Slavemaster's Woman, The

by Angelia Whiting

  Mecor yelped and scurried backward.

  Cushla who was now the Libertas then shook her head and snapped her beak shut.

  “Now you’ve gone and done it Mecor,” Bazil rasped out. “I think she’s pissed.”

  “I know she’s pissed.” Tarken stared almost mesmerized by the exquisite creature before him.

  The instant he spoke, the mighty creature swung its head around, her eyes locking directly on his. Standing glorious and powerful, she towered over him, her head reaching to just below the vaulted ceiling, and her eyes—her eyes were the only thing that reminded him she was still his beloved Cushla.

  Although larger, her eyes had shifted from the whirl of colors and returned to the stunning crystal shimmer that he’d always found so intriguingly beautiful.

  Ah yes, it was Cushla.

  He would recognize those intense, clear eyes anywhere. Even with the anger that filled them, he adored those eyes—even in this curious form she’d assumed, he adored her, maybe even more so now that he was witnessing what he’d suspected she truly was. Where others might be terrified, fear evaded Tarken, and all he could do was smile. She was his Cushla in her true and natural form—the spirit bird.

  “Shoot it! Shoot it now!” The sound of Mecor’s squeaky, less than masculine, cowardly voice echoed through the Royal Chamber.

  The callous order broke Tarken’s state of enchantment when he realized the king ordered him to use the stunner he was holding. He looked down at the weapon and frowned.

  The Libertas again, swung her head around and cawed so forcefully that the king lost his crown, the jeweled headdress toppling from his head and clattering as it hit the marbled floor.

  Terrified, Mecor hunched and draped his arms over his head, his entire body shuddering.

  Perhaps a king no more? Tarken lifted a brow at the irony of it, his thumb skimming Cushla’s slave band.

  “Do something!” Juliada screeched as she peeked out from behind the throne. She released a shrilling scream as the Libertas stretched its long exquisite neck, snatched up the throne chair as if it were a toy and tossed it through the air causing all in the room to duck once more. It hit the ceiling, splintered into pieces and then rained down. The Libertas returned her attention to Juliada and just as she’d done with the king, snapped her beak at the frightened royal.

  Juliada promptly fainted.

  “Control that beast, Bazil. You’re her father!” Mecor barked. “Before she destroys my castle.”

  “There’s nothing I can do your Majesty,” Bazil answered. “He who possesses her holds her power.”

  Mecor straightened, his head pivoting toward him. “Say what?” His brows drew together curiously at Cushla’s father.

  “You possess her, Anzer,” Scoac reminded him. “You bought her!”

  “Yes, yes!” The king’s expression changed and a scheming grin spread across his lips.

  His chin rose pompously, his meager chest puffing. “The legend.”

  The Libertas released another room-quaking caw and took two steps in the king’s direction.

  Again, Mecor’s head pivoted and his eyes widened at her approach. He staggered backward. “Halt!” he commanded. “You are mine. I own you. I hold the power over you!”

  The Libertas raised her head and screeched so loudly that everyone in the room clapped their hands over their ears to spare their eardrums. Cracks appeared along the walls and the large solar windows lining the top of the chamber shattered outward, causing everyone to recoil against the shards of glass raining down luckily without spearing anyone. She snapped at the king once again, her beak coming so close she nipped at his waistcoat, snipping a button from the garment. It bounced across the floor.

  With a whimper, Mecor fell back several steps before landing on his ass on the floor, the color draining rapidly from his face. “I—I— com—command you…?” he stammered out weakly.

  Cushla again, ruffled her feathers.

  Tarken chuckled. He couldn’t help himself, the whole situation, seeing Mecor in such a menial position was quite amusing. In fact, Tarken had never seen him looking so small and so weak.

  Cushla however was anything but amused. At the sound of Tarken’s voice she turned on him, opened her beak widely and screeched.

  Tarken’s hair whipped back at the force of it and he winced slightly as it reverberated in his already tormented ears, but he was otherwise undaunted. All he could do in reaction was stare down her throat and inhale the sweet scent of the heavy breath she blew all over him—the sweetest scent he’d ever smelled.

  “That’s it birdie, eat him!” Mecor ordered, appearing a bit braver now that the Libertas had aimed her attention elsewhere. He rose from the floor and dusted himself off, then stared up at her first in confusion and then in anger. He shook a fist at her. “You will listen to me!” He glanced around the room with a baffled but fearful expression. “Why does she not listen to me?”

  On the other side of the chamber, Scoac began scrambling on hands and knees, attempting to take refuge somewhere—anywhere, finally taking refuge behind a grand statue that Mecor had had commissioned of himself.

  It was a fatal mistake.

  The Libertas whipped her head in his direction and with a mighty sweep of her wing, she toppled the hefty statue. It crashed on top of Scoac, crushing him.

  “Oh spirits!” Juliada, who was recovering from her faint, screamed and then began weeping. Still dazed, she struggled to her feet and began staggering to and fro.

  Mecor seized her, and being the bastard he was, jerked her to the front of him, hiding behind her. “I’m your master now—bir…er—Cushla, my dear.” Mecor thrust Juliada forward. “Eat this one.”

  “You sick excuse for a man!” Juliada bawled, her wail becoming amplified when the

  Libertas snatched the front of her gown, bunching the material in the tip of her beak.

  “Cushla stop!” Bazil yelled.

  “No, no,” Juliada pleaded with the spirit bird. “I was helping the slavemaster get the main controller from the king’s chamber and nothing more. I didn’t screw him in there I swear. I was helping the cause!”

  “Eat her!” The king ordered.

  Cushla’s angry eyes bore into her, and she tugged Juliada forward and of course, Mecor released her, promptly delivering her to the bird’s mercy.

  “It’s the truth Cushla,” Tarken spoke, keeping his voice even and low.

  “I said kill her!” Mecor demanded. His expression grew even angrier when she failed to oblige. “Why do you disobey me, Libertas? I own you!”

  “She doesn’t deserve to be hurt, Cushla,” Tarken defended.

  Cushla’s eyes briefly flicked in his direction. She expelled a disgusted snort through the two openings in her beak and released Juliada.

  The royal ran screaming toward the throne room doors. They flew open before she reached them, and Durnin stomped into the room. He was nearly plowed into by the hysterical Juliada as she dashed by him.

  Behind him, two guards dragged in a very battered Shre Vialin. They dropped her to the floor.

  “What the fuck is that!” Durnin’s eyes widened when he saw the Libertas. He and the newly arriving guards drew theirs stunners.

  “That…she— is my daughter,” Bazil returned.

  “Who is this?” Mecor crossed the room, his voice hard and demanding as he gave Shre a disdainful once over.

  “One of the rebel leaders.”

  Crouching down, the king grasped her matted hair and lifted her head. He stared at her dirty, bloodied face.

  Behind him, Cushla was growling low.

  “Really?” Mecor released her carelessly.

  Shre grunted when her head hit hard against the floor. Her body shifted and she coughed.

  “This one was plotting with that bitch Ayia and that feeble old slave called Kleb,” Durnin told the king, though his eyes remained apprehensively on Cushla.

  “Kleb!” Mecor bellowed. He spun toward Bazil. “Your fa
ther? I thought that worthless geezer was killed when I took the throne!”

  “You’d be surprised at what a worthless old man can hide,” Bazil sputtered, clearly having trouble breathing. “That and a few well placed rumors that he’d died. You should’ve taken greater heed of the slaves you kept imprisoned within the castle walls.”

  The king shot a feral look at Durnin. “How could you be unaware of this?!” he roared.

  Durnin’s eyes rounded, his brows lifting with obvious surprise. “I didn’t know who he was. How was I supposed to know? I was a child when you took the throne.”

  “Bring him to me this instant,” Mecor snarled through gritted teeth. “I will have his head!”

  “I might be able to bring you his head,” Durnin answered. “Since I’m told he’s already dead.”

  “Father…” Bazil gasped his head dropping.

  At the same time a woeful murmur emerged from Cushla’s throat.

  Mecor with only a slight hesitation beforehand smiled wickedly. “Delightful!” The king laughed. He glared at Bazil. “Do you see what happens when you fail to obey me?”

  Bending her head, Cushla opened her beak and screeched, her feral eyes filled with rage.

  Undaunted, Mecor turned to scrutinized her. “Shut up you little bitch. How dare you!” Mecor spun to glare at Bazil. “Your friends are dead. Your father is dead. You will convert the stones or everyone you know and love will rue the consequences!”

  In response to Mecor’s continued tirade, Cushla screeched louder and her wings began flapping in frenzied sweeps, the motion of them whipping the air causing a wild breeze.

  “This is my kingdom, my planet…!” He paced wildly, ranting like a madman drunk with power. “I rule many planets, and I will rule more—I will rule the entire Adar Rhiannon Galaxy—in the universe!

  Tarken’s grip tightened on the stunner he held. He glanced briefly at Rube who parted his overcoat to partially reveal that he too possessed a weapon, and then noted the four guards remaining along with Durnin, and the tempestuous crazed king. Tarken returned the nod preparing to take them down.

  “I own you!” Mecor raised an arm and pointed at Cushla.

  She snapped her beak shut and calmed her wings, but Tarken could see the storm in her eyes as her breast heaved with turbulent breathing.

  “I own all of you!” He outstretched his arms and whirled in a circle. Dropping his arms, the king balled his hands into fists and boldly stomped toward Cushla. “And I’ll prove it!” He leered at her. He then lowered his voice to a menacing level, ignoring the angry gurgle emerging from Cushla’s throat. “I’m going to fuck you wench, fuck you like I fucked your whore of a mother—right before I slit her throat.” Mecor then began to laugh.

  Cushla swung her head skyward and released a sorrowful, angst-ridden cry.

  “Now!” Tarken yelled. He and Rube fired their stunners, taking out Durnin first, stunning but not killing him, and then the same with remaining guards, save one that dropped his weapon and held his hands high to surrender.

  Still in his self-absorbed laughter, the king never saw her coming—was oblivious when Cushla suddenly went silent and her head lunged toward him. She snapped, catching the king’s head in her beak. She thrashed her head to one side and then clamped down, slashing through his neck and crunching bone, severing the king’s head from his body.

  “Oh Cushla,” Bazil winced at the horrific sight of blood spewing from the king’s lifeless body now in a heap on the floor. He scanned the room to see who was still standing.

  Rube, Shre, Tarken and a very shaken royal guard all stood and stared wide-eyed.

  “Well…” Rube commented drolly. “All’s well that ends well?”

  Tarken tucked the weapon into his waistband and with an outstretched arm reached out to Cushla. There was grief in her eyes…tears, and it pained him. “Forgive me, Cushla.”

  She dropped the king’s head and it landed at his feet.

  Tarken glanced down at it.

  First, her slave band and now the king’s head, it seemed his beloved was fond of bestowing him with presents.

  “It’s over, love.” Tarken stepped closer to the Libertas…Cushla.

  Cushla was rapidly shifting, her body shrinking, and reshaping until she was once again, the petite lovely woman he adored. Crouched before him, her beautiful white hair draping around her naked body she looked so frail—a complete contrast to the mighty creature she was just moments before. She swiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand, smearing it across her cheek and then stared at the blood on the back of her hand. “Oh…e-e-w.” She grimaced and glanced at the king’s headless body. “I had his head in my mouth!” she cried.

  “You’re free, Cushla,” Tarken spoke softly to her and held out his hand. “It’s over.”

  Lifting her head, she fixated on his face and then her gaze dropped to his open hand before darting back up to meet his eyes. “No!” She shook her head vehemently. “No!”

  “Cushla—”

  “No!” She yelled and instantly shifted, taking shape of the spirit bird once more. Flapping her wings she screeched, pivoted and flew through the large gap at the top of the chamber that was left open when the glass had shattered. She screeched again several times, each subsequent sound becoming fainter and fainter as she disappeared into the skies.

  “Where did she go?” Bazil furled his brow and stared at the opening. “Why did my daughter leave?”

  “Perhaps she fears what she is?” Rube commented. He was crouched over Shre Vialin checking her condition. He smiled at her when she opened her eyes.

  “Aki e astabocu,” Shre murmured in her native language. “You are a sight for wor—worn eyes, handsome. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  Rube chuckled in return, brushed a strand of hair from her face and then stroked her cheek.

  Tarken merely sighed. Reaching down, he grasped the king’s head, lifting it by the hair and stared at it. “I’ve never seen you looking better, your Majesty.” He slapped the head into the chest of the opened-mouthed guard who’d earlier surrendered. “Take care of that.”

  The guard oomphed when it struck his chest, his hands coming up to catch it as if he’d been passed a ball. Then, he released a sound of abhorrence and dropped the king’s head to the ground. He backed away quickly, flattening himself against a nearby wall.

  Tarken walked over to where the king’s crown lay on the floor. He picked it up and then approached Rube, handing it to him.

  Rube lifted his brows as he accepted the headdress from him.

  “As for your daughter, Bazil,” Tarken belatedly answered. “He who possesses her holds her power. I suppose that displeased her.”

  Bazil studied the slavemaster seeming to briefly consider the words of the legend. He then nodded with understanding. “She loves you. You possess her power, because you possess her heart.”

  Tarken smiled sullenly and stared through the gaping hole the Libertas had flown through. He wondered if he would ever see her again and a grave sadness filled him. “I only wish that Cushla understood that she also possesses mine.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Tarken gazed out over the fields, watching as the workers…the paid workers attended to their duties.

  A short distance away, Kleb held a compu-pad and was tapping away at the screen. He then spoke to the worker standing in front of him who nodded and then went on his way after apparently receiving some assignment. Kleb looked up and glanced in Tarken’s direction. He waved and Tarken returned the greeting. He and Ayia had escaped Durnin’s order of execution. Unbeknownst by the sleazy royal, the guards he’d commanded to carry out the task were a part of the rebellion. They had let Kleb and Ayia go.

  Durnin was presently attempting every angle to curry favor in an attempt to save his own hide, following Rube around like a submissive pup. Rube had deemed him harmless and incapable of causing trouble, but Tarken was still reluctant to trust him…ever.

  A
yia had returned to Orboka, her home planet and one of Mecor’s holdings to deliver the good news of the king’s annihilation. Shre Vialin, who’d suffered several broken bones during the uprising, was now nearly healed from the ordeal. She was living in the castle and there were rumors that she and Rube were becoming quite cozy with each other.

  Inhaling, Tarken savored the scent of freedom, and the joyous harmony restored to the once oppressed citizens.

  Under Rube’s rule, Buranis and the other galactic holdings in the dominion were prospering, making its gain through numerous natural commodities, fruits and precious metals. On Buranis itself, visitors were beginning to spread the word of its lush gardens and natural hot springs, bringing tourism to its beautiful terrains. Even the local town, which under Anzer Mecor’s reign had become a cesspit for illicit activities, was developing into an attractive marketplace and artisan’s corner for art, music and theater. The transformation taking place on the planet was remarkable and it was flourishing.

  For Tarken, it had simply become home.

  Tipping his head skyward he searched the skies. The air was fresh and the sun was warm upon his skin, but despite the beautiful dawning his heart was hollow. It had been two cycles of the moon since she’d left him and there was still no sign of her.

  “When she was a little girl, her mother wondered how we would handle the power of what she was.”

  Shifting his gaze Tarken studied Bazil. With one foot propped up on a tree stump he too, was searching the skies. Tarken had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard Cushla’s father approach.

  “You always knew who she was?” Tarken asked. He’d spoken to Cushla’s family very little since the uprising. He needed time to process all that had happened, to reflect on her place in his heart and how he would survive her self-imposed absence. He did know one fact however, that if she ever decided to return to him, he would be waiting with open arms for her.

  Bazil dropped his foot to the ground and smiled at Tarken. “Most of the legend’s details have faded over time, the tale of the Libertas becoming little more than a child’s bedtime story.” Turning his head, Bazil watched his father who was speaking to some of the workers. “When my mother Pulomi, Cushla’s grandmother passed we found the ancient tome of spirits amongst her belongings. According to the doctrine written within its pages, the Libertas manifests in physical form during times of grave spiritual quandary. She must’ve foreseen the fate of Buranis.”