Eleven: Blood and Dirt and Bone

Die young, save yourself. Resh thought, handing Misha a piece of bread. The mutt took it but did not eat, his eyes lost in some other place. Nothing ever stays the same…I know. I always take the blame.

Yuri’s body had been dragged away hours ago, and now the sun slowly set behind a wall of clouds. It was beautiful, but that only seemed to make everything seem worse. Resh was always surprised at just how very lifeless corpses were. They flopped around chaotically, carried none of their own weight, and moved much like chunks of meat in a sack; which now that he thought about it, was really all they were at that point. After the violence was over, Turin had gotten his pay for Bailey and Garrett, and stormed off in a huff. Ever since the gates of their prison had slammed shut, Misha had been in the corner of the yard, knees held tight to his chest as he stared through the walls, lost.

“Why would he do that?” The mutt whispered. Resh sighed, sliding down against the wall and sitting next to him.

“Who?”

“Garrett. Why would he just…throw his life away like that?” Resh bit his tongue. He had a thought, but doubted young Misha would fully comprehend.

Poor Garrett. The grizzled Akita had no idea what he was doing. He’d killed Yuri, and doomed himself to a nightmare, for what? For love? Resh doubted it. For infatuation. Idiot. Stupid fucking idiot.

It took a moment for him to realise there were tears in his eyes.

“Are they even going to clean away the blood?” Misha whimpered. The old bear followed the pup’s gaze, out to the spot where the tiger had died. Indeed, an oval patch of dried blood laid there, a few boot prints trailing away from it in varying directions.  

“Try not to look at it.” Resh said, putting an arm around the mutt and pulling him closer. This had happened before. He’d gotten close to someone new, been warned off it by Garrett probably, and then the young one went and got themselves killed – or worse. He looked down to Misha, who was letting himself be held. He hadn’t said a word about Bailey, and Resh understood. Once he acknowledged it, that his only real friend was really gone, then it became real. Until then he could survive in the grey area.

Now I’m doing it again. He thought, grimacing. How would he feel when this one died too?

“Eat, please.” Resh said in a commanding, yet gentle, voice. Misha flinched, but pulled the bread to his mouth and tore off a small piece. He chewed slowly, wiping a paw at his eyes.

“It tastes like ash.” He said, mouth still full. Resh pushed away, climbing to his feet.

“Eat it anyway.” He walked away, tucking his large furry paws under his arms, feeling the cold biting at him despite his coat. He noticed none of the guards wandering the perimeter made eye contact with any of the slaves as they did their rounds. They rarely did anyway, but Resh could tell they felt ashamed by what had happened.

Or maybe he just wanted them to, he wasn’t sure. Slavery was a fickle thing in Tevarian society. Nobody was championing it as pleasant for those involved, but most in the upper classes saw it as a ‘necessary evil’. It was a vital part of infrastructure, a disposable workforce to keep things moving. They all knew, of course they knew, in the back of their minds, about the beatings, the cruelty, and the horror. But it was justified. Sure, things weren’t easy, but unprovoked torture was outlawed. You couldn’t whip a slave until he screamed his mother’s name, wet himself, and died just because you wanted to…there had to be a reason. There was protocol. That way, in their minds at least, slaves deserved the nightmare. If they worked hard, well they could be rewarded. If not…

“You fucking bastards.” Resh murmured under his breath, looking out over the wall to where the palace loomed over the city, perched on a hill in the distance. He’d long given up believing in any Allgod, but he said a short prayer for Bailey and Garrett anyway. If only because it made him feel better.

He knew, logically, that Garrett should never have done what he did. Putting his own life at risk for Bailey, killing Yuri, willingly being sent to the Akkedisian side of the city…but despite that…Resh was glad Bailey wasn’t alone. He had someone strong to help him, to protect him.

House work. The lizard said he needed house workers. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. The truth was, few slaves had ever come over from the Akkedisian side. The lack of information made for a fertile breeding ground of rumour and ghost stories. Perhaps the Tevarians had merely built up this great evil in their head, when the reality was much more tolerable.

On the other hand, the Akkedisian people were known for being cold, cruel, and ruthless. Resh knew there weren’t any such laws preventing slave torture over there. And the dismissive way that cold-blooded bastard had ordered Yuri and Garrett to fight…

I need to stop thinking of it as Garrett killing Yuri. Resh suddenly realised, feeling ashamed. He had no idea they would make him do that as he stepped forward. That Lord, he was the once responsible. He and Turin Depra.

Oderan’s sister was beautiful, he wouldn’t deny it. Oderan himself was handsome in a traditional sort of way, with his broad shoulders, ornate horns, and tall stature. But Aileen went beyond that. She was gorgeous, all the parts of her body flawless, as if expertly sculpted to fit the Akkedisian preference. Beneath those swirling green-blue scales however, laid a monster. Five years separated Oderan and his sibling, but to him it may as well have been a century. Since they were small she had twisted him, not always in a hurtful way, but always to her benefit. She was an expert in getting others to do what she wanted, was just born with the mind for it. She used her beauty, innocence, and charm to warp their senses of obligation.

She had always seen Oderan’s path laid down before him, planning things out, and ‘informing’ him of what he should do. Part of the reason he began duelling in the first place was because of how useless Aileen would think it. Her sense of duty and tradition kept Lorric happy, and she was extremely active in the Akkedisian religious community. Not only did Godking Szaresh know her name, but he favoured her. She was welcomed to sit at his table during feasts, her jokes were laughed at, she was noticed.

If Oderan could only move people like that, Albion would already be in his home and married.

“I don’t know why you took him, if I’m to speak freely.” She said to Oderan from her seat in the garden, watching him practice his sparring moves. He danced from one form to another, assuming a position and holding it perfectly for a moment, before folding into the next. This kind of opponent-less practice routine was less like a fight and more like an exercise, focusing his mind on how his body moved his breathing, and forcing him to become familiar with his individual muscles. Aileen lounged a few meters away in the shade, watching her shirtless brother prance about with a sword.

“It was beginning to become embarrassing, people would talk. Hell, he would have talked. I just couldn’t…be bothered with it.” He rolled his eyes, twisting and bringing his sword up in two claws.

“Nobody is talking about us.” Aileen said, exasperated. Oderan felt like he could hear her rolling her eyes. “We’re the idyllic Imperium household; loyal, moderately successful…quiet.”

For now. He thought. What would they say once he finally topped the duelling ranks and made his demand of the Godking?

“You’re ascending the ranks quickly, quicker than I’d expected actually.” Aileen continued.

“I’m glad you had such faith in me.”

“Of course.” Oderan paused.

“Do you think there is anything I could ask for that Szaresh wouldn’t grant?”

“You should use titles, even in private.” Aileen corrected. Oderan sighed. She loved to do that, point out all the little faults in someone as they went along. Undermine their confidence, even in these minor details.

“The Endless Odirium.” He said, mimicking a block routine with his sword.

“Hmm, he might turn his nose up if you insisted on being crowned the next Immortal Emperor of Akkedis.”

“Short of that.”

“I doubt it.” There was an elongated stretch of silence, it’s length nearing on awkward. Aileen watched Oderan’s movements as his feet pattered over the dirt, kicking up little handfuls of dust. “Have you anything in mind to ask?”

“Hmm, maybe. I’m more focused on the battles themselves right now.” Lies. Aileen probably knew he wasn’t being truthful, but she went with it anyway. She was so good at picking her battles. Oderan found her actions distasteful, but he couldn’t help envy her skill at executing them.

“When you picked up the duelling…I thought it a huge waste of time. I never…considered that you would actually be good at it.” Oderan let himself grin. It was so rare for his sister to actually admit fault, and this time it was at his expense. He chose to ignore the veiled insult and continue his routine.

I have motivation. He thought, imagining Albion’s hot breath on his neck. Thoughts of the sleek panther gave him a stirring in his underwear, but he kept moving throughout it.

“But Oderan…I think you could actually top the ranking. Ferei is good, but you’re…well, better. Lorric told me how you fought in the Tevarian arena last month.” Aileen climbed to her feet, and Oderan spun away from her. He twisted his sword, parrying imaginary blows in long flowing motions. He hated making eye contact with Aileen, he always felt like she could just see…how wrong he was, how unlike the rest of them he was.

When she looked at him, he felt filthy for loving Albion.

She stepped in front of him, and he froze. She stepped past his sword and came in close. Her eyes held no emotion, for they were like pieces of glass; devoid of all warmth.

“In Lorric’s old claws this family has begun to unravel. We’re still respected, but nothing like when mother and father were alive. Back then, we were admired.”

“They were different times.” Oderan growled. “There aren’t enemies to kill now. Peace is terrible for the ambitious.” Aileen smiled, showing teeth. She looked like a predator, and it made his scales crawl.

“There are always enemies Oderan. Imagine if you were to ascend as the Godking’s right hand. He could throw Ekhis out, and we would hold the power of the throne in all but title. When Zakhar finally dies, my little Urie will become the Lord of Finance, and with me at the left, and then you at the right…” She shrugged.

“Have you spoken to Lorric about this? Say this to the wrong person and they’ll have you executed for heretical speech.”  Oderan said, relaxing his body and closing his eyes. She expected him to obey. When he defeated Ferei and demanded that Albion be allowed to marry him, her world would come crumbling down. The act would probably destroy the Sarossum family’s social standing entirely. Oderan didn’t care about that, his uncle and sister had done nothing for him for most of his life; he wasn’t about to start doing things for them.

“Uncle doesn’t think big picture.” Aileen whispered. “Not like we do.”

“We’ll see.” Oderan said. Aileen met his eye again. When she spoke, her voice was hard.

“It’s time we pulled this family out of the dirt for good, brother. Nobody else is going to, and I refuse to let our father’s name sink any lower.”

Turin Depra pulled his coat up, glancing around. That fucking snake, killing one of his perfectly good slaves, on the word of a…what, some filthy mutt? A nobody? Garrett had always been painful to keep around, why didn’t he trade him sooner? The blood-brained Akita had known just how to walk the line, he was an old hand at this game. He was an expert at not pushing the boundaries too much, while remaining useful enough to keep himself from being sold. It was a failing of Turin’s that he didn’t see it earlier and kick the dog to the curb.

If only you ungrateful clouts knew. He thought, biting his lip in the frigid air (When did it get so cold?). I do so much, feed you, house you…bastards. I could be so much worse.

He briefly wondered if Urie would give Garrett back to him, in exchange for another wolf? The mutt the lordling was always hanging around maybe…Then he could make Garrett understand exactly how much he had cost him. Killing that tiger was such a waste of prime stock. He spat onto the ground, wishing the taste of his burnt dinner would vanish from his mouth. He needed ale, or wine, or both maybe. But of course, tonight of all nights, Walter would have some important errand only he could help run.

Slave Master. That was what Turin should become. Push the old greying jackal out of his place and take over the whole damn thing. No mixing with stinking slaves day in day out, hearing them cry, complain, whine that their lives weren’t good enough. Maybe then that voice of his father would stop telling him he was worthless. His father had been dead for ten years now, and still Turin heard him, berating, demeaning. And his wife…Turin left before the sun was up and returned after it was down, just so she could have her house in the upper district, and yet it still wasn’t enough. She always had more to complain about.

Slave Master Depra. It was about time that happened. No more scurrying beneath Walter, filthy mutt.

Ah but the Lordling, finally gone! Of that he was glad. Something about the sound of that fancy Timberwolf’s voice had enraged him. The wide eyes, the smile, the way he chatted to the others…he did nothing that was exactly wrong, but he had done it in the wrong way. Turin hated him. He thought he was so much better than all of them, so far above wrecks like Depra, well now how far up was he? The forgotten son, inheriting only shame and hatred from his treasonous father! He got what he deserved. Turin felt like he could breathe now that the thing was gone. Maybe it was worth losing the Akita and the Tiger, at the end of the day slaves were slaves. Although he was still annoyed the snake had believed some slave over him, a Slave Lord! He should know them better than anyone. But what was he supposed to do? Those damn royals only stood so high, because their boots were on the necks of honest, hardworking men.

Turin slipped into the alleyway, seeing some old bitty hide behind a curtain as he passed by her window. He hated this district; it was full of gossipers and liars. His father was born here, no wonder he ended up like he did. The old bitty was always peeking out her blinds, watching who’s coming and going, fat lot of good it did. Around the back of the large building Turin found a small tavern, tucked away into the night, one he’d been to many times before. Upstairs they’d give you a girl if you asked nicely, and downstairs his drinks were cheap. The young bartenders liked hearing his stories of how to deal with irreverent slaves, and they kept his glass full while he explained his work to them. They were impressed, they understood. Not like Deidra, he should have never married her…but of course, his family had pressured.

It was another reason he despised the nobility. Wolves like that Varden mutt, they though they had it so hard because they had to marry someone for some political reason. Never mind the whore they were being ‘pressured’ into mounting was gorgeous. Ordinary folk had troubles just as much. Turin had wanted to marry that fox girl he was sweet on as a young boy, but his father had told him she would be like every other fox out there, a lust fuelled harlot. She would surely sleep around on him, if she wasn’t already now! Why had Turin believed him then?

The man had eventually choked to death in his sleep, and his five sons shed no tears of the fact.

Inside the tavern, Walter Randor sat in the far corner. He nursed a small mug of something, another sitting there for Turin to take. The Slave Master saw him instantly, and nodded for him to come over. Turin obeyed, of course, sliding into his seat and scowling.

“This place is disgusting.” He grunted, sipping his drink and pretending not to like it. Walter glanced around.

“I heard you come here often.” He said softly. Turin shook his head.

“Nope, some scumhole like this? Not likely.” Randor sighed, and leaned in.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry ‘bout the short notice, but I thought we should meet sooner rather than later.” He smirked. “Funny huh, how you’re always the one I go to with the real problems.” Turin felt a slight swell of pride build in his chest, but he hid it.

“What’s yer issue Walter?” He groaned, sipping his drink and leaning back. The jackal across the table eyed him for a moment, and finally spoke.

“Derri…I think he wants to break out on his own.” Turin raised an eyebrow at that. He was surprised…he hadn’t heard anything. Had the slimy jackal been thinking about doing this without him? Why hadn’t he gotten Turin involved? “He’s a problem Turr. Never listens, been too hard on his stock…I dunno. I keep worryin’ I can’t trust him with my property. Sometimes they need shoutin’ to get back into line, but I don’t want damaged goods.” Turin found himself nodding.

“You know Walt, I’ve never felt quite…right around him, y’know.” He agreed. “He’s…he’s…”

“Unruly. I can’t have people be a part of my family when I can’t trust them.”

“Too right.” Turin said, finishing his drink. He glanced at the empty mug, had he meant to drink it that quickly?

“And we are a family.”

“Too right!” Turin said again, more forcefully. Walter stared at him, and Turin met his gaze. Eventually the senior jackal broke eye contact, looking into the crowd.

“He lives near here, did you know?” Turin had always thought Derri was on the south side, but he rarely spoke to the guy. He seemed so…up himself. Like he thought he was better than everyone else. Or at least, thought he was better than Turin.

“Nope.” Turin shook his head. Walter pulled out a small cudgel and placed it on the table. A waitress, reaching to grab Turin’s empty mug, froze. She was a younger fox, nice to look at. Turin had seen her around here, but never spoke to her. She reminded him of the young girl he’d crushed on.

“We…we don’t want any trouble.” She said in a hushed voice. Walter laughed.

“No, this ain’t for here. My friend and I were just leaving.” Turin nodded in agreement, reaching his hand down to his own weapon, tied to his belt. “Come on Turr.” Walter said, standing. Turin followed, pushing back outside, and wishing his coat would tie on tighter.

“He has to know there are consequences.” Walter said, leading Turin out of the alleyway and down the street. “You can’t just…do whatever you want, especially when you have specifically been told what to do and what not to do. And he just does the damned opposite…makes me blood boil you know?” Turin nodded, but he felt a little uneasy. How badly did Walter want to hurt Derri? He hadn’t…hadn’t actually done anything wrong had he? He wanted to ask, but Walter scared him when he was like this. Best to wait until after.

“It’s fucking freezing.” Turin gasped, burying his paws under his arms. Suddenly he realised why…they were now beside the city canal, walking along it. It was darker here than the main street, but he could still make shapes out just fine. The black water of the canal lapped at the stones a half-meter off the edge, and Turin shuddered to think of what creatures lived in there.

Derri can afford somewhere here? He thought, feeling a weight in his stomach. He cleared his throat.

“Hey, um…Walter…if ya plannin’ to get ridda Derri for good…I mean, I could take over his crew for a while. Have two, I don’t mind none.” Walter said nothing, he only kept walking, and Turin wondered if he had said something wrong. Eventually the jackal stopped, and Turin came up close behind him.

“Is this it?” He asked, frowning as he looked at the next house. Walter whirled, slamming the cudgel across Turin’s face and burying his open paw into his throat. He growled, throwing them both back and driving Turin into the wall. The jackal was stunned as his skull smacked against the stone, and he gasped for air.

“You stupid, greedy mongrel.” Walter hissed. “What gave you the right to sell off my property? I told you…don’t hurt the lordling. And what did you do?” Turin felt fear seizing in his chest, warmth running down his leg as he wet himself. His eyes watered from the pain, and he tried to cough, but couldn’t. “You did the exact opposite!”

“Walt…we can…we can…get ‘em back…” Walter made a disgusted sigh.

“From some psychopathic lizard prince? The only way we’d get that damn wolf back now is in pieces.” Walter sneered. Turin was terrified, and he let out a gasp, but it sounded like a whimper.

“No…no…don’t….” He wheezed, everything burning. His face felt like it would explode from the pressure. Walter said nothing, and rammed a knife up into the underside of his jaw. The metal went up between the bone, finding purchase in Turin’s flesh and burying at the hilt. Hot blood spurted out and drenched Walter’s paw, but he didn’t care. Turin tried to open his mouth, but moving his jaw was agony. The pain burned in his mouth, it seared his cheeks. From deep in his throat, he let out a gasping wail. Walter ripped out the knife, and slid it into Turin’s gut. He then yanked that out and stepped back, releasing the jackal.

Turin went reeling, doubled over, panting, unable to speak properly because of the blood in his mouth. He whined, holding two paws over his stomach. Hell, he couldn’t even see properly. Walter just walked slowly around behind him, and then casually…

Is this how Yuri felt? He wondered.

The jackal pushed him into the canal.