A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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"Don't you look away, Gris," Rasheem commanded.
The tremble behind Rasheem's strong voice did not help the fear clinging to Gris' soul. He gripped his friend's bare arm, already sweating with anxiety.
They had only a half hour before the king sent one of his knights to the slave quarters for Rasheem's punishment. After Gris' failed attempt to change the knight's mind and return to the king with a plea, his guards strung Rasheem to a beam close to the center of the slave's Mess Hall. Slaves stood around, young and old alike, watching and shouting their disapprovals.
Nothing and no one was going to stop the king's decree, yet Eron was able to take Hasana for another punishment. A punishment Gris only knew to be worse for a female slave. He restrained his tears, but not his fears. Especially after hearing this strange demand.
"I can't watch this, Rasheem," he grieved. "This isn't fair."
Rasheem's eyes hardened into an icy glare. His voice was low, only for Gris' ears. "A king never looks away."
He appreciated his friend's initiative to remind him of said future title and role, but right now, he didn't want to think about that. Right now, he wanted to be a human. A normal person with feelings, who didn't want to see a good man punished for something he didn't do. Why did his father hate Rasheem so much to do this to him? He heard stories from Rasheem about how close they once were. This was cruel to do to such a loyal servant.
"May Naphri give you her strength," Gris prayed.
"Back away," the knight bellowed, unraveling his horseskin whip.
He felt Mira grab hold of him with gentle, encouraging hands. Though he didn't want to, he had to submit and stand strong for his friend. He backed away, standing at Rasheem's side. Faint pink scars of former lashes covered Rasheem's back. Crying, Mira clung onto Gris' arm, and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.
The Fair knight gave Gris a slight grin. Of course, the fool would enjoy this. Then he unleashed the first lash. Rasheem's body recoiled, but his firm face only flinched. He kept this stance for the first five lashes as fresh red streaks appeared across his back. The sixth one came down hard and quick, and a painful gasp left Rasheem's mouth. After that, his gasps turned to yelps, and his yelps turned to screams. Blood dripped and splattered everywhere.
Everyone fell silent.
Gris wanted to look away, but he forced his eyes to watch. It was not often slaves under his care were punished this way. Usually, he would find a way to punish them without shedding blood or inflicting pain. No one deserved this.
When the seventeen lashes were fulfilled, Rasheem dangled against the pillar, weeping and heaving. The knight dropped the bloody whip on the floor, grabbed Rasheem's shirt to wipe the blood off his hands, and left with his laughing comrades. Someone untied Rasheem. Gris didn't know who. He helped lay his friend on the floor as women came with sheets and ointments.
