Kalin's Story
He had no idea it would happen, and had he known he would have ignored the girl's pathetic screams. He had been sent to run an errand to a local friend's house, a walk of several miles. Riding a horse would have been faster, but he was likely to steal it and not come back.
On his way home, Kalin had heard cries for help. They were desperate and scared, and he- like an idiot- ran towards them rather than away. It didn't take long to find them and see what was happening.
A girl, probably around sixteen; small, pale and sun-blond, screaming for help. The cause was as obvious as the source: three men surrounding her. They were probably around her age, all just as blond as she, but much bigger. Kalin watched as one reached out to grab her arm, a disgusting leer on his face.
"Be a good girl, now," he said, tightening his grip as she tried to pull away. His other arm caught her shirt and yanked her in closer to him. The screaming continued, as the others drew closer to her, grabbing and tearing at her clothes.
Kalin wanted to turn around and leave. He knew that in the long run, that would be the wisest and healthiest thing to do. Not to involve himself in free men's affairs, not when the three boys would likely have him hung if he dared try to help the girl.
"Please, please, no!" she was yelling. One boy laughed then, the sound sickened Kalin. Dumb choice or not, he had made up his mind: he never could stand to let someone helpless get hurt.
After jogging closer to the struggle, he reached down for a fair-sized rock, and hurled it at the boys. It caught one square in the back, and all three turned to see him. "Let her go," Kalin said calmly. "Fight someone your own size."
"You're going to regret that, slave," the one who'd been hit with the rock answered viciously. Kalin held his ground, gazing bravely at them.
"I doubt it," he said. "The three of you together aren't man enough to fight me." There was a beat pause, and then the girl was dropped, practically forgotten.
As a group, the three rushed towards Kalin, who stood facing them, watching and wondering what he was doing. He waited until the last moment, then screamed "Run!" to the girl, spun on one foot and took off. The three boys were startled, having expected him to fight, but took to the chase with an intensity that Kalin feared. He sprinted, barely out of their reach.
Luckily, his years of running away from beatings and the added adrenaline had him running at a good pace, but the lot of ruffians weren't ever far behind. He veered off the path and headed into the woods, jumping roots and smaller shrubs, running through ones too big to jump.
A small stream was ahead, he noted it as he neared. Taking a flying leap, he landed three quarters of the way through it with a splash, and slid along the algae-slicked stream bed, where the rocks were even enough to slide. He had misjudged how long that would last, however, and his foot caught on a larger rock before he could dodge.
The stream rose to meet him, and his landing sprayed water droplets in every direction around him. He could hear his pursuers nearing him and rolled onto his feet. Kalin had very nearly gotten up, when the first caught up with him. A vicious kick sent the slave back into the water, the breath knocked out of him.
The man's two compatriots caught up with them, and Kalin realized how much of a mistake helping that girl had been.
Hours later, he limped back to the slave huts on his Master's land, wondering what the Master would do to him for being so late and losing the package he was supposed to be picking up. He had gone through enough pain already, in his opinion, but figured a more was inevitable.
"That girl had better appreciate this," he murmered, collapsing onto the liter that passed for his bed, and falling asleep as soon as he did. His impending doom would have to wait for the next morning, when he presented himself.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode I: Already in Trouble
"Twenty silvers." Warrior Elthis Aleann grinned smugly, and all of his fellow card-players knew what that meant: Elthis only bet that much when he had a hand that he was certain couldn't be beat.
"I can't match that, friend," one of his fellows sighed. This was Warrior Taylin Sanaset, a man with deep red hair and numerous battle scars.
"You want out?" Elthis offered cheerily. "I'm sure no one will think less of you for being wise- No one would think you were scared."
"I'm not scared, I'm just also not stupid," Taylin snapped in reply.
"Of course not," Elthis goaded. Taylin glowered at him.
"If you're that desperate to keep me in," he said, looking over his hand and shuddering, "I'll tell you what. I'll put in a slave."
There was a moment of silence. Although his bet was not unprecedented, it was also a rare move. Slaves were expensive and very valuable, and most slave-owners didn't part with them over a bet. "Very well," Elthis accepted. The rest of the bets were added to the collection, and play began.
Elthis' win was almost as spectacular as Taylin's loss. He took it in stride when people mocked him for it, and replied with a smirk, "Elthis always enjoys a challenge, isn't that right?" Elthis nodded. "Then you'll love the slave you're getting. 'Challenge' doesn't quite do him justice."
"A rebel, then?" Elthis asked. Taylin nodded. "Spirited?" Another nod. "Spirits can be broken, friend. I'm surprised you haven't dealt with him already."
"I have dealt with him," Taylin said. "Repeatedly. And I'm doing it again now by handing him over to you- I don't suppose you're still in the betting mood?"
"Always," Elthis replied, as the other Warriors listened raptly. Elthis was several years younger than Taylin, and those years and the battles they held left Taylin far more experienced. True, he was a lousy card player, but when it came to life he didn't make bets he felt he'd lose.
Elthis, on the other hand, couldn't resist a challenge. He loved to gamble almost as much as he loved to battle, and he had a temper that lead to numerous battles both in his God's name and for his own sake. His temper was especially bad when he was drunk, which was a frequent occurrence.
"Then I have a wager for you," Taylin began, placing his hands out on the table. "I warned you that the slave you won is spirited. I bet his spirit remains past Sarra. If you break his will, you keep him. If you fail, I get him back - he's a pain in the arse, but a slave is a slave. And..."
"And?" Elthis prompted.
"And if at some point you kill him, I get one of your slaves. The one of my choice."
"Eight months to break the spirit of one slave- Done!" Elthis proclaimed, holding out his hand for Taylin to shake.
"Done," Taylin agreed, taking the offered hand and clasping it firmly. They shook with the other Warriors as witnesses, before Taylin continued, "The boy is unconscious at the moment. He stole from me and lied about it, and the lie wasn't even half-believable. Something about saving a girl in danger." His face was full of disgust and disdain. "By now, I've at least come to expect a decent lie from him. When he comes to, I'll send him over."
Kalin followed the overseer and a group of slaves out into the field. He hated working in fields, it required actual labor. Something he went out of his way to avoid. Bitter thoughts went through his head, bitter towards the girl who'd gotten him in so much trouble, to Taylin for hurting him so badly and then giving him away as a bet, and to Elthis for setting him to work under the sun.
The cuts on his back throbbed and his muscles tightened after several hours of tedious work. He felt sweat pouring down his face and off his chin, and wiped away with the back of his hand. This did little more than smear it around, as his hand was almost as sweat-covered as his brow. "Damn it all," he muttered.
He noticed the overseer glaring at him, waving a whip menacingly in his direction. "You - get back to work!" he demanded.
"I can't," Kalin snapped in reply. "I'm going to pass out unless I get something to drink." The rest of the workers paused collectively, staring. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged the overseer, and such battles frequently turned the challenger into a demonstration that explained why no one challenged the overseer. "Don't speak unless spoken to, boy ," the overseer hissed, coming close enough so that his whip lashed out and caught Kalin in the side.
"You did speak to me," he replied, ignoring the blow. He added as an afterthought, "And my name is Kalin."
"Name?" the overseer laughed. "Slaves have no name."
"Then I suppose I'm not really a slave, am I?" Kalin replied lightly. He enjoyed watching the color of purple the overseer's face turned, as again the whip cracked. This time it caught Kalin full in the chest and left a bloody streak and a rip in his shirt. He bit back a yelp of pain.
"Don't - Ever - Talk - To - Me - Like - That!" the overseer yelled, grabbing Kalin by the arm, pulling it behind his back and twisting until the limb was dangerously close to snapping.
"Right. Break my arm, go ahead. That'll be great for both of us, you get to take out some of the aggression and I'll be unable to work for a few months," Kalin urged. "Really, go ahead."
The response was a nasty word and being hurtled to the ground. "This is the part where you kill me and get in trouble," Kalin supplied. "I get released permanently, and you get fired. Sounds good to me."
A kick into his ribs shut him up and left him gasping for breath. The whip shot downward, and Kalin yelled. Twice more, and two more screams. "Stand up," the overseer demanded.
"Fuck you," Kalin replied. The overseer's answer was a boot to his face, which left blood dripping down his cheek. The overseer leant down and yanked him up by the hair, then half threw him forward.
"To - The - House," he snarled in fury. "Warrior Elthis told me you were a trouble maker and he wanted to deal with you himself." He looked around at the rest of the slaves, who were gawking. "You lot, get back to work!"
[EYECATCH]
They complied immediately, and Kalin felt his arm twisted behind his back again. The overseer marched him towards the manor house, gloating and telling the slave what to expect. Kalin blocked it out, and tried his hardest to ignore the still-bleeding cuts on his chest. It didn't work very well, and as they entered the house he began to wonder if he'd been better off at Taylin's.
They walked through several corridors, attracting strange looks from all the passed. Among the people in the halls was a blond girl, two years younger than Kalin. Her name was Serissa, and she was Warrior Elthis' daughter. I've seen him before, somewhere, she thought, then gasped aloud as she remembered. Ocando, please don't let Father kill him!
"In trouble already," he mused. "Let's see if I can't rid you of some of that spirit, shall we?"
Kalin picked himself up off the floor, and glared the Warrior in the eye. "There's nothing you can do to hurt me," he snapped.
Elthis walked towards him, a sick grin on his face. "I very much doubt that," he said, then, "And you will call me, 'Master.' Is that understood?"
Kalin remained silent for several moments, took a deep breath and replied, "No man is my master."
"We will see about that. If you're the challenge Taylin says you'll be, I'm going to enjoy this-"
He nodded to the overseer, who closed the door behind them and grabbed Kalin's arms. The slave closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to the Goddess that he'd loose consciousness quickly.
Kalin awoke shortly after midnight. Every part of him ached. His muscles protested due to the labor he'd done, deep gashes on his back throbbed and his head pounded so hard he could swear it was echoing.
It took several minutes for Kalin to adjust to the dimness, and he found he was in a pile of straw covered by a ragged sheet, which was what passed for a slave's bed. A cool breeze blew through the unsteady hut's open wall and whistled above the open top.
"How did I get here?" he gasped, alarmed it was so hard to speak.
"We brought you in," came a reply. Kalin tried to look around for the speaker, but his muscles protested and he gave up and waited for the new pains he caused to subside. "They dumped you outside our quarters."
"Oh-" Kalin took a few deep breaths. "Thanks. My name is Kalin."
"So we heard, that was quite a show you put on today. I'm surprised the Master didn't kill you," came the answer.
"Who's we?" Kalin asked.
The speaker and a quiet companion moved into Kalin's field of view. The speaker was tall, several years older than Kalin; the other was about his age with much broader shoulders and fewer scars. All three shared coal black hair and blue eyes.
"Friends call me... Friend," the speaker replied. "An' he's a Loyal, but he's not too bad."
"Oh." Kalin allowed himself to glare at the Loyal, knowing what it meant. Slaves didn't have names, and those caught using them were punished severely - Kalin was living proof of that. Instead, they usually referred to each other as "Friend," or in some people's case as "Loyal." Loyal was, as the name implied, loyal to slave owners.
Kalin had never met a Loyal he liked, and most Loyals disliked him just as quickly.
"Don't look so disgusted, Friend," the Loyal said with a sneer in his voice. "I'm loyal, yeah, but which of us got scars?"
Kalin bit back the first reply that sprang to mind and settled on a stinging, "And which one of us has pride?" The Loyal began to reply, but their friend stepped between where Kalin was lying and the Loyal stood.
"We got to get some sleep, we're up before dawn an' that's closer than it seems. We'll see you in the morning, Friend-"
"Kalin," the slave insisted, and the Loyal turned his back and disappeared out of Kalin's view. "I've got too much self respect for them to take my name from me."
"Sure," the friend said. "We'll see you in the morning... Kalin."
[CLOSING CREDITS]