 |
Nitesh Excerpt |
Nitesh - well, I'm not sure where it came from. One day Terran started talking to me, and I guess he wanted to find this girl he once met...well, his story was so sweet and romantic, that I had to jot it down for him. I'm an incurable romantic, I guess.
Word Count: 57, 721 Price: US $4.95
|
"Bind and brand them." The words sent a chill racing through Thalassa, and a murmur of despair through the long line of war captives. Thalassa's gaze traveled over those around her. A sorry lot they were, though not all were her countrymen. The dark-haired Diraenians and Asurians stood out amongst her people, the pale-skinned, blond-haired Zals. Most of the captives were under-nourished, many were injured. All showed signs of their long weeks on the road. Resignation lay heavy on their battered and bruised faces, deep within pitiful eyes that held no hope. Their existence had come to a shattering conclusion. To the victor go the spoils, Thalassa thought bitterly. We have all become nothing more. Nothing more than slaves, indentured to those who had maimed and scarred the countryside, claiming it as their own. At twenty years of age, that wasn't much of a future. If she had a future at all. She shuddered and returned her gaze to the heavily muscled man at the front of the line. He yanked the first person forward, a young boy of no more than eighteen, with the dark hair and eyes of a Diraenian. The lad's face was white, his terror obvious. Thalassa watched as the guard wrapped the boy's arms about a thick post sunk deep into the muddy ground. The burly man seemed to take great pleasure in making the ties as tight as possible, as if he expected the lean youth to suddenly fight back. Thalassa grimaced in anger. For a moment, the lad's gaze met hers, then he closed his eyes and hung his head. The captive's back was bared, exposing a thin torso. Thalassa could see his ribs with every gasping breath he took. Quickly, she reached out to him with her magic to shield him from pain, as another man approached with a red-hot metal brand. He pressed the brand against the boy's left shoulder, held for a moment, then released. Though the lad stiffened, he did not cry out in pain. Still, as cold water was poured across the brand, he sagged against the wood. The brander frowned in confusion, no doubt used to hearing screams of agony at his touch. He leaned forward to peer into the boy's face, then grunted, shrugged and tramped back to the fire pit to reheat the iron. It was only then that Thalassa eased the youth into unconsciousness, a small sigh of fatigue escaping her. The guard untied the boy, letting him collapse in the mud. Another guard dragged him away, while the next person was secured in his place. With each one, Thalassa took on their pain, drew it away from them, then allowed them to fall into a deep, healing sleep. She was aware of the thick silence that had descended, of the strained and confused looks on the guards' faces. They were exhibiting their own fear now, no doubt puzzled at this strange turn of events. Thalassa controlled her smile of satisfaction, quietly continuing to move to the back of the line, one by one. She would be the last. Finally, it was her turn. She faced the post with head high, though her heart hammered. She wasn't sure if she had the strength left to control her own pain. As her arms were secured, she closed her eyes, and reached deep within herself for what small magic she yet held. Cold air rushed over her back as her tunic was pulled away. Footfalls behind her warned her of the brander's approach, and she stiffened, waiting. Though she felt the press of the metal against her skin, she managed to ward off the pain of the burn, then sighed with relief as the pressure eased. She was about to allow herself to sleep, when sudden, severe pain ripped through her face. For a moment her mind whirled with confusion, then her eyes snapped open, and a gasp escaped her. The brander stepped back, holding a smaller iron, a leering smile on his face. Thalassa stared at the iron in wide-eyed disbelief--a pentagram. The mark of magic; it was forever seared onto her left cheek, for the world to see. Agony brought tears to her eyes, and, try as she might, she could not summon the magic to ease her pain. Another man took the brander's place. He was a sturdily-built man, with muscles that rippled beneath his white linen shirt. He tipped her head back, using one long, elegant finger. His dark eyes held hers as he extended his other hand toward some unseen person. A second later, he gently rubbed a cooling salve into the brand on her cheek. "You have a strong gift to be able to shield all of these people," he said quietly. "Mind how you use that gift, sea-woman." Thalassa trembled under his touch, realizing he had been watching her. Still, she would not give in to the command he seemed to demand. "My name is Thalassa," she said, her voice cold and aloof, "not sea-woman." The man's eyebrows raised in surprise, and a small smile quirked his full lips. "Magic and spirit," he said. "That combination could get you killed." "What care I? My soul died when my countrymen did," Thalassa told him. "There is only this shell left." His gaze traveled to her swollen belly. "And the child. Has the child's soul also died?" Thalassa trembled, momentarily overwhelmed with emotion. The child. This child created from an act of rape, not love, though the father had been her own husband. At first, she had hated the child as much as she had hated her husband, but over the last eight months she had come to accept it. Love was not yet in the offering. "The child is not mine," she said. The man again was surprised, and he studied her for a long moment. His gaze traveled down her neck, lingered a moment on the white skin of her breasts, and finally moved to her wrist. He touched lightly at the red streak that lay halfway between wrist and elbow. "You have the Sickness," he said quietly. "Aye," Thalassa whispered smugly. "So your brand will do no good. I will be dead before I can serve you and your house." The man studied her a long moment, his finger continuing to gently stroke her arm. It sent chills racing through her, and she could not suppress her tremble. A small smile touched at his lips, though there was no warmth in it. "Cut her loose," he instructed the guards, "and take her to Ilsa." He looked back at Thalassa. "I will send for you later." Thalassa watched him stride away, noticing the confident way he walked, the head held high, as long, dark tresses drifted in the breeze. There was no doubt who was in control of this camp. The thought sent a rage bubbling through her. He had been the one to order the branding; it was his voice, cool and unemotional, that had promised pain to men, women, and children alike. And a life of servitude. Her bonds were untied and she was pulled away from the post. Her tunic, torn at the shoulders, fell about her waist, exposing her breasts. Though both guards leered, neither touched her. Obviously, they weren't going to incur the wrath of their lord. She now belonged to him.
Button is for PDF only For other electronic formats go to Readers Eden Print Buy Direct From Booksurge ISBN: 1-920741-95-X
|
