Chapter 01 - Zolani
Chapter 01
Zolani
The 489th Year of the Ascension of Vey’r
There was a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach as I scrubbed the wooden surface of the kitchen until the skin of my hands felt like they were going to fall off.
It’s going to happen again. Tonight.
I didn’t dare say it out loud but I sensed the familiar bile rise up my throat and clouded my vision until I felt like I was going to black out.
Bunching the damp cloth in my hand, I sagged down on the dirty floor, my back hitting the wall. There wasn’t much I could do about stopping it, though. I was just a mere slave here, bought from the infamous slave house in Orivath to cook and clean in the army encampment.
Nothing I ever did helped me get out of those nasty, appalling situations. And if I did fight back, I wouldn’t be alive. This game of survival was so sickening I found myself wanting to drown in my own misery at times like this.
Women get raped.
Women get beaten.
Women get killed.
That’s what I was told when I lurched out of the room that night—vomiting on the floor and covered in my own blood. The cycle repeated over and over and over again until I had no fight left in me and no blood to bleed anymore.
If you want to survive, keep your head down and endure it. You’re a woman, after all.
Sometimes I wondered if all of this was just a bad dream, and just to test my fate, I’d pinch myself only to get proven wrong. Again and again and again. I wanted to return to Zeravin—the one place I called home.
The gatehouse had lengthy lush, green vines of Jasmine hanging around and most people mistook it for the orchard. Further inside, stables were built in the bailey and the mud was all over the terrain.
If my eyelids fell, I could very vividly picture my past life.
Zolani Namaris, the only existing heir of late Zaamir Namaris of Zeravin. Slain in his own fortress dead at night, crimson-hued blood seeping into the fabric of his clothing and dripping down onto the floor. It wasn’t until dawn that everyone got aware of the revolting act performed by the unscrupulous troop of people.
Not much later after that, Orivath had been my dwelling site for the last part of summer. For being one of the most commercial areas in the East, it sure had its charms. The slave market was one of many inducements why the city was admired. My hands were bound with heavy metal chains as those armored people pushed me on my knees like I was up for auction, and which I guess, in a way I was. An old man with a beard as white as the snow, paid a hefty amount and brought me here. He was a foreigner, I could tell, Sir Harold, presumably from the West. It wasn’t much more pleasant than the auction house, at least I hadn’t been violated and shackled with cuffs wasn’t as horrific as this.
Standing up on shaky legs, I wiped the kitchen tables and filled the wooden barrels with water.
“I’ll clean up the rest. You should lay down, Zolani,” Alis chided from behind me, even though there wasn’t any hint of malice in her tone. Taking the earthen mazer from my hand, she bent down to pour the water into the barrel. Her pregnant belly protruded slightly and a wave of selfishness hit me right away as I snatched it from her.
“Alis, you shouldn’t be doing this,” I pointed out, waving a hand at her body. “My mother used to say this is an ill omen for a woman carrying a child.”
She laughed in response, and I could very well trace the weary lines etched onto her face, the brown strands of her unkempt hair were drawn back. “Am fine, love. No need to busy yourself with me.” She handed me a piece of dried loaf. “Eat up, there aren’t any more left.”
“Did you have yours?”
“Aye,” Alis replied.
Walking back to my room, muffled screams pierced through the other end of the wall and I felt a shiver go down my spine. With careful steps, I crept inside and to my horror, two men were sprawled on my bed, an empty jar of ale discarded on the floor. Without giving myself the time to comprehend, I fled swiftly but a hand shot out, pulling me back and throwing onto the floor. I gasped, feeling my head for any signs of injuries or blood.
“Ye whore, keep your mouth fuckin’ shut or I’ll split you in half,” one of the men spat, and the other licked his lips, palming himself.
I gripped the edge of my bed, I straightened and plastered my back to the brick wall. “I-I’ll scream,” I gulped but I could barely hear myself over the pounding of my heart. Tears blurred my vision and a sob wracked through me.
“Ya didn’t hear him, girl? No sounds,” the latter one said, stepping towards me.
“Let me go, please,” I begged, disgusted with myself for being so pathetic. What have I done to deserve this? To be raped and defiled over and over again? To be forced to tolerate such a vile thing?
“Hear her, did ya? Bitch is already beggin’ and we haven’t even started yet,” the first one cracked a maniacal chuckle, shaking his head.
In a flash, I was slammed onto the ground as they were ripping my linen-woven skirt. “No! Stop, don’t,” tears slid down my cheeks as I thrashed like a wild animal beneath them, my legs hitting one of their shins.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” he growled, raising a hand in a visible attempt to slap me. I closed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the same blow my body had felt for the past six months. But it never came. Instead, the bloodcurling screams of both the men hit my ears and I blinked my eyes open, my gaze falling on the shadow of the tall, rugged man behind them. He hurled them across the floor with ease, hovering over their lanky frame like a beast.
“Will ye fuckers ever touch her again?” the stranger asked in a deathly low voice, bending down in front of the men but still towering over them.
I availed myself the moment and did an egregious work of concealing the exposed skin of my thighs with the torn fabric of my clothing.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” the man pressed and both of them shook their heads but it didn’t seem to satisfy him. He dragged them out of the room, efficiently dodging their deplorable attacks. The sound of bone cracking penetrated the wall and I shivered. I can’t be positive that this man won’t hurt me after being done with them because I’ve long since stopped believing that there are indeed decent men alive in this hellhole.
My thoughts come to a halt when the timber door creaks open facilely, wide shoulders of that strange man coming into view had my eyes widening as I leapt from my bedstead, ruching the ripped shreds of my dress. The faint scent of woodfire envelops my senses against my will as he steps forward.
“Don’t come near me,” the words tumbled out of my mouth in a wavering tone and I was too apprehensive to mind my pitiful state. “Please.”
A small frown tugged at his face but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared and he trained his hazel eyes on my exposed thighs.
“I ain’t hurtin’ you, girl,” he spoke in a hoarse voice, scratching the back of his neck. He tossed me the frayed excuse of a blanket from the floor and gestured towards my legs. “Ya need to patch those bruises up real quick.”
Mortified, I glanced down at the mottled, livid contusions littering my skin and I bit my lower lip, suddenly self-conscious.
I kept looking down until I heard the unmistakable sound of the door closing. “Bar your doors, girl,” was the last thing I perceived before my vision went black.
