Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Elora: Part 2

She followed him out of the hut into the relentless drizzle, quite sure that she wouldn’t care if Kanar really did have an apoplexy.

Valin glanced back at Elora every few steps, and the worry in his eyes caused little knots of tension to tighten in her neck. Valin often fretted over her, but rarely did he look frightened. Elora forced herself not to think about it, having learned from experience that anticipating punishments was often worse than the punishment itself.

The last time, nearly two months earlier, she had hidden herself in the wagon caravan of cloth traders. Tucked behind bales of wool as the sun crawled across the sky, she had remained undetected until they had almost reached the base of the mountains. Then the slave catchers had caught up with them, and she had been hauled back to face Kanar’s fury. Valin had feared for her life then, and had insisted on her promise not to attempt again.

Elora found her gaze being dragged to the dirt as she drew closer to the main house. It wasn’t until she caught sight of Deliah out of the corner of her eye, smirking triumphantly, that Elora snapped her head up. She caught and held Deliah’s gaze, staring at the older girl with a ferocious intensity. Deliah looked away after a moment and half-ducked her head. Then they were at the main house and being hustled through the door by Kanar’s hired muscle. Valin was shoved aside and two burly men grabbed Elora’s arms, roughly hauling her forward to Kanar.

The master of the house sat in the giant, overstuffed chair in front of a roaring fire, a mug full of ale at his elbow. The pitcher next to it was more than half empty, and Elora knew that he was well on his way to being mean drunk. The first tendril of fear touched the inside of her ribs and trickled into her belly. She clenched her jaw and forced her head up, even though she knew a show of petulance could assuage Kanar’s anger slightly.

Kanar looked up and saw them coming. He heaved himself out of his chair, almost lost his balance, grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, and took a step forward. He had an imposing bulk, and a surprising amount was indeed muscle. His pockmarked face was scrunched into a perpetual frown, and his hair was just starting to grey. He didn’t need the walking stick leaning against his chair for balance, but the end was weighted with lead, and more than one slave had felt its bite.

The two men shoved Elora forward as Kanar sneered.

“Didn’t think even you would be fool enough to try running off again, but I guess slaves is too dumb to learn. You gotta beat the lesson into ‘em.”

“I wasn’t—“

Kanar moved toward her menacingly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You wasn’t thinking of contradicting me, was you?”

Elora swallowed hard. “I wasn’t running off,” she persisted, refusing to show her fear.

“I suppose you expect me to believe you went on a leisurely stroll in a thunderstorm,” he laughed.

That was closer to the truth, but she knew he wouldn’t believe it. “Someone told me one of the sheep was missing. I went to look for it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?” he demanded, his rage now divided between her disappearance and the thought that careless slaves had misplaced his livestock.

She opened her mouth to answer that she did not remember, but Dake stepped into view before the words formed.

“I did. One of the shepherds—I do not know his name—confided in me that he was afraid that one of his flock had gone missing. I volunteered to search, and Elora offered to help.”

Elora glared at Dake, wanting to tell him that she did not need his protection, but the prospect of avoiding punishment was enough to still her tongue.

“But she was seen leaving alone,” Kanar scowled.

“I stayed behind to ask the best direction to look and caught up with her not five minutes later.”

Kanar eyed first Dake suspiciously, then Elora. “Did you find the missing sheep?” he asked her directly.

Hoping that the shepherd slaves would not denounce her story, she replied, ‘Upon returning, we discovered that a recount had been made and no animals were missing after all.”

“Hmm.” Kanar appeared to be considering her answer.

Having not been struck yet gave Elora a bit of hope, and she felt relief creep onto her face. That was her mistake.

Kanar’s brow furrowed and he glared at her. “Makes no difference. You left the grounds without my permission. You got no respect for your betters. You interrupted and contradicted your master, and, girl, you’re too gods-cursed arrogant.”

Her gut clenched, and her instincts screamed at her to run. Kanar took another step forward, bringing his face within two handspans of her own. He thrust his jaw forward.

“Get on your knees,” he growled.

“No.” The defiant word came out as little more than a whisper, but she might as well have screamed it from the rooftops.

Kanar’s meaty fist drove in hard and fast, burrowing into her belly, driving the breath from her lungs. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, heaving and gasping. Her body went numb, then exploded into agony.

Kanar stepped back. “Have fun, boys,” he said to the two men, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

The last thing Elora heard as they dragged her from the room was Kanar’s voice.

“Dake! I want words with you about interfering with my discipline!”

*

“Well, that could have been worse,” Valin said.

Hunched over, Elora managed a small snort. She would have laughed, but it hurt too much.

Valin, who was the closest to a healer Kanar’s manor had, applied salve to the last of the rope welts on Elora’s back, then moved in front of her, grasping her chin between his thumb and first finger and tilting her face up. She did not want to meet his eyes, and studied his face instead. The grey hair and wrinkles made him look older than he really was, and Elora was certain she had given him more than her fair share of both. It was the same narrow, weather-hardened face that had met her eight years ago on her first day as Kanar’s slave, her third master, when she hated all men and avoided the women.

If Kanar had been hoping for someone to warm his bed when he bought Elora, he had been disappointed. She proved to be too stubborn and troublesome to be fit for any service in the main house. Kanar did his best to beat it out of her, but with very little success. In frustration, he gave her supervision to Valin and told him to make her useful.

Valin was a shepherd, and he had collected her one morning and herded her out to the meadows with his flock. Elora had sat sullenly on a rock the whole day while Valin largely ignored her. They did this for nearly a week, neither man nor girl speaking a word to the other, until the day a wild dog decided that mutton would make a good meal.

Elora screamed when she saw the dog’s huge jaws clamp down on a lamb who had wandered just a little too far from the others. Valin was there in a heartbeat, the only weapon slaves were allowed to carry already whistling around his head in a blur. He loosed the stone, and it struck the beast in the ribs. The impact made the dog drop his prey, snarling and crouching to attack. But another stone was already in the sling, then flying through the air. It slammed into the dog’s left eye, and the dog crumpled.

With a cry, Elora ran forward, the sight of the lamb’s blood drawing tears down her face. She gathered the creature in her arms and cradled it gently. Valin knelt next to her, his tender hands anointing the lamb’s wounds and binding them. Elora could only watch in amazement as the lamb nuzzled Valin’s hand, then bounded out of Elora’s arms to find its mother.

At the end of the day, Elora had walked hesitantly over to Valin. “Will you teach me to do what you did?” she asked softly.

Valin swiftly covered his surprise at hearing her speak. “Killing the dog or healing the sheep?”

“Both.”

“Certainly. We’ll start tomorrow.” And then he rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch as kind as it had been with the frightened lamb.

Elora had to smile at the memory. Valin frowned slightly at her, his gentle fingers dabbing salve on the bruises on her face as she peered up at him out of a blackened eye. She met his gaze finally, searching his green eyes for some hint at his thoughts. Finally, he leaned back and put the lid on the salve pot.

“A missing sheep?” he said softly.

She shrugged and averted her eyes, suddenly very interested in the dirt floor.

“You’re lucky the other shepherds didn’t cry false. If Kanar’s anger had fallen anywhere but on you, you would have found yourself shunned.”

“What care I?” she asked, shrugging again uneasily. “They all hate me anyway. I don’t need them.”

“Not all hate you, ‘Lora. And, independent or no, next time come up with a story that won’t cause innocents to be blamed. By rights, the shepherd who had lost the sheep should have been out with you. To do otherwise would have been shirking his duty, an offense that would earn a far worse punishment than you took.”

Chastised, Elora ducked her head to hide her flushed cheeks and mumbled something that might have been an apology.

*

The moons followed their cycles, and Elora did her best to stay beneath Kanar’s notice. The spring storms that followed found her in the corner of the main hall, head bent deliberately over her mending, or sometimes in conversation with Dake when he came around.

Dake owned a few acres of land a league away, and he visited frequently, particularly when the weather prevented him from working his land. He was fond of Elora in a way that she found disconcerting, but he never made himself a nuisance. He had an innate ability to know when she tired of him. Elora would have been the first to admit that she did not dislike him, but he felt that he as indebted to Kanar, and that did not make for pleasant conversations.

When Dake had first moved to the valley and was making a start, Kanar lent him some money and the use of a small plot of land. What Dake did not know was that the land had been pronounced barren; Kanar expected Dake to fail and be unable to pay his debt, leaving him at the tender mercy of Kanar, who would have used this hold to press him into an indentured servitude.

Against all odds, Dake produced a crop the first year, paying enough of his debt to hold Kanar off for a while. During the next year, Dake created irrigation trenches to his fields from the river that flowed down the exact center of the valley, offering the parched ground the moisture it had previously been denied. His crops flourished, and he was able to pay his debt and for the use of the land. Kanar was furious and decided at the end of the third year to demand that he purchase the land or leave. He did not anticipate Dake’s acceptance of his offer, and he received ample payment for the ground he had never planned to use again.

Dake never knew of Kanar’s intentions, and Kanar’s people were forbidden to speak of it. The fear of the consequences did not keep Elora silent—another beating meant little to her—but she could see no real reason to tell Dake the truth. There was nothing he could do about it and all it would gain, if he chose to believe her, was one more person who hated Kanar. The valley was full of those already.

But Dake felt he still owed something to Kanar for helping him get started, and Elora found it difficult to talk with a man who sang her master’s praises. So they talked of the weather, and of the sheep, but never of freedom, or of choices. Whenever Kanar noticed their discussions, he would loudly call for Dake to stop dallying with the slaves and come talk with the men. Elora would grit her teeth and Dake would give her a sheepish glance as he joined Kanar and his hunters.

As the weeks crawled by, Kanar seemed to have forgotten his anger with Elora. It was coming on the spring festival when Kanar decided that it was time Elora showed a little responsibility. Whether that was his true motive, or whether he wanted to deprive her of the enjoyment of the festival, Elora did not care. She had been ordered to take the sheep to Trallin’s Meadow for three days and return, coincidentally, the day after the festival, and she intended to enjoy her solitude.

She did, however, assume that Kanar would have her watched for an escape attempt. Elora was not so naïve as to think that he had forgotten that she was the most troublesome of all his slaves, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of proving him right by running away. If she tried, she knew she would be dragged back to Kanar and only the gods knew what punishments he was anxious to try. She could wait a little longer, win more trust.

She left just after dawn, but not so early as to offend the gods, bidding goodbye only to Valin. The sheep followed her willingly and many nuzzled her bare calves. She began to play her wooden flute, and the crisp notes carried through the late spring air, drifting on the gentle breeze that rustled leaves as she passed by. The meadows she walked through were lush green, dotted with wildflowers. An occasional clump of heather or a fern would attract a particular sheep’s attention and it would stop to nibble. The sky was blue, and a few cotton puffs floated lazily across, blocking the sun’s direct glare from time to time.

As the day progressed, Elora slowed her pace, stopping under the occasional shade of trees and drinking whenever water presented itself. The air grew warm and thick. She threw her cape over her shoulders, reveling in the feeling of the slight breeze against her arms. The flute disappeared into her satchel, and the few birds inhabiting the meadows retreated into the shaded sanctuary of the tree branches as the breeze died. The stillness became nearly unbearable. She briefly considered playing her flute again, but decided to conserve her breath for walking.

Evening descended quickly, and the heat decreased to a tolerable level. The flock tired, and Elora began to look for a campsite. It took time to find a suitable area, and when she finally found one, only an hour of sun remained. There was a stream flowing nearby, and the sheep made directly for it, drinking greedily. She built a fire, even though the air was still hot. The flames would keep predators away while they slept. Then she created a crude pen out of loose rocks to keep the lambs close. Young sheep tended to wander, and too often shepherds found only carcasses come morning.

As darkness enveloped the land, the sheep began to settle for the night, white mounds against the green grass. The stars appeared, one by one, pinpricks of light pressed against the black velvet sky, their light nearly overshadowed by that of the Moon Sisters. Elora retrieved her flute and placed it to her lips. It was the best way to calm the sheep. The song that emerged was a slow refrain Valin had taught her many years ago.

It was a quiet, haunting melody that captivated listeners and focused their attention, causing them to ignore everything around them. It had been said that thieves would partner with minstrels and use the tune to rob folk, but Elora didn’t give that rumor much credit. She only knew it soothed the flock and steadied her nerves.

As the notes drifted through the heady night, she found her thoughts wandering. The meadow, the flock, the hard stone she sat on, all seemed to disappear into the distance. Her mind soared as it often did to heights of thought beyond the reach of reality—thoughts of freedom.

Slavery chafed Elora. She could still remember the rides with her father, galloping across the country on important Courier business. The thought of her father stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, searching for another memory.

She remembered the last time that she had been to Trallin’s Meadow, traveling with Valin. They had grown close, close enough that Elora had finally asked him what she thought about constantly.

“Valin? Do you ever think about freedom?”

Valin had shot Elora a quizzical look. Though he knew they were far from any of Kanar’s spies—a day and a half’s walk—he had to fight the urge to hush her.

“I don’t understand, ‘Lora,” he half-smiled. “What do you mean, do I ever think about freedom? I am free.”

Elora glanced at him sharply, sitting a little straighter. That was not the answer she had been expecting. “How can you say you’re free,” she demanded, “when Kanar dictates every move you make?”

“You and I have very different ideas of freedom, then, little one. When you are older, and wiser, you will understand that freedom is more than being able to do whatever you want. There is a deeper freedom, a freedom of the mind, which no one can ever take from you. I have the freedom to think what I will, to express myself as I will.”

“And if Kanar doesn’t like the thoughts you choose to express?”

Valin stared at her for a moment, startled by the directness of the question, then glanced around uneasily. “Kanar cannot be everywhere at once,” he said softly.

Not entirely satisfied with his answer, but knowing he wouldn’t be pressed into saying anything more, Elora had nodded, then jumped up and went to wander among the sheep.

Valin studied her thoughtfully, noting the care with which she handled her charges, and also the way she would look toward the mountains every so often. He had been born to slavery, the son of slaves. It was the only life he had ever known. He was well aware that Elora’s background was not similar, but how much she remembered of her life before, she had never told him, and he had never asked. Valin knew it was hard for her, that she still had not adjusted, but he did not know what to do for her. So he taught her, he advised her, and he tried to keep her out of trouble. She no longer spat at the mention of Kanar, and Valin assumed he was making progress, though he also thought that Elora was merely humoring him.

The flute had fallen away from her lips and the flock was growing restless. She raised it again and played another slow song that could loop around and be repeated without stopping. There were lovely words to it as well, but she couldn’t play and sing at the same time. After a few repetitions, the sheep were sleeping soundly. She kept playing, merely so she wouldn’t have to listen to the unbearable silence. The notes switched to a lively ballad about a warrior across the mountains. She had memorized both the music and the words when she was very young—results of a severe case of hero-worship.

She entertained herself until the dual moons were high in the sky. By rough estimation, she figured it to be nearly midnight. She was exhausted by the long walk, yet in no hurry to sleep. Elora slid off the rock and lay flat on her back in the grass, hair splayed about her head, flute discarded, gazing up at the stars. A cricket chirped somewhere next to her ear and she smiled. At least she was not alone in her dislike of quiet.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Hey, Look! More Free Verse!

{*Shrugs* Sorry. ;o)}

"Calling Her Name"

You call her name
And the sound echoes around you
Filling your ears and emptying your heart
Gut wrenching silence responds
Not a word speaks volumes
Though her name could fill a library
When she would respond
And rush eagerly to your side
Eyes turned up to yours
Glowing with unashamed adoration
Then you were blinded
And now she's gone
Leaving you lost and alone
Wondering what slipped through your fingers
Like a handful of brightly colored sand
Desperately wanting to change your history
You call her name
The stars capture the sound
And send it back, unanswered
As the moon shines down sympathy
In the hours before the unforgiving sun rises
To beat harsh reality down on you
Illuminating her absence
Taunting you with her shadow
That is cast by something less than substantial
Fleeting glimpses of memory long forgotten
The brush of her hand
The softness of her hair lifted by the wind
Playing havoc with your heart
Hazy mists solid beneath your touch
Phantoms and specters haunt your reality
Eyes forced shut by the pain
Of seeing what is no longer there
Her name twines about your presence
Threading and weaving into the fabric of your mind
Ripped apart by the grief and loss
That has dogged your every step
Since something precious slipped from your grasp
And shattered at your feet
And now she no longer responds
When you call her name

The Last Pages

{of a story I'll never write. How sad is that?}

I lay back against the pillows with a contented sigh. The sunlight had finally broken through the clouds that had covered the land for six long months, warming everyone and everything it touched. Young men and women gasped with delight and scattered to the few patches where the rays gleamed on the ground. I heard a bird singing in the tree branches above my head, the first bird in a long, long time. I smiled.
The village Healer knelt beside my litter and began to change the bandages around my head. When the wound was exposed to the air—crisp and cool, like the beginning of spring—he reached for new cloths. I placed my hand on his.
“No. It will do no good. I want to feel the breeze.”
He looked at me in silence for a long time, struggling between his duty and the truth. He knew I was right. After several long minutes, the Healer gathered his medicines back into his basket and stepped away. I nodded my thanks.
The youths returned from the splotches of sunlight and clustered around me once more. I gazed into their faces, reading their expressions. They all wore a mask of hope, with underlying tones of despair. They knew what would happen as well as I. But I could find no animosity, nor hatred, nor the fear I had come to expect from people over the last few months, and that was a blessed relief. They were all familiar faces, faces I had grown up with, faces I knew. It seemed ages since I had seen them last, instead of the scant year.
Throughout the clearing, the soft chant of many women’s voices replaced the silence. A farewell to a departing hero. A funeral cry. I looked around at them, pityingly. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand.
I was only seventeen and had already traveled farther, seen more, done more, and heard more than they could ever hope to during their entire lives combined. What I had experienced could never be matched, and I feared I would spend my whole life trying to. I had not reached womanhood, yet had already become the stuff of legends. I had led great armies, vanquished nearly insurmountable foes, seen and held the world’s most coveted treasures, and rid the land of the Dark Shadow.
No. It was better this way.
The chanting grew louder.
One young man pushed his way through the crowd. My betrothed. My promised, before the Terror had come and I drawn into the midst of it. He was kneeling at my side a moment later.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my strength ebbing fast.
“There is no reason to be,” he said, and gently kissed me, then slipped his arm under my head.
I smiled and touched his hand. Since the Terror had faded, I smiled more. The breeze grew stronger. The chanting reached its peak.
As the last of the clouds dissipated and the sun’s rays caressed my face, my eyes closed, and my soul was caught away on the swirling wind.


End
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