Page 2 of Kingdom of Lies

I have a secret, a place where I can go. I have found this spot by the river that no one knows, where I can feel free and, most importantly, clean.

I will go there this evening, far from the stench that is this place.

I feel a nudge of a wet nose on my leg and turn to see the dripir I call Mister looking up at me.

“Well, hello, Mister,” I tell it, and it grunts a reply and hobbles off. It's a pity this poor thing will soon end up in the belly of a dark elf. The soldiers love their dripir; it’s a disgusting sight to witness them eat. I don’t care much for dripir anymore, and even if I did, humans rarely see it in the merger rations they give us.

“Girl.” I hear a shout from behind me. It is Will, one of the other slaves. Another pain in my backside. He knows my name but somehow refuses to call me by it.

I ignore him.

“Girl!” I sense the irritation in his voice, and I enjoy it. But I must be careful not to push too far, so I turn.

“Yes?” I ask.

“You’re needed to help bring in the firewood,” he states.

Really? I’m exhausted, hungry, and unsure if I have the strength. I stare at him and say nothing. I can’t risk telling him where to shove his firewood as much as I want to. More work is the chance of more food, and I have to make sure Grandma is fed.

I have noticed her go downhill this last while, her cough has grown thicker and more violent, and I fear the worst, so her strength must be kept up.

“Coming,” I say, biting my tongue yet again.

“Quicker,” the wiry little shit demands, storming off.

I climb over the fence. “Until tomorrow, little dripir. Don’t shit too much tonight, please.”

I follow Will to the woods and wish the day would end. I’m so tired.

“I can smell you from here, girl,” Will calls out without looking behind. “Maybe I should start calling you ‘dripir shit.’ Would you like that, girl?” he says, laughing at his shitty joke.

“Maybe I should call you ‘little cock,’” I whisper to myself. I’ve heard the other girls talk.

He stops at the wood edge, and I catch up.

“This needs filling,” he says, pointing at a large basket. “After that, you can take it down to the wood sheds,” he instructs me. “Don’t take too long. Light is fading, and you don’t want to be in these woods after dark. Bad things play here.”

With that, he turns and heads back to the village whistling, pleased with himself.

It takes me about an hour to fill the basket. My back aches from bending over, and my eyes are heavy with exhaustion. One last push, I tell myself as I begin to drag the heavy basket down the hill to the woodshed.

It is evening now, a few hours until dark, so if I hurry, the river can still be mine.

“Whore!” the coarse voice of Clara, the Village Chief’s wife calls out. The birds shake the branches as they flee her wrath. But I can not.

“I told you before to stay away from him,” she spits the words at me. I have no idea what she is talking about.

“I didn’t, I haven’t,” I plead to her. I see the anger in her fat red face and know there is no way out of this that will be good.

“I’ve seen the way you act around my Oliver, sticking your tits in his face like some strumpet!” she yells at me. “I’ll teach you, you little taura, seize her!”

I stand dumbfounded as two slaves appear and grab me by my arms. I notice others appearing out of the woodwork, wondering what is happening.

Clara storms off back to the courtyard of her ample house, “Bring her here,” she orders the two slaves. One of them seizes the moment to grab at my breast. His nails, long and sharp, dig into my flesh as he gropes.

There’s nothing I can do. I’m too weak to resist fighting back and long for someone to rescue me. As they drag me closer, I see Clara holding a large wooden paddle.

“Please, no,” I beg, “I have done nothing wrong.”

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