1. A Fight for Freedom�Ari

I know, it's not very good. But oh well. Just something to kill time. Tell me what you think of it. Oh and sorry, but I love jumbling up letters and calling it a name. haha. Hafeaus: hay-fee-us Ari: are-ee

1. A Fight for Freedom—Ari  

I stiffened as Lord Hafeaus’s callused hand struck me full in the face. My upper lip split open, and my lightly tanned cheek stung and flushed crimson, but still I stood tall and defiant. He hit me again, this time with the flat of his highly polished sword, and I crashed to the cold, stone floor from the force of his blow. As I struggled to my feet, he kicked me hard in the chest, and I fell back, gasping in pain, sure I had broken a rib. Blood oozed from the numerous cuts and scrapes that adorned my battered form.

 “So Ari, you thought you could escape from me?” He advanced slowly and surely, like an arrogant wolf, confident he had his prey cornered. I stood with my jaw clenched tightly, my chin slightly raised, and my hard, emerald green eyes glaring with unsuppressed rage and hate.

            “I will!” My feet were a shoulder’s width apart, and I was balanced on the balls of my feet. I rocked back and forth, dancing lightly from foot to foot.

             “You won’t,” he snarled, deadly quiet.

I leapt at him faster than the eye could follow, but he anticipated the move and sidestepped while simultaneously, whipping his blade up to cut a rude mark upon my left cheek.

I cried out in shock and surprise, wheeling to face him once more. I growled –a low, feral sound that emanated from the back of my throat –and crouched, staring up at him like a trapped animal.

            “So, you finally realize who your master is.” He laughed harshly and continued. “Come, and I will personally give you the fifty lashes due to attacking one of my stature. Consider it an honor.” He smiled–an unpleasant sight.

           “I am my own master,” I stated quietly, and with those simple words, I was upon him once more.

          Lord Hafeaus slashed at my side and sliced a curving a mark that ran along the lower portion of my right ribcage. Although it was shallow, it brought me a new wave of pain, and I had to bite back a sharp cry of agony. I replied in kind by hammering him with stunning blows from my clenched fists. As I battered him back, he feigned at my head, and as I ducked to avoid the silver flash of steel, he stabbed at my stomach. I parried the blow by whipping my hand down to catch the tip of the sword at the last second so that it instead bit into that back of my left wrist.

My hand went limp, and pain rushed up my arm like a bolt of lightning. With a scream of rage, hate, and agonizing pain, I leapt at him, biting, kicking, and punching with all my might despite the pain that emanated from my wrist every time it came into contact with something. Lord Hafeaus dropped his sword as he fell unconscious beneath the ferocious onslaught, but before he succumbed to the darkness that pressed in upon him from all sides, he cried out for his guards. I whirled to face the approaching men, and harshly kicked the limp lord in the side one last time before bounding from the room.

            As I raced  from the prison, I felt the sting of arrows biting into my upper thighs and lower back, felt the blaze of pain shoot up my spine, felt the anger and yearning for freedom building up inside me, and, defying my body’s limits, continued onward, my breath coming in ragged, torn fragments. Just as I was about to reach the boundaries of the lord’s land, just as I was about to step forward, I tripped, my leg caught by a long whip locked in place as a tightly as any chain or shackle. I felt myself being pulled back like a fish being reeled in, and I struggled to escape, my hands clawing desperately at crumbling handfuls of loose dirt. I let out a mournful, weeping howl of despair, and felt a body crash onto my own, cutting my cry short.

            A dagger slashed at me, and I faintly heard a man yelling in pain as I clubbed at his head, sides, and stomach. I managed to slip out of the whip’s hold and scramble away from him. As I began to run again, the young man threw the dagger at me. I dropped to all fours to avoid the knife, but it was enough to momentarily stop me, and he was upon me once more. I heard the man’s companions approaching and struggled more urgently, trying to escape, but the man had me in a bear hold that was slowly squeezing the life out of me.

            I would rather die than live in this prison as a slave, I thought bitterly. But better to live to see another day than to die now. 

I went limp and struggled free, biting the man in the arm, my teeth going deep into his skin, staining the pearl white a gory, ruby red. I roared ferociously and kicked the man in the face, breaking his nose, and forcing the shattered bones deep into his brain. Blood spurted like a fountain of scarlet, but I paid no heed as I dashed from the scene. I’d seen enough of my own blood spilled, and it wouldn’t do to be squeamish. As I bounded to the welcoming cover of the forest’s dense undergrowth, I felt a throwing ax find purchase deep in my upper back. Pain lanced from the wound with such fervor and strength that I fell to my knees, gasping, the ground spinning wildly.

           I felt the strength seep from my bones, heard the men approaching, knew that they were lifting me onto their broad shoulders, but I analyzed it in a disconnected way, and it didn’t seem real. The only thing that was registered completely in my system, the only feeling that reached me, was the agonizing pain that dimmed every other sense with its ferocity. All that mattered was the crimson blood that flowed freely from around the blade of the ax. I forgot everything as the throb of my back extended itself across my other feelings and senses. It delved into the deepest confines of my mind, seeking me out and bringing me into full awareness of my torture.

           I forgot all of the pride and courage that I had possessed a moment before the ax had struck. I couldn’t even scream it was so painful. All the air had been pressed out of my lungs, and all of my energy was being used in the struggle to stay alive. Tears streaked down my face, mingling with the scarlet blood from my slashed cheek.

I gasped in an effort to remain conscious, afraid that if I slept then I might sleep forever.

            Lord Hafeaus walked steadily out of his stone hold, waiting for the coming men, knowing the burden they grasped, and anticipating how sweet the taste of the revenge he would soon deal out would be upon his thin, pale lips.

            “Apparently you still haven’t learned.” He paused and turned to the assembled guards. “See if she survives the night, and if she does then give her fifty lashes at dawn and another fifty at dusk. Give her no assistance or help during the night.” His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a cold, dark smile. “That is all.” With that dismissal, Lord Hafeaus gathered his rich, ruby red cloak about himself like a veil of crimson blood and swept disdainfully back into his dismal keep.

            A wave of fury roared in my ears, and despite my grievous injuries, I struggled to retaliate. A burly man from the group pressed gently on my back, and, although the pressure was slight, it sent pain lancing from the wound. Dizziness engulfed me, and my world became a black expanse.