The Archshade

Five

Two beefy, hulking men with scuffed armor and dull swords belted at their waists stand in the apothecary's doorway. On their bulging left biceps, they each wear a white armband emblazoned with the insignia of The Lower guard patrol. The jagged scars carved on their faces are almost as grisly as their rigid expressions.

"Nice try, girl." The guard on the left has a gruff, intimidating voice. "But there's no use in running."

These guards don't actually recognize me. Most guards can't tell one servant from the next, but my Vayssarian blouse and wrap skirt, as well as my cotton headwrap, are enough to mark me as a thrall, and one tip from a servant who saw me running to the apothecary would be enough to lead them straight to me.

The guard on the right wastes no time. He wraps his burly hand around my upper arm and yanks me forward, nearly dislocating my shoulder. I yelp and squirm, but he only tightens his grip in response.

"Get over here!" he growls. "The Ambassador is leaving at midday, and you run off to play hide-and-find!"

The guard's muscles tense, and I brace for what's coming as I have a hundred times, but I'm never entirely ready for the pain. The back of his hand cracks against my face. Metallic warmth trickles into my mouth.

"Oy! What are you doing?" The guard with the gruff voice grabs my other arm, trying to pull me out of his partner's grip, and suddenly, I'm strung like a rag doll between two fighting children. "The Blessed Harbinger will have your head if you damage his gift!"

The guard on the right doesn't back down. "I'm doing the job the Blessed Harbinger assigned to us, and this wench needs to be punished!" He tightens his grip on my arm even more, squeezing and squeezing until tears spring into my eyes. Looking down at me, he shouts in my face, "What were you doing here, huh?! Conspiring against The Emperor?!"

The pain builds to agony, my bones only a moment away from breaking beneath his hand. Any struggling or squirming only makes the pain worse. I can't speak without letting loose a pained wail, so I turn my face away and grit my teeth, waiting for the crack.

"Gentlemen."

The guards turn their attention away from me, looking towards the apothecary. Their grip remains tight. I sip air into my lungs through clenched teeth, trying to ease the pain.

The apothecary rises from his seat and places both his palms on the surface of his table as if preparing to rebuke some unruly students. "I need peace and quiet while I prepare these tinctures for the Emperor's son," the apothecary scolds. "This disturbance is most unwelcome. Take the girl and tell the nursemaid not to send any more thralls to check on my progress. It'll be ready when it's ready! You can't rush these things, you know."

The guards loosen their grips. A warm rush of blood flows into my arm, numbing the flesh between my shoulder and elbow. Relief forces a trembling breath from my lips, but the dulled sensation only lasts a moment. Once the blood is restored, a blunt throbbing begins in the deep bruises beneath my skin—bits of broken flesh between my muscles.

The one with the gruff voice speaks first. "Very well, sir. Pardon our interruption."

The guard on my right only grunts.

The apothecary settles back in his chair. "Off you go then." He turns the page of the massive tome he's reading.

The guards take me away.

As they pull me out of the apothecary's workshop, I twist my neck around, catching a glance of my chattel shed across the way. I savor my last look at the mud walls, trying to preserve the memory of their earthen smell, trying to immortalize the feel of the packed earth beneath my bare feet. I want to put all the memories in a jar like the cooks do with autumn vegetables at the beginning of a long winter. My body bears the scars of all my attempts to escape this place, but now... I would give all I have to stay. As the guards pull me around a corner, I lose sight of my only place in the world.