Katherine-Lee

I hunch over my knees, breathing heavily. My right wrist feels slightly sprained from losing the sword and it is emitting a faint throbbing. Compared to both my hands though, it’s nothing. My palms are sporting deep, large slices. Blood is trickling out of them and dripping down my arms. They burn, and I carefully rip some fabric from the hem of my dress. Even though I have some very serious gashes, it’s much better than being impaled. A rule of fighting is always stop the blade with anything available. Your hands can be sacrificed to save your life. I repeat this in my head as I firmly wrap the pieces of fabric around my hands to staunch the bleeding.
Despite everything I feel quite pleased with myself. I need to work on my sword and dagger fighting, and to improve my stamina, but I did well, even after having been imprisoned for more than a year and a half. I re-find my dagger and wipe the blade on a nearby, clean patch of grass. I step over the pile bodies surrounding me and walk back to the wagon. The horses pulling it are happily munching grass. Searching through their saddle bags I find I skin of water. Eagerly, I snatch it up and gulp it down greedily. It’s cool and soothing and I sigh with relief as I pause to catch my breath.
I hear a twig snap behind me and spin round; instantly on high alert and dagger in my hand.
“Impressive. Very impressive.”
Aaron is walking towards me and I start with surprise.
“What are you doing here?” I drop into the ready position.
“What are you doing outside of the wagon?”
“None of your business.”
“I believe it is my business though. You are meant to be locked in a wagon, but now you seem to be out of it. It is my job to escort you and prevent you from escaping.”
“Well, you’re not doing your job very well then.” While we talk I am edging closer to him.
‘I think I am. You haven’t escaped yet. You still have to go through me.”
I leap at him, twirling in the air and aiming a kick at his chest. An unnaturally strong gust of wind knocks me to the side. I fall and then roll to regain my footing. Angry, I growl at him and charge. I’m frozen mid stride, but can still move from my neck up.
“Let me go!” I strain to move my arms and legs to no avail.
“No, I don’t think I will.”
I make a guttural sound.
“Even if I do let you go, you’re not going to be going anywhere fast.”
“And why not?”
“There are currently twenty archers all ready to turn you into a pin-cushion.”
“Archers?”
“Look up.” Looking up I finally notice the camouflaged archers all aiming arrows at me.”
“Why haven’t they already shooted?”
“I wanted to see how far you’d get.”
“Did I achieve your standards?”
“I’m not going to underestimate you.”
“Wise move.”
“I have to say though, I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t notice me or the archers. I would have like to have seen what you would have done.”
“A small mistake on my part.”
He nods before putting up a hand and making a gesture. Two men detach themselves from their posts and scale down the trees. They take my arms. I scowl and glare and Aaron. I can do nothing as I’m dragged back towards the open wagon door. They’re readying to throw me up when around suddenly calls out, “Wait!”
He strolls over and stops in front of me. He holds out a hand. My dagger floats onto it.
“Throw her in.” I don’t say anything as I’m chucked inside like I’m nothing but a sack of grain. I land heavily on my side and wince, lying for a little bit like to master the pain throbbing through my body. I get sorely to my feet. I go miserably back to my place. I settle down and close my eyes. I try to ignore the disappointment echoing in my head. I feel myself drifting off and don’t bother trying to stay awake. I can’t escape; not while Aaron is guarding. I doubt he will be so accommodating the next time anyway.

Suddenly the wagon lurches and I fall forward, unprepared. I land in a pathetic heap on the floor. Hurriedly I scramble to feet and I stagger back to my seat. Peering out the window I can see the gates rolling past and then the grand mansions of the rich. Richly dressed people walk on the cobbled pavement, their ground-length dresses floating about their feet as they walk in deep blues and rose pinks and purples. The mens clothes are all tailored perfectly, either matching the person they’re strolling with or in blacks or whites if they’re alone. Guards are stationed at every street corner. The people don’t pay any attention to us and I boil with fury. It is so normal for them and absolutely fine in their eyes. Their children don’t get taken by the slavers. I seethe with fury.
As we move out of the town there is a gradual decline in the lavishness. The houses get smaller and the colours get dimmer. The clothes become more unkempt. As we near the edge of the town we enter into the slums. The houses now are little more than shacks, all leaning against each hazzardly and looking like one breath of wind will knock them all over. The inhabitants look like me. Their eyes are sunken and hair matted, their clothes dirtied and ripped, fraying on the edges. The small children scurrying about look half starved. It makes me want to cry at how horribly sad and helpless the whole scene is. I know these people care when we pass as they all stop to watch us. I can see they’re wondering if the slavers are here to take their children away but then they see me and the others inside of the wagon. They stand there lined up on the side of the road and watch us pass. They don’t do anything but it makes me feel supported, like they are lending us there shoulder to lean our heads on.
We exit the town and the countryside begins to scroll past the window. Not long now until I get out of here and free the others. I’m not sure what I will do once I have escaped. I have no money and doubt any of the other slaves do either. But we’ll find a way. The best option would be to sneak back into the town and hide in the hovels. We look identical to all the other people there. If the guards come looking I don’t think they will recognize us. I doubt any of them paid much attention to our appearances; we’re just lowly slaves, worth nothing.
I glance back out the window and see nothing but trees. We have entered a forest. I smile to myself. Idiots. A forest is the best time to escape. No one is around to see and you can find the perfect foliage to cover the wagon and the guards. I give the wagon door an experimental shove to make sure it is actually locked. It is. I’ll have to pick the lock. Grabbing the splinter I found when I fell onto the floor, I slide it into the lock and feel around for the first pin. I gently pry it up until I feel the splinter vibrate as the pin aligns with the shear line. I repeat it with the other three pins. The lock turns completely and unlocks. I smile to myself, pleased, and give myself a little mental fist-bump.
I smash open the door. The two guards outside stare at me in surprise. I’m on them in a flash, my hand slamming into the first one’s jaw. It’s a good move and he collapses. The second one has his sword half-way out of its sheath, and I move on him before he can completely draw it. I kick his knee, buckling it, before following it up with feint left and then a knee in the gut. He doubles over. I grab his sword and without hesitation run it through him. Blood spurts and showers the ground. I smash the hilt over his head for good measure and he crumples at my feet.
I quickly step away from the red stain that’s beginning to puddle. I flex my hand. A little sore from the first shot but bearable. I’m quite proud of myself. Either I’ve still got it, or the soldiers just weren’t well trained in hand-to-hand combat. Always cautious, I crouch and strain my ears, listening for any sounds of alarm. I hear nothing but the birds and rustling underbrush. They haven’t noticed my little escape out the back.
I check the prone forms of the guards, searching for any weapons. I can use the swords if I have to but they tend to be clunky and harder to maneuver. Besides, I like to be right up close to my victim. I find a slim dagger in the second man’s boot. A malicious smile blossoms on my face. I’m back.
I walk carefully behind the slow-moving wagon, taking care not to step on any branches or leaves. I flip the dagger in my hand and peek around the side. The remaining eight guards are all at several stages along the road in front of me. I sneak up to the first two.
I slash the first guards throat from behind, staying out of the resulting spray of blood. His friend hasn’t noticed me yet and I do the same to him, catching him as he falls to lower him gently to the ground. I feel alive with adrenaline. Buzzing with it, like I’m invincible. I missed this feeling of absolute focus and the flare of danger. I walk carefully up to the third guard, focusing on being completely silent. I must have made a sound though because he spins around, his sword drawn. I launch at him, ducking under his sword as he swipes at me and getting inside his guard. I stab him in the chest.
The remaining six guards have noticed my advancement and are standing with weapons drawn, watching me. I drop into a half crouch, preparing for the coming onslaught. They charge as one. I dodge the first blade and use my dagger to push aside another. My feeling of elation soon disappears as I discover one dagger is no match for six swords. I find myself fighting for my life. Fear yet again begins to grow in my chest. Brows drawn together in concentration I determinedly continue parrying blow after blow. Slicing with the dagger I occasionally feel a slight resistance as I cut through flesh.
I can feel myself beginning to lag when I finally dispatch another guard and find myself facing off against the last one. My legs burn from the continual effort of crouching. Decorated by numerous scratches, the amount of blood lost from them is making me slightly light headed. Dropping the dagger I grab a sword from the ground and hold it aloft.
The man charges at me and I parry his thrust to the side, staying on the defensive. Despite that I’m exhausted, I exalt at the challenge. It feels good to be back in the art of perfectly honed training and controlled movements. Swinging widely at me he brings his sword up to mine. He pushes against it, grinning evilly. I fight to keep it there, grunting. He slowly forces me back, further and further. I grit my teeth, fighting to retaliate. With a vicious twist of his blade he dislodges the blade from my hands. I stare at him wide-eyed. I am now weapon less.
He thrusts. Desperately, I grab at the blade with my hands. I cry out as it slices into my palms but I don’t let go. I pull it towards myself, bringing the man off-balance. Kicking him in the side he groans and I land a flurry of blows to his chest, arms, and face. He staggers and a finish him with a kick to the face. He falls. Breathing heavily I pick up my sword from the ground and stab him through. Leaving it wobbling lightly, still stuck in him, I drop to the ground to catch my breath.

The Head Slaver’s smile widens at my shock. I launch myself at him. My fingers just manage to skim the flabby flesh of his neck when I’m pulled back by invisible hands. I growl and reach for him again, but this time don’t move an inch. The smile has been wiped of his face and I straighten again glaring at him. He looks taken aback and I bare my teeth for good measure. “This is her, Aaron?” The man in the chair asks. I jolt. Aaron was my brother’s name. I glare at Protector who has his name.
“Yes sir.”
“Leah?”
I turn to him. “What?” I say, ignoring Aaron’s warning nudge.
The man doesn’t react and I feel slightly disappointed, “You have been found guilty of attempting to kill the Head Slaver. Your sentence is to be publicly executed.”
My stomach clenches and I swallow. To my credit my voice doesn’t waver. “Yes.”
“You do not wish to proclaim your innocence?”
“No.” I cross my arms and ignore the pain it causes me.
“I see.” He sounds surprised that I will admit to it so easily. He stares at me for a while and I shift, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. I look down at my feet. I am acutely aware of the dirt caked over me and the torn, stained rag I am wearing. The reek a let off as I move. I bite my lip and try to push down the shame I feel at appearing like this. They couldn’t have done any better if they had been imprisoned for more than a year and a half.
“I have decided that you will not be killed.” My head snaps up.
“What?” I say at the same time the Head Slaver says exclaims, “But that is her punishment!” He ignores us both and continues on.
“I have decided that dying is not a suitable punishment for you.” He pauses and I nod eagerly. “You are to be a slave.”
“What if I don’t want to be a slave?” do you choose?”
“I would be an idiot not to go with the option that lets me live.”
“So, live or die?” I stare at him before hissing through my teeth.
“I am not stupid.”
He nods approvingly. “A shipment is due to be sent off today and you will join it.”
I nod again. The slaver looks prone to disagree. He opens his mouth to speak but the man throws up a bejewelled hand before he can open his mouth.
“She will be on it. Now, I don’t not want her to miss it. You may take her away now.” A clear dismissal for all of us. Obediently, the Slaver gets up. As he passes me he aims a kick but the Protector pulls me away, yanking my chains. I hiss and cradle my arms against my chest as my wrists start to bleed. Blood drips onto the carpet and the man grunts and rings a bell for slaves to come and clean it up.
“Bring her to the med-center beforehand. I don’t want her bleeding everywhere.”
“I’m fine.” I retort. I don’t need there special treatment.
He looks at me flatly. “I thought you said you weren’t stupid.”
I don’t reply and he turns to papers in front of him. I am lead of the room. We walk down more hallways and I add them to the map I have in my head.
When we enter the medical wing everything is a stark white. The walls are white. The beds are white – neatly made with puffed up pillows and the corners of the blankets turned down with a smell of alcohol underlining everything. We head down the of corridor of beds and enter another room. The walls in here are cluttered with shelves bulging bandages, syringes and bottled solutions that I would rather not evaluate what’s in. I seat myself in a chair and the guards station themselves behind me. Aaron dumps next to me a pile of equipment and pulls out a key. My eyes snap to it. I track it as he leans down and unlocks my chains, sliding them off. The removed weight makes me sigh with relief. I feel like I’m light as a feather. That if I stand up I’ll float away.
His eyebrows draw together as he examines my wrist. He fills a bowl with water and to wash my wounds. I cry out as the water drips on to them and immediately curse myself.
“Sorry.” He mumbles and I scowl, angry at myself for showing weakness.
I bite my lip as he begins cleaning them and taste blood. Even though it burns I mercifully don’t make another sound.
After he has deemed them clean he carefully wraps a bandage around them with a gentleness that surprises me. He doesn’t put the chains back on. I hope I never have to wear chains again.
“Get up.” He stands up and gestures for me to follow him.
I hesitate and the guards grab my arms and haul me up. We exit the room and continue navigating down the maze of corridors. Slaves hurry past us on errands and I stare at them, looking at what I will become. A hunched over old maid carrying packages with no voice in the world. I gaze after them. They look beaten and broken, as if they have given up.
I am jolted back to reality when two large doors swing open. They are engraved with beautiful gold designs – pictures of stags and forests and vines snaking up the edges. I gasp, my mouth hanging open like a fish. Aaron laughs at me and I quickly close it.
“They’re beautiful.” I say, trying to save myself from mortification.
“Yes.” He says flatly.
“You don’t think so?”
“They are.”
“When did you first see them?” I ask, not meaning to pry but merely curious.
I know straight away that I’ve said the wrong thing. His eyes go hard, the amused glint disappearing and his mouth flattening into a hard line. He turns away and faces the doors, staring through them to the courtyard directly outside.
“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to pry…” I break off as I wonder what the hell I am doing. He is the enemy. I should feel glad that I hurt him. I make to step forward when he says softly, “I used to be a slave.”
I freeze in shock. Him, the all-powerful Protector, a slave.
I force myself to say, “Good for you.”
He doesn’t say anything and I feel bad. It was mean, but I cannot afford to be nice. I step forward towards the wagons I see at the far edge of the courtyard when he says something else.
“I was twelve.” His words are laced with pain and fear from the past. I don’t reply, keeping a hard mask. He seemed to be talking more to himself than me. I keep walking.
My limbs turn to lead and I feel heavy yet light headed at the same time as I gaze at the gaping mouth of the prison wagon.
I look back to see if he is following me. He is and unbidden relief rises. I blush as he notices me checking and spin around, mentally slapping myself. But I don’t want to be alone when I climb into that wagon. I take a deep breath. My feet seem stuck to the ground but I force them to move and step up.
It is a dark, slightly claustrophobic space. Other slaves have already been packed inside like cattle. I search for a free place. I see one near the back and thread my way through the throng of bodies. They stand there like zombies. Not saying anything to each other and just staring into space. I feel slightly uncomfortable, like I am the only living breathing one amidst all the other dead ones. I shiver. I look back to see Aaron standing watching me. I can’t read his expression. Scanning the courtyard I count seven other guards standing watch as well. I don’t know if they’re protectors or not – they don’t wear the uniform – and there might be more in the trees and the castle watching. A slim chance of getting out of the courtyard without being shot down. I bite my lip. I’ll just have to escape later. I squeeze into the spare spot, right next to the window. There are two more guards standing watch on this side – guaranteed there will be two on the other side as well. That makes eleven guards. It will be much easier to escape on the road. I’ll just lie low until then and not draw attention to myself. Not make myself feel like a threat to them.
The two people next to me look quite young, maybe eighteen years old, two years older than me. Their faces are emotionless, eyes blank and staring straight ahead. Already broken. Judging from their naturally tanned skin that matches mine and their dark golden hair colours, they’re from (name is still being come up with). My home as well.
Home.
I hope my mum is still getting by okay. That the Warriors have managed to drive away this seasons collection of slavers. I hope.