Tears of Leyden (3 page)

I race to my family. I scoop Meyleia into my arms and bury my face in her small, warm neck in assurance that I am here, that I won’t let them take her, and that I won’t leave her. All too soon, however, my promises begin to break. I am grabbed.

I revolt, backing into the far side of the kitchen knowing I am no match for the men around us. I hear another male voice amongst the rest of the commotion.

“What happened…?”

……………………..

“No…”

………………………………………………………….

“Stop.”

It comes soft at first, as though a gentle command.

When no one follows it, it is less gentle.

“Wait…stop! Stop now! Rest! I said NOW!!”

The room falls quiet apart from Moeder’s shaking breaths and Meyleia’s delicate whimpers into my shoulder. I draw her in against me and she clings tight to my neck, her legs locked unbreakably around my waist.

“They belong in the slums…”

“Protestors…”

“Pests…”

“No…” comes the new voice.

I groan out as they start to take Meyleia from me. I tremble out of rage and unbearable trepidation. I am forced to fall to the ground, taking her down with me and draping around her to protect her from their harmful touches. I am pulled to my feet and the floor scrapes at my dress at the knees. I fight to hold on.

“I said let them go…” They continue. “I said leave them be! Don’t. Move. Her!”

They all stop. So do I. Meyleia half between my arms and the rough hands of the men surrounding us.

“Nadeje…she’s in fault for this…”

The young combatant raises his hand in a signal of silence and the one informing him stops abruptly.

I shake my head and pull back a little in an attempt to maneuver myself from their hold on us, but they wrench Meyleia from me.

“No!” I beg.

They don’t listen and I am forced into another suppliant state of watching Meyleia fighting to free herself. The one who had spoken up for us steps into the cluster. Meyleia starts to sob and I try to pull from their hard hands but they grab me back easily, keeping me to the floor in a kneel. Being dizzy, it is hard to stable myself after they jerk me at this angle.

“Stop,” he commands the officer directing his soldiers. The officer ignores him and I am forced back as my Meyleia sobs for me or Moeder. The soldier clenches his jaw. Then, his eyes meet mine. A glimpse of understanding crosses between us and I try to clear my vision as his face swirls with the rest. I push and sob out in protest and need, but the men pull Meyleia farther from me. I strain for her.

“Let her go.” I fight for Meyleia and hardly even hear his words to the officer.

“But Nadeje she’s…”

“She’s innocent. The only mutilation done here was to her, not from…” A soldier drags his arm around my chest and holds me back. I nearly collapse and meet his gaze. His eyes search my own for something unreadable. “She doesn’t need to see this. Let her go.”

The officer hesitates. I turn back to look after Meyleia.

“I said let her go!”

Suddenly, all hands on me turn gentle. I turn my head in the voice’s direction and see the soldier making his way to me. I repeatedly shake my head and feel that I’d rather die than let his skin make contact with my body, but they release me and I am taken by his gentle hands. I stare frightfully up into his face as he squats before me. He gently and unsurely touches my arms.

I keep staring, imploring that he will read me.

He understands. “Her family?” he turns his face to the officer. I follow his gaze.

The officer frowns, another who holds Meyleia is already fuming. “They come with us, and she goes with you…the family is the warning…an example for the people and his highness, proof that we would do it. It is orders. If she is all that is left…then father’s sure to come running home. Giving and taking.”

“It was giving and receiving if I can remember properly…and since General left me in power than I believe I am here to order you, not otherwise.”

The man’s face grows even more disgusted. “Team work, Mr. Gilch.”

“If she is so valuable…then the family must be too,” the one holding me, Mr. Gilch, says it firmly, but it is half a question, as though he is unsure.

“We agree, but he values them as less…costly to be wasted.”

My heart falters at the last part.

“You are in management of the girl, and us the others. He made it very clear to us. Apparently your new placement is no help to your brain as we hoped it would be.”

My savior swallows and grinds his teeth. “It isn’t right.”

It comes out too soft and too rough for the others to hear, but I presume that he didn’t want it to be otherwise.

“We need to get out,” it is another soldier who had stayed out of the argument.

I understand what the auction is and my heart wilts. They were to use my family as an example of what they would do to the city if they didn’t surrender, they were to be the beginning of the blood shed we knew would come…and me…
what was I to them? Bait? A prisoner? I am not leverage with my rank. I am just a commoner. Why could they want to hold me hostage?

Mr. Gilch brings my attention to him with a gentle brush of my cheek. His hands gently crib my waist, and I slowly let him help me to my feet. His hands are patient on my waist, and do not leave me when I reach my feet.

“We will converse on this later.” It is the officer, his eyes resting on Gilch.

They start to lead my family away.

My heart stops. I take the chance; I jerk forward. Presently, I am grabbed. I gasp out as they start to drive my family away and the soldier holds me back. I resist him but his grip is too strong. I burst into a fit of chocking sobs but he won’t let me go.

He backs away as the other Spaniards take back my family. Meyleia reaches and whines for me. Moeder’s face is white with knowing trepidation for her daughters. I understand what is to happen to us and scream out my loudest scream. It hurts my own ears.

I am lifted and forced back with the young man still holding me tight and away from all that matters to me, from every single electrolyte left in my torturous life. I continue to consist our meeting with a fight as he draws me out the back door. The last thing I see inside my family’s house is my dear moeder and Meyleia being herded away from me like mules or cattle; I am just the only one to be caught and brought out of the atrocious mess of butchery. I tug and haul at the soldier’s grasp, but it is no use. I am in loss of much energy. I must surrender, yet I don’t.

The soldier pulls me out through and behind the rows of huts side by side along the great wall of the city. He continuously pulls, but becomes gentle as I grow weak. I don’t think I can last. He tugs on my wrist and I slam into him. I push at his chest with clenched fists and try to wrench back from his hold, but he is stronger and I feel my strength dwindling with my pounding head. I think I hear moeder and Meyleia through the huts as I am dragged passed, but I know I am merely hearing the lies of the town’s midday bustle. Still I engage myself in the strenuous struggle.

The smell and drift of the canal breeze becomes almost unbearable to my sickening stomach and cold spinning head. I feel my muscles contract and expand every time I move from my labor the past week, and my new activity is not helping it ease. A shadow covers my head, and I see a doorway as he brushes me in front of himself, completely sheltering me from the light outdoors. With one last tug of protest, he lets me go and I collapse to the dirt floor, throwing myself into my arms and bawling into them, surrendering to the truth of my burning tears. I taste the salty water running down my cheeks and suppress myself into the ground. I sob out and let all belief of mercy go. I am in death’s hands now.

I feel him standing there watching, his face filled with undeniable concern and guilt. I curl away as he paces a little closer and he sighs out, most likely not knowing what to do. I feel scared, lost, and abandoned by those I love by force, and the memories in my head do nothing to comfort me. I cringe at the stitch in my side and my stomach churns sickly. He paces again and I wish he would stop, for it only reminds me of his power and my weakness as I lie here, only adding to my collection of reservations. He seems not to know what to do. I don’t blame him, for who would know how to stop or comfort a bawling girl of the age eighteen with nothing left other than death to look forward to?

I lay here at least a couple minutes as he paces. Finally, he kneels down beside me and sighs heavily.

He annoys me; every shuffle of his feet, every rhythm of his heart beat, every thought of his reeking presence, every single breath he takes, it all makes me sick. It brings forward the knowledge that I am taking safety in this place while my family is now hanging by their necks. Their living is hardly even imaginable, especially since they are no more than a poor common woman and girl. The least they could be used for by the enemy is entertainment. I can’t think of it.

It dawns on me.
What will become of my future? What did this man want of me? What did they say about the King valuing something about me? Was this Mr. Gilch…was he to manage me…how?
I cringe at the thought of my disposition and the possibility of giving up my purity to one of the blood of those who took my family.

I suppress myself into the ground and choke out as I feel his eyes on me. I shiver inside at the thought of him eyeing each hair on my head, burning through me and seeing all that lies within.

I feel my sobs dying. My throat hurts from the tremendous amount of screaming and chocking I had done. I feel my body quiet down without my want of it to. I tense partially without the tears to blur my senses and wish they would come back, but there is no telling when my tears will return. They are dried and gone, leaving me to fend for myself.

I can’t move, I try to force the appearance of thankfulness into my being but I find none. I cannot stay like this. I silently render the words of prayer for strength into my mind, asking for intuition to guide me. For once, prayer seems to do nothing, leaving me cold and alone on the ground.

I deliberately start to raise my head to look up and around me. I reluctantly start to rise. There is nothing to rise to, but maybe I can get answers. Answers to what will become of moeder and Meyleia and of what is to happen to me. The room is quiet and closed up. No one but the soldier and I are within it. I gradually uncurl and push up with my hands into a sitting position.

I look down and out into the space opposite him, hiding from the cautious eyes which are watching me sympathetically. I close my eyes and try not to let a sob escape my mouth. I timidly glance up at him, still partly taking refuge behind my many strands of tangled hair.

He calmly and unsurely watches me, the articulate features and subtle eyes gazing into my mine as though questioning me through the silence. I feel as though his eyes cool, and shrink even as I know I imagined it.

He sighs again and pauses. “I…I am sorry…” His voice is soft.

I push it away, not wanting to feel another person’s sympathy.

He steps closer and I curl away, not wanting him to touch me with the hands of people who took my family; first my vader, now my moeder and sister. I can’t let them take me too.

He stops in his stride and seems once more unsure of what to do. “I won’t hurt you.”

I do not uncurl before his requests.

“You cannot stay afraid of my caring for you…it is my duty and I can’t not follow it.” His voice is gentle and calm.

I glance with no movement but my eyes through my hair.

“I am sorry about your family…but I could do nothing more…”

I suddenly feel a sharp prick in my heart.
Not do anything more than…what? What had he done that had been so gallant?
He’d gone too far. I whirl and my hair flies. I feel incensed. If he was all I had to take my emotions out on, then no matter the cost, I would use him to my advantage. I glare wide eyed at him. “You killed them,” I spit.

His face is calm but soft.

“You didn’t save them…”

He drops his hand to his side.

I shake my head. “How could you?” I whisper, feeling too close to tears. “How can you men be so cruel…?” My bottom lip trembles. “I hate you,” I say.

His face pales and he steps in a little as though going to protest but I strike out at him. He catches my hand and I once again am imperiled to fear, but he merely drops it and I take the chance and don’t bite my tongue.

“I hate you!”

He squats before me, his face hovering inches from mine and the heat of it sending those intolerable shivery sensations through my being. “Look at me,” he directs.

I avoid his gaze.

He sighs as though not knowing what he is to do with me.

Now I
do
blame him, it is
his
fault we are in this. After what feels like a few stubborn seconds, I hesitantly turn to look at him. Our eyes meet and he searches mine for answers…
little does he know that there are none.

“I couldn’t save your family and you,” he says softly. “I just couldn’t…”