Vantaiga resisted and stumbled with the woman’s force, but with nothing more from her mother, she continued towards the gate.
The passers-by through the busy city gate paid no attention to the pair. However, before Vantaiga could enter, a guard approached them.
“Hold,” he spoke flatly as he held up his hand. Vantaiga recognized the same “business as usual” demeanour her new guardian had demonstrated just moments before. His gaze, though, was fixed on Vantaiga and not her new employer. “What is your business here?”
Vantaiga was shocked that the guard was addressing her. She tried to mouth a response, but the guard’s dispassionate gaze shifted from her to the old woman. He continued to stare at her escort until she replied.
The head maid looked sternly into the eyes of the guard and lifted her hand to reveal a dull but intricate insignia ring. “I am conducting business on behalf of my house.”
With no change in his expression, the guard looked from the woman to somewhere behind Vantaiga. She hoped it was to her mother, still watching over her, but she dared not move to confirm it.
The head maid, her insignia ring still raised, and the guard momentarily locked in a battle of wills. The battle, though, was only for show for witnesses unknown to Vantaiga. The outcome had been decided the moment the insignia ring appeared.
The head maid looked more coldly at the guard and cocked her head. “Shall I speak to your commander?”
The guard looked to Vantaiga. Under his renewed scrutiny she could only respond with a shy smile. There was an awkward pause before he finally stepped aside from the pair, “No, ma’am. You may proceed.”
With her hand still on Vantaiga’s shoulder, the head maid guided her through the gate. Confused, Vantaiga looked back to the guard. He was still looking at her as she walked away. He seemed to be waiting for something, but Vantaiga could not tell what. After a few moments, he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Then, without further acknowledgement of what had transpired, he turned and resumed his vigil over the activity of the gate.
Once inside the gate, however, Vantaiga’s confusion was buried beneath the wonderment of the inner city. Within its walls, things were orderly and almost quiet— peaceful even, compared to the chaos she was accustomed to.
Vantaiga marvelled at the clean streets and the healthy, well-dressed people. The merchants conducted business patiently and without shouting to gathering customers. Those who travelled the streets on foot did so briskly and with direction and purpose. Those who travelled by cart or litter did so without hesitation or interruption. The orderly atmosphere lifted a burden from Vantaiga’s mind. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed quiet and wondered how anything could be bad about this place.
The pair made their way along the uncrowded streets. Vantaiga was impressed by the size and refinement of the buildings that surrounded her. The names of some were engraved directly into the stone. Others held wooden signs by their doorways painted in bright colours.
But what struck Vantaiga the most was the smooth white stone that shone with the reflection of the sun. She pulled her shawl further over her head for some relief from the glare. This also shielded her from the looks of the people as she passed. She realised she must stand out in her worn peasant clothes among such beautiful citizens.
As they made their way deeper into the city, shops the smelled of spices and factories that smelled of burning wood gave way to the residential area. The walls remained as tall and glaring as before but were now the windowless barriers of courtyards, broken by the occasional fountain or park. Vantaiga was amazed to see that even in this time of drought, they had water for fountains and public gardens.
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What kind of garden might her new employer have?
They came to a second wall and gate. This wall was unguarded and smaller than the first wall that had kept the refugees at bay. Vantaiga’s guide turned away from this new gate. “That is the way to the lords and the Royal Palace. We will not be entering that way.” She directed her charge down a side street. “We will go through our own entrance.”
Vantaiga got a small thrill out of the thought that her new employer was one of the lords of the city.
She wondered how grand the house must be. Would she possibly have her own room? She knew her family would be impressed to see her working for such an affluent household. Homesickness began to creep back into her consciousness. She realised she did not know where she was and how she would find her family again. She could smell the river from here, but that was little help to her. Perhaps the head maid would help her when the time came.
Her escort stopped at a smaller courtyard wall jutting out of the city’s secondary wall. This new wall held its own closed wooden gate with a heavy wooden door next to it as the servants’ entrance. Next to that door was a small tower and guardhouse. A lone guard acknowledged the head maid from a window opening and then disappeared.
A sick uneasiness began to fill Vantaiga’s stomach. In the shadows of the small side street, the walls now seemed hard and oppressive, the distance to her tent home hopelessly far. Questions and doubts began to swirl in her head. Would she know what to do? Would the other servants be friends? When would she see her mother again? She fidgeted while she struggled for the courage to question the head maid.
A sudden clank startled Vantaiga as the door’s latch lifted. The grinding of its old hinges sent a shiver down her spine. The gatekeeper greeted the head maid. “So, this is to be the new girl?” the guard spoke as he looked Vantaiga over. “Not much to her. Couldn’t you find one with some meat on her?” He escorted the two through a small dirt courtyard.
Vantaiga no longer knew if she wanted the job, but she also did not want to upset her new employer. Unsure of how to quell her doubts, her head began to swim and numbness came over her as the head maid ushered her on.
The old woman absently continued her conversation with the guard. “Healthy girls are hard to come by with the famine.”
“There are lots of healthy foreign girls in the market. Wouldn’t they be less trouble than a local?”
The head maid shot him a silencing look. “The mistress wants someone that speaks the language for her daughters. We’ll see what this one is worth.”
Their words added to Vantaiga’s uneasiness; however, the thought of working for young girls or perhaps someone her own age comforted her. She wanted to ask more about whom she would be serving but felt even more awkward than before with the guard in front of them. The three came to another heavy door. The guard opened it and then closed it behind them as the two women stepped inside.
The door thudded with an ominous boom that echoed in the black chamber Vantaiga now found herself in. Two windows let in the light but not enough to allow her sun-washed eyes to see. The head maid grabbed Vantaiga’s wrist and pulled her along.
The pair entered a narrow side hallway. Open windows in the ceiling filled this hall with enough light for her to make out rough-hewn stone walls with many doors along its length. A glaring light shone through the exit at the far end. Vantaiga assumed that would be the main courtyard.
The head maid stopped at an open door and stepped aside to let Vantaiga enter. She followed her, closing the door behind them. The room seemed very much like the hallway, with its only light coming from an opening in the ceiling. The only item in the room was a long wooden bench. On the bench looked to be folded clothing.
The head maid gestured towards the clothes. “You’ll need to put that on before going further.”
Vantaiga looked at the woman before stepping over to the bench and lifting the clothes. As she looked them over, her confusion deepened; it was a plain, sleeveless linen dress. She turned towards the head maid. “These are slave’s clothes.”
A long silence followed as Vantaiga’s growing fear made her chest pound and her head faint.
The older woman addressed the young woman darkly, “Yes, you are a slave now.”
The room spun around. Tears welled up in Vantaiga’s eyes and blood pounded in her head. “No… No. Where’s my mother? I’m not a slave.” She rushed to the door, but the head maid put up her arm to stop her. The old woman’s strength was unyielding and Vantaiga stumbled back as if she had struck a tree limb. Vantaiga protested, “I’m not a slave!” She clutched the clothes to her chest in futile defence against the reality bombarding her. “I’m not a slave. Go ask my mother. I’m not a slave.”
She started to sob.
The head maid’s expressionless manner broke and gave way to a hint of sadness and resignation. “Very well, then; stay here.” She turned and left the room, locking the door behind her.
[LitRPG] [Cultivation] [Crafting] [Smart MC]
Synopsis (Click to Expand)
To transcend the heavens, one must first forge the ladder.
He is a Cultivator who values volume over speed.
He is a Chronicler who will not stop at the sky.