Risen (47 page)

It’d been some time since he’d seen
home and the women there. The prostitutes were sturdier, lithe and
velvety soft for the oils they smoothed upon their skin. No, the
captive girl, with her bent leg and delicate countenance—a stiff
breeze would blow her to the ground—and Yeorathe despised
weakness.

So what was it that possessed
William to care at all for her? Yeorathe brooded a bit further on
this, for it had irked him greatly when his intent for the girl—to
rape her back at the inn that night—had been foiled. Yeorathe
wondered at his own desire, to have the waif with the uncommon hair
and eyes that looked as though they would fall from their
sockets.

He’d meant to be done with her that
night, to satisfy a need, a growing ritual. No one but he knew his
true intent had been to rape and then kill her…slowly. She was no
more than a soiled towel to him, to be used and thrown away.
Yeorathe had done this seldom enough before, but it always left him
supremely satisfied to degrade the victim so horribly and culminate
it with a slow murder. And it was children, he discovered, who
suffered this the best for him.

Strangely, he did not question that
his need for this ritual had grown these last few years, and he fed
it like a rich queen feeds an over spoiled child. Oddly, it was
nothing he shared with anyone. He could not seem to make that leap.
Brutal as war was, cruel as mankind could be, he was not willing to
step beyond, not willing to allow mankind to know that he was not
just a rapist of children, he was a killer of them.

So, something prevented him from
telling. On the surface, his behavior had been something he
considered a perquisite of his job, as though he was simply
entitled. But if one dug deeper, which he was careful not to allow,
he knew he would be judged for this—considered, in some way, less
of a man.

Yeorathe focused his intentions back
on the Englishman, and his rancor rose. His ire for the halfwit
Englishman had recently grown, for William had not only countered
his intent with Sylvie, he’d shamed him in front of the men. This
had pinched him ever since, and he attributed it entirely to the
soldier’s own desire for the child. Of course; it must be so; it
could not be any other way! Not so long ago, he’d seen William at
his worse, had seen the extent of drunken debauchery and death this
one was willing to dispense. Now, foolishly, Yeorathe passed
judgment over the man and believed he, with his dim-witted English
heart, was beyond repair.

So he was vigilant of the female
child. What of it? Yeorathe harrumphed. That must be it, of course!
William had meant to use the girl for his own needs, probably
already had. It was all of a sudden clear to the general why the
Englishman would covet the European girl. She was simply to his
liking.

Well, then so be it, Yeorathe
thought, for he simply could not comprehend it any other way. Let
him rape the child himself, with his weak argument about her
pureness and all. But, when it was all said and done, Yeorathe
would have it his way. Sylvie would be sold when the time came, for
gold was always preferable to gratification. Gold could purchase
anything one desired. And with his growing spoils, he believed his
gold would make him a king in his own right. He could have ten
Sylvies!

Yeorathe shrugged his judgment of
William off and foolishly overlooked signs that something was
changed about the man. Passing his palm over his beard, he twisted
his fingers, pulling it to a gnarly point. He’d done this so many
times before that the hair spiraled to a point off his chin, giving
him an even more sinister appearance, more than was already gained
by his singular, peering eye and perpetual snarl.

His musings were interrupted by the
Englishman. “Very well. We will go inland to sell the noble child
to the Devsirme,” William countered, “but the female will go with
him until we do, for he will be unruly if she does not.”

“What do we care of it? Drag him to
the sale block if he objects, by his testicles if need be!”
Yeorathe was losing patience.

“You claim to recognize that this
slave will serve well in the Janissary; his disposition fit for
that.” William gestured to below the hold, to where Risen remained
shackled. “Complicate our last quest and you risk destroying this.
He is worth all of the others together; you already know this, but
his weakness is the female. Remove her and he will destroy himself
in his effort to destroy you. Of this I have no doubt.”

“As I said—”

“Drag him to sale by his heart if
you wish, but you know he will be worth nothing if he does not
stand defiant on the block. You know this, Yeorathe. It is the same
as with a horse.” William minimized it in terms he hoped the lout
would understand. He knew his argument was weakening. “Let us not
have come all this way to have your pride destroy our
profits.”

Yeorathe grunted and sneered,
lifting the corner of his lip just enough to reveal a rotting
incisor. “For now, then. But if the bitch annoys me or slows us
down, I will kill her as soon as look at her.”

William only nodded, and went
below.

* * *

The massive slave vessel pulled into
the port, and the first thing Risen was aware of was the lack of
pitch with the boat. Just when he believed he was entirely
forgotten, for the other slaves were already gone from the hold,
William came for him.

As his bonds were released, Risen
asked, “Sylvie, where is she?”

“Still below. I will go for her
next.”

Risen’s right ankle shackle fell
away, and as it did, the hilt of the knife showed briefly over the
top of his boot. William’s eyes caught his. He only stared until
the boy nodded, a silent agreement that he would not incite their
freedom until the moment was just right, until William signaled it
would be so.

The boy pulled his trouser leg down
over the hilt of the blade, hiding it, and struggled to stand for
the first time in nearly two weeks.

“Are you all right? Can you
walk?”

“Yes,” Risen ignored his weakened
legs and stepped toward the galley. “Take me to her.”

Through the belly of the nearly
vacant hold they wandered, to the rear quarters where the
commanders were generally housed. Here was where William had been
bunked, and going straight to his berth, he pulled the curtain
aside. There, curled on his bed, lay Sylvie, a vacant expression on
her lovely face. She appeared almost not to notice them.

Falling to his knees, Risen took
both her hands in his. “Sylvie, we are landed.” He whispered. “We
must go now. William will help us to escape. We can go home,
and…”

As his voice trailed off, Sylvie’s
eyes blinked, and she focused on his. “Where, Risen? Where will I
go when we go home?”

“Me! You will stay with me, at the
castle.” Risen’s voice caught as he added, “I have something for
you. A colt, Sylvie, beautiful as you’ve ever seen, born the
morning we were taken.” He smiled and blinked tears from his eyes.
“Remember? He was mine all along. Father promised, and so he is
mine to do with as I please. I was going to give him to you. A
surprise, and we could train him together. Because…” he allowed his
voice to trail off.

Sylvie almost smiled just then, the
edges of her lips curling up a bit. Her gaze was clear and solid on
Risen as she asked, straight up, “Why do you love me
so?”

A sob nearly escaped the boy’s lips,
and the tears that he fought so valiantly to hide welled up in his
eyes. It embarrassed him that his weakness was so suddenly and
easily apparent, and he wiped them roughly away.

“Why do you ask that?” He was not
angry, only remained so gentle with his words. “I think I have
always loved you. I’ve only now had the strength to tell you
so.”

“You are stronger than you know you
are,” she replied and reached up. With the back of her hand, Sylvie
touched the cheek of the mysterious boy that professed his love for
her. “Well then, I suppose I love you too.” Her face beamed with a
brilliant smile.

The words were almost more than
Risen could bear, and he reached for her, pulling her into an
embrace he believed he would never let go.

William looked around, impatient.
There was no one else in the quarters that he could see, but all
the same, time was scarce. “Come now. Both of you, and realize I am
your enemy in the eyes of others. Act accordingly—can you do
that?”

The two both agreed they could and
hobbled behind him out of the hold and toward the first daylight
they’d seen in a very long time.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

†

The harbor was big and arcing, the
beaches gleaming white on either side of the city. To the west the
Tahtalidaglar Mountains rose up like stone monsters from the sea.
The highest peak, Tasolyma, towered massive and white, its summit
shining coppery red in the early morning sun. There was no other
mountain this tall, this close to the sea, in all the
world.

Antalya was unusual, for people of
many faiths crammed into the unusual town, occupying districts of
sorts. An immense wall ran around the perimeter behind it, and
mosques, churches, and palaces—in various stages of destruction and
repair—dotted the landscape like a visual account of man’s
preoccupation with divinity.

The seaport flourished, despite the
passing through of the plague at intervals. Antalya was uncommon, a
seaport like nearly no other, serving countries to the south, east
and west. Dealing in trade of almost every imaginable sort, it was
a keyhole to wealth and depravity. Ships of nearly every shape and
size slipped to and from their moorings, and had the circumstances
been of a different sort, Risen might have found it a fantastic
sight.

He squinted into the bright
afternoon sunlight and lifted his hand to peer first at the
magnificent peaks and then to the bizarre landscape that moved as
though one massive, living being. Antalya. His mouth fell open as
he spied two creatures of mythical proportions not even twenty
meters away from him.

On the end of a dock next to them, a
man struggled with an animal he’d never seen before but heard of in
his lessons. The adolescent elephant trumpeted and lifted its trunk
high in refusal to step onto the ramp as the man beat it with a
hooked stick. Easily overpowering its handler, the animal spun,
knocking over the camel—another creature Risen had never seen—that
stood directly behind it. The elephant ran through the crowd,
disappearing behind a ramshackle building, leaving a small horde of
trampled people in its wake.

Unable to remove his eyes from the
unfolding event, Risen was caught totally by surprise when a blow
landed sharp on his collarbone, knocking him to his knees on the
deck. He spun as best he could—his legs yet unsure beneath him from
the long voyage—and snarled at his attacker, his hand nearly going
for his blade. Yeorathe lifted the baton as though he would strike
Risen down again, but William intervened, hissing with contempt at
his leader.

“He is submissive. Damage him, and
I will have your head!”

Yeorathe held William’s glare long
and hard before lowering the baton. Sylvie held onto Risen’s arm,
cowering by his side asYeorathe pushed past them and stormed off
the ship, leaving William to tend the captives.

They made their way down the loading
planks to the dock proper and were led through the myriad of
creatures and people to the bartering booths, several blocks beyond
the shoreline. In a nearby stable, Risen and Sylvie were tied and
left under the watch of two men they’d not seen before.

William knelt as though to check
their bindings. “I will return soon with food and water. Rest if
you can. We leave in the morning,” he said under his
breath.

“The other boys? The ones from my
village?” Sylvie asked, her concern and compassion
eternal.

William could not meet her gaze. At
last, he said, “Think of them no more. It will serve you poorly to
waste your thoughts on them.”

“If you died today, I would think
dear thoughts about you,” she said in haste. “It would not be a
waste at all, for it would lock you in my heart for
always.”

This seemed to greatly affect
William. His jaw was immediately grimly set, his hands clenching
softly, his head hung. Turning away, it appeared he had something
he might say to her, but then he rose and he was gone.

“Why are you so kind?” Risen
wondered aloud, not in an accusing way, just unable to comprehend
her altruism.

He twisted himself around to try to
gain a more comfortable angle from which to lean against the pillar
and still see her face. As miserable as their circumstances
remained, he rejoiced that he was again with her and allowed
himself this opportunity to look her over, to gauge her
wellness.

“It’s not kindness, only the
truth.” Sylvie didn’t struggle at all, only dropped her head
against the pillar and closed her eyes as though she would
sleep.

In his excitement to be with her,
Risen had nearly forgotten how ill she’d been on the boat and
wondered if she was well enough to tolerate whatever lay ahead of
them. He thought perhaps tonight would be the perfect time to
orchestrate their escape, but then remembered his last efforts
against the two soldiers in the livery. He believed the men who
guarded him now would not be so forgiving of him.