Third Story

This is the third story that I am working on currently, and will most likely become my main focus for now, as it is slated to be the shortest. Once again, it's a draft, but I hope everyone enjoys it.

CHAPTER ONE

Siona awoke to a loud banging on the front door. She groaned, knowing that dawn had come, and it was time to go to work in the fields.

The door slammed open, allowing sunlight to pour into the small building that was Siona’s living quarters. A man stood framed in the doorway, thick arms crossed, glaring angrily at Siona and the nine other workers rising slowly from their cots.

“Wake up, you lazy lot,” the man growled, hauling the worker nearest to him up. “Those crops aren’t going to harvest themselves.”

He turned and exited the room, but Siona knew he would return in a few minutes if the workers did not come out. She grimaced; “workers” was the nice way of describing their situation. They were slaves, really. There wage consisted of food and shelter, nothing more.

Siona threw back the coarse blanket that covered her and sat up. The “house” she shared with the nine others was nothing more than a large rectangle. Ten wooden pallets covered in woolen blankets were their bedding. The only real furniture was the table and chairs in the center of the room. Their meals were brought to them, if they could even be called meals.

She pulled on a pair of dirty trousers and a loose fitting shirt. Both were dull blue, since the dye was the easiest to manufacture. The plantation owner would not waste more money than necessary to clothe the orphans.

Siona and her housemates were all orphans. Plantations and small farms dotted the land for thirty miles around Alandon, the capital city of the Red Empire. Most of the plantation owners picked up children who had been abandoned by their parents from the city, knowing that they would not be stopped by the Emperor. Alandon was like a massive, living being, and so required large quantities of food and other resources to keep it running. That, in turn, meant finding enough laborers to work the fields.

Siona had been caught when she was twelve, just over five years ago. Most only lasted two or three years, but some, like her, managed to make it longer. Despite her small, scrawny stature, Siona had fought for her survival for the past five years. She was now one of the oldest in the orphan population.

With a sigh, she picked up her wicker basket and moved to the door with the others. The burly man who had woken them waited outside, a thick leather whip coiled in his hand. Like the other taskmasters, he was dressed in sturdy work clothes. The sleeves of his shirt were torn off, so as to expose his muscled arms, reminding them that they were no threat to him.

The group stepped outside into the dawn sunlight. In the distance, Siona could see proud Alandon, standing tall and mighty. For the most part, the city was a grand place, a testament to what men could build.

Only, the city was no longer ruled by a man.

Siona looked around, seeing other groups of orphans emerging from their houses. There were ten houses in all, set up in two rows, in the encampment. It was only one of many. A fence surrounded the yard, although none of them would even consider trying to escape.

The taskmaster led their group through the gate of the compound toward the fields. Their particular compound sat atop a hill overlooking the nearest field, where corn was growing currently. Siona hated this time of the harvest season, when the corn stalks were nearly eight feet tall. Siona, who was just over five feet tall, had a hard time reaching the cobs that grew near the top of the plant. On top of that, the stifling heat of the fields made the job nearly unbearable. Of course, a lashing from one of the taskmasters was much more unbearable.

“Keep the line moving,” the taskmaster commanded. Several members of the group, perpetually worn down by a shortage of food and rest, were already slowing from the ragged pace that the master kept up. They quickly straightened, not wanting to feel the lash on their backs.

At last, they entered the field proper, spreading out amongst the rows. As always, Siona was determined to bring in all she could before the midday heat really began. As long as she fulfilled her quota, she would survive another day. That was all she could hope for.



The sun was barely visible over the horizon by the time Siona and her group returned to their quarters for the night, sweaty, itchy, and exhausted. The younger ones flopped down onto their pallets immediately, resting before the evening meal came. Siona frowned; doing such a thing only drenched their blankets with their sweat.

Siona pulled a chair out from underneath the table and eased into it. The young ones—if they lived long enough—would learn that maintaining control of oneself was crucial to keeping up a façade of strength.

Unfortunately for her, being on the edge of womanhood was not beneficial in her situation. Despite the constant lack of energy, Siona’s natural beauty shone through, although she did not think of herself as beautiful. Being a woman in this environment was simply another obstacle to overcome. Some lords took girls from the orphan compounds to their beds, and then killed them the next morning. She had seen the taskmasters gazing at her, studying her. She feared that her time was almost up.

A boy came up plopped down on the chair next to her, disrupting her musings. Siona glanced at him. Like her, he was old, nearly sixteen. He was lucky, though; he had developed early in life, giving him a rather discernible advantage over smaller, younger workers.

“Hi, Siona,” the boy said. He flashed a toothy grin at her.

Inwardly, Siona sighed. “Hello, Mannik,” she said.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Mannik, like all the older boys, began taking a liking to Siona immediately early on. Some viewed her as an elder sister, others, in different ways. Fortunately, none of them had been stupid enough to try anything.

“I have some news for you,” Mannik said eagerly.

Siona perked up at this. Mannik had an uncanny ability of picking up gossip. “Well, would you be kind enough to tell me?”

“Maybe,” he said, smiling. “But maybe you should do me a favor.” His eyes flashed down momentarily, so fast that Siona barely noticed it.

“Typical boy,” she huffed. She made as if to leave the table.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist. She glared at him until he let go. “I mean, that’s not what I meant. I’m your friend.”

Siona nodded, but she did not believe him. She had no friends. If it was a question between his survival and hers, he would choose his own. That was the way the world worked. Siona had been abandoned by her parents; she would not put it past Mannik to do the same.

“So what’s your big news?” she inquired, putting the conversation back on topic.

“Oh, that,” he said, flashing another smile. “Well, do you remember those rumors about the rebellion?”

“Of course,” she answered. As frivolous as it seemed, a small part of her hoped that someday she and her companions could be freed. Anyone who fought against the Red Empire would be a useful ally, for a time.

“Well, those rumors are true. They say a small force has been sabotaging other plantations, disrupting supply lines, and…” he lowered his voice and leaned in, “…even assassinating some of the nobles.”

Siona’s eyes opened wide. If Mannik was telling the truth, then this was the best news she had ever received in her life. Hope swelled in her chest, but she pushed it back down. It would be useless to hope for something if she was killed sometime soon.

She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door swinging open and banging into the wall. Their taskmaster and another large man carried in a steaming pot. They set it on the table, nearly knocking Siona and Mannik out of their chairs at the same time. One of the men threw a stack of bowls and a wrapped up pack of spoons onto the table, and then left the way they had come.

As soon as the door closed, the entire group jumped up, rushing for the pot. Siona, being faster, grabbed the bowls and spoons away and began passing them around the table.

“Aw, come on Siona, I’m hungry,” cried one of the boys.

“Everyone will get their share,” she responded. Typically, there was only enough stew to nearly fill each bowl, and so some of the larger orphans would try to bully the smaller ones out of the way. Siona had taken matters into her own hands; no one would starve as long as she was alive.

Eventually, all the bowls were filled, and the group took their seats around the table. They ate in silence, too focused on eating their meal, lest someone else take it away. The lords and taskmasters always insisted that the orphans were better off at the plantations, where they had regular food and shelter. Siona had managed on her own in the city, often eating better than she did here.

As she took her last bite, the door was thrown open, startling all those in the room. After the meal, the taskmasters never returned to the compound until the morning. Siona turned toward the door; three men filed into the room.

“You,” the leader said, pointing at Siona. “Come.”

Siona froze. This was it; she was being taken to be the plaything of the plantation lord, before being murdered in the morning.

Before she could react, two of the men grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet, pulling her toward the door. She began to kick and scream, knowing it would do no good. The men were at least a foot taller than she, and could probably pick her up with one arm. The other orphans simply stared at her, unable to help and unwilling to bring trouble upon themselves.

They pulled her out into the night. A cool wind tossed her hair about, sticking to the tears that had begun to run down her cheeks. This could not be happening to her. Why now? Why had they waited five years to take her?

She closed her eyes and screamed. To her surprise, the weight lifted from her arms. She opened her eyes and saw the two men who had been holding her flying away into the darkness. Their leader stood wide-eyed as his feet left the ground. He tried to struggle, but it seemed as though he was held by invisible ropes.

“That’s quite enough of that,” a voice said from behind Siona. She turned and saw a figure detach itself from the roof. A small object flew past Siona and struck the hovering man in the stomach. She watched in surprise as the man drew in a sharp breath before falling to the ground.

“Are you all right?” the voice asked. Siona looked at the person, still cloaked in the shadows. She could not be sure, but the voice sounded like a woman’s.

“I’m…okay,” was all she could manage.

“Good,” the woman said. “Don’t worry; they will not be bothering you anymore.” The woman jumped into the air, and to Siona’s surprise, darted away, flying toward a building several hundred yards to the west: the plantation lord’s manor.

Siona stood still for a moment, wondering what she should do. She surveyed the men; they showed no signs of stirring. She stared in the direction the woman had gone, and then, against her better judgment, began moving toward the plantation.

Something important was about to happen, and she intended to find out what that was.