Bethany squatted in the tiny
cell. It wasn't anything more than a small, stone box with a tiny drain, and an
access point in the ceiling, which was securely fastened from the outside. The
cell was too short for her to stand up, and too narrow to lie down. She shifted
to a new position, trying to stretch out her cold, aching body in small
segments without causing any further pain to the throbbing mark on her thigh.
Solitary confinement wasn't
enough for a runaway slave. She had been branded—discreetly of course. The
wealthy didn't like ugly slaves. Granted, she knew if she were caught running
again, she would be branded on the neck. A third offense would mean her death.
She leaned her head back against
the wall and flinched away from the cold stones pressing against her bare
flesh. Bethany had lost track of the hours since she'd been placed in the cell,
though she suspected it had been about two days. Twice she had received a cup
of water and a leftover scrap of food.
The first had been maggot
infested bread, which she refused to eat. The lump still sat in the far corner,
as far away from her as she could place it. The second offering had been some
charred meat, which she'd eaten mostly out of desperation. Bethany never said
thank you when they dropped the food and lowered the cup of water. They didn't
expect her to, and she hadn't been taught such manners. Then again, she hadn't
been born a slave, either.
No one was. Slaves were people
who either had been unable to pay their debts, or unable to protect themselves
from the dreaded slavers. Bethany was the latter. She tried not to think about
her life before slavery, but it was difficult, nigh impossible. The two lives
were so very different.
Bethany had been born the
daughter of a king. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to remember the tall
walls that surrounded her family's keep, or the sprawling city encompassing it.
The only thought that kept her calm was the knowledge that her home still
existed, that her family continued to live. She knew because she'd often heard
King Wolfric, the father of her new master, complaining about their continued
defiance. Of course, he didn't know she was the youngest daughter of his enemy,
Middin, King of Tokë.
She had been returning from
Garrul, near the border of her family's shrinking land, when they were
attacked. Her large caravan was traveling through the winding mountain pass.
Bethany squeezed her eyes tighter, but the memory invaded her senses unbidden.
“Are you comfortable, my lady?”
her lady-in-waiting, Nuala, asked.
Bethany nodded, keeping her
thoughts to herself. She hated traveling through the steep mountains, even in
spring, when the forest was alive with new growth and noisy birds. The jostle
of the large wagon gave her a pounding headache and a rolling stomach. These
were more than ample reason to not want to visit Uncle Lord Elias in Garrul.
The fact that the old man was completely inept at entertaining a young woman
was just salt in an open wound. He was gouty and lazy in general, but he was
family and her father had insisted she make the visit. There had been peace
between him and Wolfric for nearly two years, so there seemed little chance of
an attack. Well, a lack of fighting, if not actual peace. Besides, her uncle was
sickly and in need of encouragement—what better occupation for the youngest
daughter of a king than lightening the heart of a war-weary man?
Finally, after a long and lonely
month, Bethany was returning home.
The first hint of trouble came
when the cumbersome wagon came to a stop. Such an event only happened at high
noon or at the end of the day's traveling; it took too much time and energy to
get the six enormous horses moving again. The men often rode ahead to clear
fallen branches from the road or lay gravel on muddier portions, and sometimes
the forerunners would even turn aside other travelers, forcing them to wait
until her caravan had passed. Of course, seeing the wagon of a princess was a
form of entertainment to the lowly bystanders. Occasionally, Bethany would even
condescend to waive at them from the small window.
Bethany was just about to send
one of her three maids out to see what the delay was when she heard shouts,
followed by a piercing cry of pain. The clanking of swords and yelling of men
quickly followed. Bethany shrank into the fur lined bench. The other women in
the wagon followed her example. All, but one. Her lady-in-waiting, Nuala,
jumped to the tiny window and tweaked the thick drape aside to peer out. She
quickly ducked back as something thudded into the wagon, jostling the heavy
wooden frame. Nuala's eyes had grown in fright, but she kept her wits about her
while Bethany quivered in her seat.
Nuala yanked the fur covering
from the floor to reveal the tiny trap door. “You have to run,” she ordered,
staring at the princess.
Bethany understood the words, but
couldn't grasp their meaning. Fear deadened her limbs and slowed her mind to a
crawl. More out of shock than obedience, she moved towards her lady-in-waiting
and the small opening in the floor, which permitted the sounds of battle to
fill their plush sanctuary.
“Where do I go?” she wailed, as
though the other women would have some hidden insight.
“Anywhere! Just run and hide. And
don't come back until you know the battle is over,” Nuala said before
unceremoniously pushing the princess through the trap door. Bethany didn't
fight her, though she barked her shins against the axel and smacked her
forehead on the opening. Before she could respond, Nuala closed the hatch and
locked it. For a fleeting moment, Bethany wondered if Nuala had sent the
princess into the forest to save those still in the wagon. Would they spare the
women if they didn't find royalty? It didn't make sense. Then again, the entire
attack didn't make sense.
Bethany didn't wait to figure it
out. She inched her way to the edge of the wagon closest to the lining forest,
glanced in both directions to be sure no one was too close, and bolted for the
surrounding trees. Three steps from the wagon she found herself dancing around
a frantic horse's backend. Thankfully, the rider didn't notice her, his whole
attention on his frantic mount. Just a few feet from the nearest tree, her soft
leather slippers sank into the deep mud and disappeared. Bethany hesitated,
wanting to stop to dig them free from the mire, but the screech of an injured
horse sent her flying.
She tottered up the incline and
into the forest. The trees were close together where large slabs of granite
didn't interrupt their growth. Some even twisted around the protruding rocks,
determined to grow despite nature’s obstruction. The rocks and pine needles
defaced her feet as she scrambled through the forest. She stumbled a few times,
adding new bruises to her legs and hands while the branches reached out,
clutching at her dress and hair.
A few minutes into her headlong
run, she vaulted over a rock, right into a river. The water was slow, but icy
cold. Her long gown quickly grew so heavy she could barely keep her head above
water as she paddled towards the other side. At the opposite edge, she dragged
herself out, using the thick branches of wild berry bushes to keep herself from
slipping back into the water. The banks were covered in spring mud, and by the
time she reached solid ground, Bethany's elegant, green dress was caked in
black sludge. She almost wanted to jump back into the river to cleanse herself,
but a gust of wind reminded her just how cold the water was. Another dip in the
river would only make her colder; besides, she'd just have to climb through the
mud again.
For the first time, Bethany
stopped to take stock of her surroundings. She stood next to a wide river that
came from a short waterfall a half dozen yards away. Enormous fir trees grew in
splotches around the river. The ground was covered with last winter's pine
needles that pricked her bare feet. Through a clearing, she thought she spotted
a road. Had she doubled back on herself or was this a different road? She
wasn't even sure which direction she'd run. As the princess forced herself to
think about it, she had a sneaking suspicion that she'd run in the general
direction of King Wolfric's lands.
Bethany shivered, wrapping her
arms around her chest in an effort to conserve body heat. She belatedly
realized that her plush cloak had been torn off at some point. She reached up
and touched her head; the simple ring of gold had fallen off, too. Bethany
wanted to go back and search for it, but that would require another dunking in
the river. Not really worth it, she realized as she considered her predicament.
Another guest of wind set her teeth to rattling. From the distant clearing she
heard men's voices and horse's hooves.
Bethany forced herself to move
and find some cover. The only thing she could find was a large bush, much
closer to the road than wisdom promoted. Other than that one dead bush, every
other piece of ground cover was too thin or small to hide her entire body. In
retrospect, Bethany had one moment of wisdom that day; following a sudden
instinct, she pulled her small, gold signet ring from her pinky and slipped it
into her mouth, hoping she wouldn't swallow it in her fright.
“What's that?” a man’s voice
called out.
Thinking she'd been discovered,
Bethany stepped out from her bush. “P-please, h-help m-m-me,” she asked, her
teeth clattering together and making it difficult to speak. She felt the ring
pressed between her gums and her cheek.
The man smiled, showing the many
gaps in his teeth. Bethany glanced at the rest of his caravan and realized just
what a mistake she had made. Trailing behind the smiling man was a row of men
and women connected by a rope twined around their necks.
She had just asked for help from
a slaver.
Bethany didn't think she had any
energy left, but fear gave her strength, and forced her legs to move again. She
ran along the river, towards the small waterfall, hoping to find a fordable
stretch further upstream. Of course, the hope was fruitless. Faster than she
thought possible, she heard the sound of hooves gaining on her. Bethany didn't
waste time looking over her shoulder, but turned to jump back into the icy
water. Just as she did, two hands reached under her armpits and yanked her off
her feet. She cried out as she tried to break free from his grasp, but before
she could, he had her lying on her stomach across his lap.
The slaver turned the horse and
pushed him into an excruciating trot, the saddle and his legs digging
ruthlessly into her stomach. The horse took a sudden turn forcing her body into
the saddle at an awkward angle. Her side erupted with fire. The slaver jerked
his horse to a stop, and Bethany let out a gasp of pain.
Another man yanked her from her
perch, and dumped her on the ground near the end of the line of pathetic
individuals. Without being told, Bethany scrambled to her feet with as much
dignity as she could, which wasn't much, considering she tripped over her
sodden dress twice. Once on her feet, Bethany tried to take a deep, calming
breath. The movement sent a fresh stab of agony through her side. She clutched
it as she bent forward, doubled over with the pain. It was nearly enough to
make her forget the importance of the ring hidden in her mouth.
The man grabbed her by the hair,
and jerked her back into a standing position while quickly slipping a loop of
rope over her head and tightening it around her neck. Despite the pain in her
side and scalp, Bethany felt as though a large rock had been thrown at her
stomach—the rope sliding into place around her neck felt very final.
There was no escape now.
To continue reading Bethany's story, check out Torn, Book 1 of the Dothan Chronicles on amazon.
To read the next book in Bethany's story, check out Lost, Book 2 of the Dothan Chronicles on amazon.
Most of all, whether you enjoyed the story or not, please consider writing an honest review to better help other readers make an informed decision.
Thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment