Chapter III - Sold

Hey everyone! I live and breathe, as does Zoe. She was just taking a break to re-evaluate her story a bit. I've been having to do loads of work to make sure she was satisfied with everything. I have reposted chapters one and two of her story, but they have fairly minor changes. I'll list the changes here so that you don't have to reread the whole chapter to find the new paragraphs that are sprinkled throughout the old manuscript.

Here we go:

1) Zoe's story has been bumped up, time-wise. Instead of her story beginning three months after the banishment, a year and a half has passed. She is nineteen and a half, not eighteen. However, as you can see, she still has a problem catching her dinner.

2) She has a leather pouch attached to her belt, and in that pouch is a gift from her twin, Sam. It is a carving (a very skillful one, at that) of her horse, Brac. The significance of this carving is important to understand--you'll understand what I mean when you read chapter three. ;)

3) The Elangsian/Aerilyan war has been going on for twelve years now, not twenty-three.

4) Grace has been introduced, in chapter two. She is a small seven-year-old girl and rather important to the storyline, so you might want to check her out.

Um, I think that's it. So, without futher rambling and explaining, here is chapter three for your enjoyment and commenting!

~ Emily, on behalf of Zoe


Chapter III

It was almost evening and Ruma was close at hand when a halt was called by Terrance Grant. He rode over to another of the slavers who was positioned close to Zoe and spoke. “We will spend the night in Nimlaem, just up ahead.”

The slaver nodded and turned his horse to pass the news on to more of his fellow slave traders. Zoe glanced at Tryna and asked underneath her breath, “Why bother stopping at Nimlaem? Isn’t Ruma were the market is?”

“Yes,” Tryna nodded, “but Nimlaem is a popular place for the lords and ladies in the land to retreat to. It is a town built merely for pleasure. All the shops and activities there are directed toward leisure and relaxation. Thus, many wealthy people are there and they often are interested in buying slaves.”

“He just wants to stop there so that he can show us off to another group of people,” Rebekka added wearily. “Ruma is full of business people who need slaves, but the people here at Nimlaem are looking for entertainment. They would buy one of us for their amusement.”

Not if I can help it, Zoe thought resolutely. Still, a twinge of fear rose in her. Her time had run out. Before sunset she could be another’s property.

They reached Nimlaem in good time, before the sun’s lower rim reached the horizon, and Zoe took in the first bit of civilization that she’d seen for a long time. Tryna was right; the whole city was just a huge metropolis built for leisurely activities. Zoe spotted at least three theaters as she walked down the main stretch of road—which was paved, something she had never seen before—and large, showy cathedrals were sprinkled about, pointed their ornate tiers toward the sky.

There were no houses, only mansions. Each manor seemed bigger and more majestic than the last she had seen. They had turrets and huge windows, and Zoe even saw a gleam of gold spiraling up the handrail of a stairway that led to the front door of a manor. Everything was rich and finely done; all it all, the city was a beautiful place.

Zoe did not drop her head as the rest of the slaves did, instead choosing to look around. She noticed the stares of the lords and ladies who were on the streets. A feeling of humiliation spread over her. She hated their assessing looks, their presuppositions. They knew nothing of her, and yet they already had formed opinions of her: She’s a slave. She is worth nothing except to work.

“I’m a person, too,” she muttered angrily.

“What, Zoe?” Grace asked, her doe-like eyes uncertain as she looked up at Zoe.

“Nothing, Grace.”

They reached the nucleus of the city and Grant rode confidently up to an establishment called the Paradise Inn. He seemed to be a well-known occupant of the place, for the proprietor let him in with a welcoming smile and slap on the back. They disappeared inside, leaving the remaining traders to guard the slaves. Zoe uneasily shifted her weight; the people walking down the streets around them were making her tense.

She knew she was a curious sight, even for a slave. Her height set her apart from the other women, and her clothing was unusual, at best. Her forest green tunic and leggings and leather accessories were drastically different from the other women’s tattered dresses and once fine slippers. She was not overly slender or pale; her frame was muscular and tan. Overall, she was a strange sight to most.

A moment later, a large man stopped in front of her, his beady eyes roving over her form appraisingly. Zoe’s own eyes narrowed. She did not like him one bit and he had yet to speak a word. He reminded her remarkably of a pig with his huge, meaty hands and big jowls.

He met her stare a moment later and his chin jiggled indignantly. “Show some respect, slave,” he ordered haughtily. “How dare you meet my gaze.”

“I am merely showing you the respect that you deserve,” she replied coldly. His large face suffused with anger. He obviously had expected her to cower beneath his arrogant words. One of the slave traders noticed the exchange and started toward them, evidently not trusting her to be civil.

The pig-like man growled at the trader while still staring at Zoe, “This slave of yours is being rude. She refuses to lower her eyes!”

The trader frowned deeply at Zoe. “Drop yer gaze, wench.”

She deliberately transferred her gaze from the pig-like man to the trader, boring into his face. His expression tightened and he raised his hand. She anticipated a blow across her face and heard Grace cry out in fear, but the pain she expected never came. Terrance Grant’s voice rang out, “Hold, Wirth! Do not strike the girl!”

The blond trader descended from the porch of the Paradise and strode closer. Zoe watched him warily. He had a polite smile across his face but she noticed that his eyes were as hard as ever.

“What exactly is the problem, sir?” Grant asked the pig-like man.

“Your wench here is insolent. She looks and speaks at me as if she were my equal. She ought to be punished!”

“Ah, yes,” Grant said, his eyes flicked to Zoe for a brief moment. She did not like the look on his face. “Yes, she will learn to respect her betters.”

“Perhaps if my ‘betters’ were worthy of respect, I would give it to them,” Zoe interjected coolly.

Grant’s eyes morphed into ice-cold pools of barely restrained wrath even though his half-smiling expression never changed. Without another word, he swiftly reached forward and took the leather pouch that hung at her side. Before she could think to hide her emotions, her eyes widened and her bound hands darted out to grasp at empty air. No! Sam’s carving is in that…he cannot take it from me!

“Return that,” she managed, trying to regain her composure even as her voice shook a little, betraying her fear.

He turned to the silently watching man who had first started the trouble. “There are ways to make them listen to you, sir.”

“I should hope so,” The man’s jowls shook as he sniffed. “This one isn’t worth anything; too rebellious.” He walked away after these words, his swagger self-important and ridiculous.

Grant waited until he was out of earshot and then gave her a hard, challenging look. “I think I will keep this,” he said in a low tone, lifting the pouch a little and turned away.

“Grant, give it back!” Zoe cried, her eyes flashing. Her heart was thundering so hard she was certain that he could hear it.

He ignored her and walked away. The slave trader who had first threatened to strike her growled gutturally and left. Zoe resisted the urge to throw herself toward Grant; her frame trembled with anger. No! I need that! It is the only token I have to remind me of Sam, and Brac…and home. Must everything I have be taken from me, from my freedom to all items that I hold dear?

“Zoe, please,” Rebekka said, laying a cool, restraining hand on Zoe’s arm.

“How dare he,” she spat out bitterly, for lack of better words. She longed to slip loose of her ropes and rush after the man; to pound him over and over again with her fists; to take back her pouch and carving and run to freedom. And why not? Why shouldn’t I? Something, perhaps the last shred of sense in her otherwise distraught mind, kept her from physically assaulting the trader. Her voice broke and she repeated in a whisper, “How dare he!”

Grace looked afraid. “Zoe, what was in that pouch?”

“A gift,” Zoe whispered. “A very special gift.”

Nobody else said anything; they realized that no words would console Zoe. Zoe closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Deus, where are You? I respect You, I believe You exist…but where in the world are You? I need help! I’ve lost everything! To her shock, her eyelids burned with tears that threatened to brim over. She hardly ever cried; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had.

Tears won’t help, she told herself roughly. And if Deus isn’t going to help either, then you’re just going to have to do it yourself. She opened her eyes and narrowed her lashes. That hasn’t been going so great anyways. But I cannot change that; I will just have to keep going, regardless of my failures. The thought was depressing and she wondered how much longer she would be able to function before she made a fatal mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m cold, Zoe,” Grace’s whisper was sleepy.

Zoe looked through the darkness in the little girl’s direction. It was early in the morning; they were all in an alley behind Paradise Inn, huddled together. It was early September, so the days were warm but the nights were beginning to carry a chill. Zoe moved a little closer to Grace and wrapped her bound arms around the shivering girl.

“Here. Stay close to me and I will keep you warm.”

Grace snuggled her head closer, her body balled up and pressed tightly to Zoe’s side. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her breathing regulated soon after and she was asleep.

Zoe laid her cheek gently on the little girl’s hair. How could anybody do this to her? Grace was sweet and kind; it troubled Zoe to think of her being used as a slave, constrained by the whims of somebody else. It was wrong. No one should be forced to serve without compensation or their own willingness to work. Why was it so in this country? Why did they ruin the lives of so many?

Her resolve to leave the despicable country she was in deepened with each passing minute. You will not be here forever, she silently promised the sleeping girl. I have been forced to be parted from my family, but I can at least take care that you are reunited with yours. You will be free one day, and you will see your sister Riana again. I swear it shall be so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was six o’clock in the evening and the heat was beginning to dissolve. Nimlaem’s slave market was a busy place, full of noise and confusion, and Zoe’s head rang from the echoing shouts and calls that she’d been surrounded by all day. She kept her chin high; the submissive slaves were the ones who were bought first, so she had decided early on to appear as defiant and insolent as she could. She knew Grant despised her for her rebellious attitude, but at the moment, she very much wanted to make him as irritated as she could. She had long since thrown caution to the wind.

Early that morning she and the other slaves had been dragged to the center of the marketplace and marketed as available. Grant’s instructions had been clear: “Keep your heads bowed respectfully, and your eyes will not leave the ground, understood? Your tongue will stay behind your teeth and you are only to speak if somebody asks you a specific question. Got it?”

Zoe had deliberately disobeyed him and stared down every last prospective buyer since the morning, and she knew that Grant was aching to lay into her for it. She felt a small amount of satisfaction. If she couldn’t get free, she could at least drive the slave trader wild with frustration.

She had been shocked by the huge amount of people who came to see them. All sorts of men, women, and even children had turned out to see the latest group of human merchandise. The men’s eyes were heavy-lidded and lazy looking. Many of them had pronounced paunches and dissipated features that spoke of their cavalier lifestyles. The women were little better. They were adorned with jewels and fine dresses, each one trying to prove that her wealth was greater than that of her neighbors. The children were merely growing to be like their parents, miniature lords and ladies of Elangsia. Zoe had been intensely scrutinized by many people but her brash attitude usually sent them elsewhere.

Marissa had been the first to be bought, by a woman who was thin and sallow with sharp features. She had prodded Marissa’s arms and grabbed the teenager’s frightened face with her heavily bejeweled fingers before bartering for her. Marissa had been trembling when she was untied and had followed her new mistress with a bowed head.

Around noon, a stout man who needed two more serving wenches at his inn had taken both Tryna and Rebekka. He had looked at Zoe for a moment but decided on Rebekka because of her beauty and Tryna because of her quietness. Whatever fire Tryna had possessed when Zoe first met her had been extinguished over the last week. Grant had eagerly taken the money from their sales and put it in the large pouch that he kept around his waist at all times. Tryna’s husband had watched earnestly as his wife was led away; their two gazes met for a moment before they were jerked apart. Zoe felt sick by it all.

Now Grace and Zoe were the only ones who remained on their rope. It was almost closing time for the marketplace; the noise and busyness was slowly dying down. Grant walked up and down the line of slaves who remained. His eyes stopped at Zoe. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin reflexively, drilling him with her eyes. I will not bow to his whims, she thought. She still felt furious as she thought of him taking her pouch and carving the day before.

Grant’s face hardened with anger. He was in front of her with three long strides and stared directly into her eyes. “I’ve put up with your insolence all day, wench, and have had enough of it,” he growled. “Lower your gaze.”

“Never,” she shot back boldly. A feeling of déjà vu came over her. They had just gone through this with the pig-like man yesterday. She wondered, with a swift moment of cynical humor, if Grant would ever realize the depth of her stubborn nature. The quick flash of absurdity did nothing for her temper, however. The anger that had been building all day threatened to be loosed upon Grant.

Crack! Zoe did not expect the hand that flew out and struck a burning blow across her face. She gasped and doubled over, her hands flying to her face, causing the ropes to rub on her already raw wrists. Grace whimpered and cowed behind Zoe.

“Let that be a lesson to you all,” Grant said in a loud voice to the rest of the slaves. A group of surprised onlookers murmured among themselves furiously. It was highly unusual to see a slave trader physically assault a slave; they were worth more if they were unmarked.

Zoe felt heat wash all over her. She was almost as furious as she was whenever she thought of Duard and the separation he had put upon her and her siblings. And now, her anger overcame her reason. She gritted her teeth and straightened as Grant began to turn away. She slipped the rope off her wrists and leapt forward, her foot shooting out and tangling with his ankles. Hooking his ankle, she jerked as hard as she could and pushed his shoulder with all her strength. He fell heavily onto the dirty, paved street and she stood over him, panting slightly.

Somebody in the crowd gasped, and the murmurs erupted into loud conversation. Zoe lifted her chin again, her hands in fists, and encountered the large cluster of incredulous people. Standing foremost was a tall man who was dressed as a merchant. His vivid blue gaze locked with her own for a moment. She narrowed her eyes but he merely lifted an eyebrow calmly at her and then looked at Grant, who scrambled to his feet, his face glowing red.

“This girl is for sale?” The newcomer asked in a quiet tone.

“Yes, my lord,” Grant gritted, bowing his head respectfully. He shot her a mutinous look out of the corner of his eyes. Zoe knew he both wanted to beat her to a pulp and have her show respect toward this inquiring man; in reckless noncompliance, she shot him a scathing look and stiffened her spine.

You can’t beat me while a prospective buyer is present, she inwardly taunted Grant. And I will give you as hard a time as possible when you try to hurt me after he leaves. Her eyes flew back to the tall man and his shadowing companion who wore a long, dark cloak. Though their general physique was much better than most of the other men she had seen in Nimlaem, they both appeared to be about the same caliber: Lazy, slow, and selfish. She lifted her chin and challenged the young man silently. I may be a slave right now, but that doesn’t mean I’ll act like one, she communicated clearly with her gaze.

He merely turned to Grant and asked quietly, “How much for the girl?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cormac Alstair looked at the red-haired young woman with his features schooled into an unreadable expression. Inwardly, however, he was burning to learn who she was. He had seen her take the slap from the irate slave trader and been surprised at her swift and decisive retaliation. Who is she?

The trader answered his question about the young woman’s price eagerly. “Her? I cannot part with her without adequate compensation I’m afraid.”

“Because you and she are so devoted to each other, I suppose,” Cormac stated, his words skeptical. His words drew some laughter from the crowd and a deep flush from the trader.

“Fifteen gold,” the trader said flatly.

“Fifteen? That is ridiculous,” Cormac shook his head. “Five.” He saw Jaedon, his mentor and friend, shift his weight. Cormac resisted the urge to glance at him. Jaedon was probably wondering what in the world he was doing. Cormac wasn’t exactly sure so he didn’t want to talk about it. Usually Cormac wouldn’t have even paused—he was not interested in buying slaves—but after the display he’d observed from this proud, nameless young woman, he’d had to halt.

“Five is a mere pittance of what she is worth, my lord! She deserves thirteen, at least.”

“I don’t wish to be sold.” The girl’s cold voice broke through their debate. “I am not property to be bartered for.”

No, you’re not, Cormac thought grimly. He forced himself to ignore her. “Seven, and not a ounce more.”

The trader seemed to consider it. Cormac knew he was weighing the benefits of keeping the girl and beating her within an inch of her life for insolence, or getting rid of her and receiving cash at the same time. As Cormac had betted on, greed won. “Done. She’s yours.”

The girl’s unusual green eyes darkened to a forbidding black. “I belong to no one!”

“You do now,” The trader spat at her feet with contempt.

Cormac set his jaw. “I advise you to treat her with respect,” he said in a hard voice. “She is no longer yours to ill-treat.”

“Aye,” the trader growled.

Without taking his eyes off the trader, Cormac motioned to Jaedon. “Pay him,” he said in an undertone. Jaedon stepped forward and counted out the appropriate sum of money from the small pouch of money he wore at his side. In the meantime, Cormac’s eyes turned to the girl, who looked defiant and angry.

“Come with us,” he motioned to her. Different emotions flickered in the depths of her eyes, and he knew she was weighing the danger of bolting in opposition to the danger of staying.

“Please don’t leave me!” A plaintive voice came from behind the tall young woman. She turned swiftly and Cormac watched as she knelt beside a crying little girl. “Don’t go,” the girl sobbed.

The young woman murmured something under her breath to the brown-eyed girl. The trader’s lip curled with contempt and he said loudly, “Get away from that slave, girl. You don’t belong here any longer.”

Cormac stepped forward, his blue eyes turning stormy. “I believe I already warned you to treat her with respect,” he said evenly. The trader dropped his gaze at Cormac’s words, and the young woman looked up. She had voided her expression and a casual observer might have thought that she had given up and was ready to comply with whatever came to her. But Cormac noted that the fire in her eyes had not dimmed and kept his guard up. “Come with me,” he said in a quiet voice, reaching down a hand.

She looked at it for a moment and then rose to her feet without touching him. Withdrawing his hand, Cormac shot a look at Jaedon and was met with the older man’s raised eyebrows. “This way,” Jaedon said merely, motioning to the young woman.