Legends of Belariath
Juusii`Cleito
A hand roughly shakes her shoulder, waking her. She starts, and looks at the woman standing over her, a dimly lit lantern in hand. “Mother?” A work-worn hand covers her mouth, silencing her – words whispered and hissed in her ear. “Shush. You must leave. I will not see you sold to that evil man.” Covers are thrown back and she is roughly pulled from her bed. A small sack of provisions and the lantern are thrust into her hands. The girl is alarmed, frightened, even. “ But, Mother... he will kill you!” A hand cracks across her cheek, leaving a blossom of pain. She gasps and stares – she had never been hit by her mother before. However, she remains quiet and listens as she is roughly escorted to the door of the small farmhouse. “You are the youngest, most beautiful, brightest, and have the most potential of all my children... but you were born with a bad hip, and you are not a son. I will not see -him- ruin your life any longer, nor make you suffer more, for these things. It is my failing that I could give him only daughters, not yours.” The door is opened quietly, and she suddenly finds herself shoved outside in nothing but a thin bedgown. “Run girl! Don't look back! And never become like me!” She stands there, staring, until a rock is picked up and thrown, hitting her in the shoulder. “Go!” She turns, stumbles as another rock strikes her in the back, then runs... never looking back.
Hepzibah Doolittle sat huddled on the portico, hidden amongst the myriads of huge potted plants that lined the columned porch in front of the house. It wasn't the largest house in Blackwater Port but, for some reason, it had drawn her. The sun was just above the rooftops, casting its morning light onto the eastern-facing porch, making the top of her golden head shine brightly from between the green foliage surrounding her hiding place. The girl was hungry and cold from her night on the porch. In fact, she had been hungry for several days. The small amount of food her mother had been able to give her had not lasted long, and perhaps Hepzibah had decided to stay here out of sheer desperation. She startled and drew herself into a ball, then peered through the foliage as the clicking of footsteps, mounting the stone steps of the portico, reached her ears. Leaning forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the person, she carelessly exposed her head further, then gasped in fright as she felt a hand close in her bright, golden locks.
“Well, what do we have here? A dirty girl in nothing but a night gown hiding on my porch?” Hepzibah looked up as she heard the confident, regal voice of a woman reach her ears, then just knelt there and stared in astonishment. The woman was beautiful – the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Brown eyes gazed at her critically as the woman stared at her, almost as if evaluating the girl whose wild, golden locks were clutched in her gloved grasp, and Hepzibah found herself casting her own moss green eyes downward. “Look at me...” The woman's free hand tucked under her chin and forced her to look back up, and Hepzibah could not help but stare in admiration of the beauty of that smooth, olive complexion, those crimson lips and cheeks. The woman's hair was arranged intricately atop her head, and the morning sun glinted off the dozens of diamonds scattered amongst the glossy, black coils. The woman actually smiled, then turned and entered her house, dragging the frightened Hepzibah after her by her hair in an assertive, but not hurtful, manner.
Hepzibah looked up, startled as the gentle tones of a bell seemed to echo through the marbled entranceway, to see the woman pulling on a thick, silken rope. At least a dozen slaves appeared from seemingly nowhere, smiling and bowing or curtseying. Smiling, the woman released the rope, and the last echoes of the bell faded. “Madame has a guest, my darlings.” Hepzibah suddenly found herself pushed forward – not roughly, but not gently. She sprawled on the cold marble tiles, then dared to look up into the faces of the smiling slaves. Hands reached out to grasp her, helping her to her feet as the Madame's command issued forth with the silky confidence of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. “Bathe her, dress her in a simple chemise, then bring her to me... perhaps I have found you a new sister, my darling sons and daughters.” Hepzibah gasped as hands ripped the thin bedgown from her body, but could not protest as she was drawn out through a courtyard and to the baths.
“You're killing her!” The woman's scream is muffled by the thick, straw mattress bearing down on her. Mother? Was that mother? The weight increases, and she struggles to breath. Body limp, coated with sweat, starved for air, the blackness overwhelming her, she still hears her father's cruel response. “Good.” She would sob if she could, scream, struggle, do something... instead she feels herself slowly drifting away into the dark, her mind not even able to protest. There is a loud clang that doesn't even register, and then she gasps as the mattress is thrown off of her, cool air surrounding her and filling her lungs. Tender hands caress her face, willing her to look up, and she smiles weakly at her mother before she loses consciousness.
Hepzibah screamed, then choked as warm bath water flooded her mouth, threatening to fill her lungs. Thrashing desperately, she tried to fight off those hands that kept forcing her beneath the water, but it was no use. They scrubbed her relentlessly, soap getting in her eyes, nose, and mouth, making her sputter and cough as they dunked her again. Merciless hands held her beneath the water as she jerked and flailed helplessly, her wide-open, panic-filled eyes staring up at their laughing faces from her watery prison. Suddenly, a crack echoed like a lightning strike through the baths, followed by a voice filled with absolute authority and undeniable anger. “ENOUGH!”
(To be continued...)