by Renard, Loki
When I finally look into a mirror, I hardly recognize myself. I am... a woman. I mean, I have always been a woman, but now I look like the ones in the faded pages from the pre-Event magazines. The dress drapes my body, falls across my curves. Makes me look luscious and sumptuous.
“Tip your head up,” Elias says gently.
I do as I am told and he applies red color to my lips with a steady hand. His touch is kind and I find myself wanting to turn my head toward it. The truth is, I have been starved for touch. I have been bereft of male attention, and some of it feels so good. Even what the sheriff did to me felt good. But how can I trust the pleasure in this world, when it is so inextricably linked to captivity?
“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes lit with pleasure. “They’d hardly know you were wild, would they?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll show them,” Mattias smirks.
I give him a dark look. They’re going to see how wild I am very soon.
“Let’s go, Trissa.”
“I need a moment to collect myself.”
They look at one another doubtfully.
“Please, just one moment. I need to breathe. Can you give me a second to myself?”
I expect Mattias to point out that I am breathing now, but to my surprise, he nods. Both he and Elias withdraw. I crouch down next to the bed and do something my father once taught me how to do a very long time ago.
I have been vulnerable. I will not be anymore.
* * *
Mattias and Elias walk me through the sheriff’s compound. I have seen parts of it already. It is grand in a way not many places still are. It is cleaner than the world outside the walls. It is maintained, gardens cultivated. It strikes me that there must be some kind of benefit to the crushing dominance the sheriff exerts over all those in his domain, and this is it.
I am used to dirt and broken things. I have never been anywhere clean or nice. I have never looked as I do now. But the cost of all this beauty is pain and suffering.
The closer we get to the grand building where the sheriff waits for me, the more nervous I become.
“Mattias?”
“Yes?”
“You shouldn’t take me to them,” I suggest hopefully. “You should take me and keep me for yourselves.”
Mattias and Elias exchange looks over my head. I see a hint of sadness and resignation, and perhaps frustration, though I don’t know if that is at me, or the situation they find themselves in.
I tug at Mattias’ robe, trying to get his attention, trying to show him how serious I am. Mattias makes my heart race. He is handsome and kind, he is caring and he is strong. He knows how to look after me. I could live with him and Elias, being theirs. We could be happy.
“Trissa, we don’t have time for this.”
“I don’t want to be sold!” My words are a whine.
“Very few people get what they want in this world,” Mattias says, turning and bending down, his big hands on my shoulders. “We take what we must.”
I bite my lower lip to keep from angrily lashing out at him. I know that’s not true. I was free once, not that long ago. I remember what it is for my life to be my own.
“Come here,” Mattias says, his hand slipping from my shoulder to my hand. “I want you to see something.”
He walks me away from the pretty gardens and the polished paths. He takes me away from the civilization of the city, and he walks me past guards until we reach a concrete wall.
“I’m going to show you something,” he says. “It is not a pleasant sight. It will upset you. But you have to understand, Trissa. You have been sheltered from the world. You don’t understand what it is, or what you must be to survive it.”
With that, he bends down and scoops me up onto his shoulders, picking me up so high it feels I can see everything. For a brief moment, I feel an innocent excitement, but as my head is hoisted above the wall that fades immediately. I smell it first. Rotten flesh, like carrion but far stronger. I cover my mouth with my hand as I look out and see a dark expanse that has been sectioned off from the city. A killing field.
There are dead men everywhere. Not lying dead after battle, but clearly put to death there, every one of them dispatched in a manner more horrific than the next. I see corpses in cages, flesh melting from their bones, gnawed by vermin that race and hop from place to place.
“Put me down!” I shriek, having seen too much in a matter of seconds. “Mattias!”
He hauls me down, out of the sight of the horrors beyond, and he lets me hide against his robes, his big arms wrapping around me to hold me close and comfort me after the horrors I have just borne witness to.
“What happened?” I gasp, nearly retching with fear and disgust. “Why are they like that?”
“Some of those were our comrades. Some of them are criminals. Some of them are simply unlucky. A man’s life is worth nothing,” Mattias explains gently. “It can be gone in an instant and nobody will mourn him. Be glad you are a woman. Be glad that there are men who will do anything to have you. Their desire comes at the risk of what you have just seen. You have no idea how precious you are.”
His words hold weight and deep emotion that breaks through my shock at the field of death. I understand what he is telling me: I am alive only because I am female, and what happens to me next may not be what I want, but I am not going to meet the end like those unfortunate men did, sacrificed to a vicious blood fetish.
“I am going to take you to those who bought you,” Mattias says. “And you will service them. It will be pleasure for you, and them. It will be one good thing in a world of terrible things. And it will bring life, not death. Do you understand now?”
I nod mutely. I don’t understand. Not really. I don’t understand why men are so cruel to each other. I don’t understand why they have to inflict so much pain. Men are strange creatures, and I am afraid of them.
My fear doesn’t matter. Mattias and Elias take me back to the grand civilized areas, fussing over the details of my hair and my dress all the way to a pair of large doors.
“This is the chamber where you will meet your mates,” Mattias says. “Try to stay silent unless you are spoken to. Keep your manners. They will not be amused by your rudeness. You do not want to make the sheriff look bad tonight. Your punishment will be exceedingly painful if you do.”
I am taken into a room where seven men stand in a receiving line, waiting for me like they might wait for a monarch.
I expected... I don’t know what I expected. Ruthless brutes and slimy politicians. I expected roughness. I expected terrible things. Gross words and unseemly gropes. But they do not rush for me as the men in the market did. And they do not grasp at me as the sheriff has done.
They stand there as if I am someone to be honored. They look at me with respect. I can feel it emanating from them. They are powerful in body, and I sense, in spirit, each one of them different from the next, but I sense a kinship between them all.
They are handsome, and if I am not very much mistaken, they are mercenaries, just as well dressed for this occasion as I am, and just as uncomfortable in their fine clothing, though at least they are armored. All men of war must be, but their armor gleams and shines. I can imagine that they are here to save me. That I am being rescued. I can feel hope lifting in my chest.
The sheriff is standing on a raised dais, smirking over us all. The moment he speaks, the spell is broken.
“These seven pooled their money for you,” the sheriff laughs. “They went in on you together like boys going in for the newest toy. You will serve them all, girl, spread your legs for each of them until your belly swells with their seed. And you will do it again, and again, until you can do it no more.”
My stomach churns at the idea. The men I am meeting are hard to read. I get the sense that they do not like the sheriff. I can’t imagine anyone does. He rules this part of the world like a mad king, taking what he wants, doing what he wants.
It is hard to take the men in,
truly notice each of their different appearances, because Mattias and Elias have stepped away from me and the sheriff comes down from the dais. He takes me by the waist. His arm slips down. His hand cups my rear and he guides me forward.
“I tested her myself,” he says. “No damage to the merchandise, but I assure you, gentlemen, she is ripe for any handling you might have in store for her. No need to be gentle.”
I am horrified by the vile man’s words, so much so that I barely look at the seven men he is giving me to. I can feel their gazes on me, but I am too busy seething with hatred for this man. He took me. He sold me. And he hurt Mattias and Elias. I don’t know why that bothers me as much as it does, perhaps because of the perverse cruelty of it. What I just saw beyond the wall must be his doing too. It is suddenly clear to me that all of this is calculated to be as humiliating and painful as possible. He is a sadist. He is a broken man. And he owns me.
The sheriff draws me up to the dais, facing the men.
“Pleased with your purchase, gentlemen?”
Whatever reaction he was expecting, he doesn’t seem to have gotten it. The men look at me, but there is surprisingly little lechery in their gazes. Most men in this world go feral for a woman, but these men seem to be more sated. Likely they already own several women already. I start to realize they don’t need me. Don’t want me. They’ve taken me because they could.
I hate every single man in this room. I hate the sheriff for selling me. I hate these buyers for buying me. Mattias and Elias have not fought for me. They are neutered, letting me be taken, working for the evil that is putting me in this situation. I am surrounded by men, but I am alone. The sheriff found me backed into barrels of beer, but I am more trapped now than I was then.
The sheriff stands beside me and squeezes my breast, his hand rough and hard enough to make me cry out in complaint.
“This is what you bought to breed, boys. This is the vessel that will carry your seed. She’s ready for it, I promise you that. A wet little fuck toy ready for the taking.”
These men can’t want to see me handled by him this way. But they don’t seem to object. The sheriff has every single man in his realm cuckolded. They bought me, but he is touching me. My father told me of how in the pre-Event times, people would go to restaurants, where they could order any food they want. What this sheriff is doing is like a waiter bringing food to the table, then eating it himself.
“Let’s get this dress off. Show the men what they own.”
I draw away and speak my first words. “They said nobody would touch me!”
“Get the dress off, girl.” His eyes narrow to two angry slits. He is disgusting. Vile. I hate this man. I hate him for what he did to me. I hate him because his rescue was not a rescue at all. It was just opportunistic. I hate him because he frightens me, because he is cruel, and because I am not a person to him. I am meat and money and nothing more.
He reaches for the clasp of the dress—and I act.
He has forced my hand. I would never have done this if he had just left me alone. Even if he had allowed me the mercy of clothing all would have been well. But he tried to take the very last vestiges of my self-respect. He tried to turn me into a toy to be used at his command, and he has not earned that right.
I pull the vase shard from the inner fold. It is no longer merely a piece of broken ceramic. It has been wrapped with fabric cut from the bedsheets in the few minutes I had to myself. My father taught me how to craft knives from practically every substance there is. He taught me how to protect myself, how to survive. And he taught me how to kill.
The ceramic sweeps through the air and finds his throat.
It is over very, very quickly.
I have never taken a blade to a man before, but I know where the arteries are, and it is not so different from killing a wild pig. I know to follow the prey down and ensure that both sides are cut. I know how to take life quickly, cleanly, and without remorse. This is too harsh an existence to feel pity for those who must die.
The sheriff bleeds out in a matter of seconds, his body at my feet, his blood crimson like my dress. I am surrounded by a sanguine pool, holding the once pristine ceramic knife, now tainted with his blood.
I look up to the warriors who thought they bought my flesh. They will kill me now, but I am ready for death, and I will take more than one of them with me if I have to.
They stare at what was the sheriff. At me. And then at each other.
Everything is still. I expected cries of rage, an attack to avenge his death, but it would seem nobody is angered by the loss of the man at my feet.
I am surrounded, not so much by anger or even shock, but by pure surprise.
The one in the center, the tallest one, comes toward me. He takes a single step. I draw back, the hem of my skirt dragging blood along with it.
“Stay back!”
I shriek the words, brandishing the blade. He doesn’t even look at it. He looks at me. In his gaze, I am held. It is as though I am falling into deep brown eyes, touched with just enough light to make them gleam amber. There is a kindness and a strength in that hard face partially marked with angular tattoos that run along the lines of his jaw on the left side. There are scars too. He has been cut before. Survived before.
The sheriff twitches at my feet, distracts me for a moment. There’s no life left in him, but his body doesn’t know that completely yet. I glance down, see his face ashen and pale. Suddenly, I want to be ill.
“Trissa, look at me.” The mercenary in front of me draws my attention back to him, and the nausea fades. “It’s okay,” he says, his deep voice reassuring.
But it’s not okay. I just killed a man in front of a pack of professional killers. Now they will kill me. That is natural justice. I deserve it, probably.
I pull the knife back, away from his outstretched hand.
I managed to kill the sheriff because I had the advantage of surprise. I do not have that advantage with these other men. They are trained in the arts of war, every one of them has a bearing that speaks to discipline and pain. My father taught me to protect myself, but not against odds like these. I am lost. I know that now. There is some temptation to give into it, to let them take me, but I resist that call to death.
“Easy,” he murmurs. His voice is so deep I feel as though it is vibrating the very floor beneath my feet. His shoulders are broad beneath the green snake tongue armor he wears, a thousand little y tongue plates folded neatly together to create a shirt that would be impenetrable to my makeshift knife.
That sort of equipment costs a lot of money. He must be very rich. They all must be. They bought me, after all.
It is that thought that makes it impossible for me to imagine any kindness. It would be better if he killed me. Then this would be over. I am wretched with fear as he comes on toward me, taking another step, closing the distance between us as I weigh whether I have the courage to try to take another life.
And then two strong hands come down on my shoulders.
I scream and whip around, the knife poised to strike.
It is Mattias.
Mattias. I had forgotten about him and Elias entirely, but they have been behind me the whole time.
A large hand wraps around my wrist from behind. I start to scream as the knife is plucked from my hand.
“Easy, girl. Easy. Easy. Easssssyyy...” the warrior behind me soothes me. It doesn’t work. I am staring into Mattias’ face. I can’t read his expression. But he is holding me there, letting the man who owns me take hold of me too. He is keeping me caught.
“Let me go!”
I scream the words, but nobody obeys them. More hands come. More men join in to restrain me. I start to flail, to kick, to fight for all I am worth, but there are too many of them, and they are all too strong for me. Any one of them alone could overcome me. Together, they are an overwhelming force. They carry me away from the body, out of the room. They take me god knows where to do god knows what.
“Mattias! Don
’t let them take me!”
Crying out for Mattias does nothing. I can’t tell if he’s with them or not, or if they pushed him away. I can’t tell what’s happening because I’m panicking to the point I don’t understand anything besides my own fear.
In the marketplace, men came for me, but they never got hold of me. And they were just common men. Now I am held by high-ranking warriors who just saw me kill a man. Whatever they do to me will destroy me, of that I am sure.
“Put her down.”
The one who came toward me first, the one with the tattoos, gives the order.
The others follow it. I am lowered onto what feels like a couch. I can’t see below me. I can’t see anything other than male flesh wrapped around me, holding me down, keeping me in place.
I can’t even fight for my freedom. That doesn’t stop me from panicking. Though I can barely move, I struggle with my fingertips, my toes. My heart is pounding and my breath is coming so fast I am flooded with oxygen, dizzy with fear.
Silver eyes appear in front of my face. One of the men has come forward among the others. He has braided blond hair that reaches down to his shoulders. His neck is marked with tattooed script, a verse written in black and red ink.
“Breathe,” he says, in low resonant tones. “Just breathe. Deep breaths. In and out.”
“Let me go!”
“Settle,” he insists. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Then let me go!”
“You just killed a man. There is no way we’re letting you go.”
“Kill me now! I won’t be prisoner!”
“Feisty,” someone intones in a curious accent.
“Very,” Silver Eyes agrees. He has a calm way about him. They all do. Not one of them seems surprised or upset by what I just did. A man is dead by my hand, and they don’t care.
“Nobody is going to kill you, girl,” Silver Eyes reassures me. “You’re safe with us.”
That’s a lie. I’m not safe anywhere. I haven’t been safe since the day I was born. No woman anywhere on Earth has been safe in decades.
