The Record of the Saints Caliber (81 page)

The one peculiar thing was the veils all the women wore. Some wore long veils that draped to their chest, others wore short veils that hung no lower than their chin. They wore blue or red or black or any number of color veils. But the one thing all the women shared in common was a veil that covered them from the eyes down.

But all the grandeur of that tiny little hamlet paled in comparison to what they saw when they entered the gates of the city of Rothara. According to Rathaniel, Rothara was the largest city this far east of Narberia, the kingdom’s capital where King Dahnzeg ruled. And apparently, as far as Narberethan cities went, even this was rather small. Beyond the gates of the city’s high, stone walls, a whole new world of sights and sounds and smells opened up to them. Men, women and children packed the streets. People drove their horse-drawn carts along the roads. Everything was busy and bustling. Everything was
loud
. There were children laughing and running. People were conversing in the streets. There were houses made of stone and brick and they lined the roads in tight clusters. The pleasing scent of woodsmoke filled the air and mingled with the savory aromas of cooking food. The major streets had tall lampposts to light them with gaslight at night and at the city’s center was a magnificent fountain that actually worked. In the center of the fountain was a pair of solid gold statues of beautiful women in flowing gowns. Their forms were slender and lithe; their faces soft and beautiful and neither had a veil. There were taverns and stores and they had even passed a market where vendors lined the streets with carts of fruits and vegetables, fish and meats. There were breads and pastries and candies and anything they could imagine. It was unbelievable. It was like something out of a dream. Rook’s young mind struggled with the notion that there could be so much food in abundance that it was just heaped in carts
waiting
for people to buy it.

But the grandeur of Rothara quickly faded. Past the nice roads and tall buildings, beyond the food markets and friendly taverns and inns, down streets that began to look more familiar to Rook, they were taken to a foreboding place. Here, the taverns were not so friendly. Here, the people on the streets lurked in the shadows of alleys and watched them pass with wary eyes. Here, the smell of food was replaced by the stench of sewage and garbage. Here, the streets of brick became muddy dirt and haggard women with veils upon their faces and boys in tattered rags ran up to the wagon, begging, but were swiftly sent away by Rathaniel’s and Garrot’s boots.

Then they had come upon a high wall of weathered timbers. It was a place that reeked of sweat, old liquor, sewage and blood. Beyond the wall they could all hear the roar of a rough-and-tumble crowd. They could hear the chime of steel upon steel. And they could hear the horrible screams of death being drowned out by cheers and jeers. There was a rusty portcullis guarded by some brutes in leather armor. After Garrot tossed them a small sack of coins they were let in.

Bound in chains, Rook and the others found themselves led across a dusty yard where men, women and children sat locked in shackles, lorded over by cruel looking masters. There was a man tied to a post and Rook had to turn away. His back was torn and bloody, and he wailed in pain with every lash of the whip he received. There were a number of women across the yard, all of them conspicuously absent of veils. Many of them pleaded on their hands and knees to their captors who stood over them with cold indifference. There was some sort of crudely constructed booth they were lined up before, and from it there were terrible screams.

And then they had been taken here, to these dank cells. Here, in this underground dungeon, they had been kept for days with little to eat or drink. But now something was going to happen to them all, and Garrot made it clear that he expected nothing but complete silence and obedience from them. His dark, droopy eyes stared hatefully down at Rook. “Come on brat, undress.”

Rook threw off his dingy shirt. He paused when it came to his pants. He still had the Golothic hidden in his pocket, and wrapped up in the waist was hidden the dagger. He breathed deep and slowly, then took down his pants, careful not to allow the dagger to show or fall free.

“Come here.” demanded Garrot.

Rook looked to the side where all the other children huddled naked, far away from him. Suddenly he was grabbed by his hair. Rook yelped and reached up, clutching at Garrot’s fat wrists as he was dragged painfully across the floor.

“Wash up!” growled the fat man, slamming Rook’s face into the bucket.

The world dissolved into murky, muffled wetness as Rook felt ice-cold water engulf his head. His own hands found the edges of the bucket and he tried to push up, but Garrot clutched his hair painfully in his hand and kept him under. He felt his heart start to race. He could hear the water bubble and splash around his ears as he struggled. Time seemed to tick by and still his head was submerged in dark water. His lungs began to burn. His mind began to struggle against his body’s desire to gulp for breath. He could feel his strength fading. He could no longer be certain that the darkness that filled his vision was simply that of his head being in the bucket. And then his head was torn out of the water and he was thrown to the ground.

Rook’s naked body slapped upon the stone. He lay on his belly, gasping for breath. He looked up and saw Garrot standing over him, dark eyes scowling.

“Get up!” Garrot kicked him in the side.

Still gasping, the kick caused Rook’s lungs to lock up painfully and his breath stuck in his throat. His eyes went wide from the pain. More than ever, Rook was certain that one of those ribs was cracked. He curled up into a ball on the floor. His eyes watering from the pain. He caught a glimpse of his ribs; a black and blue splotch the size of Garrot’s fist encompassed them.

“Get up, brat!” Rook felt Garrot’s big hand grab a wad of his hair. He was pulled painfully to his feet. “Get up!” Rook braced himself as he saw the man’s fat hand draw backward to strike him.

“Garrot, did I not make myself clear?” intoned the voice of Saint Rathaniel.

Rook felt the man’s hand release his hair. His naked body collapsed with a slap upon the cold, stone floor. He looked over and saw Saint Rathaniel in his Star-Armor standing outside the cell. His one and only arm rested on the hilt of his sword at his side. His white eyes looked blankly upon Garrot.

“Sorry, Saint Rathaniel.” said Garrot, lowering his head like a dog who had just been scolded.

“The glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken has sent me to oversee the sale of these slaves.” intoned the Saint. “I shall see his will fulfilled. Next time I shall not stay my sword.”

“Yes, Saint Rathaniel.” mumbled Garrot.

Rathaniel stood there looking blankly upon Garrot for a moment before turning and disappearing down the hall. Once gone, Garrot looked down at Rook. “Wash up.” he said. He looked at the other kids. “All you, wash up. Wash your clothes. Wash your bodies.” He looked back at Rook. “No dirt, no grime. I see dirt and I wash you myself.” He scowled one last time down at Rook, spit on him, and then fumbled with his keys and disappeared out of the cell.

Rook and the others washed themselves in silence using the buckets of cold water. One of the buckets contained a couple of rags and even a bar of soap that smelled of lavender. Rook helped wash some of the younger ones, making sure they were completely clean before turning the soap and rag upon his own body and hair. Then, in similar fashion, he helped the others get their clothes clean before starting on his own. Luckily, by that point, the water in the buckets was black with dirt and he was able to hide his secret possessions in the bottom as he washed and rang out his clothes. By the time he had them back on and the Golothic and dagger hidden in his pocket and waistband, Garrot and Rathaniel had returned.

Garrot unlocked the cell but this time opened the door wide. “Come. Time for the sale.”

Rook exchanged a quick look with the others. He swallowed hard and exited the cell.

“All of you, come on.” barked Garrot, and the others all filed out slowly, gathering in the dank hall. “Look at me,” he said. “When you’re out there, you all be quiet. No talking. You answer only what you are asked. You better sell yourselves.” Here Garrot turned his dark eyes on Rook. “If you don’t sell, you come back here with me. Then you wait a month until the next sale and work in the pleasure houses to earn your keep.”

All the kids began anxiously looking at each other.

Garrot was still eying Rook. He grabbed him by the chin and lifted his head up, forcing Rook to look him in the eyes. “Maybe you sell to a noble. They pay good for young boys like you with no hair and smooth skin. They have their way with you in the backside, and then take you in the mouth.”

Rook tore his head away and swallowed hard.

“Come.” said Garrot. “It is time.”

Outside, the Spring sun was blinding. Rook and the others had to raise their hands to their eyes. The sky was pale blue and the clouds were stretched by the warm winds. Rook’s nose was expecting the pleasing scents of Spring but was instead assaulted by the stench of sour beer, mingled with filth. From beyond the timber walls that surrounded them Rook could hear shouts and the clang of steel. It was not battle, but rather combat training. Out in the yard were a few whipping posts blessedly empty of people, but Rook could see that they were all stained crimson. There were some callous looking men milling about with whips and they eyed Rook and the other children as they passed. One of them pointed their direction and smiled wickedly as he unfurled his whip and gave it a good crack. There were a few yelps from the children, and the guards all chuckled cruelly.

They were led across a dirt yard where sullen men and women sat along the wooden walls, bound in iron shackles. Few of the men wore shirts and Rook could see that they all bore numerous scars from lashings, both ancient and new. The women were mostly dressed in dirty rags, and all of them had those veils upon their faces. Their heads were down and they were all silent, hardly even peeking up at them, except for one. She was a black-haired lady; slender and dressed in dingy brown pants and a matching shirt. A black veil hung upon her face and her dark eyes met Rook’s. Rook stared at her, wondering how long she might have been here; how long she might have been a slave and what terrible fortune brought her to this fate. Her eyes followed Rook and he was about to look away when she lifted her veil to him.

He gasped. Where her nose should have been was nothing but thin, pink skin covering the flat, white bone of the skull’s nasal cavities. She smiled, but it was not a kind smile. And it was unsettling, not because of the gruesome way in which the mangled wound twisted, but because it was a knowing smile. It was a smile that told him that no matter how much he held onto hope that things would turn out ok, they wouldn’t. She was proof that they wouldn’t. It was a crushing, devastating, cruel, mocking smile.

With her veil still up she turned her head, baring the side of her neck to him where a circular scar of raised, pink skin lay. She lowered her veil, and Rook turned away. A sense of dread washed over him. From the corner of his eye he began to notice that all the men bore the same scar upon the side of their necks and he thought likely the women did too, though their veils did a good job of concealing them.

They were led out through a gate of iron bars and into a circular court enclosed by more timber walls. Here there was a wooden stage of sorts, and upon it stood twenty boys and girls ranging in age from about thirteen to five. There was a fat man dressed in a fine tunic and pants on the stage directing a couple of rougher looking men on where to have the kids all stand, and in what order. The children cast glances Rook’s way as Garrot and Rathaniel led them all up the steps and onto the stage with the others.

The wood was old and weathered and in many locations Rook saw what looked like old bloodstains upon the graying planks. On the floor were many iron shackles, and they were each in turn bound in a line from oldest to youngest at Rathaniel’s discretion. Being almost eleven, Rook was one of the oldest and tallest of his group. He was placed toward the far end with only two other boys from his group before him. In all, with his group and the others, Rook guessed there were about thirty of them.

At the opposite end of the yard Rook could see another gate of iron bars guarded by a number of men in ragged leather armor. Each of them had swords upon their backs and whips at their sides. Outside the gate Rook could see a crowd of people waiting. Rook watched as one of the guards unlocked the gate and swung the door open. A large number of finely dressed men and women began to file in. The men wore nice tunics and shirts; some more grim and gruff looking than others. The women wore dresses or fine gowns, some of them in simpler outfits. But all the women had those veils upon their faces.

Rook cringed. He wondered if they all shared the same disfigurement as the lady who had lifted her veil to him, or if maybe she had just suffered a terrible punishment for some crime. Certainly all these women were wealthy nobles or city officials, would they really be subject to the same torture? Rook couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the glories he had seen in Narbereth—the food, freedom and wealth of the people—was nothing but a veil hiding secrets as dark and unforgiving as the torment the people of Jerusa lived in.

Rook held his head low as the crowds gathered before the stage. He could see people pointing his direction and whispering in each others’ ears. Though fully dressed, he felt completely naked. He could feel eyes raking over him, appraising him. He looked up and saw a slender man in glittering silver pants and shirt pointing at him and speaking excitedly to the Saint at his side. The man wore a large, powdered wig and his face was stark white with powder. He leaned into a Saint with hair and eyes like brilliant blue sapphire, whispering into the Saint’s ear. The Saint stood with his arms folded over his black, star-metal breastplate, nodding with disinterest.