolling into the gold colored powder. I sit on my side, spitting out pockets of sand. No one takes notice of me. It’s like I don’t exist. Or worse. It’s like I am some object.
“Master, where shall I bring the new slave?” he says. “Straight to one of the whorehouses on the other side of the market?”
“Bring her to Vance and ask for the same price he gave us for Normandus,” he says. “Brand her neck to mark her as a slave before she tries to escape.”
“But Master, Vance never took in a woman before.”
“Fool, she’s no woman. She’s a strong girl. She will serve well with the other legionnaires.”
“As you wish, Master.” The Master flies off on his horse in the direction of the castle. His red cape flares behind him, like a dragon’s tail. His trail in the sand vanishes quickly as if erased by the wind.
Titus acts a little surprised. He looks after his Master long after he’s gone, his wild eyes confused. He murmurs something under his breath. Sweat trickles down his forehead. With his arm, he makes one clean swipe. The sweat climbs on his dark skin. It sits there till he yanks down his cotton sleeve. Then he peers at me. He opens his mouth and closes it as if he doesn’t know what to say. I wait. Nothing.
As I turn around to get up, I feel a burning metal sting my neck. I scream.
“Quiet, slave girl,” hisses Titus. “A minute and you will feel better.”
“What did you just? GRRR!” I roar.
“Silence,” he shushes.
“Why are you whispering?” I say. “It’s not like someone can hear us.”
“Someone is always listening,” he says.
It takes me a while to register what he’s called me. Slave girl. He covers my wound with a cool, jelly like substance. The pain settles but doesn’t disappear. I bite my knuckles to contain the frustration that surrounds me. What the hell has he done to me? Did he just brand me a slave? Is that what I am? Right this moment; I cannot remember who I am and what I am doing here. I am sure I do not belong in the desert, and I am certainly no slave. I may be weak, but an inner strength is gathering, flickering like a faint flame.
“Where are you taking me?” I say. His large black bug eyes consume me like I was some delicacy. “Answer me, where are you taking me?” He ignores my question. He must be used to getting it from all the slaves he captures and brands, but I don’t give in. “Answer me!” I want to lunge at him, but I feel little strength in my arms.
He laughs. His teeth are shiny white against the dark tone of his skin. His wears a beige kandura that nearly touches his pointed leather shoes. The kandura sits loosely around his lean frame. On his head sits a dark red turban.
“Where are you from, slave girl? Did you travel from the North?” He glares at me with a familiar look and grins when I fail to hide my anger. “You’re nothing like anyone I’ve seen before except for—”
“I am no slave,” I say. “I am…” I don’t remember. I remember a storm, or was it a hurricane, maybe? I was with a boy and a girl. Faceless. They were with me. Is it their bones sticking out of the sand? My fear ensnarls me. Fear of what is about to happen. “Where are we going?”
“Where all the slaves go,” he says. “Into the city to the main trade tribesman.” He points toward the castle. “I’ll give you two days to survive in there if you go on like that.” He raises the corner of his lips. “Bah! Maybe one, a girl of your kind.”
“Please,” I say. “I am not a slave.” I roll off the horse and onto the hot sand. I realize I am wearing a strange black suit clinging tightly to my body. I feel sharp metal razing against my thigh.
His tall frame shadows me. He crouches down and strikes me hard. The heat rises to my cheeks. Titus looks at me with a dangerous edge, panting loudly.
“Wrong,” he says. “You’re a slave. I’ve just marked your neck, and you will belong to the trade tribesman as soon as I get a good price for you.”
“Please, do not sell me to a tribe member.” I tremble while getting up. My hand brushes against the weapon on my side hidden under my clothes. An urge rises inside me to draw it out and slice it against his neck, but I don’t.
“You should be grateful. A pretty girl like you could
easily fetch seventy-five dinars in the brothels inside the city for one night. Why the Master didn’t order me to sell you to one of the whorehouses I cannot say. He might be in a good mood. He’s never merciful. You must have done something right in your previous life to be this lucky. Vance is fair to his slaves and even feeds them occasionally. Bah! With your kind I’m not sure what he will say.”
When he sees my horror, he just shakes his head and spits out the dry bark he’s been chewing on while eyeing me carefully. He grabs a fistful of my hair and brings me close, sniffing me like a dog.
“But I—”
“Maybe even eighty dinars,” he whispers. “That silver hair of yours–bah! The Master didn’t see you properly. Why else would he send you straight to the tribesman? Quaint girl like you. Your looks alone are worth more than your dirty, curious mouth. Bah!” He goes on but after a while, I fail to register all the words he says. He talks fast about things that are unknown to me.
He tosses me back onto the horse. I feel my body weakening as I struggle to sit up straight. I feel a pull when the horse sets off toward the castle. I quickly grab hold of Titus’s small waist. The horse races over the sand dunes, its wings beautifully spread out. The hot desert air burns my eyes and dry lips. The crumbs of sand scrub my skin.
What could have been hours of travel, we reach within minutes. We are at the large port separating the deadly desert from the tall fortress walls. Nothing about this castle, the man called Titus, or the desert is familiar to me. It all feels new and alien. It doesn’t help that my memory is weak. I don’t even know if I’ve suffered from any injury, or battle. I have no wounds, except for the one on my neck. All I know is I am here for a reason, but what reason? I cannot remember. I try hard, but nothing comes up.
When the port opens, I see people moving. Men, women, and children. They wear long, colorful, cloaks, tunics, khaki trousers, and oversized cotton hats. Some wear turbans and others pointed leather hats. A tall man passes by me. He wears baggy pants caught in at the ankles, a short tunic, and velvet waistcoat with tiny mirrors. On his head sits a small round hat. His black long locks spills down his back like a curtain. In his right hand, he holds a long silver staff, with a bird head handle.
Everyone is in a rush, hobbling across cobblestones, with sacks of flour and spices hanging from donkeys, chariots, and other means of primitive transport, carrying jars of pickles, jam, and crates and barrels of drinks. Their skin is dark and leathery, their eyes beetle black.
I get off the horse and walk inside the main square with Titus by my side. I let my eyes wander. Nothing feels familiar. The air is warm and filled with zings, zests, and odd flavors: cinnamon, cardamom, citrus, coffee beans, and cocoa. We walk straight into a market with colorful oil lamps, leather goods, and silk fabric hanging from the market rails. Traces of golden sand trail behind us from the main courtyard, and Titus ties the neighing horse to a pillar and tells me to wait while he disappears behind curtains in the bazar.
On the other side of the market, thick smoke taints the air. Spirals of black rise into the sky and behind it I see something poking out. Something beautiful. A distantly familiar face of a boy smiles at me. He looks happy as if he knows me. He’s tall and broad shouldered, his face pale underneath his hooded cloak. I think I do know him from somewhere, but I cannot make out from where. He keeps looking and smiling, his nose straight, cheeks high, and lips large and full. His deep gaze arrests me, and that’s when I find myself gazing into the familiar blue ocean in his eyes. I know him; his name is—
“That’s her. Fresh from the reef,” says Titus.
He appears from the curtain, startling me and I look away. Slowly, I crane my neck, and the boy is no longer in sight. Titus stares at me, then at a short fat man at his side. That must be the trade tribesman, Vance. He’s just tall enough to reach Titus’s hip. He carries a dark look in his eyes. He zips his eyes up and down at me, driving his short round finger along my legs.
“How much?”
“Titus hands him a piece of paper.” Vance tears it into pieces.
“Tell Xavi he’s asking for too much for a slave girl of her kind. We can fetch plenty of other stronger men from the other side of the desert reef. We’re not short of deserters. They don’t have to be pretty. The Northern barbarians don’t care much about looks.”
“She’s strong enough, Vance, and she’s not missing any body parts. She’s a bit too skinny maybe, but she’s solid. Her hair alone is worth a fortune.”
The short fat man can’t reach my hair from where he stands, so he grabs a stool from the market, jumps up, and drives his little thick hands through my matted hair.
“Beautiful.” He smells thick strands, and tosses it to the side.
“Don’t touch me you filthy—” Another slap, this time harder. The blood runs from my nose. I feel a shot of anger rise. My fingers drum against the weapon I am hiding inside my clothes, but my courage lacks. Or is it my strength that’s missing? I feel my hand fall limp. I am weak and unable to muster nerves to fight back and defend myself. I wasn’t always this pathetic; I know because my mind tells me to do something, anything.
“Fiery too,” he says and laughs. “She’ll cause trouble I can tell. A fighter, huh?”
“Vance, you’re not getting a slave like her again. She’s one of a kind.” Titus wipes the blood from his hand. “Sell her to the barbarians and let them sort her out.”
“Nah!” he says. “I can make more money with her in the brothels.”
“Brothels? Bah! Now I understand the Master,” says Titus. “He said she’s a strong girl and will serve the legionnaires. She’s not brothel material.”
“Why not?” says Vance hoarsely. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, pretty slave girl?” He takes out a dagger and runs it against my other thigh where my sword is hidden. But I am not afraid. He can sense it. The anger in my eyes is visible.
“They need fighters. Soldiers in their army to control the growing rebel group of savage monsters. Hand her to them. The assassins will straighten her out.”
“You want to be among the assassins, huh?” yells Vance. He glares at me.
“Assassins?” I murmur. An instinct buried deep inside me recognizes the word as if it’s connected to me. “Who are they?”
“You may never know,” he says. “I’ll make sure you end up in the dirtiest little whorehouse—” Vance chortles. The saggy skin from his chin moves as if it was dough.
“Bah, you terrible man, Vance!” Titus says. “Sell her to who you like, just pay me my dinars so I can get out of your sight.”
“Would you like to be sold to the assassins?” he says and circles around me like an annoying fly. “They’ll carve you up and eat your insides raw if you go on like this. They’re savages. Ha! Who would have thought the Emperor would make those thugs host of his land to fight off the Rebels?”
“Vance, do we have a deal?” says Titus impatiently.
I feel an urge to do something, defy him, or tell him off again. Something that will make him angry enough to take me to the assassins. But what should I do? Without thinking I squat and take a fistful of dirt and throw it onto Vance’s face. He screams and swears, and I push my knee against his hard, round belly. My knee jolts back as if hitting a soft surface, but I keep my balance, like I’ve done this before. I am not afraid. I can fight. I am strong.
“That’s enough!” Titus grabs me hard by the arm and throws me to the ground, kicking dirt in my eyes. I roll over and quickly scramble to my feet. “You are too much trouble.” Just as he yanks me away, Vance motions for us to stop and whispers something into Titus’s ear, nodding and smiling mischievously, like he’s made a deal with the devil. Titus quickly snatches the small clinging sack from Vance’s fist. He glares at me one last time.
“They’ll sort you out, don’t worry pretty slave girl.” He leaves without turning around and for a moment, I feel relieved. He must have sold me for a good price.
From the shadows two smal
l and burly women emerge and grab me by the arms, dragging me inside a dank chamber. One of them holds a large butcher knife covered in blood, and I cannot take my eyes off of it as the golden soil underneath her feet eagerly gulps in the dark shade. Vance steps into the room and looks at the women.
“Don’t just stand there. Clean her up then tie her up. Make sure she doesn’t escape. Tomorrow morning I’ll bring her to the assassins’ ground.” He glares at me, his eyes tawny and small. “You’ve asked for it, dumb girl. By the Emperor Justus Markus, ruler of Arres, the holy city ruled by the ruthless and merciless assassins, you, slave girl with silver hair, shall be brought before them, and they shall give me a good price for your warm blood before turning it cold.” He cackles, his belly bouncing as he walks out.
“Come here!” the woman pulls my arm. “Let’s get the filth off.” She takes a bucket and cloths.
“Take off your clothes.” says the other woman.
I hear my heart drum in my ears. I keep my hands from using the weapon I carry. I need to get to the assassins and I hope I’ve made the right decision.
9
FREDERICK
SHE IS ALIVE. By the gods, Nora is alive. I pace the floor nervously, thinking how on earth I can free her from the tribesman’s claws. He’ll want to sell her. They always sell the slaves they get from the desert within hours so they don’t have to feed them. Nora, a slave. I can’t imagine what she must have gone through. She looked distracted, nervous. And she looked at me as if she didn’t know me. But it is Nora. No mistake there.
“She’s finally here,” I say and look at Mina. She appears from the room, looking happy. One month in Arres and finally a sign of happiness on her face. “I just saw her entering the city.”
“Nora, okay?” asks Mina desperately.
“I think so,” I say. “She may not be herself coming from whatever time laps before ending up in the desert. She wasn’t as lucky as we were, and I suspect she’s lost her memory just like the old Wizard warned.”