Here Shines the Sun (16 page)

She saw Callad’s lips purse into a displeased frown. He sighed and shook his head. “You know people have been going missing over in Ragtown these last few days.”

“I’ll be careful.” promised Kierza. “Besides, it’s a sunny day.”

Callad shook his head. “If the Sisters come…”

“I’ll come home right away, I promise.”

Callad eyed her. “The moment those bells start ringing…” he said, shaking a finger at her.

“I know.” said Kierza.

“You be careful.” said Sierla as her husband affixed a couple charms to the bracelet. “You do not want to cross their path.”

“I’ll be careful,” Kierza promised. Callad tossed her the bracelet and she looked it over quickly. There was a charm with a picture of a towel on it for Ragtown, the poorest section of the city, as well as one with a picture of a coin and the number ‘10’ on it. Kierza frowned. “Can I get one for twenty? And one for the Northside Market too?” asked Kierza. “I’d like to—”

“No.” said Callad firmly. “You go see your brother and come right back home. I don’t want you or Rook out any longer than you have to be today.”

She sighed and stood from her seat. She hooked the bracelet around her wrist. “I’ll be back soon.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The warm summer sun held high in the cloudless, blue sky but few of its rays penetrated the narrow alleys of what people called Ragtown, the easternmost section of Bellus best known for its cheap taverns, pleasure houses and pawn shops. Down the main avenue were a handful of makeshift stands selling last week’s produce and meats of dubious edibility for pennies a pound. Few people strolling the streets here were without slave brands and there was nobody to shovel away the manure left by the horse-drawn wagons that came and went. The high, stone buildings that surrounded Kierza were apartments for the poor or slaves who came of age and had managed to purchase their freedom. From the windows, antiquated clothing hung to dry and the dirt roads were muddy in spots from horse urine and sewage that had backed up from the drains. The plumbing in Ragtown was sketchy at best and heavy rains caused major flooding in the roads. The entire place always stank of trash and sewage. Once again Kierza found herself lamenting that a missing nose didn’t mean a lack of olfactory senses.

Kierza turned down a narrow avenue lined on either side by dilapidated buildings of brick and plaster. On her left was a tall structure in better repair than those that surrounded it. Upon the stone steps that led up to its heavy, oaken doors were a number of slender ladies whose veils concealed more than the rest of their clothing. They swayed seductively as men passed by, batting their eyes or dropping a strap from their shoulder. The second and third story windows were opened to let in the summer breeze, but their drawn curtains did little to conceal the moans and pantings coming from within. Kierza frowned in disgust. She hated this part of town.

Across the street was her brother, Chazod’s, apartment. It was a tall building of old stone marred by sloppy patches of plaster that sealed up the holes and cracks. Upon the steps sat a number of men in dirty outfits. They lazily sipped at their bottles of cheap rum as they watched the ladies across the way. Kierza steeled herself as she came upon them. She knew them all; they lived in the same building as her brother. None of them were slaves, just destitute drunkards. They weren’t usually too bad unless they were a few pints in. Their brown eyes scanned her up and down as she came up the steps of the building. One of the doors had bent hinges and was always hanging open, even in the winter. “Spare a penny?” asked one of the men. He held out a dirty hand.

It was far from typical to ask a slave girl for spare change. Firstly, because slaves generally were not given any extra money than what they needed to run their master’s errands. Secondly, because slaves were beaten if they so much as lost a penny. However, Kierza had a far more comfortable life than other slaves. It wasn’t really a secret that she and Rook were known for their generosity, and it had gotten Callad and Sierla in trouble more than once over the years. Slaves were not allowed to earn wages but it was often overlooked because Rook would furnish the city guards with finer swords and armor than they could actually afford.

Kierza gave the men a faint smile. She reached in her pocket and dropped a couple silver nickles into each of their hands.

“Thank you,” said one. “Aeoria bless you,” said the other.

“Kierza,” called a familiar voice. She turned and saw her brother standing in the darkened alley between his apartment and the next. He beckoned to her with a shake of his head. “Come on.”

Kierza looked around. She hated strolling these streets. Not only were there thugs, but the city guard were far more suspicious of people here and often stopped every slave to check their bracelets and pat them down for contraband. “Can’t we go upstairs?”

“Nyal’s there.” he said.

Kierza frowned. She hated Nyal. Like her brother, he had partially bought his freedom when he turned twenty-one, the legal age in which a slave could do so, provided they had the funds. It was no easy feat, since slaves couldn’t technically earn wages. Usually it had to be done by working odd jobs for other slave owners on the promise that they would eventually pay for your freedom. In Chazod’s and Nyal’s case, they had fought extra matches in the arena. Chazod had earned enough that his master, Grandon Faust, let him live on his own. The bracelet around Chazod’s wrist had a single charm on it, one with an engraving of a house and a circle around it, denoting that he was a ‘free slave’. A few hundred more crowns and her brother could truly be a free man and he would get a charm with a tower on it. Unfortunately, due to the brands given all slaves on their necks, true freedom was never guaranteed. A bracelet with that charm could be just as much a curse and many a man and woman were slain for them.

Kierza sighed as she looked at her brother. He was dressed in a dingy suit of well-used leather armor whose steel studs were all red with rust. Upon his left hip hung a sword of respectable quality and on his right hung the dagger Rook had given him all those years ago when he had won her from Grandon Faust. His long, brown hair partially covered his green eyes and the battle scars that stained his face. He gave her a skewed smile. She looked around again. “Is it safe?” she asked.

Although it wasn’t uncommon for people to go missing from Ragtown—murder, robbing and rape were all commonplace crimes—it had been happening more regularly these last few days. So much so, in fact, that even the local constable was ordering extra patrols here.

“Safe as it can be, I suppose.” said Chazod. “It’s this or deal with a drunken Nyal.”

With a sigh Kierza came back down the steps and followed Chazod into the narrow alley. “I don’t know why you live here.” she grumbled, wrapping her arms around her body as the shadows of the buildings closed in on her. The alley stank like beer and urine.

“Where else am I gonna live?” said Chazod as he kicked a rotten piece of wood from his path. His boot splashed into a stinking puddle of stars-know-what.

Kierza frowned. “Rook said you could come live with us.”

“Rook said,”
he mocked. “Fuck your boyfriend.”

“Then sell that dagger already.” said Kierza as the alley came to an intersection where the buildings from the rear jutted up to the other apartments, creating something of a labyrinth of alleys between the two parallel streets. “Rook said it will bring you a thousand crowns easy. Stop fighting for Grandon and get yourself out of this dump.”

“Sorry, but unlike you I couldn’t flash my tits to the first kid who came around and fuck my way into a better life.” said Chazod. “Besides, I’m saving this for when I’m free.” He patted the dagger at his waist. “It’s gonna buy me a cottage on the hill like you got, plus a whole lot of fine ass.”

Kierza rolled her eyes.

Chazod turned down one of the long alleys that ran behind the back of the buildings. Shafts of light cast their rays between the tall structures, making the puddles and wet trash glisten. Down the way, set against the cracked bricks of a building, was an old bench. Chazod walked up to it and kicked away the trash and rats before plopping himself down. He patted the rotten wood at his side. “Have a seat. It’s a beautiful day.”

Kierza looked around. “Can’t we sit out in the sun at least?”

“I like it here.” he said. “Sometimes I come out here and just sit by myself. It’s nice and quiet. I don’t like people walking around me. Besides, I got a fight this afternoon and I just wanna clear my mind.”

Kierza sat down next to him. She looked at his face. A deep scar ran along his right cheek and there was another on his left side where part of his earlobe was missing. She frowned. “Just sell it already. I’ll never even understand how you’ve kept it hidden from Grandon all these years. Sell it before he finds out and takes it from you.”

Chazod smirked. “You know, it’s funny. It’s like he’s blind to it. There were a few times growing up when I thought for sure he’d seen it, but he’d always just glance over it, like it wasn’t even there. That day, after your boyfriend stabbed me with it, I thought the first thing Grandon was going to do was take it, but he never even asked about it.” Chazod shrugged his shoulders.

Kierza looked at Chazod and sighed. She ran her finger down the scar upon his cheek. “Sell it. Stop fighting and go live your life.”

“Nah,” he said, forcing a little smile at her. “I kind of like fighting. Beats working Grandon’s forge. Unlike your boyfriend, I was never that good shaping steel; just fighting with it.” He stroked a calloused finger down her cheek to the base of her neck where he tugged at the silver chain of her necklace, pulling it from beneath her shirt. He grabbed the exposed heart-shaped pendant and rubbed it with his thumb.

For such a simple pendant there was an exquisite beauty to it. The value was not in the thin layer of silver that covered the cheap metal it was made from, but in the art. Its form had elegant flourishes, and intricate filigree of brass wire were set into it. It was a simple thing, but the artist who made it had poured his love and talent into its creation.

“I miss Ma.” said Chazod, staring at the pendant. “Sometimes I think about her, you know? She always wore this. It was the only thing that motherfucker let her keep when they took us away.” He took the thing from around her neck and held it in his hand, staring at it.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” asked Kierza, taking her brother’s other hand into hers.

Chazod hiked his shoulders. “I doubt it,” he flipped the pendant around and rubbed the back of it. “I like to think she’s dead. I like to think she’s not one of those used up whores working the pleasure houses. It’d be better that way, for her to be dead.” Chazod was silent for a moment. When at last he spoke his voice was quiet and subdued by memories. “Grandon could have bought her. He could have bought her and Pa when he took us.” He handed Kierza back the pendant and looked at her. He huffed a little laugh. “But I guess he didn’t need another whore in his bedroom or a beat up old man to fight in the arena. Only the best and youngest for Grandon Faust.”

Kierza put the necklace back on. They sat quietly together for a long while. “I miss you.” said Kierza at last. “Sometimes I wish we still lived together. Like we used to.”

Chazod frowned. “Why would you wish that? You got it made up there on the hill.”

“Because you’re my brother.” she said. “And no matter what, family should love each other.”

Chazod huffed. “Sounds like something Callad would tell you.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t love me. I used to beat you up and whore you out.”

“It’s in the past.” said Kierza. She stroked the deep, brown hair from his face and looked him in his eyes. “Sell that dagger. Get out of here and be happy.”

Chazod looked away. “Do you think it can be better for me somewhere else? I’ll always have this slave brand. And no matter how nice the Venzis are to you and your boyfriend, you’ll always have that brand too. And your face will never be whole. You were just a baby, but I have some memories of our home in Dimethica. I remember Ma and Pa always too afraid to leave the house; all the soldiers out in the streets.” He huffed. “In Jerusa they starve you. In Penatallia they torture you. In Dimethica you’re a prisoner in your own home. There is nowhere to be happy. Not for people like us.”

“There’s always hope.” said Kierza.

Chazod chuckled, still looking down at the ground. “Remember when Grandon used to let Maybelle take us to church?”

Kierza made a little smile. Maybelle was one of Grandon’s maidservants who used to tend the children he owned. “I do.”

“I remember Father Gerold once told us that above the gates of Hell hung a sign that read ‘Abandon all hope ye who enter here’.” He looked at Kierza. “Do you wanna know what I think? I think we live in Hell, and all hope was long lost.”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” said Kierza. “There is always hope.”

“Hoping is like wishing, but without knowing it’s just a dream.” said Chazod. He smiled at her. “Growing up with Grandon Faust doesn’t leave a lot of room for delusion.”

Kierza sighed. “There is always hope, Chazod.” she said. “Even for you.”

Chazod laughed. “Even for me? I don’t—”

The clamor of bells cut through the air and Chazod and Kierza locked eyes. “The Sisters,” said Kierza. She stood up.

Chazod remained seated. “So?”

“We have to go!” urged Kierza.

“They won’t come by here.” said Chazod. “They’ll stick to the north side of town. Trust me, you’re safer here than at home. They won’t want anything to do with this dump. Come on, sit with me.”

Kierza shook her head. “I promised I’d come home right away.”

“Suit yourself,” said Chazod.

“Well, aren’t you going back home?”

“Like I said, they won’t come to this part of town.” said Chazod. “You can come upstairs to my place if you want.”

Kierza shook her head. “I promised I’d come home.” She didn’t say it, but if Nyal was upstairs she wanted nothing to do with his apartment. All her memories of Nyal were tainted with sickening acts. He was violent and a drunk. And more importantly, he was too big and too strong for even Chazod to handle nowadays.