57-38

Title: 57-38
Chapter: Four
Word Count: 3,498


Here’s the next bit. I’ve got chapter five started, so we’ll see how it goes.

I’ve decided to title all the chapters after who’s point of view they’re written in, so I went back and added that on to the previous three chapters, which were all Alex’s POV anyway.

Aaaand… that’s about it for now. Oh yeah, big thanks to everyone who left feedback! Much, much appreciated. You’re all awesome :D

Please enjoy!

Chapter Four: Kenneth


Sand. There was sand in his throat. In his eyes, too, but it was the grit in his throat that he noticed first, the way is stung and made the air he breathed taste like dust and grime.

The more awake he became, the more aches and pains he became aware of. His face stung like it’d been dragged down a dirt path. His gums tasted like copper. The skin on his hands and feet was dry and peeling. Bruises on his wrists were dull aches that pulsed to the beat of his heart.

He didn’t open his eyes, but he could hear men’s voices in the background, as though they were coming through a wall, distant and muffled. They were speaking gibberish - he couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Sharp sounds with low vowels and hissing consonants. Their voices sounded like the deep barking of guard dogs. It made his head hurt, just hearing it.

He cracked his eyes open only to find the world around him dark and just as muffled as the voices he was hearing; he tried focusing his eyes, but the room he was in just rippled and shuddered, fuzzy around the edges. The grit in his eyes made it too hard to see, so he just gave up and shut them again, and fell back asleep.

The next time he was conscious was when he was being yelled at. Or, no - someone else was being yelled at, nearby. He opened his eyes, which were a little more clear now, to see two men standing in the room with him. One was pointing at him and shouting furiously at the other. The other - the one being scolded? Given and order? - just stood there. Kenneth couldn’t quite see his face properly, but he had the feeling that if he could, the man would seem annoyed. Disgruntled.

Then the world rippled again.

Time does weird things, Kenneth noted, when consciousness is only an occasional state. A moment ago he was watching a fight unfold before him, now he felt rough hands on him, iron-hard fingers pulling him upright, stripping off the pathetic piece of canvas he’d been given for clothing. Cold water dumped on him, saturating him, the sudden temperature shift stinging all his cuts and scratches. Bathed? He realized with an abrupt moment of clarity that the argument before had probably been one man scolding the other for not keeping him clean. They always seemed to want him clean. More cold water berated him, his skin breaking out into goose-flesh, and he felt some more of the dirt and grime wash away.

He didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep some more. He was tired, and alone, and far from home, and all he wanted was to sleep.

His throat and eyes were still gritty with dust and sand, and all of a sudden he could hear men’s voices again, muffled still, speaking the same foreign language they’d been speaking before. Only now those words sounded softer and calmer, not harsh and angry like before, and a little familiar, like maybe he’d heard them before. The harder he listened, the more sense they began to make, and, confused, he tried to pry his eyes open all the way, to see what was going on around him, see who it was that was talking -

Kenneth came awake with such sharp abruptness that it was like getting knocked in the head with reality, almost with an audible tonk. His eyes flew open and he was immediately bombarded with the brightness of the room around him, all sunlight and warm, neutral colors, which smeared together for half a second before he slammed his lids shut again and turned his head to the side, to minimize the barrage of luminosity. His temples instantaneously expressed their opinion on the whole matter of being awake by throbbing horribly. He squeezed his eyelids even more tightly closed, so that he could feel the skin around them wrinkle. That’s right, they’d dosed him on those drugs again, yesterday, since it was his turn to go up to the display gallery.

Crap. It’d been his turn to go up in the display gallery.

Kenneth took a quick inventory of his body. He felt fine, other than the after-effects of the drugs. He had no aches or pains. His throat was dry and scratchy and his eyes had sleep-gook in them, but other than that, he was alright. The good news ended there, however, as he began to take stock of what was going on around him.

First he noticed that he was laying in a bed. A true, honest-to-the-gods bed, not the flimsy cot he was used to at the slave complex, all lumpy and creaky. This had soft sheets and a warm comforter, a yielding mattress, and a downy-soft pillow beneath his head. All in all, it was the most discomforting thing he could have possibly woken up in.

The next thing Kenneth noticed, even more alarming than the alien bed, was the voices. Hushed male voices, unfamiliar, speaking quick, easy Vanntinese. They were in the room with him. Not near the bed, but certainly in the room.

Kenneth froze, instantaneously. He didn’t even breath for several long, tense moments. He just laid there, eyes closed tight, quiet, still, listening to the voices. They didn’t sound unpleasant, but he knew better than to put his trust into the mere timbre of a voice. He listened to what they were saying. They were speaking pretty quickly, but Kenneth had been speaking Vanntinese for three years now, and he could discern most of what they were saying.

They weren’t talking about him. They were chatting idly about… some sort of holiday. An up-coming holiday? He searched his mind quickly - of course, Carvanntir celebrated Halcyon, at the beginning of their cooler season. Kenneth couldn’t really refer to it as ‘winter,’ (he was from Savnia, for the lords’ sake, there it was winter nearly year-round,) since Carvanntir’s winter was nothing more than three months of rain and humidity, and temperatures hitting their yearly-lows of about fifty-five degrees. Not that he’d had much experience with the weather, since he’d never really been allowed outside.

It was at least a small relief, knowing that the men weren’t talking about him. It didn’t change his situation, however, and Kenneth licked his lips and continued to lay utterly still, too afraid to move a single muscle. He couldn’t stay like this forever, they would notice that he’d woken up eventually, but he couldn’t bring himself to draw their attention. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he could simply turn invisible.

It was another short while before there was a pause in the men’s conversation, like they were taking a breath after their pointless chitchatting, and then Kenneth heard the rustling of fabric, and a deep grunt. One of the men, the one with a smooth, calm voice, said, “What’s wrong?”

The other - Kenneth could only assume it was the one who had done the grunting - replied quietly. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, his voice far deeper than the other’s, just a soft rocky sound. “He just hasn’t moved in a bit. He’s been shifting about all morning, and now he’s all still.”

Kenneth tensed. Oh, no.

“Really?” the first said, interest piqued. “Should we check on him?” He sounded marginally worried, but not very.

The man with the deeper voice rumbled some sort of vague reply that Kenneth didn’t catch, and then utter silence fell. Kenneth kept his eyes steadfastly shut, waiting to hear what would be said next, trying to decide what he should do. If he pretended to wake now, the men would probably figure out that he’d been faking it, but he could only pretend to sleep for so long, he’d have to ‘wake up’ eventually-

A large, calloused hand unexpectedly dropped lightly onto his shoulder, and the soft, deeply-voiced inquiry of, “Hello?” was half-covered under Kenneth’s startled gasp. He jumped a little, his body twitching with a surprised little jolt, and his eyes flew open, sleep-gook or no.

“Great gods-!” the deep voice said, and the hand twitched away from him just as unexpectedly as it had landed there. Kenneth finally saw who it belonged to, and the man appeared to be just as surprised as him.

The owner of the deep voice was hugely tall, a giant of a man, (over six feet at least, but probably nearing somewhere around six and a half,) dark-skinned and wide-eyed, with short black hair that stuck straight up all along his head in coarse little tufts and spikes. With his eyes that wide, Kenneth could see they were a brown color. He was sleek and compact for his size, aerodynamic looking, like a massive jet, and wearing the red pants-and-tunic combination that usually denoted a slave purchased for the purpose of protection. A slave used for defense.

This man was a guard hound.

An unpleasant shiver traveled down Kenneth’s spine, and he just stared at the giant, wide-eyed and silent. Crap, would he be mad? He’d caught Kenneth lying, was he going to tell whoever was in charge of this strange place that he’d been disobedient? Would he--

Suddenly, the giant burst out into booming laughter, the kind that only happens after one’s suffered an unpleasant or embarrassing shock. Kenneth twitched away from it instinctively, burying his head a little further down into the soft pillow beneath it.

“Oh, jeeze!” the stranger bellowed, bringing a hand up to cover his face. “Oh, man, wasn’t expecting that. The little faker! Darryl, you see that? He was faking it!” More laughter followed.

“I saw,” the other voice said. “Scared the salt right out of you, too. Some tough guy you are.”

“I’m tough!”

Kenneth’s eyes flicked past the shouting giant beside him, following the direction of the other voice. His eyes landed on another man in the corner of the room, who was rising from a plush chair and folding a book shut, setting it on the seat behind him. He was tall, too, but not nearly so much as the other, and this fellow had long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail that caught the light in the room. As he crossed the room, coming closer, Kenneth also saw the small black-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of his long nose, and the dark blue color of his eyes. This man was a slave, too, and Kenneth knew because he was wearing the respectable royal-blue colored shirt and trousers that all house slaves wore. As he saddled up to the side of the bed, he smiled warmly down at Kenneth.

This man wasn’t nearly so intimidating as the giant, who was just now starting to calm down. Now that they were side by side, Kenneth saw just how much shorter he was than the guard hound. The hound had a good seven inches on him, at least.

“Don’t mind him,” the slave - Darryl, the other had called him? - said, the smile still on his face. “He isn’t dangerous, he just hasn’t got himself a volume button, otherwise I can assure you I’d utilize it.”

“Really?” the giant said. “Hey, Darryl, you wanted to utilize my buttons, you know, all you had to do was ask-”

Darryl breezed right over the implication, actually somehow managing to speak over him, which Kenneth hadn’t thought was possible until just then. “At any rate, my name is Darryl, and this huge idiot here is Zavian.”

Zavian smiled at him, toothily, but pleasantly enough. “Nice to meet you, and all,” he said, finally quieting down to a reasonable volume.

Kenneth knew he was supposed to return the pleasantry, but, frighteningly, all he found he was able to do was swallow thickly and lick his lips. The smile on Darryl’s face faded, just a little.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked suddenly, the hint of worry from before back in his voice. “Would you like some water? Zavian, you’re standing next to it, pour him a glass.”

Zavian huffed good-naturedly and turned to the nightstand he was standing next too. A crystalline pitcher and glass sat neatly on a silver trey there, and Zavian used the provisions to produce a gleaming glass of cool-looking water. He offered it to Kenneth, his giant hand nearly engulfing the entire glass.

Kenneth realized, now that he was looking at the lustrous treat, that he was indeed nearly dying of thirst. But he also found he was still too hesitant to move, despite that fact. He continued to lay there, wide-eyed and uneasy, nestled in the safety of the covers, eyes darting between the glass, Zavian and Darryl, and back again. He had a sick feeling he knew what was going on here. He had the feeling he’d been purchased at market, yesterday.

Now, even Zavian’s toothy grin was fading, and he was eyeing Kenneth with concern. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, pulling the glass back out of Kenneth’s reach. “I swear I’m not crazy. I’m actually a pretty nice guy. Honest.”

Darryl’s brows were furrowed, a little wrinkle formed between them. “Can you speak?” he questioned, carefully.

Kenneth came out of his shell long enough to nod that yes he could, in fact, speak, and then promptly went back to staring silently at the strangers.

There was silence for a few moments, during which Darryl and Zavian exchanged brief looks, and then Darryl spoke again, his voice even softer and more soothing than before. “Alright, then, you don’t have to speak yet if you don’t wish to. At least take a drink, though. I’m sure you’re dehydrated from the drugs. You should get some water in you.”

Zavian offered the glass once again.

Another few awkward moments passed, but at last Kenneth couldn’t resist the temptation in front of him any longer, and he swallowed dryly, rallying his courage. They seemed like a pretty agreeable pair, no matter how loud or strange. Slowly, he pushed the comforter away just enough to sit up and accept the glass from the huge paw of the giant known as Zavian. Its cool surface was like heaven against his fingers, the chill water bliss on the back of his throat. He drained half the glass in one go.

Sighing with relief, he lowered the glass to his lap, taking a break to breath. He eyed the other two men once again. They were staring at him. He supposed he should have been used to being observed by now, but it was something he’d never really gotten accustomed to, having other people’s eyes all over him all the time. He suppressed a shiver and turned his own gaze back down to his lap.

“You’re probably a little confused,” Darryl continued, just as calmly as before. Beside him, Zavian rolled back and forth on his feet, continuously shifting his weight from ball to heel. “That would be understandable, considering you were rather heavily drugged last night. I suppose we should explain.”

Zavian slid his hands into his pockets, still fidgeting about. It seemed to Kenneth that the man was incapable of standing still for even a moment.

“You’ve probably figured out that you’ve been purchased, by now, yeah?” Darryl questioned. Kenneth nodded briefly in reply, eyes still on his lap. In his peripheral he could see Darryl nodding sagely. “I thought as much. I understand that can be intimidating. I assure you that you’ve nothing to worry over, though.” He smiled, more warmly than ever. “The man who purchased you, his name is Alexander Hayd. He’s a very kind man. There isn’t a cruel bone in his entire body. He’ll take perfect care of you, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Zavian piped in, here, “it’s true. Sir’s a real softy, and that’s the truth. Especially for a harmless little guy like you.”

“He’s at work, now,” Darryl continued, “he wont be home until later, but he told us to make sure you’re given everything you need, so there’s no need to be afraid to ask for anything, yes? And he’ll be back just before dinner, so you’ll get to meet him, then. He’ll be very happy to meet you.” Darryl finished by suddenly whacking Zavian on the chest with the back of his hand, and promptly after folding his arms behind himself. “And you - stop all the fidgeting, would you? You’re driving me nuts. Stand still, for the gods’ sake.”

Zavian smiled sheepishly and fell still.

Silence fell again, and Kenneth fiddled with the glass in his hands. He knew he should say something. He just didn’t know what. Eventually, he swallowed and settled on, “I understand. Thank you for the water, sirs,” and fell quiet again.

Both Zavian and Darryl gaped at him a little, and then Zavian was the first to speak.

“Hey now, we’re no ‘sirs,’ here,” he corrected, and Kenneth winced a little. “We’re slaves, just like you, so it’s just fine to go ahead and use our names.”

“He’s not reprimanding you,” Darryl was quick to follow. Kenneth assumed he’d caught the wince, and went a little pink. “It’s true, though. We’re slaves as well. You’re allowed to address us by name.”

“I apologize,” was all Kenneth offered in response. He took another drink from his glass so he wouldn’t have to say anymore.

Out of the corner of his eye Kenneth caught Darryl shoot Zavian a pointed look, to which Zavian shrugged apologetically, and then he looked back to Kenneth with a worried brow. Nevertheless, he smiled again. Darryl seemed to have an endless amount of smiles, which was unusual for a slave.

“Speaking of names,” he said, “have you got one?”

Kenneth looked up then, a little surprised. Slaves, officially, did not have names, only numbers, and Kenneth had his branded onto his back just like everyone else. But it wasn’t uncommon for owners to give their slaves names to call them by. It was uncommon, however, for a slave to choose his own name. Kenneth was hesitant to do it without asking his new owner’s permission, first.

As though reading his thoughts, Zavian spoke up, and in a gentler voice than he had used before. “It’s okay to say it,” he said, reassuringly, “since sir’s just going to ask you for it anyway. He’s not gonna force a name that isn’t rightfully yours on you, so you may as well tell us what it is.”

Kenneth was a little shocked. No one had asked him his name in years. No one had cared enough to. For them, a number had been enough.

Licking his lips again, (they were rather dry,) Kenneth said, very quietly. “It’s. Um. At home, my name was Kenneth. I’m called Kenneth.”

Suddenly, Darryl’s endless smile ended rather abruptly, true worry filling his face. “At home,” he repeated quietly. “Oh, dear.” He looked to Zavian, who offered up an unsure look of his own.

Kenneth knew what they were thinking. So, swallowing down every last unease he had, he forced the words out. “I’m not a born slave,” he spoke, shakily, like the words were punching their way out of his chest. “I was capt-- brought. I was brought here. From the north. Five years ago.” His words came to a jagged finish, his mouth coming shut with a click of his teeth.

A prickly silence washed over the room. Kenneth wondered what the other two were thinking, now. Probably pitying thoughts. Kenneth wasn’t a fan of pity, but he could tolerate it.

Just as the silence seemed to grow a little oppressive, Darryl suddenly heaved out a very deep breath, like he was easing the uneasiness out of his body. Another smile came to his lips, but it seemed to Kenneth that this one was a little sadder, a little more forced. “Well, Kenneth is a lovely name. You look very much like a Kenneth. We’ll honor it.”

Zavian nodded, enthusiastically. “Yeah. Definitely, we will.”

“Well,” Darryl breathed the word out in quick rush, and it was immediately clear that he was broaching a change of topic. “I can imagine you’re probably starving. You haven’t eaten since some time yesterday, yes? And did you know, it’s nearly two-o’clock in the afternoon? We’ll go fetch you something to eat.”

Kenneth watched as they filed out of the room, Darryl in calm, graceful strides, and Zavian in long lumbering lopes. They closed the door behind them, and he was left to observe his surroundings in peace and quiet. He didn’t move for several long minutes. He hadn’t mentioned his home in nearly as long as he’d been gone from it, and it’d been strange to say the words out loud.

At last, though, he poured himself another glass of water and drank it down, grateful for the distraction of the relief of a scratchy throat.


That’s it for now. Let me know what you think!