by Rob J. Hayes
“She's stole some kids, da. We can't just let her go. What if that were Bola or Tindi?” said the youngest man.
The oldest man seemed to hesitate, so Irris took a step forwards, her hand still on her sword, but she did not draw the weapon. She had no wish to fight three untrained humans.
“You leave the children,” said the oldest man. “Then you can go.”
Irris felt her lip curl at the notion that these men might think to stop her. They were nothing to her. Her people used their kind as slaves.
“Look at her teeth and eyes,” said the youngest. “She's a monster.”
Then the fool rushed her.
The man made it two steps before Irris whipped her sword from its sheath and cut him across the chest. Lorri gasped from behind her. As the man fell away, bleeding, and started to scream, Irris took her sword in both hands. It was an old-style Drurr blade, capable of stabbing but meant for broad slashing cuts with its single edge. It was best held in two hands, and there were any number of possible stances she could use, but she held it in the touton position, pointed towards the ground with its edge also facing downwards.
The oldest man took hold of the youngest by his arms and dragged him away, while the other man waved a ladle at Irris.
“We...will go,” Irris repeated, and the man glanced back towards his father.
With a casual flick, Irris knocked the ladle from his hands. He turned and fled from the barn, shouting something that Irris did not bother to translate in her head. She stepped out of the stall, the twins following tentatively. The oldest man was still dragging the youngest towards the house while he screamed.
“We...will go,” Irris repeated once more and nodded towards the outside door to the barn. The twins rushed to open it for her and Irris backed towards it, her sword still held between her and the oldest man.
“Go then, you fucking monster,” shouted the oldest man. The youngest had stopped screaming.
“MONSTER!” Irris heard the oldest man scream again as she closed the barn door behind her and sheathed her sword.
Both Lorri and Ehln looked frightened, but neither of them was crying. Irris respected them for that. She decided it was best to move south, away from the farm for a while before continuing their journey west, and she set off at a slow jog, trusting the twins to follow.
#
For the next two weeks, Irris skirted any human farms or settlements they came across. She couldn't risk that the people may have heard of her actions at the farm against the three poorly armed humans. They might not have posed a risk to her, but the last thing she needed was a mob of angry humans chasing them.
She believed they had passed into Acanthia proper and reckoned they should be nearing Truridge, Acanthia's main port. In Truridge, the children could become lost, though what Irris would do was a question she didn't dare ask herself. The twins could pass for human, but her presence would draw attention…and that attention may come from her own people.
The day was maddeningly bright, and her eyes had still not completely adjusted to such, having been so long beneath ground. With all the traffic on the roads, Irris knew it was impossible to enter the city without revealing themselves. The twins were dirty and dishevelled and, truth be told, looked almost feral; Irris doubted she looked any better. The thought of an inn, even a human-owned establishment, and a warm bath to scrub her poor skin sent rapturous tingles all through her body.
“That is our destination,” Irris said to the twins with a wide smile. “Our new home. I have some goods in my pack that may sell. I hear Drurr crafts are highly sought-after. Soon, we will be clean and fed, and I will find some sort of work to support us.”
“Thank you, Irri,” Lorri said, returning the smile. Irris noticed then, for the first time, that the girl had too many teeth to properly pass as human.
“Try not to smile, child. It will give you away. Better you pretend to be one of them.”
Lorri quickly closed her mouth.
Irris noticed a wagon on the nearby road had cracked a wheel, and the driver was struggling to fix it. If she could remember enough of the correct language, she hoped she might be able to convince the man to accept her help in return for a cart ride the rest of the way. It may also help to alleviate any suspicion the guards at the city gates might have.
“Come, children,” Irris said. “I shall extend a hand of friendship.”
Irris broke the cover of the trees and started towards the cart. The figure tending to it stood, kicked at the cracked wheel, and then rested their head on the top of it.
“Hello,” Irris called as she closed the distance. “Would...you need a hand?”
The figure straightened like a bolt and turned their head towards Irris. With their hood up it was impossible to make out their features, but Irris saw a flash of metal beneath the cloak and her spirits sank.
The figure laughed.
“Behind me, children,” Irris hissed. “I will distract him. When I do, run for the town and do not stop.”
“But...” Lorri began.
“Do not argue,” Irris barked.
“I cannot believe my luck,” the figure said in flawless Drurr, turning to face Irris and pulling down his hood, discarding his cloak to reveal plate armor similar to Irris', though a little more modern.
“You are here for them?” Irris asked Koil.
“Well, yes,” Koil replied with an easy smile, leaning against the cart. The warrior had yet to draw his sword, so Irris did not draw her own. Her hand rested on its hilt, though. “I was hoping to have a nice easy ride,” he continued, “pay off the guards to let me into the city, and spend the next few weeks sampling some of Truridge's famous wines. This was to be some time away from the relentless back-stabbing of our superiors. Why did you come here, Irris?”
Irris swallowed. She knew Koil well. He was as dangerous as he was amiable, but he was also lazy, always opting to take the path of least resistance.
“It is the best place to hide them.” Irris made sure she was always between Koil and the twins. “There are already Drurr living here.”
“Not enough to hide a couple of cross-breeds,” Koil spat. “You made a stupid decision, Irris, and now I have to not only murder a couple of children, but also kill a friend.”
“You don't have to.”
“Yes, I do. Believe me, Irris,” Koil said, a sad set to his wide mouth, “it will be less painful than taking you back alive.”
Koil sprang straight into a run, and his sword sang as it cleared its sheath.
“Run,” Irris shouted at the twins, just before her own sword whipped free and clashed with Koil's. They were matched for both strength and speed, but Koil was wearing full armor and seemed well rested. Irris had only her breastplate and a single pauldron, and she hadn't had a full night's sleep in weeks.
Irris stepped back and attempted a feint into a head-high slash, but Koil leaned backwards out of range. His sword clanged twice against her chest plate. She glanced down and the rounded metal plate had two shallow rents, a testament to the condition of Koil's blade.
He was on her again, and she danced with him, each of their blades whipping in to taste metal. They circled each other like dogs and, as they did so, Irris saw the twins had run to the cart and were huddling beneath it. They should have run to the city, but she refused to turn Koil's attention on the children.
Already breathing heavily, Irris could feel her arms aching. She leapt at Koil again and almost lost her head for the attempt, dodging backwards just in time, her sword catching his chest plate with a heavy scrape.
They circled again, and Irris saw a chink in Koil's armor. Where her ancient blade had caught him there was a small hole. It was not much, but it was a weakness.
Koil pounced, sword high. In that instant, Irris realized she was wrong footed. She had no way to escape, her own sword in the touton stance. She raised her left hand to block and thrust her sword forwards.
; Koil's sword bit into and through Irris' arm and went deep into her collar. She did not feel the pain; she was strangely detached from it. Her left arm dropped to the ground, lying there like a fat cave slug.
Koil wobbled in front of her. His hands dropped from his sword, then he toppled backwards, his corpse tearing Irris' sword from her right hand.
The world grew dark. Irris wondered if the sun was setting early.
The twins rushed forwards from the cover of the cart and stopped just in front of Irris. She opened her mouth to tell them to run to the city; instead, hot wet liquid came out, and Irris tasted nothing but metal.
You Never Forget Your First Time
Her father was on one knee, looking up into his daughter's face. Harlow Stormborne was a tall man, wiry, and firm. Many thought him cold, harsh, and uncaring, but not Shián; he had always been kind to his only daughter.
“Understand why I'm doing this, daughter, you do? Understand why you are here, do you?”
Shián suppressed a sigh. “Yes, father.”
He used the language of the westerners. Having learned the common tongue decades ago for his role as tribe elder, he still refused to use it. Shián preferred the common language, referred to as such as it was spoken throughout the Five Kingdoms; besides, it sounded better to her ears, felt better on her tongue.
“I'm here,” she continued, “to learn all the pleasures of the flesh and mind, so I may prostitute myself to the first prince I meet in hopes of becoming one of the next king's many queens.”
“Only thirteen and already so smart. Wrong, you aren't,” Harlow said, smiling at his daughter. “But that mouth. Used for other things than talking. Learn that here, you will, I think.” The smile disappeared, replaced by a concerned frown.
Shián said nothing. She stared at her father through big, dark eyes, hoping he would change his mind and not give her over to the school. A stray gust of wind blew her shawl down around her shoulders exposing her face and hair to the baking sun and dry, dusty sand of the desert. She wanted to pull the shawl back into position, but she just stood staring at her father. He, in turn, stared back.
“Sorry, daughter.” Harlow reached up and put Shián's shawl back over her shoulders and hair. “Learn good skills here, you will. Useful. Bring honor to our tribe. Learn to be mother of princes.”
He turned Shián around and stood, placing a hand on her back and guiding her towards the door to the school. Away from their horses. Away from the desert. Away from any hope of him changing his mind.
Harlow knocked on the wooden door with his left hand, keeping his right on Shián's back. She wasn't sure if it was for comfort or to stop her from running, but she was glad of it all the same.
Shián heard a rustle beside her and, for the first time, noticed two guards standing a few feet away on either side of the door. They were large men with soft eyes, almost certainly eunuchs. Both wore hooded cloaks the color of sand and blended in to their surroundings so well they were near invisible.
“Do not look,” Shián's father warned. “Polite, it isn't.”
The door opened, and a tall woman stood on the other side. Her hair was tied in a tight bun, and she wore a long black robe that hid most of her body save her face and hands. Behind her, the building was dark, lit only by flickering candles. It seemed to Shián like the mouth of some great monster from one of her grandmother's tales.
“Name?” the woman said, her voice soft and warm.
“Shián Crowfeather,” Harlow responded for his daughter. He was a tribe elder, yet seemed nervous around this woman.
The woman took a step to the side. “Come in, child.”
Shián hesitated. She'd never been inside a building before; they were a lot more imposing than tents. Her father gave her a gentle push on the back, and Shián found herself inside. She turned as the door closed. Her father and the desert that had been home all her life, now gone.
The woman produced a key from her robe and locked the door before glancing at Shián.
“Come with me, child.” The woman strode away, leaving Shián hurrying to catch up.
“The rules here are simple, child. Obey them, and your time here will be comfortable. Disobey them, and there will be punishment.”
They walked through a corridor built of stone the color and texture of sand, and Shián focused more on her surroundings than the woman's words. The stone was shaped and chiselled in intricate designs around each doorway that led off from the corridor. To be surrounded by so much stone was beyond daunting, but there was something else that bothered Shián even more — she couldn't hear the wind. In the desert, the wind was a constant companion and adversary. She couldn't remember a time when it had been any more than a thin tent flap away.
“Stop gawking, child,” the woman chided, noticing Shián's distraction.
“I'm sorry, it's just that I’ve never...”
“I didn't ask why you were standing there with your mouth open like a fish. It's not suitable for a mistress. If you are seen doing it again, you will be punished.”
“Yes, mistress,” Shián didn't hesitate to respond. The mistress started walking again, leaving Shián wondering what a fish was and if she had really looked like one.
“There are two rules here. First: obey the mistresses at all times. Do not hesitate or question, just obey.
“Second: while you are here there will be no associating with any of the men. There are few that stay here and they know the rules, as well. They will ignore you, you will ignore them. Are you clear on the rules?”
“Yes, mistress,” Shián answered.
“Good.” The mistress stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, the number thirteen etched into the wood. “This will be your room for the first year. You will graduate to a single room according to your progress.”
The mistress produced a set of iron keys from her robe and inserted one into the lock. A heavy click later, she pushed the door open. Inside, Shián saw two sets of bunk beds, and two sets of eyes glanced towards the door, then looked away, both girls trying to avoid catching the mistress’s attention.
“Wait inside until called upon for your first inspection. There is a robe inside the wardrobe; wear it. Your current clothing will be disposed of.”
Shián stepped inside the room, eager to show obedience. A moment later, the heavy wooden door closed behind her, and the lock clicked into place.
The room was cramped, with just enough space for the two bunk beds and the wardrobe. If more than one of the girls was up at a time they would need to squeeze past each other. There was no mirror, no wash basin, and no bed pans. Shián had lived in tents her entire life, but even they seemed luxurious compared to her new living quarters.
“I suggest you put your robe on before they call for you,” said one of the girls. She looked older than Shián and was wearing powder on her face. Shián had rarely seen powder worn by anyone and never on one so young. The girl dangled her legs off the top bunk of one of the beds as she eyed Shián with unabashed curiosity. “The mistresses don't like tardiness. Oh, and if you've got anything personal you want to keep, hide it now and hide it good.”
“Thank you. My name is Shián Crowfeather.”
The older girl continued to watch her, but the second girl in the room jumped up to stand before her. She was shorter than Shián with a round face and bright blue eyes.
“Hayley Coldsnap,” the girl said, smiling. “I'm new here, as well. Arrived yesterday, but Lexis has been here a year already. She knows all the tricks.”
Shián looked up at the older girl, who smiled at her for a moment. “Lexis Broadfield.”
“You're not a westerner.” It wasn't a question.
Lexis shook her head. “Southerner. My daddy is a merchant, helps supply this place. He decided to send me here to straighten me out.”
“Is it working?” Shián asked with a smile.
Lexis didn't smile back. “Do what the mistresses tell yo
u,” she said, her voice solemn. “The punishments are...cruel.”
Silence held for a moment, until Hayley broke it: “It's just the three of us here at the moment, so take whichever bottom bunk you want. Or I could move if you'd prefer a top bunk.”
“Bottom will be fine.” Shián sat on the bed underneath Hayley’s. She had never slept on a bed before. It felt too soft. Shián doubted she would ever be able to sleep on such a thing.
“You should get changed now,” Lexis said. “No telling when they'll come for you.”
#
“My name is Mistress Burnhide. I will be your primary tutor while you are here. That means I am here to teach and train you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mistress,” Shián answered.
Mistress Burnhide did not smile. She stared at Shián through slitted eyes. She had, no doubt, once been very beautiful, as all mistresses were, but crow’s feet were present at the corner of her eyes, her face showed wrinkles despite the powder, and there were a few streaks of gray in her sleek black hair. There seemed to be nothing soft or caring about the woman.
“Disrobe,” the mistress ordered.
“Um...” Shián started to object.
“Do not hesitate when given an order, child,” Mistress Burnhide said, her voice flat and cold. “That will be your final warning. Next time, you will be punished. Now. Disrobe.”
Shián pulled the robe over her head and let it fall to the floor. She stood, naked, in front of Mistress Burnhide’s harsh gaze. Shián dropped her eyes to the floor, her hands moving to cover herself.
“Do not cover yourself. If you are ashamed of your body no man will ever want to possess it.”
The mistress walked around Shián, inspecting her body with her eyes, whilst Shián felt more cold and alone than she ever thought possible. Once satisfied, the mistress reached out and pinched one of Shián's nipples hard. Shián gasped in pain.
The mistress slapped her across the face.
“When a man is enjoying your body he does not want to feel he is doing anything wrong. Even if his actions cause you pain, act as if it is pleasurable. Do you understand?”
