Post by Imorta Thaw on Nov 1, 2008 12:34:52 GMT -8
No editing. Just words on a page. 1750. phew, and I'm off to bed.
A raid. Horses, screams, dust in the air, and smoke. Houses already burning. People, gathered in tight circles, surrounded by whistling horsemen. A young boy, searching for his sister. Chaos.
The boy heard a sob. Somewhere, not in the tight circles of horsemen, there was a girl. His sister perhaps. He needed to find her. He slipped away from the horsemen. Ignored the chains that they were getting ready. He stood, looking around. His hand hung numbly at his side.
There. His sister, under Mr. Henson’s porch. Hiding, sobbing. Her teddy all wet and muddy.
He stumbled towards her, his tiny feet steadily moving him closer to her. Her eyes widened, “Ircai!” her lips made the soundless movement.
Pain, searing pain shot through his hand to his little brain. His knees collapsed and the soldier that had grabbed him was forced to support his weight. Darkness, screams, and the rough ground moving under him. Then nothing.
The first thing Ircai noticed when he came to was the bumping. He was riding; a horse perhaps. His vision was blurry, and his toes numb. It was cold, but there was no rain. A blessing. “Thank the gods” he mumbled incoherently. And immediately regretted it.
“Looks Like this un’s ‘wake.” Came a gruff voice behind him. “Talkative fellow too!” This comment was followed by laughter.
“Let ‘im down then!” Came a voice through Ircai’s daze. He felt strong hands surround him and lift him. He hung limply, his eyes closed, terrified at what he would see if he opened them.
“Aw look, the little Tike’s scared o’ you.” A different voice this time, lower but with less malice commented. A rough shaking followed; the man holding the boy up wasn’t amused.
“I’ll giff ‘im somethin’ t’ be scared ‘bout!” The rider’s voice gained more of an accent as his slipped into anger. There was no reply, but Ircai crunched up into a ball in his hands. The man holding him was strong, but Ircai was also absurdidly small for his age.
He felt rough hands turning him around, but stayed in his tight little ball.
“Look a’ me!” The gruff voice demanded. When Ircai didn’t respond, the man shook him once more, making his head snap back. He felt a little numb, dissorianted. His limbs relaxed, and when the man repeated his order “I said look!” he opened his eyes a crack.
The man was dark skinned, or maybe just tanned and extremely dirty, Ircai couldn’t tell. He had long, dark brown hair that obviously didn’t know the meaning of brushing. He had layers upon layers of rags of clothing on. More holes and fabric. All of them a dirty brown, except the vest, which was obviously newly plundered, and a good quality lighter leather. His face seemed like it had at one point been a block of soft stone, but years of pain and hardship had carved out eagle like features. His eyes stared ruthlessly out from under huge eyebrows, and the coldness of the dark brown color terrified Ircai.
He gasped, and curled up in his ball again, his eyes tightly shut against the image of heartlessness that he did not comprehend.
His capturer snorted, but did not demand his attention again. Instead, he tucked the boy under his arm and dismounted. His long strides brought him to one of the slave lines for the women, and pushed the terrified child at the most mature looking lady. “’E gets in my way, an’ you die.” He did not wait for a response, but strode once more to his horse, mounted, and kicked his horse into a fast trot that brought him to the leader. One of his associates got the slave lines moving again, and Ircai just huddled in the woman’s arms, terrified by what he had seen.
Malda carried the child until the horsemen stopped the lines for a midday break. Then, she put him down, assuming that he was asleep, and turned to join in on the whispered conversations of her fellow prisoners. They had long been expecting an invasion, but not slavers. They had just been told about the plunderers, not the people traders. Someone had fed them misinformation, and obviously gotten quite the payday from it.
“They could a’ least had the decency to leave us and the littleuns alone.” The rest of the prisoners nodded their agreement. They looked over at the male prisoners and winced collectively. Their capturers were enjoying the control they had on human lives.
Ircai lay listening to the women for a time, but when he heard a scream of pain from the other side of camp he sat up with a jolt. From his lying position he had not been able to see what the women had been talking about. Now he did. It sent shivers through his body. His neighbors, human beings, were being humiliated; one man was being forced to dance with a whip. Another served as a chair for one of the horsemen.
Ircai whimpered, backing away, his eyes filled with tears, and he turned and ran. The woman that had been assigned to watch him was oblivious.
The boy ran, blind with tears, sobbing and stumbling. He remembered suddenly that his sister was lost. He had failed to protect her. Huge sobs racked his body. He ran, oblivious to the world, trying to avoid all responsibility and trying to get it all back at the same time.
His headlong dash was stopped when he ran straight into something very stiff, and round, but too soft to be a tree. His gaze focused through the watery blur on ragged pants, then wound its way up to a light leather vest with layers of shirts underneath it, and then to the eagle eyed face of his capturer. Ircai tried to scramble back, but only succeeded in falling on his back. The man crouched down, and reached for his lapel.
“Well look who’z back.” He said with a smirk. “Still scared of me?” The smile on his face made Ircai gulp, though his mouth was dry. He opened his mouth to deny it, but no sound came. His body was paralyzed with fear of this heartless terror. He was only just seven, and this man looked like a demon from his grandma’s stories.
The man’s smile only served to terrify the child more. “Wher’z you’re nanny ‘en?” Ircai shook his head, his blond hair falling into his eyes. He had no nanny.
The man chuckled. “Alrigh’ ‘en.” Ircai felt a tug on his lapel, and an accompanying order, “Gedup.” The boy was more pulled to his feet than anything.
He stood, shaking, his face level with that of the horseman. His eyes wide, wondering what the demon wanted.
“We’re goin’ t’ find ‘at nanny of yours.” Said the man, and rose, letting go of Ircai’s clothing.
He began striding in the direction of the female slave lines. Ircai almost didn’t follow him, but the hungry looks of the other horsemen scared him more than the back of the light vested one. So he ran after him instead of continuing his headlong dash.
Ircai managed to catch up to the rider only when the later slowed down as he neared the slaves. His eyes scanned the crowd of women, and found the one he had given the child to. It bothered him for a moment that he knew which one that was, but he quickly put it out of his mind as he realized, furious, that she hadn’t even realized that the boy had disappeared.
Fuming, he strade towards her, ignoring the other slaves scrambling out of his way. His vision was getting redish, and the fury made him terrifying.
Fuming, he strode towards her, ignoring the other slaves scrambling out of his way. His vision was getting reddish, and the fury made him terrifying. Ircai followed him, not in a position to see his face, but terrified but the looks the slaves and other riders gave him.
Once the rider got to the slave that had lost Ircai, he had completely lost it. Not even attempting to control his emotions, the slaver grabbed a hold of the woman’s hair, interrupting her gossiping, and threw her to the ground. She stared up at him, terrified, uncomprehending.
Ircai watched from behind the horseman. His eyes matched that of the woman. He didn’t realize that this fury was in anyway concerned with him. It didn’t register that by running he had pretty much sent this woman to her grave.
The man, more demon than human now, took out his sword. A squeak left the woman’s mouth. Her jaw worked silently, trying to think of something that would convince this madman to leave her alone, something, anything, to save her life.
It wouldn’t have mattered. The rider was bent on keeping his word, on killing the slave woman. She had disobeyed his order, and he was in a position to make her pay for such insolence.
“Rend!” The voice of the other horseman gruffly called out. The man was hurrying to his furious companion.
The man who was apparently called Rend didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge the call. “Tha’ woman’s valuable property.” Said the other rider once he reached the light vested man.
A bark of laughter that of a maniac sprang from Rend’s lips. “I told ‘er she’d die, an’ she will.” The whisper seemed more a growl than anything else. His eyes and stance made it clear that he meant it.
“’Alrigh’ ‘en.” The second man nodded. “But not ‘ere.” Though he didn’t raise his voice, it was obvious that he meant what he said, and would back the order, for that’s what it was, with force if needed. But it turned out that he didn’t. Rend nodded, seemingly pacified a little, and sheathed his sword.
“Gedup.” His voice was cold. Heartless. Terrifying. Completely empty.
Sobbing, the woman rose, her hands hugging her body. Rend grabbed hold of her hair again, and steered her back in the direction he had come from.
He didn’t get more than two steps though. Ircai was staring up at him through his net of blond hair. His blue eyes were clueless, but terrified. They were staring at Rend as if he was going to be the one dead, not the woman.
For a moment, Rend just stared at him, his eyes narrow slits, trying to understand the odd feelings going through his mind. “Com’un.” He said shortly to the boy, and still dragging Malda by her hair, strode of in the direction of the forest.
Terrified, shaking, whimpering, Ircai followed the demon man.
