Children of the Blood (7 page)

The scent of flowers hit his nostrils; the shadows of trees touched the back of his neck. He could see greenery everywhere his eyes dared to wander. But it was organized, controlled green, as if even the things that grew did not dare to displease the high priest by being out of place. From high above, he heard the trill of small birds as they leaped from branch to branch in their agitation at the passing humans.

He forgot all these things as he looked up for the first time. And up. And up.

House Damion was indeed a palace. The walkway ended in a large, vaulted arch. Beyond it, he could see the sunlight touching the courtyard’s flagstones. And above it, he could see four towers that grew as he approached. The stonework here was smooth, but it was far from simple. Along the side of each tower, masters must have labored for decades to create the statues of human likenesses that lined them. They seemed to look down upon the slaves as they entered, their expression and features distantly familiar. Only one tower was smooth—perhaps reserved for the future.

Flags flew here as well; the black and red was distinctly larger than that of the house. As they passed beneath them, the high priest stopped. An elderly man walked out to greet him.

Darin watched carefully, sure that the rest of the slaves did the same.

“Father.” The high priest’s voice was colorless.

“Vellen.” The elderly man, Lord Damion proper, held out a firm hand. “You return in victory.”

“News has traveled.”

The man chuckled warmly. “Forgive them if it has; they spread your word.”

“And the honor of the house, father?”

The man’s smile fell away from his face as if it were water thrown there by the caprice of poor weather. He withdrew his hand and stared at his son, his eyebrows drawing together in a line. They were of a height, although perhaps the elder man was
still the larger; his shoulders were broad and remarkably un-stooped for his age. Nor did he have the piercing eyes of the younger Damion; his were dark and impenetrable. The elder lord spoke first, although he did not look away.

“The Dark Heart comes first.” It was not a question.

“Were it not for the weakness of past Damions, we would have always borne the crest of the Karnari. We did not until now.”

Lord Damion did not move. “Vellen, the high priest does not rule the empire. You would do well to remember it.” He turned, then turned back in a carefully executed afterthought. “Or did the First not crusade with you?”

Vellen’s face darkened. “The ruling of mortals is not of concern to the Servants of God.”

“Do not forget your history,” his father replied. “The Empire of Veriloth was founded by a Servant; the First. He carved it, he destroyed the First of the Enemy. Power rules here, and he is still the greater power.”

If possible, Vellen’s face darkened further. Although the anger was not directed at the slaves, Darin cringed.

“We serve the same God, Father.”

“Then know the God
we
serve.”

The emphasis was not lost on the high priest. He stood silent a moment, and then turned to his Swords.

“Have them take the church flag down. It is to be redesigned and replaced.
Now!”

The Swords moved.

Darin saw the bitter smile that hardened the lines of Lord Damion’s mouth. It gave him little comfort to know that there was at least one person in the Empire who did not fear its high priest. He shivered and waited for word to enter. He could still see the fury in the lines of Lord Vellen’s shoulders, and it made him cringe again. The stories he had heard about the rages of slavemasters echoed loudly in his ears. What little of life that slavery bought him could be lost in this instant.

He had much to learn.

Lord Damion himself led the slaves into the manor. His commands, as his son’s, were terse and pointed; he was used to being obeyed. They followed behind him, passing beneath the arch and into the courtyard, and from there through a grand set of double doors that footmen opened wordlessly.

“This,” the lord said crisply, “is House Damion. You will serve it well.” He made no threat.

The long hall stretched out before them, a grand, empty throat. Silent, they began to follow him into the heart of a new life.

Darin stared at the small walls of the room he and Kerren shared
with two of the younger men, David and Stev. They had no windows; the only light to come to the room was provided by small lamps, and even these were rarely afforded to the slaves. Nor did they possess a fireplace, but here in the south, or so they were told, there was little need of one; snow was a myth to David and Stev.

Darin learned how to clean the ground halls and the brass and silver that Damion possessed in quantity. That was his first task. Korven, an elderly, stout woman, had taken the newcomers firmly in hand and tried, in her sonorous bass, to make clear what the rules of their new life were.

“First of all, although you’ve probably learned it, there are rules about names. Names are important in Veriloth—and as far as the free men are concerned, slaves don’t have ’em. Understood?”

Silent nods all around.

“You’ve probably been allowed to make a few mistakes with only a beating as a lesson. You won’t be allowed that now; you’re in House Damion, and it demands only the best behavior from the slaves it claims. Understood as well?”

Nods again.

“Good.” The woman looked at each of them almost grimly.

“Among the slaves, you have to have names. Your given ones are as good as any. But Lady help you if you ever answer to one when the nobles call.”

Darin turned to look at Kerren.
Lady?
he mouthed.

Kerren shrugged.

“We’ll lose a few of you,” Korven continued, her voice matter-of-fact, and more chilling because of it. “It always happens.
But the number we lose depends entirely on how you adjust to your new life here.” She glanced at Peggy. “You, dear, will have light duties for the time. You’re well along?”

Peggy nodded miserably. She rarely spoke now.

“Good.” Korven shrugged. “Pregnancy is one of the few occasions when a doctor’s summoned for slaves.”

From there she had proceeded to assign the slaves to “partners,” people who knew the duties their lives depended on learning. Darin drew Stev.

Stev was surprising. He was tall, almost two feet taller than Darin. But he was also thin; his arms and legs looked like sticks with gnarled knobs at the joints. His hair was a thatch of barely kempt red, and his pale face was dotted with brown freckles. His coloring was not what surprised Darin, although in itself it was unusual.

It was his demeanor. He always had a grin to spare, and words of cheer and support came freely from his laughing mouth. He picked up a bucket and a damp rag, and motioned for Darin to follow. Bemused, Darin did as he asked, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see if the masters were watching. They weren’t, but Stev also had an uncanny sense for their presence.

“You’ll learn it.” He chuckled. “They’ve a chill about them when they come.” He looked down at his young charge. “You’ve done this before?”

Darin looked down at his feet.

“Well, never mind it; you’ll learn soon enough, and with me as a teacher, I’m sure you’ll do yourself proud.” He picked up the rag and walked down toward the doors. “Outer brass is most important; it’s got to shine like the sun, or somebody pays. Don’t forget it; what other people see of the house had better be all spit and polish.” He began to whistle a light tune as he brought the rag to the door fixtures. “Hmmm. Can you reach this? No? Well, you might have to carry a stool with you, at least for the first few years; you’re small, but they won’t take it into account.”

Darin watched in silence.

“Darin,” Stev said, lowering the rag for a moment, “they didn’t cut out your tongue, did they?”

“No.”

“Then don’t be so gloomy.”

Gloomy?
Darin wanted to shout. His face paled, then took on a rosy color that had nothing to do with the warmth of the rising sun. “Gloomy?” He rolled up his sleeve, exposing the
pale mark of Damion to the light. “Bright Heart, how can you be so-”

Stev shoved the damp rag into Darin’s trembling mouth. His green eyes were wide, and he wheeled around, his gaze searching the empty courtyard.

“Never say that,” he whispered. “Never say that here. They’ll kill you for it without a second thought—even if slaves are expensive. Understand?” He gripped Darin’s shoulders and kneeled down until their eyes were on a level.

Darin spat out the rag, choking slightly on the soapy water that trickled down his suddenly tight throat. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.

Stev sighed, his lanky frame relaxing. He still held the shoulders of his young charge as he began to speak more softly. “Darin, this is the Empire of Veriloth. We’d heard rumors of your arrival and we knew what it meant.” A rare shadow darkened his eyes. “But it’s happened. You’re still alive. This Heart that you evoked—it didn’t help you. Don’t call it here. Never think it here. You’re too young to die for something as trivial as that.” He began to whistle again as he released Darin and bent to retrieve the rag.

Darin tried to watch what he did, but the tears blurred everything.

“See how it gleams?” Stev asked.

Darin shook his head.

Stev sighed for the second time. “Darin, if you’ve got to pray to someone, pray to the Lady.”

“T-the Lady?”

“Aye. The Lady of Mercy. Haven’t you heard of her?”

“N-no.”

“Well then.” He wiped the door fixtures clean. “They don’t like her either, but they won’t kill you for speaking of her. Come on; we’ll do the silver in the mistress’ collection. No one’s there, and we can speak more openly.”

He picked up his bucket, and Darin followed him in, his legs almost too shaky to carry him.

 

“Not like that, Darin. You’ll wreck your wrists and you won’t get half the job done. Here. There’s a rough edge along the bottom of the rag; you use it to clean the silver, and the smooth part to polish. Understand?”

Darin looked dubious. “You have to do this all in one day?” He had never seen so much silver in his life.

“Aye.” Stev smiled. “But you’ll get good at it; you’ll get faster.” Indeed, he’d already done three times the number of forks that Darin had managed. “You’re lucky you’re not in the kitchen. There’s
real
work.”

“Stev, who’s this Lady?”

“Ah. I thought you’d forgotten.” His smile told Darin that he thought no such thing, but his hands kept working. “We’ve a story here, among the slaves. The Lady of Mercy once walked the world; she was consort to the darkness, but she was like the dawn.”

“Light?”

Stev looked pained. “If you must, but that’s a word you should watch as well.”

“I don’t remember hearing about it.”

“You didn’t grow up a slave, Darin.”

Darin was silent, and for the third time that day, Stev sighed. “Come on, none of that. Let me finish my tale.

“The Lady of Mercy, that’s what we call her, was consort, but her pity tempered the evil Lord, and he loved her greatly. She was a great noble, but it was not the nobility she loved; it was people like us. Slaves.”

He smiled to himself, only this time the smile was tinged by sadness. “She was a spirit, Darin, or so we believe. She came to us, but something happened. She was forced to leave. And it’s been a darker world since, without mercy.”

“Then why pray to her?”

“We pray for her return. We pray for her rest and her peace. One day, each of us’ll be with her. Some sooner than others, but all of us who’ve suffered here have earned her touch and her mercy.”

Darin shook his head. He’d never heard of any such thing—and anyone who died went Beyond. Even the children knew that.

As if reading his thoughts, Stev’s smile saddened yet further. “Darin,” he said, putting a fork aside, “maybe in the world you came from, you didn’t need her, and she didn’t come to you. But you’ll learn, soon enough, that we do.”

 

“Why,” Darin grunted, as he tried to lift the edge of a mahogany table, “are you always so cheerful?”

Stev swept deftly underneath the shaky space that Darin had created. “Why not?”

Thud. Leg hit carpet and settled firmly down. “For one, we’re slaves here. They can kill us whenever they want.”

“True.” The broom was put aside as Stev began to oil the desk top. Darin wrinkled his nose at the smell, but grabbed another cloth. “So?”

“So?” He rubbed the oil into the wood and grimaced slightly; someone had been drinking at the desk, and not very carefully either. “So what’s there to be cheerful about?”

“We’re alive.” Stev gave the boy a sly, happy smile. “Mara’s agreed to bed me when we’ve time. We’re not on stone duty.”

“But you don’t have any choice about what duty you’re on.”

“No,” the older slave replied. “So?”

Darin vented most of his frustration on the wood. “I don’t understand you.”

Stev sighed. Then he smiled. “I’ve never sighed so much in my life as I have since you’ve come.

“Darin, if I’m miserable, does it change anything? Does it give me freedom or the ability to make my own choices?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Right. And if I’m miserable, does it hurt them?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt me?”

“Well...” Darin turned back to the desk.

“I’m not asking you to be happy, at least not yet. But we’re alive, and there’s still some good in that.” Stev started to whistle.

Six weeks later, Darin began to join him. He was young.

 

“You’re lucky,” Kerren mumbled, his voice muffled neatly by the thin pillow that adorned his bunk.

“Hmmm?” Darin looked up at the darkness that was the bottom of Kerren’s bed. “How’s that?”