by Katy Winter
"So myths tell us, boy," he responded offhandedly. "You can believe what you like, but it affords amusement, does it not?" Bethel continued to look at the catlin and his face was thoughtful.
"Will it go away?" he asked in a confused way. "I saw it once before and it spoke in my mind." He watched as the creature turned its head to Sarssen and knew it mindspoke the warrior, because he saw a responsive flicker in the warrior's eyes.
"Adept," sent the catlin, with a touch of asperity. "I answer to Ot. Why does the boy not respond in an acceptable way?" Sarssen saw astonishment on Bethel's face.
"Gently," he remonstrated. "The boy is unaware of his talent and it is necessary he still remains blocked for a time. He lives a fragile and frightening existence."
"We know that. We grieve for his suffering. I just wish to communicate with him. I'll return when he's more receptive to one who's become part of him. His lack of understanding baffles me, yet I must accept it."
"Give him time, catlin."
"Teach him, Adept. I'll always be close to him, especially if he needs me." Sarssen sensed the catlin was gone from him and knew from Bethel's face that it spoke to the boy. "You must learn. I'll come again when you're readier to commune with me."
The catlin vanished as silently as it came. Sarssen held out his goblet.
"Pour more wine, boy," he prompted.
Bethel quickly rose, walked across to the table and filled the goblets. He handed one to Sarssen and sat again, pensively regarding his feet. The long silence wasn't strained. Both boy and man were thinking and Bethel was limp with exhaustion. The days had finally caught up with him and all he wanted to do was sleep - he knew he wouldn't be permitted that luxury for some hours yet and gave an infinitesimal sigh.
Finally, Bethel looked across at Sarssen and asked, "Why did Morsh mindspeak you before he died?" Sarssen heard the quiver in the velvety voice but ignored it.
"He asked me to finish what he had begun, boy."
"Is that with me, my lord?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to, my lord?" Bethel sat upright and some of his wine spilled. He scrubbed at his breeches half-heartedly.
"Watch what you are doing," recommended Sarssen non-commitally.
"I promise to learn," Bethel said persuasively. Sarssen didn't bother to tell the youth that already he'd learned so much he could be a danger to himself and others. He merely shrugged.
"Have you any idea how dangerous that could be, boy?" he asked impassively, watching the young face.
"With my master and Jaden, my lord?"
Sarssen nodded. Bethel suddenly remembered what the warlord had done to him over six cycles. He saw, again, most clearly, how he was punished over Sasqua a cycle before, probably because of Jaden's actions. Then he thought of how Jaden most likely betrayed both Morsh and himself to Lodestok. He saw the execution arenas so distinctly he felt choked. A trembling fit shook him so violently his wine splashed from the goblet, Bethel unable to steady his hands. Sarssen was immediately at his side. He removed the goblet, his voice in Bethel's head reassuring. He heard the warrior speak placidly and took a deep breath.
"It has been a hard few days for you, Beth, has it not?" Bethel nodded. "We shall discuss much later, though you can be assured you have learned a great deal over the last six cycles, boy. I merely lock things away, until you are ready to remember them. Look at me, boy."
Bethel made the effort. Again he felt himself absorbed into green depths that seemed to darken the further under their influence he was drawn. He then felt at ease, the day's tensions drained from him. He even ached less. He peered at the goblet Sarssen held out to him and blinked.
"I think, my lord, I must have dozed."
"Yes, boy, you did. You are very tired." Sarssen strode back to his chair and sank into it. "Have your wine, boy. It may help a little."
Bethel was unaware of the warrior's steady regard. Sarssen looked with intense concentration at the beautiful face, the enormous eyes half-closed and the sensual mouth relaxed. There was a sensitivity and gentleness about this youth no amount of harsh discipline or physical cruelty could touch; Sarssen thought it shone from within. Bethel was overly slender and looked so youthful beside Churchik youths the same age, it made the warrior smile a little. He left Bethel to doze, aware how tired the boy really was. He wasn't yet seventeen cycles and Sarssen remembered he was eighteen cycles at warriorhood and considerably maturer.
Sarssen knew from Morsh that Bethel had talent, but he needed to see for himself, so he could decide how best to handle this young and most unusual Samar. He and Morsh discussed Bethel's talent at length after the boy was poisoned, but what Sarssen now realised, having fully entered Bethel's mind for the first time, was how very little Morsh had really told him about this young one. He thought Morsh was so reticent because he was deeply afraid for Bethel - Sarssen could now understand why. The boy was delicately poised. Not only was he talented. He was uniquely gifted, his musical gift wrapped in a deeply emotional and acutely sensitive essence, as was the very profound talent that made him especially vulnerable but also richly and rarely endowed. One was bound inextricably with the other.
The warrior now knew Bethel had, in some inexplicable way, sublimated most of the essential being that made him an individual under a slave persona, so deeply embedded in Bethel's psyche, conscious repair of it would be almost impossible. It would need an expert practitioner to release it and allow Bethel to fully function as a whole person again. Sarssen had suspected Bethel's subjugation was abnormal. Now he understood it. It profoundly saddened and concerned him. He'd no idea anyone could do such a powerful, instinctive thing to survive and Sarssen marvelled that Bethel hadn't lost his sanity cycles ago. They were going to have to be very careful how they handled this boy, very careful indeed. His fragility was very real. The potential for Bethel to be irrevocably lost was frightening and Sarssen needed to speak to the Mishtok since he now, having been fully in Bethel's mind for the first time, understood so much more of the intricate workings that made this young man unique.
Sarssen also saw other things new to him. He saw Bethel as a child with his siblings so very close in age, a sister who looked like him and to whom he was close, twin brothers who teased but also protected him, but mostly the warrior saw a boy with an adored older brother who he looked to as his father, their bond one of profound and unusual depth. Sarssen also saw a very beautiful woman he knew was Bethel's mother.
Thoughtfully, Sarssen deliberately drew a blank over his immediately accessible mind, because he was vulnerable to an incursion into his mind in much the same way that Bethel was. The warrior frowned slightly, aware that however difficult things had been up to this point of Bethel's development, times ahead would be no less fraught. Though he knew he could handle Jaden, Sarssen didn't want the slightest hint to touch the healer of either his or Bethel's abilities. He sighed. Bethel looked up with a query in his eyes.
"My lord?"
"Nothing, boy, nothing. I, too, seem to be unaccountably weary. It must be the time of cycle, do you think?"
"When will the warlord give the command to move again, my lord?" Sarssen gave an eloquent shrug.
"He will give the new warriors time to settle, boy, probably three weeks or so, then he will order the march north. How are you finding the haskar?" Bethel's eyes widened.
"He is fierce, my lord," he said, drawing a deep breath.
"Has he whipped you yet?" With a grin, Sarssen crossed his legs and stretched out with a yawn. A tell-tale blush touched Bethel's cheeks. "Ah, I see. What did you do wrong?"
"An incorrect move in the seventh formation, my lord. I turned Brun left and did not get the trot right."
"I received many lashes from the haskar," reminisced Sarssen. He rubbed his eye reflectively. "I could never remember to turn right on the fifth manoeuvre. In the end, I did." Bethel upended his goblet, a smile breaking the tired look on his face.
"I shall try to do better, my lord," he promised.
"Good boy," approved Sarssen, with another yawn. Then he chuckled. "You probably will do better than me, boy. You have excellent concentration. Off you go now, your master will await you." He saw the resigned look and understood it only too well.
"At least, my lord," murmured Bethel getting to his feet reluctantly, "that part of my day is familiar." Sarssen laughed.
"That is one way of looking at it, boy, I suppose," he agreed, raising his goblet to Bethel. "You will cope."
"Yes, my lord."
Sarssen watched the tall slight figure near the pavilion entrance and called out quietly, "You are doing very well, Beth."
"I thank you, my lord," came back to him, as the youth disappeared.
Sarssen remained unmoving for a long time, a deep frown furrowing his brow. Then he rose energetically and left the pavilion - he felt he had a lot to think about and he did it better moving around.
~~~
The next weeks tried Bethel to the limit. He struggled against exhaustion, confusion, anxiety and a high level of tension, scarcely daring to relax lest he make an error and be chastised for it. As he'd done long ago, he watched and copied others. He never repeated a mistake. He found the chafing of the others, because he was the warlord's boy, almost unbearable, withdrawing into himself and sitting at eating breaks with his shoulders defensively hunched.
Almin took him in hand. Nor was he gentle or kindly to Bethel. The youth learned every lesson the hard way. He took the acedar's well aimed cuffs, because he saw other juniors endure the same and although Almin may have been churlish and ungracious, he helped Bethel through a time that was difficult. Bethel was grateful and humbled. When he thanked Almin one morning, he saw he caught the warrior off-guard. Almin stared across at Bethel warily.
"Why do you thank me, slave boy?"
Bethel lifted his head cautiously because he wasn't sure if a cuff was coming with the words, then when he saw Almin merely stare at him, he said diffidently, "You have helped me so much, my lord."
Almin grunted and the cuff he gave Bethel was nowhere near as hard as usual.
"You learn, warrior, you learn," he said as he walked away. It was the first time Almin had called Bethel `warrior` - Bethel didn't miss that.
Bethel developed a new routine during the day that he felt comfortable with, sometimes reeling into his unsel, stumbling with tiredness. Then he gratefully let Jane boss him until he went into a short but deep slumber, reluctantly opening eyes when gently shaken awake and told he had to be back with the troop. He sighed and obeyed. It continued to be his life.
Nothing much happened over those first weeks because the warlord seemed content to stay where they were. He'd often go out to the fields and meadows so he could watch his men at drill. It wasn't unknown for him to give the order for the punishment of a man he felt was slack, or else he'd order a beating for any who were not tidily presented. He supervised any punishment himself.
~~~
It was late on this day that the order came to halt. When the men in Bensar's troop dismounted there was, as usual, pushing and shoving, with the lesser warriors ceding right of way to their seniors. Bethel was generally pushed more than most and subserviently took it, with bowed head, invariably the last at everything day after day.
This time, though, Bethel stood tall and shoved back. Heads turned in his direction, but, unusually, nobody did or said anything. Almin looked at the boy's set face, turned away with a slight grin and watched Bethel out of the corner of his eye. Quite deliberately, Bethel shoved himself in front of another warrior so he could water his horse first. The other warrior eyed Bethel and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, neither figure moving, but, unusually for him, Bethel held the eye contact, his own huge and uncompromising. The other warrior fell back with a shrug and Bethel walked on.
He was quite unaware what he'd done. He'd acted on the spur of the moment, irked by being constantly elbowed, thumped and knocked. By nature, he was timid and pacific. Time with Lodestok had made him habitually submissive and subservient, so for him to domineer over another was quite alien to him. Almin wasn't the only one to witness this little episode either. Both Esok and Bensar noted it. Neither haskar said a word. It was the first time in six cycles Bethel had moved from his abject slavishness.
When Bethel joined the other warriors to eat, he patiently waited in line to be served and then sat waiting for the small slave boy to taste his food. Once he dismissed the boy, he began to eat voraciously, conscious he was always hungry these days and uncaring of what he ate provided it was filling. His plate empty, he pushed it in front of him and leaned back replete, his tankard up to his mouth.
The conversation about him was fitful and he listened dreamily, catching snatches of comments about when they were to break camp. He suspected it wouldn't be long because he'd been a warrior nearly four weeks and Sarssen thought they'd be well away by now. He bent his head so he couldn't be accused of not knowing his place and stayed inconspicuous and silent.
Then the resting warriors became bored and began to tease him, trying to get a rise out of him. It was apparent the chafing about his status with the warlord was the favourite topic. Bethel hated it. He went into his defensive hunch and wouldn't respond. The ragging went on endlessly until Bethel, his nerves taut, wanted to scream at them that he'd no choice about where he was or what he did - a slave did or he died. He longed to say that all he wanted was to go home and to be free. He barely heard the angry young voice behind him.
"Leave him alone! Does he not have enough to bear without you lot making his life a misery?" Bethel still didn't move, even when a hand touched his shoulder. "How many of you would be willing to take his place, that is what I wish to know?" There was tense silence. "Well?" the voice demanded. Bethel looked up into Manas' angry face and slightly shook his head. Manas ignored him, sweeping the assembled warriors with a look of scarcely restrained contempt. "None of you," he said, in a suddenly softer voice. "So leave Beth alone."
"Supportive of you, warrior," said a deep, amused voice. Bethel flinched, even as he and the gathered warriors rose instinctively. Defiantly, Manas stayed where he was, though his head was respectfully lowered as Lodestok strode down between the benches until he reached Bethel. He stood directly in front of Manas.
"What arouses your ire, warrior?" he asked very gently. Manas felt Bethel tense under his hand and had to think very quickly.
"They were ragging him, my lord." The shoulder under his hand became more rigid.
"I see," said the quiet voice. "And is that forbidden, warrior?"
"No, my lord."
"Quite so. So I ask again, warrior, what arouses your ire?"
"He cannot help his looks, my lord." Manas felt Bethel's tension ease. Lodestok looked contemptuous.
"His looks are exclusively my concern, warrior. Does anyone wish to discuss them with me?" There was deathly silence. "Leave us, warrior." The voice was like ice and Manas moved quickly. "Do you need a champion, boy?" Bethel raised his head, his tired eyes lighting.
"I fight my own battles, my lord."
"I am relieved to hear you say so, boy," murmured the cold voice. The warlord's frosty look swept the company. "As you were."
Unsure what to do, Bethel remained standing when the others sat. Lodestok ignored him, passed on to join Bensar who sat some distance from him, and sat with his back to his slave. Bethel licked his lips and sat shakily, wanting more to drink but not wanting to draw attention to himself by getting it.
A young warrior, a little older than Bethel and who sat opposite, gave a definite shiver and spoke to him in a whisper.
"You are welcome to him, warrior."
Bethel looked up with a shy smile and found that Luth grinned back at him. It was the beginning of a very deep friendship. From that day, fewer comments were made and Bethel found he was seldom called slave, answering automatically to the title of warrior as if he'd never been anything else. Life became no easier but it was bearable.
~~~
/> The order to break camp came two days later. Just after dawn, the troop lined up in silence while Bensar rode up and down the ranks, a frown creasing his face. His orders were, as usual, curt and terse. All but the newest warriors were crisply dismissed until after midsun. Hard-mouthed, he eyed those remaining.
As Bethel listened, he was taken by surprise and not a welcome one either. He was assigned a unit of thirty mercenary infantry that was to be his sole responsibility - it was his duty to organise, provision, marshal, control and discipline them. In time he'd be expected to train them as well.
His heart misgave him. He sat his horse, motionless, but his insides squirmed. The men he'd been given were tough and infinitely more brutish and violent than many other foot soldiers, Bethel acutely aware he'd received no training in the handling of men. To control men with whips or execution was something that Bethel simply hadn't thought about - now he had to face it and his guts churned again. He had to succeed. He had no choices. He wondered why he'd been singled out to be given such tough, ruthless men. He forced himself to pay attention.
"You will have your men ready to move out by midsun in two days. You will discipline your men yourselves. There is no place in this troop for warriors who have no control, so do not spare the whip, warriors. Insolence will not be tolerated. You will personally execute any man who steps out of line. Do you understand?" Heads nodded and Bethel felt queasy. "You will join other troops for inspection at sunset. Do not fail. You are all aware, are you not, what failure for the warlord means?" Again the heads bowed in acknowledgment. Bethel began to sweat.
He ducked into his unsel, his face drawn. Jane immediately encouraged him to sit and held out a tankard he'd just filled for himself. Mishak disappeared so the unsel wasn't overcrowded. Jane noticed the tremor in Bethel's hands.
"What troubles you?"
"We move out midsun in two days, Jane."
"Aye, I'd heard that."
"I have been given a unit of mercenaries." Jane raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"So soon?" Bethel nodded, before drinking deeply.
"That will be a challenge, will it not?" he muttered. "Gods, Jane," he went on in a rush, "how can I flog or kill anyone? I cannot do this." Jane reached out and touched Bethel's arm reassuringly.
