Cade 24

“Prepare her!” The beast master ordered the silent slave standing just inside the bedchamber. He carried Mikota to the bed and tossed her upon it.

Mikota rolled and came up crouching on the furthest corner. Purple eyes darted around the large bed chamber looking for any chance of escape.

“If you leave this chamber before I come for you,” the beast master snarled. “I will take the stomach of every slave your same winters inside this castle and string them on the outer wall.”

Mikota’s eyes rested on the female behind the beast master. Already large with child, her eyes were now wide and glassy, fear evident in her constant trembling.

Mikota’s shoulders slumped. The beast master gave a low growl and stomped from the room. He did not bother locking the heavy wooden door, though there were a stout series of large black locks upon it.

Mikota was a peculiar human among slaves and masters alike. It wasn’t just purple eyes. It was her ability to show compassion, mercy, and a strong will. The latter baffling those around her the most.

Most slaves learned to shut out all desire but survival early in the slave pens. Compassion and mercy were never given, nor ever received. Strong wills were crushed out of the population by smashing the heads of defiant children against boulders until nothing was left but little bits of white skull clinging to the bloody boulder.

Mikota was good at hiding her strong will. She sighed. Yet, she was weak. She could not allow the others to suffer for her disobedience.

“I’m Samanda,” the pregnant slave approached the bed. A dirty white tunic tight against her pregnant belly. “You must obey Mikota.”

“How far along are you?” Mikota’s eyes narrowed. Most slaves were as free with their slaps as any of the handlers.

“Seven cyclical suns,” Samanda replied and touched her belly. “I can not wait to be rid of this thing growing inside me,” she sighed. “The food and wine are plentiful when the soldiers and handlers are bedding me. Now I am not wanted for this fat belly. Better when it is gone that I might eat in abundance and grow strong again.”

Mikota grimaced.

Samanda smirked. “You’ll find out soon enough the rewards of pleasuring a man well, if you don’t get us all gutted by the beast master first.” She pointed toward the far wall by the fireplace.

“Get in.”

Mikota followed the direction of Samanda’s dirty finger and saw a large bathing tub with steam rising from within. “I’m to bathe?” She gulped. “Inside?”

Samanda laughed, an ugly open mouthed spectacle, made all the more macabre by her many missing and rotted teeth.

“Yes, the master won’t have a stinking slave in his bed. I am to bathe, oil, and perfume you, all for his pleasure this night,” Samanda’s eyes narrowed. “And if he finds his pleasure with you I will be rewarded.”

Mikota slipped off the bed, giving Samanda a wide berth, and walked over to the iron tub. Tiny tendrils of steam curled up into the air disappearing as they rose. It brought the memory of lugging buckets of heavy water up the back staircase only to get a sharp slap whenever a drop hit the floor.

“Get undressed and into the tub Mikota,” Samanda said from behind her. “You’re not afraid of a little water are you?”

Mikota was indeed afraid, but not of the water. She was afraid of being naked and in the bath when the beast master returned. She looked toward the door and the many locks adorning it.

Samanda followed her gaze. “He will not be back until this night is almost gone. King Kryler believes if he takes a virgin several times a cyclical moon, just as the suns kiss the night sky, he will be granted long life by the Woetress.”

“How do you know that?” Mikota asked.

Samanda gave her a superior smile. “The King was more than pleased with my virginity. I am the only slave he ever kept locked in his chamber for three straight days.”

Mikota shivered, the thought making her stomach lurch.

Samanda gave her a sharp shove. “Get in!”

Mikota let the push carry her past the tub. She turned nimbly back toward Samanda and cast one last glance at the door. She sighed and slowly began to disrobe.

“You bound your breasts!” Samanda hissed.

Mikota shrugged slowly unwinding the filthy fabric from her body. She forced shaking hands to steady.

Samanda would not get the satisfaction of seeing her dismay at undressing in front of another human.

“You could be put to death for that,” Samanda said a look of suspicion in her eyes. “Not that any man would get close enough to discover your disobedience. You are filthy even for a slave!”

Mikota ignored Samanda and dropped the rest of her garments on the floor. Filth and binding her breasts were just a few of many safeguards she used against predators in the castle. She spent the better part of her life attempting to look younger than her years, staying filthy, and eventually hiding the evidence of her monthly flow.

It was against King Kryler’s law for any man to take a virgin slave. And all the women were kept as virgins under the watchful eye of the beast master until the king took them to his bed. But the predators of the castle often forced themselves on a slave, then killed her to cover the treachery. She stayed filthy enough that not even the most amorous of the dark knights wanted her.

Mikota hid her flow for two years from the beast master, the handlers, and the other slaves. Or she had, until today. Another slave obviously betrayed her and for likely no more than an extra piece of bread.

She placed one foot in the hot water and then slowly edged in the other. “It is hot,” she said.

Samanda nodded. “It cleans you better that way.”

Mikota slowly lowered to a sitting position. The water scalded her skin, but also for the first time in her life, made her feel warm and relaxed. The castle, even in the height of summer, was cold and drafty.

The hot water lapped at her chin. The tub, made for a large man, was long enough to stretch her legs all the way out.

She leaned her head back against the lip and closed her eyes. In all her seventeen years, never did she feel this pampered.

Samanda pulled at Mikota’s braid loosing her hip length hair over the rim of the tub.

“We must wash this,” Samanda said. “The King likes long hair and this will please him. It will take some time to rid you of the lice though.”

Mikota barely listened as Samanda none too gently tugged and pulled the knots from her hair, using a special comb to pluck out each louse.

“Get on your knees,” Samanda ordered. When Mikota didn’t move Samanda delivered a sharp slap to the top of her head. “Wake up!”

Mikota sighed and perched on her knees. The water tickled her ribs. Samanda poured a bucket of luke warm water over her head. She lathered Mikota’s hair with lye soap and rinsed it again with another luke warm bucket of water.
Mikota still covered in filth, stood in front of the paltry fire wrapped in a drying cloth while Samanda ordered the tub emptied and refilled by several slaves.

“Back in,” Samanda ordered when the fresh water was steaming once again. “Wash the rest,” she said handing the soap to Mikota.

Mikota lathered the soap and washed herself three times. She scrubbed at years of dirt until not one bit of filth marred her creamy skin. She bit the black lines of debris from under her nails and spit them in the water.

She was clean, truly clean for the first time in her life. She refused to think about the reason for it and focused on enjoying the new sensation and eradicating every last speck of hidden dirt. Now that her secret was discovered, there was no need to ever be filthy again.

“Time to get out, ” Samanda said rising from a reclining position on the bed and walking toward the tub.

Mikota stood.

Samanda stepped toward her to drape the drying linen around Mikota’s shoulders when she gasped and stumbled backward. “NO!”

Mikota looked back quickly fully expecting to see the beast master. There was no one but a shaken Samanda.

“You’re marked!” Samanda cried, eyes wide and making warding signs with her hands.

Mikota looked down at her full breasts and flat stomach. “Marked?”

“It’s true!” Samanda accused. “You are descended from the cursed!”

Mikota grimaced and reached a stiff arm out for the drying cloth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The color of my eyes does not make me cursed.”

All her life the other slaves distanced themselves for no better reason than the color of her eyes. They whispered stories of witches and curses.

Samanda cut her off. “It’s not your eyes I’m talking about. It’s that!” Samanda pointed toward Mikota’s navel.

“There is nothing there!” Mikota said through clenched teeth looking once again at her flat stomach.

Samanda ran to the dressing table and clasped a polished silver hand mirror. “Not there,” she said holding the mirror at an angle. “There!”

Mikota looked at the reflection of the small of her back. She stiffened and jumped from the tub in one smooth motion dripping water in her wake. She ran to the full size polished mirror by the bed. She stood at an angle and looked again, hoping, praying it was just dirt.

The spit dried in her mouth and knees went weak. On the small of her back was what appeared to be a tattoo. Three interconnected diamonds each the length and width of her middle finger.

“What is it? WHAT IS IT?” She said licking her fingers and rubbing furiously at the mark.

Samanda made another warding sign with her hands. “You’re marked. You’re cursed!”

Mikota looked up into her own reflection dimly aware it was the first time ever seeing herself naked in a looking glass. Wet brown hair clung to her too white face. Purple eyes with huge gold flecked pupils stared back at her. Hysteria was a breath away. Think, her calm inner voice commanded.

Think.

Marked, she was marked. Everyone knew any child born with a mark was not permitted to live. A marked child was something the masters believed would conspire with prophecy to destroy them.

Could someone have applied this marking after birth? The slave trader would not do such a foolish thing and render her worthless. No one else would have a reason. Was it something that came with her flow? How long did she bare these marks?

She looked again. Three diamonds interlocked. What could it mean? How did it come to rest on her back?

She turned troubled eyes toward Samanda. “I need clothes.”