Reward
He stumbled into line alongside Jheam, dropping his chin to his chest as he had every morning for the past six years, his ragged hair hung dully about his face. The sharp tap of a stick thudded into his shoulder blades and he stepped forward, his eyes on the floor. Head count. Five minutes later, the hundred odd boys had all been accounted for and the Master dismissed them.
Most left to go outside, taking ragged cloaks and blankets in attempts to shield their thin bodies from the cold winter air outside. Even in the winter, the mines of Monreit were scoured for iron. More than half of the boys who worked in them had frostbitten hands and feet. All of them were underfed. Child labor was cheap, and it was easier to underfeed them and then buy more in the spring than keep them well fed over winter.
Rydan dully followed Jheam back into the kitchen. It was a cleaning day, meaning they had to clean nearly every room in the great house Aleho Monreit lived in. Jheam had been the only boy from the original group sold six years ago still alive and with him. They had become something akin to brothers, always watching each other�s backs and helping if the other was hurt � Monreit didn�t care either way. His theory was, you were either alive or dead, and if you weren�t one or the other, he would make you which ever way suited his mood.
Rydan grabbed a bucket, filling it with water from the pump as Jheam took an armful of rags from the storeroom. Then they trudged up two flights of stairs to the top of the house and began to work their way down. They didn�t talk much while they worked; there was little need and nothing to talk about.
There was no break for lunch, and it was well into the afternoon when Jheam finally announced he was hungry. He tossed his soiled rag into the bucket�s dirty water and stood up to stretch. �Aren�t you hungry?� He asked Rydan, his brown eyes watching Rydan finish his half of the polished floor.
Rydan just shrugged, squeezing the rag to get the water out and then scrubbing it along the floor.
Jheam flopped down beside the bucket, putting his chin in hand. �You�re never hungry. You barely ever eat � it�s a wonder you�re still alive.� Jheam commented idly.
They both jumped, Jheam nearly spilling the bucket and Rydan nearly slipping on the wet floor. Both managed it to their feet accident free though, that had been taught through many beatings. Rydan stared at the doorway, as a woman entered, voicing her question a second time. �Hungry? Is that what I heard?�
She was pure silk and lace, the crimson vivid against her ivory skin. Black locks hung like twining serpents to her waist, and her green eyes sparked as she stared upon them from where she stood.
�No Lady Monreit, we�re not hungry. We�re kept well-fed.� Rydan lied, trying to keep his voice level. He kept his eyes on the floor, praying feverishly to the god he had all but given up on. If she would only leave.
Lady Monreit came forward instead, her moves sinuous. She came to a stop in front of Rydan, lifting his chin with a butter-soft hand. �Rydan, are you lying to me?� She asked him, trailing one hand along his cheek as if she were flirting.
Rydan swallowed, knowing that to move was to displease, and to displease was to be punished. Lady Monreit�s punishments were worse than beatings. �N-no Milady.� He couldn�t pull his eyes away from hers, and slowly she began to smile. They both seemed to have forgotten Jheam even stood in the room, much less a foot away from them.
�Rydan love, lying isn�t smiled upon in my home.� Her smile widened, and her eyes took on an internal light. �You know lying is punishable.� She purred, her hand now twirling his light-less locks.
He couldn�t even swallow now. Her eyes seemed to be boring holes straight through his head and into the opposite wall. �I-I know, Mil-lady.� He half-whispered.
She bent close to his ear, her voice a whisper, �Do you want the punishment that bad�?� Her green eyes still stared into his, and he was frozen, his hands tight on the soiled rag, his face burning from fear and humiliation. I won�t break. He told himself. I won�t.
She whispered again, �You�re so cute when you�re scared��
That seemed to snap him out of his reverie. He blinked and spoke his words half to himself as if he were only wishing they were true. �I�m not scared��
Lady Monreit straightened again, toying with his hair, rubbing it between her fingers, draping it next to his face so she could run her hand down his cheek. �That�s a pity�� She said pouting her red lips.
Rydan finally found the nerve to look away. The first thing he saw was Jheam�s horrified face. Rydan cleared his throat, holding the words I won�t break, in his mind. �We have to finish cleaning. You�ll have to excuse us Lady Monreit�� He attempted a bow, his tense legs nearly toppling him to the floor.
Luckily, Jheam took his hint and grabbed the bucket, hauling it out the door. Rydan followed him, his face white as Lady Monreit�s last words met his ears. �Dear, your punishment for lying will be tonight.�
He let out a shuddering breath, pausing to lean his hot forehead against the cool stone wall for a moment. He heard a small splash and a curse as Jheam dropped the bucket and hurried back to him.
�Rydan? What the heck was she doing?� Rydan glanced up at him, and he immediately blanched. �What�s wrong with you, you look like you�ve seen the devil.�
Rydan let out a weak chuckle, picking himself up and hoisting the bucket into the next room. �To tell you the truth Jheam, I did see the devil.�
Jheam didn�t say anything in reply to that. He just went about rolling up the short rug and setting it on the couch so they could scrub the floor in this room. Rydan fished in the bucket for the rags, cursing when he only came up with one.
Jheam made to go to the door, �It was probably mine, I�ll go grab it.�
�No! Let me get it, my knees hurt from kneeling, the walking will help.� Rydan lied, brushing past Jheam into the hall. The truth was, he�d rather Jheam not be anywhere near Lady Monreit. Jheam was a few years younger than Rydan, and despite whatever he said, Rydan always felt that he needed to protect the boy. Just like an older brother would protect his sibling.
He pulled the door open with the urge to run away and slipped inside the room, moving toward the left. He froze at the voices and immediately dropped to his knees, and hid behind the couch.
They hadn�t seemed to notice him and so he stayed hidden, waiting for them to leave. There was no way he�d get out the door now; it was a miracle he�d gotten in.
�How much longer does he need? He�s had a year to decide!� The voice was undoubtedly Lord Monreit, and he was angry at somebody.
Lady Monreit�s voice in return wasn�t backing down. �I told you, he�s had to take care of things. First the rumor of the prince, and then that riot��
�A year lady! He�s had a year!� Monreit�s boots stomped toward the fireplace, small smudges of dirt being left behind on the perfectly clean floor without regard.
�I can�t make his decisions for him, only he can sign it! You can�t forge his signature like you could others!� Lady Monreit was adamant. She stomped her small foot just beyond the couch; Rydan hunched further down, ducking his head between his knees.
�Then bring him here! Let me talk to him!� Monreit shouted back, slamming a palm into the stone in frustration. Rydan could hear him grinding his teeth clear across the room.
�You know it would take days for me to travel that far! I might even pass the courier on the way there!�
�At least we�d be doing something! Would you rather sit around in this forsaken place doing nothing? When I talked to him last time, he had the writ for labor signed within a day!� He challenged her, his footsteps coming nearer to the couch.
�There�s nothing more we could do there! I told you, Kyrr has been busy!� Lady Monreit replied, her voice equally as savage.
Rydan�s breath went in at the mention of Kyrr�s name. Was Kyrr behind the child labor farms these people ran? He hunched down father as the boots came closer.
�Damn Kyrr then! Damn him, we�ll do it - well, what is this?� Monreit�s voice changed into innocent inquiry. His hand found the back of Rydan�s head, and he grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked him to his tiptoes. Lady Monreit gasped, a pale hand going to her mouth.
�Rydan!� She blurted out suddenly, and then her wide eyes went to Monreit, evidently horror struck.
Monreit painfully twisted Rydan�s head around to face him. �How does she know your name?� He snarled, angrier than a spitting cat.
�I-I don�t kn-know, sir.� Rydan managed to gasp out, trying to keep his balance.
�You don�t know?� He said softly, �I happen to know what my wife does boy. She is my wife, how could you do that?� He whispered, his voice dangerously close to breaking.
�D-do wh-what, sir?� Rydan stammered, trying not to look the man in the eyes.
�You know perfectly well what I mean boy�now why are you in here?� He questioned his voice still soft and perilous.
Rydan let his breath out; thankful he didn�t have to lie again. �I was cl-cleaning sir, and I-I left my rag in here. I j-just came back to g-get it�� He motioned toward the dirty rag still on the floor.
Monreit set him down on his feet and smacked him hard across the face. �Improper cleaning supplies.� He whacked him again. �That rag is dirty, can you not see? I will not have my house cleaned with dirty rags!� His voice got louder and louder. He smacked him again, and Rydan felt the ring on his finger tear the skin below his eye. �Poor service!� Smack. �Forgetfulness!� Smack. �Eavesdropping!�
Rydan took each blow silently, knowing that to cry out was to ask for more. His left eye was tearing, and his temple bleeding onto his cheek. He stumbled at the next blow and waited for another, but it never came.
Instead, Monreit leaned close, grinning gleefully, and whispered, �But do you know what?� He didn�t wait for an answer. �Trying to steal my wife deserves a much, much worse punishment than this��
Rydan was numb, and it barely registered with him as Monreit grabbed his arm and hauled him into the hallway and toward the stairs. Down, he dragged him, spiraling every downward.
Pain. He couldn�t move. His thoughts came in a jumbled mess. His eyes wouldn�t open, his legs wouldn�t move, his heart barely beat. Futilely, he stretched out a hand, his mouth opening to cry for help, but no sound came, only a guttural gasp. He lay inert, staining the snow a deep red in every direction. God, he thought senselessly, I broke, God, forgive me.
How much he moved, he didn�t know, he only knew that his hand suddenly contacted something soft, something nearly frozen. The darkness behind his eyelids didn�t show him even a mental picture, he could barely fathom that it was snowing. The small flakes fell on his inflamed face and gathered in a pile.
He clenched his fists, pulling himself toward the softness, pulling the softness toward him. God, I failed you. I broke. It was the only thought registering in his mind as he sank back into unconsciousness, half under the softness, a stain of red beside him.
He blinked, staring into two gaping holes in the dim light under the softness. He pulled the softness tighter to him, his mind and body numb with cold and shock. Suddenly, it registered to him what he was looking at and he let out a soundless scream, frantically pushing himself backwards. When he was two feet away, he collapsed again, staring in horror.
The skeleton was hung with skin, parts of it hollowed where the muscles and entrails had disappeared or been eaten by maggots last fall.
Rydan struggled to his knees, shivered uncontrollably. The softness was a cloak, the cloak of the dead child next to him. He turned his head a little, trying to see through his swollen eyes. He backed up and with a heaving effort made it to his feet. Breathing hard, and each breath was painful, he stared at the dead children. They littered the ground, some covered with snow, some as new as yesterday.
He retched and found nothing to throw up. His throat burned, and he half-stumbled, half-fell toward the trees. He had to pause twice in the ten-yard distance to catch his breath. The second time, he took the cloak from the dead child, looking away from its pleading, lifeless sockets.
Wrapping it the best he could about himself, he stumbled through the trees, making little progress in the snow with his fatigue. Finally, he tripped on a hidden tree root and pitched face first into the snow. He embraced the blackness that followed the shock of cold.
Copyright:
LaurenBlewett