Fugitives: Chapter 1

    Mother's hand pressed into mine. “My child, you must flee. Flee this miserable, godforsaken country, and go to Lythel. There you will be safe, and no longer be a slave.”

    I clutched her hand. “But, Mother! What about you?”

    She shook her head. “Taraketh is buying you. We will be separated, but we will always be together.” She smiled fondly at me, and held me close. Her beautiful amber eyes, too large against her pale face, which was the color of birch bark, were filled with tears, and her blonde hair gently framed her heart-shaped face. I was a mini version of her looks, except I wasn't as pale as she was.

    “Alright; she's yours,” I heard Kerridon, our owner, say distantly. There was the clink of money as he put some coins in his pocket.

    I felt a rough hand on my shoulder, and I was jerked from my mother, who gasped. “MOTHER!” I screamed, tears falling down my cheeks. I struggled against my captor, trying to reach her.

    The person who bought me, Taraketh, tried to subdue me, but I would not be subdued. I needed to reach my mother. I couldn't leave her alone, not after what had happened to my father. Who was going to look after her? Who was going to look after me? I needed her, and she needed me.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kerridon reach for the whip, and I finally freed myself from Taraketh. The only reason I was able to do that was because I was stronger than I looked. I ran to her again, and hugged her fiercely, sobbing.

    Kerridon grabbed me away from her, ignoring Mother's pleas for mercy, and brought the whip down on my back. The stinging lash of the whip felt like fire as I felt it cut into my back, and I screamed with pain.

    He brought it down on my back again and again, until I was cowering on the ground, almost near blacking out. Mother was crying her eyes out, screaming for Kerridon to stop, while being held back by another slave woman called Methisia.

    “Haven't you whipped that slave enough?” a commanding voice asked, almost imperiously. Immediately, Kerridon stopped whipping me, and I raised my head, peeking through my dirty, honey-colored hair.

   A tall young man, dressed in the royal red colors, strode forward and took the whip from Kerridon, who backed away. He had long, shoulder-length brown hair, hard blue eyes, and a white scar starting from his hairline on the left side of his face to his chin on the right. There was murmurs all around us, saying, “Prince Esryn.”

    Prince Esryn fixed his gaze on Kerridon. “A couple whips is good enough. Not that much.” He turned to Taraketh. “Take your slave and leave this place. Now.” As Taraketh pulled me up, Esryn turned and studied me. I was delirious, crying softly, but otherwise keeping silent.

    “What is your name, slave?” he asked.

    I swallowed. “K-Kya, Your Highness.”

    “I will keep watch for you, Kya.” He turned and walked away.

    Taraketh tied me up in a wagon in the back with a slave who looked to be in her thirtieth year. Then Taraketh left, and went back inside. The woman in the wagon with me had long, fire-red hair, and warm green eyes. She was a little on the plump side, but had a friendly and kind demeanor about her. In some ways, she reminded me of my mother. Thinking of my mother, I started to cry.

    The woman slave drew me to her, and placed me on her lap. “Hush, little one,” she murmured, holding me. “My name is Jineya. I'll look after you.”