Post by seasofsilence on Apr 14, 2006 14:40:33 GMT -8
This is the first time I've posted something here. This is just the prologue and the first chapter of my newest story, and I'm anxious to get some good feedback so I can edit it and make it better. Please critique! Thanks.
In Freedom’s Name
Prologue
A soft, melodic voice echoed across the salty waters. Dawn had barely begun to break, and gentle curls of mist made the sad song heard by all. The voice was loving, caring, and sympathetic to the sorrows of passing sailors and townspeople who were near, yet it regarded its own woes as a matter of unimportance. It was this siren-like voice that called people of all ages to listen, and let them see their faults; it was this voice that longed for a second chance it was never given, yet each day it rang clearly to give others another chance, be it second, third, or tenth. This voice mystified each and every audience, yet the voice was never seen. Freedom, they called her. Freedom.
1
Freedom stretched, the sleeve of her rough, handmade worker’s dress catching on the stable door. She sighed and began to detach the dress from the door, her fingers moving expertly around the snarl the wooden door had created. When she finished, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. There was no one to be seen; there were only a few horses grazing in the field she had just lead them to. Curious, she returned to the kitchens of the palace at which she worked. Unwillingly, of course. Freedom was a slave, supposedly kept so for the debt her mother left when she died. Treinot and its surrounding countries were notorious for their harsh punishments and the Court’s ability to take a person’s freedom. Treinot was the worst country for a peasant or slave.
Slowly, Freedom inhaled and exhaled, preparing herself for what lay behind the door. She knew it would be a matter of importance if no one, not even the boisterous young dukes, were in the yard. She opened the door to see each of the slaves bowing, head to the floor. Immediately, Freedom scurried inside and dropped to the position the others had taken with a squeak as the king himself entered. He walked swiftly in, a look of worry and anger apparent on his face. His straggly, brown hair was even more a wreck than usual, and his sharp blue eyes threatened all.
“The prince has been poisoned,” he announced sadly. “Have any of you seen a suspicious person in the kitchens lately? Or, perhaps, one of you poisoned him?” he continued angrily. He was greeted by a low murmur of “no, your Majesty’s”.
“Well, then report to me if you do,” he ordered, “immediately.” With that, he left, and the slaves rose slowly and continued their work. Freedom looked about the room, but left quickly after, having chores to complete. She walked briskly to the storage shed, and took up a large bag of chicken feed to take to the coop. She arrived at the coop, and began pouring feed into the feed bowl. As she did so, she began to think about the prince’s poisoning. Served him right, was the first thought that came into her head. Immediately, a pang of guilt followed. She shook her head, gathering up the bag of feed and depositing it in a corner. It’s probably just an allergic reaction, or the stomach flu. Nobles always play up their weaknesses. It seems as if they enjoy punishing the people under them for problems they could not fix. With that, Freedom exited the coop. Until sunset, she worked steadily, never resting.
As the edge of the sun finally brushed the horizon, Freedom had finished her chores and headed to her small bedroom. She was lucky to have one to herself, though it was only the size of a small closet and it had an awful draft, and she was thankful for the privacy. The room was of a dark, rough wood on all sides, and a small window allowed light to pass through. A dirty mirror was suspended on the wall to her left, and hay and blankets made her bed which took up the entire floor space. A beggar’s cloak was tossed carelessly atop the mess.
Freedom stepped inside, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was no beauty; her eyes were uneven and swollen from a lack of sleep, a short mess of brown hair which she never bothered combing fell in her eyes, and her complexion was tanned as an overworked farmer, not as noble ladies would often try to achieve. Pale lips sat in the middle of her face, chapped and peeling. Freedom sighed and brushed some hair out of her eyes. She would never obtain enough money to buy her freedom. Even after begging on the streets every night for the past few years, she had only been able to scrounge up 250 ethels, the lowest form of money in Treinot. If she was unable to pay 1500 ethels by her fifteenth birthday, which was in nine months, the cost of her freedom would be raised to such a high price that she would never be able to pay for it.
With one last sad look in the mirror, Freedom put on her cloak and wandered out of her room, feeling for the ethels in her pocket. She snuck out of the castle with ease, having done so every night for the past five years, and trudged slowly to town. She arrived fifteen minutes later, and slumped down into her corner of the market place, holding up the same sign she had used for the past few months: “Money needed for a good cause. Please help.” Nobody even glanced at her, save for one man she couldn’t see. An hour later, when the streets were empty except for the occasional shopkeeper closing his store for the night, she tossed the sign in the dirt and started yelling.
“Why? Why must I live in a country where children are kept as slaves? Why must I obey nobles without question while they sit on their bottoms and get fat off of my labor? When? When will I be free?” she shouted at the sky, pleading by the end. “Or better yet- will I?” she whispered, before collapsing into tears. The figure that had been watching her stepped out from the shadows, but Freedom took no notice. He briskly walked past her, purposely dropping a large purse full of coins before her. Freedom looked up slowly at the man’s retreating figure, noticed the purse and gasped, taking it up. “Sir, you dropped this,” she called, holding it aloft, tears still running down her face. He stopped, looked over his shoulder, and winked before retreating down the alleyway, his cloak trailing in the wind.
Freedom stood there, dumbstruck by what had just happened. Slowly, she opened the purse to find a full 1500 ethels. She gasped before grinning and shouting, “thank you!” This in itself was enough to buy her freedom, and she would have the extra 250 ethels at her disposal to help her start her new life. She hurried up to the castle and retreated to her bedroom, knowing that it was too late at night for the Slaves Office to be open.
Happily, she curled up on her bed of straw. A moment later, one of the other slaves, Rosemary, barged in. She was a year older than Freedom, and was a hopeless romantic, despite her efforts to hide it. She was tall, but not giant. Her eyes were a beautiful ocean blue, and her lips were naturally red. She was the perfect image of beauty; the only signs that she was a slave were her strong hands and the heavy collar that squeezed her slender neck. The look on her face now would have made a born thief feel guilty for thieving.
“Freedom, am I mistaken or have you neglected to check up on the prince?” she questioned in a scolding manner, already knowing the answer.
Freedom looked up, her eyes still brimming with joy. “I wasn’t planning on helping him at all,” she answered before losing her eyes again. Rosemary promptly hit her on the head with a broom. Freedom sat up quickly and glared at Rosemary. “Do you carry that broom with you everywhere?” she asked wearily, standing up and stretching.
Rosemary glared back with equal seriousness. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. You’re the only one of us who is good enough with medicine and cures to heal poison. Are you going to let the prince die when you can do something about it?” It was Rosemary’s tone rather than her words that made Freedom feel guilty. She sighed and scratched her head.
“I’ll see what I can do, but if I can’t fix him tonight, I’m not fixing him at all.” Rosemary tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, while Freedom broke out in a grin. She reached in her newly rumpled cloak and held out the purse the man had given her earlier. “It’s enough to buy my freedom, Rosemary. Am I really going to stay a slave just to fix up a spoiled prince who was the cause of my enslavement in the first place? I think not.” Her voice was quiet and excited. Rosemary’s eyes widened.
“You’re going to be free?” her voice was just as quiet, as if by speaking too loudly she would frighten the money away. Freedom nodded, her grin widening as Rosemary pulled her into a tight hug. “Remember me when you’re on your own,” she whispered. Freedom’s smile faded.
“Rose, the first thing I’m going to do when I’m free is raise money to free you. I’m not going to leave you here all alone,” she breathed.
“Don’t waste your time and money. I’m too old for you to afford. I’m 3000 ethels, Freedom.”
“I don’t care; you’re my friend and I don’t want you to suffer when I could have helped you.” They broke apart. “I’d better go check on the prince. Wish me luck.” She scurried down the hall as Rosemary glared playfully at her retreating back.
“Please, please, please take care of yourself,” she spoke to the air.
-
Freedom arrived at the royal hospital, sweat running down her face. She had been nearly caught several times. She was now dressed in a spare white coat and hat that the doctors wore, her hair up in a bun so that she looked like a boy. She entered the room quietly and had to fight back a snort. They had even done up the hospital room in rare blue silks and expensive furnishings. The prince lay asleep on a four poster bed in the center of the room with blue silk hangings. She walked up to him and sat in the doctor’s chair next to him. The first thing she noticed was the leeches that covered his body. She gasped in shock; they were only making him condition worse. She grabbed the waste bucket next to the bed and quickly pulled the leeches off, causing the prince to wake and try and sit up, groaning miserably. That was when she first noticed his face.
The prince was normally extraordinarily handsome, with bright blue eyes and perfectly cut brown hair accompanied by a strong jaw line and full lips. Now, large boils covered his face and his eyes were sealed shut with a white cream-like mixture caused by the poison. He began to cough up blood and reached for the waste bucket which she gave him hastily. A moment later, he sat back, wiping his cracked, blood-crusted lips. “Doctor?” he rasped, his voice a loud whisper.
“Yes?” she replied patiently, remembering to lower her voice, as there were no female doctors.
“Am I going to die?” he asked. She realized that the doctors he would have told him so because they would not know the medicine she knew. “A straight yes or no answer, please. I want to know so I can say goodbye…” he whispered, his voice fading.
“You’re not in good shape; I’ll tell you that. Whether you’ll die or not depends on which poison the person used. I need you answer these questions for me. Can you open your eyes at all? Oh, and nod or shake your head. Using your voice will make your condition worse.” He nodded before trying to open his eyes. He shook his head.
“Do you have a headache?” He nodded. “Can you move any limb other than your head?” He shook his head. “Does it feel like you have maggots in your veins? Like you’re being eaten from the inside out?”
He nodded his head furiously, and whispered, “Yes! I can’t get any of the other doctors to understand that.” Freedom pursed her lips. He had been poisoned for a long time.
“Don’t let the others put leeches on you again. I need to go to the town to get some supplies for your cure. You won’t get better immediately; in fact, you’ll get far worse for a time. You won’t be able to speak, or shake your head. You won’t be able to keep down water, and you’ll be hungrier than ever, but this will only last for about a day. After, you’ll get better in a matter of two or three hours. Your body may not be able to handle the period of it getting worse, and you may die. Your death would be sooner and more painful than the one you will face if you don’t take the cure. However, you have absolutely no chance at life if you don’t take it. You can choose not to take it if you want; I won’t force you to do either, but I want you to know the possible outcomes of both. Do you have any questions?” Slowly, the prince shook his head. Freedom inhaled slowly, and let her voice rise again. “So, do you want the cure?” He nodded.
“At least I’ll have a chance, then,” he breathed. Freedom nodded and rose from the chair.
“I’ll be back within the hour,” she stated, and walked briskly out the door. As soon as she was clear of the castle, she began to yell.
“Why ethel poisoning? Why? The ingredients to the cure are so rare that it’s going to cost me 1000 ethels minimum to buy them! For once in my life, someone that isn’t family and isn’t a slave is kind to me, and now when I can finally buy my freedom, it is taken from my in an instant!” she ranted, sobbing. “I can’t let him die, now because I’ve seen his face and heard his voice. Now that he’s real to me, I have to be kind and I can’t be cruel,” she finished, her voice quieting until it was less than a whisper.
She barely managed to reach the herb shop before it closed. “Sir, I need a cup of freiden petals and one third of a cup of laxen,” she panted. The shopkeeper nodded, and prepared the herbs.
“1500 ethels, please,” he grunted, holding out a grubby hand.
“What?” she screeched. “Those are only worth 1000 ethels!”
“The shopkeeper laughed. “1000 ethels for a cup of freiden, and 1500 ethels for a cup of laxen. Thus, 1500 ethels since you only wanted one third a cup of laxen.” He grinned as if her were getting some weird pleasure out of seeing her angry.
“Fine.” She handed him the bag, fuming. He handed her the herbs and she turned around to come face to face with the man who had given her the money. She stiffened and avoided his gaze.
“Slave that wants to be free, eh?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me, was that all a show?” He tugged on her collar. “Is this a fake?” He didn’t seem angry, just curious. Freedom shook her head. “Then why aren’t you free now? I gave you that money to buy your freedom.”
She clutched her bag, still not looking at him. “I found a better use for it,” she explained, her voice shaking.
The man smirked from under his cloak. “Buying rare, useless herbs is a better use?” he asked.
“They’re not useless. They help make a cure for a poison.”
The man raised his other eyebrow. “You’re poisoned, love?” Amusement rang clear in his voice.
“Somebody I know is. I didn’t know how severe it was until fifteen minutes ago. He’ll die within the-”
“Somebody you know. Not a friend? That’ awfully generous, don’t you think?” She looked away, her cheeks bright red.
“I can only be cruel until I see the person’s face or hear their voice. It would be wrong to let him die when I’m the only one who can fix him.”
“Aw, how noble,” he mocked. “Trading your freedom for his life. Tell me, do you like the king we have now?”
She looked up. “No,” she mumbled.
“Well, like father like son. The prince is an apple from the same tree, love. Best to let him die, don’t you think?” She fumed.
“You don’t know! He might be different. Not everyone is like their parents, or there would be no change in society.” The man frowned, realizing he had touched a sore spot. He paused before speaking.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he started, pausing again. “I’d pay for your freedom again, but I can’t afford it right now.”
Freedom shook her head. “I wouldn’t accept the money if you had. You’ve already done a lot for me, and it’s my own fault that I chose his life over my freedom. I had better be going. Good night.” She curtsied to him and left, scurrying away as quickly as possible.
She arrived at the kitchen a few minutes later, and yelled at Rosemary to boil some water as she began chopping the laxen into little bits and pieces. Laxen was a rare, green root that grew only in northern Treinot. Many made up stories about its uses, but none were true. Most believed it had no use. Freedom’s mother had discovered that it made a cure when mixed with various other ingredients. As the water began to boil, Rosemary gathered the freiden petals and dumped them in the water. Freiden flowers grew on an island in southern Treinot.
“Rose, can you put two cups of refined sugar in there for me?” Freedom called. To anyone other than the slaves, Freedom would seem an idiot; only her fellow slaves knew her natural talent for healing inherited from her mother. Far too often, they would call her to cure them of some ailment, and every time she would cure them. Even a few select nobles recognized her talent and asked for her. Of course, none of them were grateful enough to buy her freedom or even mention that she had been the one who cured them. Each time, they blamed it on their astounding natural health.
Freedom finished chopping the laxen and dropped it into the pot, her hand so close to the dish that she almost burnt herself. She took a wooden spoon from one of the drawers and stirred it until it simmered like syrup. She fetched a ladle and spooned the majority of it into a wooden servant’s cup. The rest she kept on the stove in case this bit was not enough to cure the prince or he was poisoned again. She hurried to the hospital, covering the concoction with her hand in case she spilt it outside.
When she arrived, the prince was still awake. “Doctor?” he managed to ask. His condition had become slightly better within the half hour it took her to gather the ingredients and make the cure.
She walked briskly over, remembering that she was taking on the guise of a royal doctor, though she did not look it. She noticed that the prince had managed to open his eyes. She paled. “You’re a doctor?” he asked, his voice still hoarse. He looked her over as she nodded. He smiled as she sat in the chair and placed the mug on the wooden nightstand.
“No you’re not.” He relaxed a little and closed his eyes. “You’re probably the one that poisoned me. Have you come to finish the job?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before continuing. “Good. I just want the pain to go away. I’m sorry for offending you-” He was cut off by Freedom pressing the mug to his lips.
“Drink. You’re right, I’m not the doctor, but you’re also wrong. I didn’t poison you, and yes, this will cure you. The only reason I’m saving your life is because I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.” She sighed as he swallowed the last bit of the cure. She ripped a piece off of her already tattered skirt and wiped his mouth. “Don’t let them put the leeches back on you, whatever you do. It will make you weaker and you won’t be able to handle the cure,” she explained, walking towards the door. She stopped for a moment. “Good luck to you,” she whispered so softly that only she could hear, and walked out the door and back to her room to sleep. “Good luck to you.”
Freedom woke to the familiar scent of salty mist slipping silently through her window. She smiled and stood, stretching. She gathered up her cloak and headed for the cliffs just outside the castle. She sat there a while, taking in the beauty of the morning before dawn broke. As the sun’s rays brushed the horizon, she began to sing. She sang of sadness, hope, anger, and love. She sang of loss, and of gain; in short, she sang how she felt, aware and uncaring of those who gathered to listen. Singing was her ranting; singing was where she could be free, if but for a moment. As always, her brief moment of freedom ended too soon, and it was time to start her day’s work.
The castle was in an uproar as she returned. No noblemen argued in the fields; no servants or slaves busied themselves with their work. Soldiers ran about the grounds, searching for something; actually, they were searching for someone: Freedom. As she entered the kitchens, she was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown to the ground by a member of the royal guard. He bound her wrists as she tried to squirm away and run for help. He pulled her to a standing position by her hair and grabbed her bound wrists, practically dragging her to wherever it was he was taking her.
Freedom knew immediately what had happened: she had been seen in the prince’s room last night and had been identified as a slave. As she suspected, she was being lead outside to a pole where she would be bound and beaten to death without even the chance to defend herself. She sighed as she was bound to the pole and closed her eyes, not even bothering to try and explain herself. She knew full well that it would do no good. The top half of her dress was ripped off by one of the soldiers, and the king himself walked up to speak with her.
He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. “You killed my son,” he whispered before striking her on the face. He turned to the gathering crowd of slaves and nobles. “This girl was the one who poisoned the prince!” he shouted, causing a murmur to spread among the crowd.
“I did not,” Freedom protested carelessly, her voice ringing clear with boredom. The king glared at her.
“Then why were you in his quarters last night?” he questioned, refusing to listen to the answer. His question was met by a gasp among the nobles. The slaves were either shaking their heads sadly or crying, for they knew why she had been there. Some whispered to each other, asking who had turned her in. “She will be killed, now, as is fit. A life for a life.” His voice was met by much agreement among the nobles. Of course, they would agree with him if he suggested that she was really the prince and that this had all been a big mistake. “Begin,” he ordered the soldier waiting with the rope.
He began to hit her, but Freedom took no notice even as blood began to run down her back. She was lost in memories. It was only as she began to feel dizzy that she registered that there was pain in her back. She yelped softly. This was met by laughter in the crowd.
-
The prince groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up, and immediately realized that the pain he had felt before was gone. He felt his face with his hands. His lips were still cracked, and some leftover gunk that had sealed his eyes remained, but the boils were gone. He hurried over to the wash basin and rinsed his face and mouth, washing out the leftover blood.
“This girl works miracles,” he breathed as he grabbed a clean shirt from one of the dressers. He pulled it over his head as he heard a loud cry, followed by several sobs and laughter. Curious, he hurried to the window to see the girl that had saved his life being beaten with a long rope. He immediately paled and began to bound down the stairs.
They must have seen her come in and thought she was poisoning me, he thought angrily. This only made him run faster. As he neared the pole where she was bound, he began to shout. “Let her go you idiots!” He continued to yell less kind words as he reached the pole and cut the ropes that tied her there. “She’s only fourteen,” he whispered as she collapsed unconscious in his arms. He carried her bridal style to his room in the hospital wing and began to clean her cuts.
The crowd slowly dispersed, stunned both at the fact the prince was well and that he had stopped her punishment. He finished bandaging her and slipped a shirt over her head before he laid her down on the bed to rest.
The king entered the room, a confused look apparent on his face. “You’re well,” he commented.
“Nice observation,” the prince countered coldly. The king fumed.
“How dare you speak to your father that way!” he roared.
“How dare you harm a fourteen year old girl in the way that you did!” the prince shouted angrily, standing and waving his arms. “Could you not have at least questioned her or waited for me to die? Hmm?”
“We thought you were dead. You were so close that there was no way our doctors-”
“Your doctors?” he spat. “They clearly know nothing of medicine. I would more willingly trust my life to an ape than I would to your so called doctors. According to this girl, they’re idiots, and I trust her. She saved my life; all she had to do was ask a few simple questions and immediately she knew what poison had been used and how to cure it. Those doctors spent a day leeching me and feeding me lies. What do you expect?” His voice rang clearly before silence filled the room. Neither spoke, and the king left without a word.
In Freedom’s Name
Prologue
A soft, melodic voice echoed across the salty waters. Dawn had barely begun to break, and gentle curls of mist made the sad song heard by all. The voice was loving, caring, and sympathetic to the sorrows of passing sailors and townspeople who were near, yet it regarded its own woes as a matter of unimportance. It was this siren-like voice that called people of all ages to listen, and let them see their faults; it was this voice that longed for a second chance it was never given, yet each day it rang clearly to give others another chance, be it second, third, or tenth. This voice mystified each and every audience, yet the voice was never seen. Freedom, they called her. Freedom.
1
Freedom stretched, the sleeve of her rough, handmade worker’s dress catching on the stable door. She sighed and began to detach the dress from the door, her fingers moving expertly around the snarl the wooden door had created. When she finished, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. There was no one to be seen; there were only a few horses grazing in the field she had just lead them to. Curious, she returned to the kitchens of the palace at which she worked. Unwillingly, of course. Freedom was a slave, supposedly kept so for the debt her mother left when she died. Treinot and its surrounding countries were notorious for their harsh punishments and the Court’s ability to take a person’s freedom. Treinot was the worst country for a peasant or slave.
Slowly, Freedom inhaled and exhaled, preparing herself for what lay behind the door. She knew it would be a matter of importance if no one, not even the boisterous young dukes, were in the yard. She opened the door to see each of the slaves bowing, head to the floor. Immediately, Freedom scurried inside and dropped to the position the others had taken with a squeak as the king himself entered. He walked swiftly in, a look of worry and anger apparent on his face. His straggly, brown hair was even more a wreck than usual, and his sharp blue eyes threatened all.
“The prince has been poisoned,” he announced sadly. “Have any of you seen a suspicious person in the kitchens lately? Or, perhaps, one of you poisoned him?” he continued angrily. He was greeted by a low murmur of “no, your Majesty’s”.
“Well, then report to me if you do,” he ordered, “immediately.” With that, he left, and the slaves rose slowly and continued their work. Freedom looked about the room, but left quickly after, having chores to complete. She walked briskly to the storage shed, and took up a large bag of chicken feed to take to the coop. She arrived at the coop, and began pouring feed into the feed bowl. As she did so, she began to think about the prince’s poisoning. Served him right, was the first thought that came into her head. Immediately, a pang of guilt followed. She shook her head, gathering up the bag of feed and depositing it in a corner. It’s probably just an allergic reaction, or the stomach flu. Nobles always play up their weaknesses. It seems as if they enjoy punishing the people under them for problems they could not fix. With that, Freedom exited the coop. Until sunset, she worked steadily, never resting.
As the edge of the sun finally brushed the horizon, Freedom had finished her chores and headed to her small bedroom. She was lucky to have one to herself, though it was only the size of a small closet and it had an awful draft, and she was thankful for the privacy. The room was of a dark, rough wood on all sides, and a small window allowed light to pass through. A dirty mirror was suspended on the wall to her left, and hay and blankets made her bed which took up the entire floor space. A beggar’s cloak was tossed carelessly atop the mess.
Freedom stepped inside, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was no beauty; her eyes were uneven and swollen from a lack of sleep, a short mess of brown hair which she never bothered combing fell in her eyes, and her complexion was tanned as an overworked farmer, not as noble ladies would often try to achieve. Pale lips sat in the middle of her face, chapped and peeling. Freedom sighed and brushed some hair out of her eyes. She would never obtain enough money to buy her freedom. Even after begging on the streets every night for the past few years, she had only been able to scrounge up 250 ethels, the lowest form of money in Treinot. If she was unable to pay 1500 ethels by her fifteenth birthday, which was in nine months, the cost of her freedom would be raised to such a high price that she would never be able to pay for it.
With one last sad look in the mirror, Freedom put on her cloak and wandered out of her room, feeling for the ethels in her pocket. She snuck out of the castle with ease, having done so every night for the past five years, and trudged slowly to town. She arrived fifteen minutes later, and slumped down into her corner of the market place, holding up the same sign she had used for the past few months: “Money needed for a good cause. Please help.” Nobody even glanced at her, save for one man she couldn’t see. An hour later, when the streets were empty except for the occasional shopkeeper closing his store for the night, she tossed the sign in the dirt and started yelling.
“Why? Why must I live in a country where children are kept as slaves? Why must I obey nobles without question while they sit on their bottoms and get fat off of my labor? When? When will I be free?” she shouted at the sky, pleading by the end. “Or better yet- will I?” she whispered, before collapsing into tears. The figure that had been watching her stepped out from the shadows, but Freedom took no notice. He briskly walked past her, purposely dropping a large purse full of coins before her. Freedom looked up slowly at the man’s retreating figure, noticed the purse and gasped, taking it up. “Sir, you dropped this,” she called, holding it aloft, tears still running down her face. He stopped, looked over his shoulder, and winked before retreating down the alleyway, his cloak trailing in the wind.
Freedom stood there, dumbstruck by what had just happened. Slowly, she opened the purse to find a full 1500 ethels. She gasped before grinning and shouting, “thank you!” This in itself was enough to buy her freedom, and she would have the extra 250 ethels at her disposal to help her start her new life. She hurried up to the castle and retreated to her bedroom, knowing that it was too late at night for the Slaves Office to be open.
Happily, she curled up on her bed of straw. A moment later, one of the other slaves, Rosemary, barged in. She was a year older than Freedom, and was a hopeless romantic, despite her efforts to hide it. She was tall, but not giant. Her eyes were a beautiful ocean blue, and her lips were naturally red. She was the perfect image of beauty; the only signs that she was a slave were her strong hands and the heavy collar that squeezed her slender neck. The look on her face now would have made a born thief feel guilty for thieving.
“Freedom, am I mistaken or have you neglected to check up on the prince?” she questioned in a scolding manner, already knowing the answer.
Freedom looked up, her eyes still brimming with joy. “I wasn’t planning on helping him at all,” she answered before losing her eyes again. Rosemary promptly hit her on the head with a broom. Freedom sat up quickly and glared at Rosemary. “Do you carry that broom with you everywhere?” she asked wearily, standing up and stretching.
Rosemary glared back with equal seriousness. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. You’re the only one of us who is good enough with medicine and cures to heal poison. Are you going to let the prince die when you can do something about it?” It was Rosemary’s tone rather than her words that made Freedom feel guilty. She sighed and scratched her head.
“I’ll see what I can do, but if I can’t fix him tonight, I’m not fixing him at all.” Rosemary tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, while Freedom broke out in a grin. She reached in her newly rumpled cloak and held out the purse the man had given her earlier. “It’s enough to buy my freedom, Rosemary. Am I really going to stay a slave just to fix up a spoiled prince who was the cause of my enslavement in the first place? I think not.” Her voice was quiet and excited. Rosemary’s eyes widened.
“You’re going to be free?” her voice was just as quiet, as if by speaking too loudly she would frighten the money away. Freedom nodded, her grin widening as Rosemary pulled her into a tight hug. “Remember me when you’re on your own,” she whispered. Freedom’s smile faded.
“Rose, the first thing I’m going to do when I’m free is raise money to free you. I’m not going to leave you here all alone,” she breathed.
“Don’t waste your time and money. I’m too old for you to afford. I’m 3000 ethels, Freedom.”
“I don’t care; you’re my friend and I don’t want you to suffer when I could have helped you.” They broke apart. “I’d better go check on the prince. Wish me luck.” She scurried down the hall as Rosemary glared playfully at her retreating back.
“Please, please, please take care of yourself,” she spoke to the air.
-
Freedom arrived at the royal hospital, sweat running down her face. She had been nearly caught several times. She was now dressed in a spare white coat and hat that the doctors wore, her hair up in a bun so that she looked like a boy. She entered the room quietly and had to fight back a snort. They had even done up the hospital room in rare blue silks and expensive furnishings. The prince lay asleep on a four poster bed in the center of the room with blue silk hangings. She walked up to him and sat in the doctor’s chair next to him. The first thing she noticed was the leeches that covered his body. She gasped in shock; they were only making him condition worse. She grabbed the waste bucket next to the bed and quickly pulled the leeches off, causing the prince to wake and try and sit up, groaning miserably. That was when she first noticed his face.
The prince was normally extraordinarily handsome, with bright blue eyes and perfectly cut brown hair accompanied by a strong jaw line and full lips. Now, large boils covered his face and his eyes were sealed shut with a white cream-like mixture caused by the poison. He began to cough up blood and reached for the waste bucket which she gave him hastily. A moment later, he sat back, wiping his cracked, blood-crusted lips. “Doctor?” he rasped, his voice a loud whisper.
“Yes?” she replied patiently, remembering to lower her voice, as there were no female doctors.
“Am I going to die?” he asked. She realized that the doctors he would have told him so because they would not know the medicine she knew. “A straight yes or no answer, please. I want to know so I can say goodbye…” he whispered, his voice fading.
“You’re not in good shape; I’ll tell you that. Whether you’ll die or not depends on which poison the person used. I need you answer these questions for me. Can you open your eyes at all? Oh, and nod or shake your head. Using your voice will make your condition worse.” He nodded before trying to open his eyes. He shook his head.
“Do you have a headache?” He nodded. “Can you move any limb other than your head?” He shook his head. “Does it feel like you have maggots in your veins? Like you’re being eaten from the inside out?”
He nodded his head furiously, and whispered, “Yes! I can’t get any of the other doctors to understand that.” Freedom pursed her lips. He had been poisoned for a long time.
“Don’t let the others put leeches on you again. I need to go to the town to get some supplies for your cure. You won’t get better immediately; in fact, you’ll get far worse for a time. You won’t be able to speak, or shake your head. You won’t be able to keep down water, and you’ll be hungrier than ever, but this will only last for about a day. After, you’ll get better in a matter of two or three hours. Your body may not be able to handle the period of it getting worse, and you may die. Your death would be sooner and more painful than the one you will face if you don’t take the cure. However, you have absolutely no chance at life if you don’t take it. You can choose not to take it if you want; I won’t force you to do either, but I want you to know the possible outcomes of both. Do you have any questions?” Slowly, the prince shook his head. Freedom inhaled slowly, and let her voice rise again. “So, do you want the cure?” He nodded.
“At least I’ll have a chance, then,” he breathed. Freedom nodded and rose from the chair.
“I’ll be back within the hour,” she stated, and walked briskly out the door. As soon as she was clear of the castle, she began to yell.
“Why ethel poisoning? Why? The ingredients to the cure are so rare that it’s going to cost me 1000 ethels minimum to buy them! For once in my life, someone that isn’t family and isn’t a slave is kind to me, and now when I can finally buy my freedom, it is taken from my in an instant!” she ranted, sobbing. “I can’t let him die, now because I’ve seen his face and heard his voice. Now that he’s real to me, I have to be kind and I can’t be cruel,” she finished, her voice quieting until it was less than a whisper.
She barely managed to reach the herb shop before it closed. “Sir, I need a cup of freiden petals and one third of a cup of laxen,” she panted. The shopkeeper nodded, and prepared the herbs.
“1500 ethels, please,” he grunted, holding out a grubby hand.
“What?” she screeched. “Those are only worth 1000 ethels!”
“The shopkeeper laughed. “1000 ethels for a cup of freiden, and 1500 ethels for a cup of laxen. Thus, 1500 ethels since you only wanted one third a cup of laxen.” He grinned as if her were getting some weird pleasure out of seeing her angry.
“Fine.” She handed him the bag, fuming. He handed her the herbs and she turned around to come face to face with the man who had given her the money. She stiffened and avoided his gaze.
“Slave that wants to be free, eh?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me, was that all a show?” He tugged on her collar. “Is this a fake?” He didn’t seem angry, just curious. Freedom shook her head. “Then why aren’t you free now? I gave you that money to buy your freedom.”
She clutched her bag, still not looking at him. “I found a better use for it,” she explained, her voice shaking.
The man smirked from under his cloak. “Buying rare, useless herbs is a better use?” he asked.
“They’re not useless. They help make a cure for a poison.”
The man raised his other eyebrow. “You’re poisoned, love?” Amusement rang clear in his voice.
“Somebody I know is. I didn’t know how severe it was until fifteen minutes ago. He’ll die within the-”
“Somebody you know. Not a friend? That’ awfully generous, don’t you think?” She looked away, her cheeks bright red.
“I can only be cruel until I see the person’s face or hear their voice. It would be wrong to let him die when I’m the only one who can fix him.”
“Aw, how noble,” he mocked. “Trading your freedom for his life. Tell me, do you like the king we have now?”
She looked up. “No,” she mumbled.
“Well, like father like son. The prince is an apple from the same tree, love. Best to let him die, don’t you think?” She fumed.
“You don’t know! He might be different. Not everyone is like their parents, or there would be no change in society.” The man frowned, realizing he had touched a sore spot. He paused before speaking.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he started, pausing again. “I’d pay for your freedom again, but I can’t afford it right now.”
Freedom shook her head. “I wouldn’t accept the money if you had. You’ve already done a lot for me, and it’s my own fault that I chose his life over my freedom. I had better be going. Good night.” She curtsied to him and left, scurrying away as quickly as possible.
She arrived at the kitchen a few minutes later, and yelled at Rosemary to boil some water as she began chopping the laxen into little bits and pieces. Laxen was a rare, green root that grew only in northern Treinot. Many made up stories about its uses, but none were true. Most believed it had no use. Freedom’s mother had discovered that it made a cure when mixed with various other ingredients. As the water began to boil, Rosemary gathered the freiden petals and dumped them in the water. Freiden flowers grew on an island in southern Treinot.
“Rose, can you put two cups of refined sugar in there for me?” Freedom called. To anyone other than the slaves, Freedom would seem an idiot; only her fellow slaves knew her natural talent for healing inherited from her mother. Far too often, they would call her to cure them of some ailment, and every time she would cure them. Even a few select nobles recognized her talent and asked for her. Of course, none of them were grateful enough to buy her freedom or even mention that she had been the one who cured them. Each time, they blamed it on their astounding natural health.
Freedom finished chopping the laxen and dropped it into the pot, her hand so close to the dish that she almost burnt herself. She took a wooden spoon from one of the drawers and stirred it until it simmered like syrup. She fetched a ladle and spooned the majority of it into a wooden servant’s cup. The rest she kept on the stove in case this bit was not enough to cure the prince or he was poisoned again. She hurried to the hospital, covering the concoction with her hand in case she spilt it outside.
When she arrived, the prince was still awake. “Doctor?” he managed to ask. His condition had become slightly better within the half hour it took her to gather the ingredients and make the cure.
She walked briskly over, remembering that she was taking on the guise of a royal doctor, though she did not look it. She noticed that the prince had managed to open his eyes. She paled. “You’re a doctor?” he asked, his voice still hoarse. He looked her over as she nodded. He smiled as she sat in the chair and placed the mug on the wooden nightstand.
“No you’re not.” He relaxed a little and closed his eyes. “You’re probably the one that poisoned me. Have you come to finish the job?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before continuing. “Good. I just want the pain to go away. I’m sorry for offending you-” He was cut off by Freedom pressing the mug to his lips.
“Drink. You’re right, I’m not the doctor, but you’re also wrong. I didn’t poison you, and yes, this will cure you. The only reason I’m saving your life is because I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.” She sighed as he swallowed the last bit of the cure. She ripped a piece off of her already tattered skirt and wiped his mouth. “Don’t let them put the leeches back on you, whatever you do. It will make you weaker and you won’t be able to handle the cure,” she explained, walking towards the door. She stopped for a moment. “Good luck to you,” she whispered so softly that only she could hear, and walked out the door and back to her room to sleep. “Good luck to you.”
Freedom woke to the familiar scent of salty mist slipping silently through her window. She smiled and stood, stretching. She gathered up her cloak and headed for the cliffs just outside the castle. She sat there a while, taking in the beauty of the morning before dawn broke. As the sun’s rays brushed the horizon, she began to sing. She sang of sadness, hope, anger, and love. She sang of loss, and of gain; in short, she sang how she felt, aware and uncaring of those who gathered to listen. Singing was her ranting; singing was where she could be free, if but for a moment. As always, her brief moment of freedom ended too soon, and it was time to start her day’s work.
The castle was in an uproar as she returned. No noblemen argued in the fields; no servants or slaves busied themselves with their work. Soldiers ran about the grounds, searching for something; actually, they were searching for someone: Freedom. As she entered the kitchens, she was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown to the ground by a member of the royal guard. He bound her wrists as she tried to squirm away and run for help. He pulled her to a standing position by her hair and grabbed her bound wrists, practically dragging her to wherever it was he was taking her.
Freedom knew immediately what had happened: she had been seen in the prince’s room last night and had been identified as a slave. As she suspected, she was being lead outside to a pole where she would be bound and beaten to death without even the chance to defend herself. She sighed as she was bound to the pole and closed her eyes, not even bothering to try and explain herself. She knew full well that it would do no good. The top half of her dress was ripped off by one of the soldiers, and the king himself walked up to speak with her.
He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. “You killed my son,” he whispered before striking her on the face. He turned to the gathering crowd of slaves and nobles. “This girl was the one who poisoned the prince!” he shouted, causing a murmur to spread among the crowd.
“I did not,” Freedom protested carelessly, her voice ringing clear with boredom. The king glared at her.
“Then why were you in his quarters last night?” he questioned, refusing to listen to the answer. His question was met by a gasp among the nobles. The slaves were either shaking their heads sadly or crying, for they knew why she had been there. Some whispered to each other, asking who had turned her in. “She will be killed, now, as is fit. A life for a life.” His voice was met by much agreement among the nobles. Of course, they would agree with him if he suggested that she was really the prince and that this had all been a big mistake. “Begin,” he ordered the soldier waiting with the rope.
He began to hit her, but Freedom took no notice even as blood began to run down her back. She was lost in memories. It was only as she began to feel dizzy that she registered that there was pain in her back. She yelped softly. This was met by laughter in the crowd.
-
The prince groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up, and immediately realized that the pain he had felt before was gone. He felt his face with his hands. His lips were still cracked, and some leftover gunk that had sealed his eyes remained, but the boils were gone. He hurried over to the wash basin and rinsed his face and mouth, washing out the leftover blood.
“This girl works miracles,” he breathed as he grabbed a clean shirt from one of the dressers. He pulled it over his head as he heard a loud cry, followed by several sobs and laughter. Curious, he hurried to the window to see the girl that had saved his life being beaten with a long rope. He immediately paled and began to bound down the stairs.
They must have seen her come in and thought she was poisoning me, he thought angrily. This only made him run faster. As he neared the pole where she was bound, he began to shout. “Let her go you idiots!” He continued to yell less kind words as he reached the pole and cut the ropes that tied her there. “She’s only fourteen,” he whispered as she collapsed unconscious in his arms. He carried her bridal style to his room in the hospital wing and began to clean her cuts.
The crowd slowly dispersed, stunned both at the fact the prince was well and that he had stopped her punishment. He finished bandaging her and slipped a shirt over her head before he laid her down on the bed to rest.
The king entered the room, a confused look apparent on his face. “You’re well,” he commented.
“Nice observation,” the prince countered coldly. The king fumed.
“How dare you speak to your father that way!” he roared.
“How dare you harm a fourteen year old girl in the way that you did!” the prince shouted angrily, standing and waving his arms. “Could you not have at least questioned her or waited for me to die? Hmm?”
“We thought you were dead. You were so close that there was no way our doctors-”
“Your doctors?” he spat. “They clearly know nothing of medicine. I would more willingly trust my life to an ape than I would to your so called doctors. According to this girl, they’re idiots, and I trust her. She saved my life; all she had to do was ask a few simple questions and immediately she knew what poison had been used and how to cure it. Those doctors spent a day leeching me and feeding me lies. What do you expect?” His voice rang clearly before silence filled the room. Neither spoke, and the king left without a word.
