"Divergence"
by Mayetra & Beryll
The slave girl sat beneath a high window covered with iron lattice and stared up at the night sky. Closing her almond shaped eyes, she silently made a wish. It was not to the stars that she sent her silent desire, but to the full moon that shone brightly, bathing the room with cool, silvery light.
One might have thought that she wished for freedom, a rescuer, or even a kind, handsome master like the rest of her companions, but she wished for something else. She did not want to face the men in the main room with tears or with the blank stare of one who has retreated within the depths of her mind. She refused to reduce herself to smiling pretty even as terror consumed her. No, she wanted only one thing – the courage to show defiance despite the punishment it would bring.
The door to the small room opened and one of the auction house assistants called five names. The girl’s name was the last called. Squaring her shoulders, she strode from the room behind the others with all the grace of a queen.
*~*
The room beyond the raised platform was dimly lit. The small girl’s fear had heightened her senses to sharp focus. She could make out that the barely illuminated audience was comprised exclusively of men. They were arrayed in all manner of dress from the fine robes of wealthy merchants to the shabbier dress of the most base brothel owners. Heavy perfumes mixed with the pungent smell of unwashed bodies and the girl’s stomach heaved slightly as the scent hit her nose the first time. Luckily, her stomach was empty and she was able to still its unease by breathing through her mouth.
Setting her face into a mask of defiance, she glared out above the dark heads seated around the small tables and found a spot at the back of the tavern to stare at. She could not block out the approving murmurs of the men or the barely audible grunt of satisfaction the corpulent auctioneer gave as he thought of the profits she would bring him.
She ignored the bidding as the auction began, keeping her back straight and her eyes fixed on the dark wall. She tried not to wonder if the gruff voice that just upped the pot was refined merchant or a greasy flesh peddler. She felt the pudgy fingers of the auctioneer loosen the ties at her shoulders, which were holding the filmy shift to her body. It floated to the floor and pooled at her feet in a soft puddle.
Suddenly the ugly pockmarked face of a man blocked her view of the wall. His small dark eyes were shining with an emotion that the girl could barely comprehend but still caused icy tendrils to snake down her spine. For one shocked moment, she thought this was her new owner, until he reached up and pried her mouth open to inspect her teeth. Anger surged through her at being treated like an animal. Without a second thought, she sunk her teeth into his thumb.
His blow to her face was not unexpected but it still snapped her head to the side and caused her to stumble back a few steps. She quickly turned back to glare at him, even as he raised his hand to strike her a second time. Her cheek throbbed painfully and she would most likely be sporting a nasty bruise in the morning. Still, she refused to lower herself to begging for mercy, but the second blow never landed. A second man seemed to materialize next to first and grabbed his hand. She heard the sharp crack of bones snapping as her attacker paled.
“Don’t you dare touch what is mine!” her defender growled, sending her attacker a menacing look.
Mixed emotions coursed through the girl. She was grateful for the protection but, at the same time, she was terrified by the fact that she was being claimed. She had expected to be dragged from the stage by the owner who prided himself on selling only the most beautiful and obedient girls. Instead, her defiance seemed to have sealed her fate.
Her defender released his victim’s wrist with a growl. Her attacker scampered back into the shadowy depths of the room with a mouse-like squeak, cradling his wounded arm to his chest.
The girl watched in mute silence as her new owner turned to face the stunned auctioneer. He pulled a heavy bag from his belt and threw it at the slave dealer.
“That will do!” he said with a tone that dared the corpulent man to argue.
The girl steeled her face into an icy glare as her new owner turned his attention back to her. She balled her tiny hands into fists to still their trembling. Her fear was turning to terror as the comprehension that this man who stood looking down upon her could do whatever he wanted to her and no one would stop him.
“There, little warrior queen,” he said, gently wiping a lone tear from her face. “What is your name, Luv?”
Taken aback by his sudden gentle behavior, the girl wondered if he was playing some sort of trick on her. Narrowing her eyes, she answered, “Fahima.”
She watched as his eyes swept over her naked form and willed herself not to cringe. To her surprise, his face did not hold the same look as the man who had slapped her. He simply turned to the auctioneer and demanded his shirt. Fahima was even more surprised when the slaver scrambled out of it and passed it to her new owner.
Fahima didn’t resist as he pulled it over her head, grateful for something to cover herself with. She wrinkled her nose at the offensive smell of the borrowed shirt. Still distrustful of the man before her, she continued to glare at him, while contemplating her escape.
“Shall we part this disgusting company, Luv?” he asked holding out his hand to her.
“You are going to have trouble with me!” Fahima declared. She wanted him to understand exactly what he had gotten himself into. She took hold of the offered hand and jumped off the stage. She tensed waiting for him to strike her but was again surprised when he simply grinned down at her and replied, “I do hope so, Luv!” He led her toward the door shortening his stride so that she could comfortably keep up.
Fahima stared in rapt fascination once they exited the slave house. Her journey here from the slave school, where she had lived since she was three, had been in a covered wagon. She had never seen the city before. After her first awe-struck gaze of wonder, the appeal faded quickly. The buildings were built almost on top of each other; their facades were cracked and dirty.
The streets were covered with dirt, trash, and other filth that she didn’t want to try to identify, much less walk barefoot through. This proved not to be an issue, however, because her new master settled her easily into the crock of his arm before striding off through the crowd of people.
Fahima could not help but gape at her surroundings. The streets were filled with all manner of people, most of whom were dirty. Packs of scruffy looking dogs milled among the mass of unwashed bodies. Men stood before open doorways calling out to the crowds offering slaves for their ‘comfort’.
The occasional narrow alley cut between the closely packed buildings and Fahima could catch glimpses of men and women pressed against each other in the darkness. The sounds and smells assaulted her overwrought nerves and she was relived when they finally entered what was obviously a better part of the city.
The streets were wider and much cleaner. It was as if they had crossed some imaginary threshold into another world entirely. The buildings were clean and evenly spaced apart. Bright, colorful canopies over the doors and windows fluttered in the light evening breeze.
Lanterns covered in different colored shades cast a rainbow of colors upon the surfaces around them. Patrons sat talking and laughing in the open-air cafes that lined the edges of the bazaar.
The air was sweeter, filled with the fragrant smells of cooking meat, baked goods, and flowers from the gardens that capped many of the roofs. Jugglers, firewalkers and other performers mingled with the late night shoppers. It was a feast to Fahima’s senses and she could hardly turn her head fast enough to take it all in.
Many of the stalls were closed or closing but Fahima could hear the calls of vendors selling the last of their day’s food stock. Her stomach growled angrily reminding her that she had not eaten since the morning meal. She was torn between defiance and begging sweetly for a morsel to eat.
Her new owner solved her problem for her. Without a word, he weaved deeper into the marketplace before stopping at a stall and purchasing a few honey cakes. Fahima’s mouth watered at the sight of the tasty treat and she managed a soft “thank you” before taking them. Without another word, she ate them greedily, savoring the sweet flavor.
Fahima was glad that her new master didn’t seem too talkative. He was wearing armor and Fahima assumed he was a soldier for the city or a rich patron. The sudden thought that he might not be her new master at all but simply a servant sent to procure a girl caused a new knot of tension to twist her stomach. Just because he seemed so kind didn’t mean that her new owner would be. She would have to try and escape the first moment her escort let his guard down. Before she could get any further in her mental ramblings, his voice cut through the silence.
“I have not been sent to buy you for another, Luv. I bought you because you are too special to waste away in a harem where your true potential would be smothered.”
Fahima looked at him, her jaw hanging open slightly. “How did you know I was thinking that?”
The man chuckled. “The same way I know that you are contemplating your escape. I can read minds, Luv,” he finished with a wink.
Fahima pondered this new information for a moment before thinking, so, what will you do with me now, Master? She tried not to wince at the word ‘master’.
“I will take care of you and teach you to take of yourself, Luv,” he replied. “I would prefer it if you called me Petronius and not Master.”
“You really can read minds!” Fahima blurted out.
Petronius merely smiled at her shocked outburst and continued threading his way through the market, seemingly in search of something. Fahima really didn’t care. She was too busy feeling contently full and safe. The half-formed plans of escape that she had been making moments before faded from her mind. Having a master that bought treats was not a bad thing at all.
Petronius finally stopped in front of a shop with material and some pre-made clothing. Fahima fairly bounced with joy. The auctioneer’s shirt was smelly and made her itch. She would be happy to be rid of it.
He studied the various article of clothing on display before asking, “What do you think of these, Luv?”
Fahima looked down at the offerings but really didn’t know what was ‘appropriate’ and what wasn’t. But she did know that she didn’t want to be stuck in the filmy, light colored garments that she had been forced to wear at the training school. Hoping that he would be agreeable, she pointed at some sturdy looking dark clothing. “Maybe some of those?”
Petronius seemed happy with her choice. He nodded and replied, “You'll need something sturdy, that you can run and climb in, I'd wager.” He looked over at the merchant who was beginning to pull out some pretty female tunics and gowns. “Not that filmy nonsense,” he waved the man away.
He set Fahima onto her feet and held up a small pair of short boy pants made of a steady material. They fell to about her knees. “How about these?” He asked her. “A bit big but I'm sure you'll grow into them quickly enough.”
“Yes, those will do,” Fahima nodded eagerly. She took the pants from him and scrambled into them. They were a bit big around the waist.
“Here,” Petronius said, handing her a belt, “this will help.”
The tip of her tongue was pressed firmly between her lips as she concentrated on getting the belt around her waist while trying to hold the voluminous material of the borrowed shirt out of the way.
Reaching over, Petronius pulled the shirt completely off of her. “Here, Luv, you don’t need this anymore.”
Fahima managed to tie the belt around her waist.
Petronius studied her a moment and nodded. “They suit you.”
He seemed unsure if that was all he should provide her with. Fahima had the distinct feeling that he had never been around a girl child before, or any child for that matter. She pointed at a dark shirt. “What about that shirt? It looks sturdy,” she added helpfully.
Petronius picked it up and frowned. “You want a shirt? It’s rather thick. You’ll be sweating like a little monkey in it during the day.” He seemed to consider her a moment, noting the tiny raised bumps on her bare skin caused by the cool night air. “You may need it a night, though,” he added as an afterthought. “It gets pretty cold.”
Fahima accepted the dark shirt gratefully and scrambled into it. Between the cool air and the lingering trauma of standing naked before a room full of leering men, it was a great comfort to her.
Petronius didn’t bother to look her over this time. He was too busy sifting through the various wares. Plucking a bright blue, suede vest from the table, he asked, “How about this?”
Fahima considered it for a moment. It made her feel exposed and she rather liked the armor he was wearing. Since he was being so accommodating, she didn’t think it would hurt to ask for something similar. “Can I have armor like you do?”
He grinned down brightly at her, seeming extremely pleased with her question. “Sure, but we should have that made for you so it won't chafe.”
Fahima bounced on the balls of her feet, then returned to the current problem. Pointing to a light colored shirt, she said, “One of those should be good for during the day.”
Petronius was already ahead of her; he picked a light green short-sleeved tunic and held it up for her to look at. “This would be nice. You can have the dark one for at night, when it’s good to have a bit of concealment and the green one for during the day so you don’t burn up like a little cinder while having adventures.”
Fahima clapped her hands together delighted with the prospect of being allowed to have adventures and nodded eagerly.
Seemingly pleased that he had finally managed to clothe her properly, he turned to the stall owner. “We’ll need a leather pouch for the belt and a pair of sandals as well.” Looking back down at Fahima, he added, “I’ll have boots made for you later.”
Fahima was in heaven. There was no fear when he scooped her up again after paying for their purchases. She rode on his arm, as he strode away from the bazaar, occasionally answering hails from people he knew, but paid little attention to her surroundings. Instead, she took the time to study her new patron.
She leaned forward and inhaled, catching his scent. He smelled of oil, leather, metal and an earthy scent. It was rather pleasant and suited him. His hair was a pale yellowish color that told her he was a foreigner not native to this land. It fell to his shoulders held back by a leather tie. She fingered it lightly marveling at the silkiness of it.
His eyes fascinated her. They were green and fringed with dark lashes. His face was ruggedly handsome and covered with light stubble instead of the beards favored by the men around them. She liked that he looked so different from them; it made her feel rather special to belong to him.
She noticed a thin scar trailing down his jawbone, as if someone had tried to slit his throat and missed. She traced it lightly with her finger, wincing in empathy.
“Did you cry when you were cut?” She hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts, but the deed was done.
He looked over at her rather startled by her gesture and words. “Not when I was cut, I was too busy trying not to die. But later, when it was sewn…” He paused and looked a slightly sheepish. “I did, just a little bit.”
“Where you big or little?” Fahima asked suddenly heartbroken at the thought of him being cut as a little boy.
“I was as big as I am now.”
Without a thought, she leaned over and kissed the scar lightly. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
He stared at her a moment, a strange emotion shadowing his face. “Thank you, Luv,” he said softly.
She nodded and smiled, happy that she had made it all better, even if it was a little after the fact. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closer to him, resting her head upon his shoulder. She was very content and feeling just a bit sleepy from all the excitement of the day. “Where are we going, Pet?”
“Home, Luv.” He seemed to take no offense at her new name for him and his answer was full of satisfaction, as if he had correctly predicted some unknown thing.
The scenery had changed and they had left the city behind. They were now walking along the waterfront. The tangy smell of sea salt prickled her nose pleasantly as she noted the fishing boats bobbing up and down on the gentle waves.
“There is your new home, Luv”, he announced pointing at a large stone structure ahead of them.
It was a large fortress elevated above the city on one side of the harbor entrance. It was made of large, grey stones that looked to Fahima as if giants had built it. Guards flanked the heavily fortified entrance.
*~*
Petronius looked over at Fahima after making his announcement and watched her eyes grow round with wonder, before a slight frown marred her forehead.
“The head soldier will let me stay there?” she asked.
“I am the head soldier, as you so eloquently put it, Luv,” Petronius answered her. He wondered if his face would freeze in a permanent smile. He was simply enchanted by everything about her.
She was reassured by his answer and yawning loudly laid her head back onto his shoulder. He carried her through the courtyards and into the main part of the fortress. His mind wandering to all the things he would show her the next evening. He would need to introduce her to his men. He also wanted to start training her with various weapons. You were never too young to learn how to handle a sword in his opinion. He thought happily of what the future would hold for them.
They entered his sparsely furnished chamber and he deposited her gently onto the bed. Despite her protests, between wide yawns, that she was not the least bit tired, he pulled off her sandals and tucked her beneath the coverlet.
“Sleep, Luv,” he said firmly, place a kiss upon her brow and nudging her mind toward sleep. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she blinked a few times before settling into a deep sleep.
He thought back to the moment that he had first ‘felt’ Fahima. Petronius had not had any intention of actually purchasing a slave and was only at the auction because he had agreed to accompany Yuya. She had been standing naked on the stage, her ebony hair falling around her body like a cloak. Her hand was pressed to her heart-shaped face, cradling her cheek where one of the patrons had just slapped her. Her dark eyes were brimming with tears and a few streaked down her cheek, but her face was set in a mask of defiance.
He had immediately peeked into her mind and was stunned by the courage and passion she possessed. He knew he had found a kindred spirit. In an instant, he saw the woman that the tiny child standing on the stage would become if give the chance to bloom.
She was a beautiful child and would become an exquisitely stunning woman, but her spirit far outshone her physical appearance.
He stared down at her face set in a mask of peaceful slumber, quite satisfied with how the night had turned out. He stood and left the chamber, content that she would stay asleep thanks to his silent command, leaving him free to prepare for their new life together.
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