Legends of Belariath
Onyx
She approached the building with the sign of the quill and scroll dangling above the door. A glance at the sun confirmed that it was time for her appointment with the scribe, and so she stepped inside, squinting against the darkness.
The bells on the door jingled, alerting the man behind the desk to her presence. He was human, with the fair features of his kind. Dark hair tousled down to his shoulders, matching the brown of his eyes, which seemed to light up as she entered.
“Welcome.” He greeted her warmly, motioning to the chair before him. “Are you Miss onyx?”She nodded her head in affirmative, offering him a smile of return. Taking his offer, she moved to settle herself in the seat before the desk, watching as he prepared himself for dictation. He was meticulous, carefully moving the parchment closer to him and lifting the quill. The ink well was set to the side, capped so that it would not spill. He carefully removed the cap, setting it next to the well. His desk was neat and clean, no ink blots anywhere. Next, he set a cloth within easy reach of his writing space.
“I don’t know where to begin.” She confessed to him, turning her gaze away in thought.
“At the beginning of course.”
She nodded her head, chewing her lip in thought. “Yes, of course…” she mused lightly, shifting in her seat.
“My name is onyx, and this is my story. I grew up in a village that had no name, perhaps a week’s ride from here, perhaps more. I don’t recall parents. Its speculated that they may have been taken in a raid, as so many of our kind are. My earliest memories consist of a shack just outside the village, where a group of us kits – none of us of a mature age – lived together. The older kits taught us younger ones how to cook, clean, hunt and forage.” A wistful smile touched her lips as she paused, loosing herself in the memories of those days for just a moment.
“Those were good memories. We really were a family, and we worked together to survive. As such, I grew up in much the normal way…loved and cared for, learning to care for myself. I played in the sun when my chores were done, I slept on a mattress or thrush or hay, always with another kit for warmth. We had enough wood for cooking fires, and even enough to keep us warm through the night. We weren’t rich, but we got along and were happy. The adults in the village helped to look out for us, though they pretty much left us on our own. It was like that for many years, I was just another generation of lost kits. I wasn’t very old when…” she paused again, her brows furrowed slightly. An unpleasant memory, it seemed.
“When they came. I don’t know who they were, and I can’t even be sure what race anymore. Perhaps they were Tribesmen, or Barbarian. They came in the middle of the night, shouting their war cries. I can still hear the sounds, the screaming, and the fire. The clang of metal against metal as our men fought to defend families. Many were taken that night, sold into slavery or worse we suppose. I was lucky I escaped. I don’t know exactly how. The oldest kits gathered the young ones, scuttling us out the back. One of the older girls stayed with us, leading us into the forest.” Again, she pauses, as if it were a struggle to recall the details. Or, perhaps, the memory was too vivid, painting a picture in her mind that she hadn’t wanted to look at for some time.
“From there, we scattered. I don’t know what happened to the others, even the girl who led us away. I don’t think the village is there anymore, but I’ve never gone back to see. I survived in the forest for many moons, foraging and hunting to the best of my ability. I avoided all others out of fear. Eventually, I began to travel. I couldn’t tell you where anymore, one place is much like any other. I earned a living, of sorts, hunting for meat. I provided it for merchants and stores, along with the skins to turn into leathers. It gave me enough to buy clothing and weapons. I came here, more than likely thinking I’d do the same. I never did. I’ve been here a year, perhaps a little more. This place is different, in that it seems to hold you captive, smothering you against its breast.
It is here that I’ve learned my greatest lessons, and met those I love. I met Master Krom first. He’s not what people think he is. I think he has been my greatest teacher, for he does everything with a purpose and a lesson.” Again she smiled, looking up at the scribe who was busy scribbling the words flowing from her lips. She waited for him to finish and look up at her before continuing.
“It was Valardghast who collared me and taught me the cruelties of slavery, and of love. I learned that love does not conquer all, and that it isn’t always returned. He never told me why he let me go. I was sold to Master Link. He is a kind soul, perhaps a little too kind for me to bear. I have gotten used to the cruelties of those who claim dominance, and sometimes, I think I crave it. It’s a darker side of myself that I don’t often care to admit to.
Master Link set me free. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t believe I was strong enough to make it on my own anymore. Master Krom taught me different. He taught me that there is no weakness in what I am, what I’ve become. He taught me to take pride in myself, and that I can make it without a Master to collar me. Master Kaleb saw fit to collar me, to desire me as his own.” Another pause as her hand lifted, fingers touching her now bare neck wistfully. Her features flowed into a frown, a sadness lingering in her eyes.
“He taught me that even in cruelty there could be love. I love him still, and if he would return, I would beg for him to make me his. But, I have not seen my Master in many moons, and I’ve been made to move on. This is where my story ends, for now. I am a free slave, living my life as I know how.”
She waited for the scribe to finish, listening to the sound of the scratching of the quill against parchment. Her hand dropped to her lap, fingers toying with the pouch around her