Vantaiga paced the room, pounding her shoulder with one of her fists. “My mother will fix this. It’s a mistake. I’m not a slave. She’ll tell them I’m not a slave.” She paced the room more vigorously, her breath becoming short and rapid. Her family was such a long way away. How long would she have to wait before she could talk to her mother?
Vantaiga looked around the room. With her eyes fully adjusted, she could see now it was unkempt, with many marks on the walls. Through the initial smell of dust and the dirt floor, the air contained a faint, bittersweet stench Vantaiga could not recognize. Perhaps it was the acrid smell of old sweat, perhaps something else.
It wasn’t long before the sound of the door unlocking broke the swirling terror in Vantaiga’s mind. She rushed to the door hoping to grasp her mother, but instead, a tall man stepped into the room. With a slight gesture of his hand the door closed behind him without a sound.
Vantaiga stopped with a gasp. She bowed her head and then looked at him. “Please, sir, it’s a mista—”
Her words cut off in her throat as the strange man raised two fingers. “You will keep your head bowed.” An immense force placed itself on top of Vantaiga’s head and pushed her gaze to the floor. “I am the Master of Servants. You will not address me unless I say so.” A pressure clenched around Vantaiga’s throat. “And you do not want to provoke my anger.”
The pressure intensified, cutting off Vantaiga’s breath. Her ears began to ring. The room began to waver and a sense of falling came over her. Too frightened to understand what was happening, Vantaiga let her senses fall away. Then suddenly, the pressure on her throat stopped. Vantaiga sucked in a breath and stabilised her footing but was still unable to lift her gaze.
The Master of Servants spoke casually. “There is no mistake. You are a slave.” He waved his hands and the slave dress slid across the floor to Vantaiga’s feet. “You were sold to us by your mother. You now belong to us and will do as we say.”
Vantaiga wanted to protest, but she was too petrified to speak.
Her tall tormentor looked over Vantaiga’s thin frame. “I think you should be grateful to be a slave with us. Here, you will be fed. When was the last time you ate?”
Choked with fear and the force still on her head, Vantaiga struggled to whisper, “I don’t know.”
The man quipped, “There, then you will eat tonight. Already you are living better here. Now put on the clothes.”
Vantaiga pushed through her fear for a faint protest. “No… I’m not a slave.”
The man looked momentarily shocked. He then gave a harsh yell. “Fine!”
Vantaiga’s nerves vibrated with fright. With the growl of an unrecognizable word and twist of his fingers, her clothes were torn from her body and rendered to shreds about the room. Vantaiga yelped as she clasped her arms about her in a vain attempt to conceal herself.
The Master of Servants approached her to stand only inches away. In the cold room and her naked state, she could feel heat emanating from his body. Terror pulled the air from her lungs and made her shake. Her stepbrother and stepsister had told her stories of what happens to slaves.
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Looking away from him, she meekly stammered, “Are you going to do things to me?”
The man laughed with amusement. “You are a slave! I would never touch someone such as you.” An irresistible force crashed on top of Vantaiga. Her knees buckled, and she stumbled to the ground. She braced herself on the dirt floor. Before her was the slave’s outfit. “Now put on the clothes.”
From within Vantaiga, strength began to build. She had faced death before, and the gods had granted her life. Now they would have to do it again. She lifted her head against the Master’s magical force. The bones of her spine and shoulders protruded through her emaciated frame as her muscles clenched against the ribs of her back.
She could only manage to raise her gaze to his knees, but she still spoke with defiance. “I am not a slave!”
At first, the man looked surprised at such strength from the girl. Then his face turned red with anger. Defiance from a girl was not tolerated in this world. Vantaiga felt the warmth radiating from the man’s body drain away to be replaced by a chill that seeped into her naked skin.
Cool wisps of fog formed on the man’s robe. She had heard of magic but had never seen anyone wield it. She could feel the heat of her body being pulled out of her. The fog thickened and drifted downwards to form a chilled stream that soothed her straining hands.
There were more strange words from the man. A force grabbed Vantaiga and sent her flying through the air. Panic filled her as she sailed, seemingly weightless, across the room. The far wall raced towards her, and the feeling of weightlessness ended with an abrupt crash as her shoulder smashed into the wall.
A blinding flash of stars streaked across her vision as her head hit the rough stone, blood and spit splattering onto the wall. The shock was washed away by an agonising shudder that swept across her frame. She gasped and coughed in agony as streaks of pain played across her skin and sunk deep into her bones.
With a cry, she was again hurtled across the room. The opposite wall came upon her even faster than before. She struck the wall with her face and chest. The rough stone battered again into her body, driving her breath from her. Her face crashed into the stone with a sickening crunch that reverberated through her skull and rattled her teeth. A cry escaped her as she gagged. Her nose and mouth filled with the scent and taste of her own blood.
A third time, she was hurtled into the air. There was no cry this time as she tumbled. She hit the adjacent wall—the only sound the dull thud of her back and the ringing crack of her skull. She was unable to utter out for lack of air in her lungs. The room swirled in Vantaiga’s vision.
Vantaiga managed to draw in a ragged breath only to let it out in a cry of agony and horror. She tried to mouth a plea to the Master of Servants but could not form words. Blood and tears seeped down the young girl’s face and filled her nostrils with its scent. Despair overwhelmed her as she recognized it as the unknown stench earlier.
The force holding her against the wall began to increase. It turned into an immense pressure that stifled her cries, her shaking, and even her breath. It ground her head and back into the coarse edges of the stone. Her legs twisted unnaturally from her hips, her knees crushing together against the wall. Unable to move, or even close her eyes, Vantaiga stared at her new master.
She wanted to cry for her mother to take her home, but instead, the image of the small jingling pouch flashed before her. She wanted to cry for her mother to hold her, but instead, the image of the strange look shared with the head maid came to her. She wanted to cry for her mother to tell them it was a mistake, but instead, she was given the image of the city guard shaking his head. She wanted to cry to go home to her garden on the farm, but instead, the Master of Servants stepped forward and looked into Vantaiga’s wild eyes.
He opened his mouth with slow, deliberate words. “You are a slave, or you are dead.”
He released the girl, allowing her to fall into a quivering heap on the ground. He walked out of the room and with a final gesture of his hand, he slid the slave clothing in front of her. He locked the door behind him, leaving Vantaiga alone to cry away her pain and despair.