The Inner Circle: The Knowing

by Cael McIntosh

Seteal picked herself up, dusted off her dress, and gazed into the clouds in time to glimpse the silt fading against the declining sun. A moment later, she was surrounded.

  ‘Are you all right there, missy?’ a man asked, placing a hand on Seteal’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Seteal turned to face a middle-aged man in attire befitting a commoner. His breath was foul and his flesh was that of someone who’d spent too many years in the sun, but his eyes were kindly so Seteal adjusted her tone accordingly. ‘I’m sorry. You startled me.’

  ‘It didn’t hurt you, did it?’ The man narrowed his eyes worriedly. ‘Pretty little thing like you.’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ she reassured the man, all the while discreetly trying to wipe away tears.

  ‘How rude of me,’ the man grunted. ‘I’m Master Fasil.’ He took Seteal’s hand and kissed it gingerly.

  ‘Seteal,’ she replied, retrieving her hand a little too hastily for common courtesy.

  ‘And whom, may I ask, do you belong to?’

  ‘Belong to?’ Seteal cringed. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been mistaken. I don’t belong to anyone.’

  ‘Pretty little thing, but none too bright,’ Master Fasil belly laughed. ‘It’s always that way with the better ones.’

  ‘I really must be getting back,’ Seteal excused herself.

  ‘That’s exactly my point!’ Fasil bent over and laughed so hard that he belched. ‘I left my carriage by the road on the other side of the field and I’d hate to see you getting into any more trouble. I’ll give you a ride wherever it is you’ve got to go.’

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ Seteal stepped back in a vain attempt to avoid the man’s pervasive breath. ‘I’ll make my own way.’ Master Fasil had somehow managed to keep Seteal occupied long enough that the crowd had dispersed. It was only when she began taking hurried strides across the field that she realised almost everyone was gone.

  Seteal trotted through the long grass. She wouldn’t run. She needn’t look a fool. But she had to hurry, didn’t she? The man wasn’t normal. There was something off about him. Blood rushed by Seteal’s ears. She scarcely breathed, focusing instead on reaching the road . . . a road that was completely abandoned.

  ‘Come on, missy,’ the man called as he hurried after her. ‘Don’t be like that.’ He grabbed Seteal’s arm and yanked her to a stand-still. ‘I just want to help. It’s really no bother.’

  ‘No!’ Seteal shouted, a fearful lump growing in her chest. ‘Get away from me!’ She tore free of Fasil’s grip. Appearing foolish no longer mattered. She no longer had suspicions, but reasons to be fearful.

  Master Fasil grabbed a handful of Seteal’s hair and with a force that stung her scalp, snapped back her head. He put his arms around her and blew his rancid breath in her face. ‘You needn’t have been that way, young missy.’ His tone was one of hurt. ‘I’m very gentle with good girls.’ As the words escaped his lips, Seteal felt him tracing a blade along her neck and down her breasts. ‘But you’ve been a naughty girl.’

  ‘Let me go,’ Seteal gasped. ‘Please!’ The word erupted from her lips, a desperate plea encased by raw emotion. Master Fasil slid his hand down her belly and reached lower to touch her inappropriately.

  ‘Get off me! Get off me! Get off me!’ Seteal shrieked, struggling against the man’s grip, fearing a fate worse than death. She drove her elbow into his stomach and managed to break free, but as she turned to run, a clammy hand snatched at her wrist. Pulling hard, Seteal freed herself a second time and caught off balance Master Fasil tumbled to the ground. Seteal threw herself in the opposite direction but he grasped her ankle and she fell onto her elbows, grazing them in the grass. And then her life was over.

  At first, she fought back. She slapped him. In response, he beat her face until it was hot and bruised and swollen. She punched him. He choked her and slammed her head against the earth until blood gushed from her nose and her throat became almost impossible to breathe through. He violated her, pushing himself into her. He put his weight on her back and drove her face into the earth with every thrust. Seteal stopped fighting--not because she didn’t want to, but because her mind shut down, receding into a place of solitude. The pain formed a rhythm, misery to a beat that sang a jeering tune. Seteal squeezed her eyes shut and screamed for it all to end through a throat that couldn’t make a sound.

  The rhythm changed. He moaned in pleasure, pushed her away and stared down at her as though she carried an incurable disease. Seteal was covered in mud. There was blood between her thighs. At first she wondered if he’d cut her, but that wasn’t it. Seteal rolled onto her side, gingerly putting her legs together and staring into the man’s eyes. They made contact for a brief moment, but he looked away to pull up his trousers.

  ‘I told you you’d been naughty,’ he muttered irritably.

  A loud explosion tore through the evening and echoed throughout the field. In unison with the sound, Fasil’s chest erupted, spraying Seteal’s face with blood. The man fell first to his knees, his eyes having lost their life before he even hit the ground. Across the field a reedy man with a long white beard strode in her direction, a smoking pistol held in his hand.