The two of them guffawed.
Celty turned, shooting them a frosty glare that silenced their mirth. Her fingers fisted into a tight ball. Both slaves met her gaze, then eventually looked away in startled silence. Satisfied, Celty glanced back to the procession.
“Oi! That’s Gavan Jenzud,” Goro said, elbowing the other slave master in the ribs.
He pointed out a thin, humpbacked man with a long face, and Celty leaned forward, her hair brushing her shoulders as she listened.
“No.”
“I swear it. Look at that hawk nose.”
“What’s the Horalu Clan doing here? This is between us and the Nari.”
“No doubt the lynx can eat the fox, eh?”
Goro and his chum sniggered. Celty returned her gaze to the passing man, who kept his eyes on the palace. A servant jogged along beside him, struggling to keep up.
Those in the courtyard fell into total silence, mouths agape, at the passing luxury of the Nari Clan. The flag of the nine-tailed fox brought up the very rear with another bevy of dazzling guards and strong horses. The banner whipped in a gentle breeze as the caravan moved through the street and into the palace courtyard.
Celty peered over her shoulder to follow the last of the entourage. A bustle of movement greeted them near the palace stairs, and then they were gone.
"Jin!" Goro yelled. "Get our guests some refreshments."
A young man scrambled out of the shadows near the stables where a shoddy lean-to rested against the wall. He rushed toward the well with a bucket, his long, slender legs carrying him quickly through the crowd.
One of the slave buyers closed in on Celty's cage with a sneer. “Ah, I like the look of this one.”
His slimy hand reached through the bars of the cage, grabbing Celty’s arm. She snarled and shoved him back. The merchant stumbled, tripping over his own elaborate leather shoes, and fell down. Several slaves laughed. Goro rushed to his side, teeth bared at Celty, and helped the merchant stand.
“Useless, rebellious slave!” the merchant shrieked, scrambling back to his feet, a knobby finger pointed at her. Two of the merchant’s guards now flanked him, and shoved Goro away.
“Get her!” Goro hissed to his own guard. “Get her out of the cage and teach her a lesson. Jin, give this man some of that water to refresh him.”
Celty braced herself, refusing to back away as two guards rushed inside, grabbed her by the arms, and threw her onto the ground outside the cage. She curled into a ball, tucking her head against her chest and throwing her hands over her neck. The blows came to the back of the legs first, delivered with the tips of the guards’ boots.
A firm kick to her back near the ribs. Another to her shoulder.
Celty bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. This wasn’t the first time, but it still hurt every time.
“Take her to the stable with the rest of the animals,” Goro shouted. “Now!”
The guards jerked her to her feet, shoving her through the courtyard as the crowd parted for them. She stared at all she passed, daring them with a defiant gaze to feel sorry for her.
None met her gaze. In the background, the sound of Goro’s rapid apologies slowly faded.
“My eternal apologies for your pain,” he said. “She is a rebellious, hot-headed girl, but has never been so insolent to a merchant and . . .”
Celty spat at a noble as they passed. He recoiled, frowning at her. Every step the guards forced her to take met with excruciating pain, but she bit any outcry back. The agony would fade, eventually. She could already tell no bones had been broken.
The guards shoved her through a wooden door into room that smelled like horse manure and wet, rotting hay. Her head hit a wall when they slammed her against it.
Celty fell, crumbling into a ball on the floor. She fought to stay awake. The metallic clang of a hook rang on the floor. She looked up, and despite her head spinning, saw one guard bring a long swath of rope with a metal hook attached to it. Behind him, Goro stormed into the stable.
“What were you thinking?” he screamed towards Celty. “You are nothing! You’re merchandise. A slave. You don’t even have a soul. How dare you even touch a merchant? You spit on a nobleman! You’ve guaranteed your own death. No one will have you, including me. Why would I feed you? Why would I trust you?”
The guards grabbed her arms, jerking them together. The rope cut into her wrists as they wrapped it around them, burning the skin. Her nostrils flared with pain. A dull headache spread through her skull in low, pulsing throbs. Celty met Goro’s beady eyes with insolent hatred.
He stared at her for several long moments, then threw his hands up in the air.
“Stay with the animals where you belong,” he muttered, turning. “Leave her there and let her rot. Maybe she’ll learn a lesson when she hasn’t had food or freedom for a few days.”
The guards twined the rope around her ankles as well. She tried to thrash free, but her energy had ebbed. They stopped her struggles with yet another smack across the head.
The stable whirled before her eyes, and Celty dropped back to the floor, her vision blurry.
She dropped into the safety of darkness as the sound of the slave auction rang through the air.
Rakesh
One didn’t just escape from Iskawan. Rakesh knew that. He’d always known that. Because it wasn’t just that the permeating darkness of The Nothingness extinguished all light in Iskawan – and all the places around it – except for a few glowing fairy-fire globes.
Life in the prison-city forgotten by the gods was one of an empty, cyclical existence. It drove the strongest of men mad in months. Which was precisely why Rakesh sat on the parapet of the outer wall, staring out at the dark lands of The Nothingness from which there was no escape. Unknown dangers and eternal darkness lingered north, east, and west of Iskawan. To go south was too risky by half. Still . . . something about the strange, inky blot of The Nothingness on the horizon drew his thoughts. He longed to be there – and hated himself for desiring it, at the same time. One day, he promised himself. I will go. Whether I must climb down the east or west sides, or fight the darkness of the north, I will go.
But at least in thinking about it, he could remember his enemy. His life before Iskawan.
His reason for escaping Iskawan.
Rakesh let one leg dangle down the other side of the wall, kicking above the seemingly endless void as he studied the dark land. Just like the rest of Iskawan, The Nothingness rested under solemn, heady darkness. Darkness that hid everything. Faults. Secrets. Desires.
Life.
Rakesh looked down at the back of his hands, visible only because of the presence of a fairy-fire globe over his shoulder. White skin so pale it appeared transparent covered his thin bones. Bluish veins of blood ran through his skin, winding away like a lost river. He let out a long breath and peered over the side of the high stone wall.
Nothing. He could see nothing below. Nothing but an unknown length of darkness, and a certain death if he were to fall. Somewhere, under his feet, waited the sprawling southern doors.
And what if he could see the bottom? Would his plan change?
Even when he did get to the bottom, that only meant he was one step closer to freedom, not that he was free.
He wouldn’t yet be done: He still had to get to the Empire, an unlikely feat that required traveling through the black-rock bridge known as the Conduit that connected Iskawan with the inner lands. Past that waited those charged with protecting the bridge from the defilement of the dark lands and the prisoners in Iskawan: the Mudra Clan. Even if he could successful navigate their territory, he’d have to reach somewhere where the residents wouldn’t immediately identify him as an escaped Iskawan prisoner.
His sunless skin, knobby bones, and sensitivity to the light would give him away to the Mudra.