Thrall (Deridia Book 3)

by Catherine Miller

  Copyright © 2017 Catherine Miller

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1974656306

  ISBN-13: 978-1974656301

  For Beth, who gave me a precious godson and only got this book in return.

  Table of Contents

  Wilders

  1. Sold

  2. Row

  3. Stay

  4. Hers

  5. Caern

  6. Study

  7. Doctor

  8. Gift

  9. Burn

  10. Equal

  11. Dream

  12. Work

  13. Outing

  14. Like

  15. Trial

  16. Trade

  17. Human

  18. Prove

  19. Wed

  20. Love

  21. Ness

  Also by Catherine Miller

  Wilders

  “Up, thralls!”

  Ness’s eyes flew open at the order, her body already moving to obey even before her sleep-muddled mind could properly awaken. But despite her efforts at quickness, she was still nearest, and a hard-plated foot shoved at her all the same. It wasn’t as painful as it might have been, not quite an outright kick, but it was still jarring and she had to bite her lip to contain her whimper.

  A cry was a complaint, and those were not tolerated.

  She got to her feet, her shoulder aching from its nudge, her eyes carefully lowered. None dared ask why they were being awoken, or if there was even a purpose at all. Sometimes obedience had to be tested. They all knew that.

  “Out!” the master ordered, and all five women shuffled out. Ness couldn’t help but feel a little grateful to be out of that room, even if she wasn’t sure of the reason. She shouldn’t be. It was wiser to feel nothing at all. Some managed it, a grim sort of resignation keeping them calm and malleable no matter the order, no matter how uncomfortable their accommodations. And she tried, truly she did. But despite her determination, she could not seem to stop feeling. Not completely.

  Isolation was strictly enforced before the implantations. This was to be her sixth, and she was coming to despise the entire process, even when she reminded herself daily that such was her purpose. But there was little to do in that room with the others despite dreading the ordeal to come. It was the after that she feared most, of failing yet again. Her masters were not known for their patience, and she did not know what would happen if she proved deficient yet again.

  She took in as much as she could, even with her lowered gaze. There were others moving through the tunnels, others like her, some older, some younger. She swallowed, gratitude spoiling in her belly as she worried at what might come of such a gathering. Punishments could involve all of the slaves being summoned to witness how such behaviour was dealt with. She worried for the one who had overstepped.

  They were ushered into the great hall, masters overseeing their charges with gleaming black eyes atop their plated heads. Ness didn’t look at them, just as she had been taught since girlhood, standing where instructed and forcing herself to calm as the rest of the thralls assembled.

  It must be important if they were allowed out of their isolation, though she noted grimly that her keeper enforced a wider gap around them than most. Even now they were not trusted. She tucked her arms more firmly about herself, both despairing and offended, though it was foolish to be either. Feelings didn’t matter. Not here.

  The already quiet thralls silenced even further when the doors opened, a party of Narada striding through their ranks with their usual purposeful strides. They appeared so different from the human slaves, their bodies long and heavily covered with thick, brown shells that knit together perfectly for both strength and dexterity. The thralls were given cloth to wear, many layers of it as their masters had no wish to see their soft flesh so grotesquely exposed.

  The silence was shattered as a group of thralls entered. Some screamed, some cried, their eyes wide as they surveyed the hall, took in the other slaves and the masters holding them. Ness’s brow furrowed. They had obviously been trained poorly if they were carrying on so. They were far too old for such displays, even the youngest in the room standing quietly under their masters’ watchful eyes. She had to avert her eyes, the shame too great to witness their misbehaviour.

  When the Commander appeared, taller and larger than the others by far, all the thralls went to one knee, their heads bowed and eyes firmly lowered as the masters gave their own salute.

  And still the group of strangers cried and grumbled, and she dared a slight peek—just enough to see that they did not kneel.

  Her stomach clenched at what would surely come, the waiting almost painful. Her knee ached from the hard-packed earth, her shoulder throbbed from her reprimand, but she knew to be still. Obviously these new thralls had not been taught as she had. She bit the inside of her cheek, her thoughts straying too close to disrespectful. A master must have been in charge of their instruction, and it wasn’t for her to question him, even if the result was... most unusual.

  The Commander allowed his staff to clack twice against the hard floor, the thralls rising to their feet as prompted, the masters lowering their arms in turn. “Thralls,” the Commander began, his voice not overly loud. It did not need to be—none would ever dare interrupt in even the smallest way. “Undoubtedly you have noticed these newcomers to our midst.” None dared look at him, and an answer was not expected. “They are untrained. Wild.”

  Wild?

  “They do not know our ways, do not know their place. The place of all your kind.”

  Ness wished she could look at them properly. Never had she imagined there were more like her in the world—some that had not been bred and raised by the masters. The very thought seemed too incredible to be real, but if the Commander said it was true, then it had to be believed.

  The wilders seemed to have enough sense to quiet as the Commander spoke, and she peeked at them as unobtrusively as she could. There were not many, but nor were there few. Women and men were among them, children clutched between the cluster of bodies. However they had managed to escape the Narada before had clearly failed them now. She felt a well of pity, though she did not know exactly why.

  This was their place. Their purpose.

  Girls her age were to breed new thralls. Once older, they would be given into private service, to fetch and carry, to bring honour and dignity to the household she served.

  Except she was not a good thrall. She had failed in her last five implantations, and she was not at all certain what would happen to her if she failed again.

  Would she be given to one of these new men this time?

  She looked away from them, not wanting to dwell longer on that subject.

  “But we shall not tolerate their delusions, will we?” she was mortified to realise she had missed some of the Commander’s speech, and she forced her full attention back where it belonged. “They will succumb, as did your forbearers.” He did not ask for their aid, for the thralls themselves to help teach these wilders how to behave. He didn’t need to. The masters would soon cull any rebellion, any thoughts unsuitable for a thrall.

  Ness couldn’t quite stifle the burst of sympathy she felt for what they would soon endure. She hoped they would learn quickly so they did not suffer overmuch. It was easier not to fight—that lesson was well taught from the beginning.

  The masters clicked in approval, their mandibles producing the sound much more efficiently than the human mouths could duplicate, though each slave understood the meaning well.

  One of the new slaves stepped forward, his jaw set and chin thrust forward. Ness’s heart sped as she wanted to implore him to retreat, to save himself what would inevitably come, but the words did not come
. She knew better than to interfere, and begging would only make things worse.

  But the others did not seem to know that.

  “Max,” a woman hissed, her hands clutching at his tattered sleeve and yanking anxiously backward. “Don’t!”

  Ness couldn’t understand exactly what was said, but the desperation in her voice, the pleading in her eyes, made the meaning of it plain. Ness noticed that few of the older thralls twitched even as they continued to kneel. It was subtle, but there, a twitch of awareness. Could they speak this foreign tongue? There was language, once—a human tongue that the oldest might still remember. But the using of it, the teaching most especially, had long been forbidden.

  They were taught only what the Naradian wished for them to know, and the only reason they were given even that language was so they might understand the orders they were given.

  It was wrong to even be listening to that woman with her human speech, but a shameful part of Ness wished she would carry on. Not to learn, she told herself firmly, but just taste it...

  The man ignored the woman and he stepped forward, hope to hear more of the strange language warring with the dread already filling Ness’s belly as he approached the Commander. Could he not sense the danger? Did every pore not scream to submit? She had never had any direct contact with their leader, but she had been in his presence on occasion, and even the thought of him was enough to make her shiver. His rule was absolute, and if his word was enough to make even the masters obey...

  She shuddered, not able to comprehend his bravery. Or perhaps it was merely stupidity—she could not seem to tell any longer, if ever she knew the difference at all.

  The man’s eyes flashed, his fists clenched.

  But his mouth opened in surprise when suddenly a line of crimson appeared at his throat, a flood of warm liquid bubbling forth as his hands fruitlessly tried to close the ever widening wound.

  And Ness thought vaguely of a similar lesson long ago, that a proper slave would accept the death that was given and not struggle against it. He clearly was not a true thrall, but so far, she had not proven to be one herself. She suppressed a despairing little sigh.

  The wilders screamed, shrieking and clinging to one another as they reeled in surprise, the rest of the thralls remaining in their correct lines, uttering not a sound.

  The Commander looked down at the corpse with only an errant glance. He reached out and grasped the woman who had cautioned the now dead man, and Ness was glad to see she had enough sense to remain still and accept whatever punishment was to be given to her. The Commander wiped his arm clean on her shift, the sharp spines down his forearms covered in the man’s blood. The Narada needed no weapon to kill. Every slave knew that, and now these wilders would too. The woman stared vacantly at the red smears on the already dirty fabric of her clothes.

  “A dead slave is a useless slave,” he reminded the thralls. “But so is one that is disobedient.”

  He pushed the woman away roughly and she fell to the ground, her limbs seemingly lacking the strength to support her any longer. She was crying, silent tears streaking down her cheeks as she stared wordlessly at the cooling body. He no longer twitched, his blood pooling wetly about him. Ness wondered who would be tasked with clearing the mess. She almost wished it would be her—it would mean she’d be free of the isolation chamber for a little bit longer.

  The Commander looked to the wilders again, and Ness noted they were wise enough to no longer meet his eye. They had formed an even tighter ball, the children now entirely obscured from view, but she knew their attempt at protection would mean little. They would all be taught, would all be tasked, and all would serve.

  It was their way.

  “I believe you all have duties to attend,” the Commander dismissed, not bothering to look at the thralls directly. The masters clicked and the lines of slaves began to retreat, the demonstration evidently at an end, at least for them. She pitied the wilders who would remain. What if they did not speak the Naradian tongue? How would they learn if they could not understand?

  She chided herself for questioning the masters’ methods.

  None spoke as they exited the Great Hall, the whispers of bare feet against hard earth the only sound they made. The wilders had acted as if this display had been a shocking one, but it was nothing new to Ness, nor any of the others. Even those who had barely learned to walk were brought to such displays, only the newly born kept away as their cries might prove an interruption.

  The Commander had been right. Their value came from their usefulness, from their obedience and willingness to serve. Dissent was swiftly extinguished. There would always be another born to take the place of one unyielding to a master’s orders.

  Even if those orders were sometimes difficult ones to endure.

  She dreaded the morning, fairly certain that her isolation would come to an end. But as much as she hated the waiting, the implantations were never pleasant.

  She had learned not to cry so much anymore, and she was learning not to resent the chosen man so much either. The men had as little choice as the women they were assigned to, and her bitterness would only make the process worse.

  Or so she tried to convince herself.

  But it was so hard. The wishing and hoping that this time it might work, simply so she would not have to endure another attempt—but also hating the very thought of a child growing in her.

  Because it would not be hers. Not really. She would grow it, would have to force it from between her legs just as the man had forced himself between them, but the moment it was gone, when the tether was cut and the squalling infant was pulled into a master’s arms...

  It was a thrall.

  Owned.

  Another would take its place in her arms, born from another woman. She would be left to suckle, but not to love, the child of her flesh taken to someone else for milk. No bonds. No attachments. Theirs was to serve and nothing else.

  She bit her lip. If she dwelled on what was to come for too long she would cry, and crying was to protest. They would not beat her much, not so close to when she was to try for a babe, but punishment would come eventually.

  The master brought them back to the room and ushered them in with a grunt. He grasped her arm as she made to enter, tapping her shoulder with a firm finger. “Show.”

  Ness did not hesitate before undoing the drawstring at her neck, allowing her shift to drop and exposed her shoulder. It showed much of her slim torso and small breasts as well, but she did not try to cover anything. They were taught early not to fuss. They were to be covered when ordered, and bare when commanded. Their preference did not matter.

  He released her arm in favour of pressing at the joint of her shoulder, his palps coming to tickle over her skin, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from protesting the action. It hurt, his earlier nudge throbbing vividly at each of his pokes, the strange fluttering of his sensory phalanges making her belly churn in discomfort.

  He grunted. “You are not overly damaged,” he assured himself. “Cover.”

  She hastened to obey, not merely because it was expected. It was cold in the tunnels, despite the masters’ generosity. They were fed well and blankets were provided. Sickness impeded growing healthy infants, and the Narada required their slaves to be competent workers. Starvation was a useful tool for punishment, but it was generally avoided otherwise.

  The master left then. He might have lingered outside or he might have returned to his own dwelling to sleep, either was equally possible. The not-knowing made any attempt to talk a risk, and few would chance it. But Ness heard a quiet sniffle to the side, a woman older than her huddled in the corner, her cheeks wet. Another stared into the nothingness, quiet and sedate, and Ness looked away from her. That vacancy never led to anything good. The Narada might require compliance, but absolute despondency led to improper care, to inattentiveness—and neither was tolerated. They would find a way to enliven her, and it would not be pleasant.

  The other two women r
esettled in their respective blankets.

  Ness hesitated, knowing she should ignore the crying girl as well. But she knew what it was to hurt, to be alone in these darkened rooms and wish for even the barest shred of comfort.

  She settled beside the girl. Ness was the youngest of them, but age mattered little. Their ability to bleed mattered most, and her deficiency had even affected that. Her blood had come late, and she was a little old to be trying for her first. These women likely had two or even three by now, nameless, faceless babies being raised by the masters in another string of tunnels. She had only left there recently, the masters growing impatient that it had taken her so long to reach breeding age. She was a poor thrall.

  Ness reached out, placing a tentative hand on the other girl’s shoulder. “Why are you crying?” she murmured as softly as she could, bringing her head close enough that she could be heard. Ness had not asked the girl’s name. She would come to know some of these women in time, but she’d been too occupied with her own silent despair to try to make friends. Not that such things were actually allowed.

  The girl looked at her in surprise, her eyelashes clinging together in clumps. Apparently she had been crying longer than Ness realised. She’d dared when the master was still present?

  “Do you think they were really wild?” she murmured back just as softly. “That they were... were free?”

  Ness felt suddenly cold at the very word. She wanted to smother it, to hide it away and remind the girl that it wasn’t even worth considering. She could be charged as a conspirator if the master overheard, the very idea making her heart quicken. “I think they will be just like us soon enough,” Ness answered, her throat suddenly dry. “Just as the Commander said.”

  The girl nodded, anguish plain in her wet brown eyes. Ness wished she’d found something else to say, something to comfort, to soothe, but her fear made the words stick in her throat.

  The girl said nothing else and neither did Ness. They sat in companionable silence until eventually Ness returned to her blanket. Her heart hurt, for herself, for the other girl, and for those wilders and what they would soon face. She had never before been so grateful that her training had begun in girlhood. She knew what was expected of her, and while she might not like it, at least it was familiar. They had looked so confused and frightened. She wondered if that woman loved the man who had died, if perhaps they were a pair.