"I'll see you soon, my dear," she murmured as she lay back against the hard bed, her head upon a thin pillow. Above her, the low ceiling hung grim, grime and old cobwebs clinging to the wood like diseased flesh, a visual complement to the taste left in her mouth by the potion she had just imbibed. She could hear the breathing of Toddir, seated nearby upon an old chair, concern and resignation rolling off him like mist upon a hill. His worry accentuated her own feelings, making the decision she had made seem so much more fraught than it should be but she was glad he was watching over her nonetheless. As the rain began to fall anew outside, her last thought was for Rhaug.
I hope he doesn't catch cold...
The sedative in the vile brew worked swiftly, overtaking her senses, bolstering her exhaustion until she could fight it no more. Her eyes fell closed, her mind being pulled away and down, down into the black.
The scream sounded first. It always did. A scream of pain, of terror, and then the sobs followed by a voice, her voice, begging in vain for mercy. She could feel the rough straw of the barn floor against her back, pushing through the thin and worn clothing she sported, pricking uncomfortably into her skin. She could smell the manure of the horses emanating from the stalls she had been cleaning before this untimely interruption. She concentrated on them. Unpleasant as they were, they were preferable to the push of his knee against her thigh, the numbness of her fingers from the painful constriction of his hands around her wrists, the hot breath against her cheek and his laughter in her ear.
"Fight me," he begged.
A shake of her head, a soft whimper from her followed by more hoarse laughter from him. It was better not to fight. He would go no easier on her, but at least she wouldn't be punished further. Once, the first time, she had tried to fight him off. Her efforts had left the faintest bruise upon his chest. She could still feel the sting of the whip his mother had used to teach her never to raise a hand to her half-siblings again. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying for all the world to convince herself that this wasn't happening...
And suddenly it wasn't. She could still hear the whimpers though, his voice, the rustle of the straw. Vision restored in spite of herself, she watched the scene play out with the most profound horror. The positions hadn't changed, the meaning or memory remained intact with only one difference; the girl on the floor was no longer her.
Eithwyn!
She reached forward, hands grasping at air. Her feet would not move. Rooted in place by nothing and everything, she fought in vain to reach the child she had once saved, hoping desperately to save her again. Thaelan turned his head, a grin distorted by purest malice only heightened her horror further. Eyes burning with scorn, lust and derision burned into her, taking her breath away.
"You think you were the only one?" he laughed, increasing his grip upon the child until she cried out once again. "You were just the one who started it!"
She tried to scream her fury, her anguish, her helplessness, but no sound was forthcoming. Her gaze tore away from the pair, caught by a flash of white in the doorway. Their father! He had entered the barn. Surely he would put an end to this atrocity? Surely he would help the girl? He paused, staring blankly at them for what seemed an age. He grunted quietly and turned away, walking back outside.
"How could you?" she finally screamed after him. "How could you leave her there like this? How could you have left me?"
The only answer she received was the thud of the door closing and the renewed laughter of Thaelan. It echoed in her ears, punching deeply into her soul like...
Thwack!
"Hit her again," the woman commanded.
Thud!
"Again, Anansis! Put some effort into it!"
Crack!
Was that a bone, she wondered, or had the stick broken? She hurt so much and in so many places that it was no longer easy to tell.
"Get up!"
She struggled to do as she was told, the welts already rising pulled tightly at her skin, but to do anything else would be seen as defiance and that would only make things worse. She lifted her gaze from the spilled milk on the stone floor to the cool countenance of her eldest brother and from there to the smug face of his mother. The woman glared, silently promising harsher treatment to come if she didn't move more quickly. Light streamed in through the small window behind them, stinging her eyes, forcing her to lower her gaze once more, but not before she saw her father watching on dispassionately. Gritting her teeth she pushed upwards, trying desperately to do as she was bid...
Then she was falling. Tumbling head over heels down and down, slender body thumping into the ground and, seemingly, into every concealed stone along the slope as behind her, Yanna screamed out that she deserved each and every jolt for the tearing of a dress that she had never before seen, never mind touched. Rolling uncontrollably, the world around her a blur of green and brown and white, she was stopped by a boot...
"Lick it," Aerlick spat, shoving it into her face. The worn brown leather had been made to shine only an hour before by her own hands. "You missed a spot. Lick it!"
She looked around, silently seeking support or help from one of the others. Four of her seven siblings stood around them, each with varying degrees of amusement or scorn. Their father stood nearby, disinterest writ large upon his stern features. None would help her. None would support her. Her only way out of this was to do as he wanted. She crawled forward, preparing to do as had been demanded only to be caught by a kick to the jaw. Her head snapped back and she was falling once more...
"Mutt!" she heard, the tone cruelly mocking.
"Half-breed!"
"Scum!"
"Waste of skin!"
"Savage!"
"It's your fault, Sairona! Everything is your fault!"
"Why are you here? Why did you come?"
"No one wants you here! No one loves you! Crawl back into the pit that spawned you!"
The door slammed shut, steel snapping against steel with an awful finality. The lock was turned. There was no way out. Trapped in the dark, in a little cupboard too low to stand in and too slim to move properly, she crouched with her knees hugged up to her chin, tears rolling silently down her ruddy cheeks.
But this wasn't right. The cubby had been built of wood, not metal. This wasn't the homestead. This wasn't her childhood. This was a dream! She wasn't a child anymore. She wasn't helpless anymore. They couldn't hold her back, they couldn't shut her in.
With that knowledge came determination. Balling her hands into fists, she punched at the walls and the door again and again. Her knuckles began to bleed, leaving streaks of red, iridescent in the darkness, but still she railed against the unyielding confines of her cage. Her breath came hot and heavy, labored and strained as she fought the tight space, but she would not give up. Her fingers cracked, the fragile bones twisting at odd angles, but she would not give in. Nothing would stop her from breaking free.
Nothing!
