Emancipation

Chapter 2 : Change

Chapter 2

It wasn’t a good day for scavenging, at least not for Raen. She was getting a little old to support herself on the kindness of strangers. The last three days all she brought to the pack was wilted vegetables and slightly burned baked goods that had been thrown away. That was what the adult homeless generally survived on, and jealously guarded. Raen was too young to fight her way into adult homeless society and too old to survive on what she could beg like a child. She needed to find a bridging source of sustenance. She needed a job. Not for the first time she pulled out the crumpled business card from “Honor Baggood, journeyman apothecary, Rand Apothecary Works.” Fred had urged her many times to go back and beg for a second chance at that opportunity.

Fred had taken on small jobs with three businesses. He delivered clean laundry, groceries, and Asian takeout. Sometimes if an order was screwed up he brought home a feast. It was time to pull at the slim thread of a chance she had. Raen began marching towards the address on the card. The apothecary shop was busy and it took several minutes for anyone to take notice of Raen in her worn and threadbare clothes. When one of the desk clerks did notice her, it was his first reaction to throw her out. Fortunately, before he could throw her out, Honor Baggood came out from the back of the shop.

“If it isn’t my favorite little snake charmer!” The badges and decorations on Honor’s clothing told Raen he had been promoted to the level of master.

“Master Baggood, is the job offer still open?”

“Are your reflexes still sharp?”

“Sharper than ever…” Raen shrugged.

“The job is yours, in fact, given my new circumstances, I have changed a few procedures to prevent escapees. One of them is that at least two people must be present for milking the snakes, the one milking the snake and a qualified handler to handle things if they go wrong. I would like to offer you a job as a qualified handler. We milk one day per week from around eight to around four-thirty. The pay is competitive, three full chits.” Honor stated as he handed a prepared powder to one of the desk clerks for packaging. “There will also be as needed assistance should anything escape, or we need a handler for a collection expedition.”

Three chits? One chit could provide two people three meals of the nutrient loaf, enough food for a day. She would still have the rest of the week to come up with what she could. This could really help her pack immensely.

“There will also be as needed assistance should anything escape, or we need a handler for a collection expedition. Also, there would be this,” he reached into a drawer around the counter he pulled out a professionally embroidered patch bearing the insignia of the Apothecary Guild.

Raen eyed the patch hungrily. Insignia’s like that could mean the difference between safely carrying on the life she had known and being disappeared by unscrupulous slavers attempting to thin the population of homeless individuals. Raen and Fred had barely escaped a roundup a few years ago. Truthfully, Raen had woken up in the night to slavers raiding the pack huddle hole. They were tying up the kids around her and carrying them off. Raen hazily remembered grabbing Fred by the arm and waking up in an entirely different alleyway.

“I’ll take the job.”

“Congratulations,” He handed her the patch and pulled a brand new messenger bag from behind the counter, “Could you make a delivery today? I mean it isn’t in your standard duties.”

Raen nodded emphatically. “Yes! And thank you!”

He handed the bag and the patch to her, “Deliver this to Onna Maker’s sewing shop. You’ll be picking it up tomorrow with the patch attached. It should cost a quarter chit. Use the rest to get you and your friends some supper,” Then he handed her a ten chit coin.

Her face felt suddenly comfortably warm and she felt a little weak in the knees, “Are you sure! That’s nine and three-quarters chits!”

Honor eyed her, “Yes it is. How long did you manage to stay in school?”

“I’ve never been. I always just know stuff. If I need to know something, it is like it's already in my head. I really want to thank you. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before!”

“No problem, what is the boiling point of mercury?”

“In Fahrenheit or Celsius?” Raen felt overwhelmed in a good way and a little confused.

“Fahrenheit? Celsius of course.”

“That would be 356.73 degrees of course,” Raen replied before really questioning how she knew. “But that doesn’t matter. I cannot express what I am feeling. No one has ever done something like this for me. I have to pay you back!”

“Just be open to a much wider job description,” Honor stated rubbing the bristles of a two-day-old goatee on his chin. “I didn’t know the boiling point of mercury until I was a third-year apprentice.” He muttered. He seemed to have dismissed Raen from his immediate attention.

Raen clasped the messenger bag to her chest and put both the patch and coin inside. He had given her so much, and it was clear he had no idea how much it meant to her. Okay, first she had to find Onna Maker’s sewing shop. Raen thought she knew where it was and headed down the street in the right direction. As she walked she felt strangely lighter than she ever had before. Her fingers went to her lips and found a smile she hadn’t put there.

With her footsteps, Raen counted the things she had been given, a job, guild affiliation, enough money to feed her pack for several days. The names for so many emotions wheeled themselves through her head and then stopped like a carnival wheel with the arrow pointing to gratitude. It was a strange feeling she had only ever felt wisps of before. This was so strong she wanted to run back and wrap her arms around Honor’s waist and thank him until he truly understood.


* * *

Beaoul sat next to Klugg. A substantial chain hung from a wide spiked collar around her neck. Around them at a distance, other hellhounds stood with their designated handlers. A man at the front of the group stood behind a chain-link wall. He was the one in charge. His uniform was a dark charcoal color, shades blacker than any of the handlers. Most of the handlers wore chain mail armor over their uniforms. Not that the chain mail would protect them long if their animal chose to attack them.

"Attention!" The man at the front yelled.

The handlers all jerked their animals to attention, guiding them with the promise of a small nibble of food. Most of the hounds came to stand at attention fairly quickly. Lapping up the small nibble of meat as a reward.

Klugg yanked at Beaoul's chain and held a smelly piece of rotten meat out in front of her. Beaoul sat, cleaning her front paws. "Damn it! Beaoul, stand at attention!" Beaoul paused in her cleaning and eyed Klugg, time to discover who was training who. Beaoul cocked her head to the side and projected the idea of him asking nicely. Klugg was dense but the look on his face told her that he had caught her meaning. He lowered the meat and let the chain fall slack, "Beaoul, please stand at attention." In a slow calculated way, Beaoul assumed the same posture of alertness the other hellhounds were displaying. Klugg shoved the nasty piece of meat at her muzzle and she choked it down.

The man at the front yelled, "At ease."

The other handlers proceeded to jerk and coax their animals into a seated but alert position. One hellhound snarled and bit at his handler. The chain mail held and the handler was unhurt. Hellhounds near the aggressive one became agitated and it seemed to Beaoul that open rebellion was about to break out. The handler with the aggressive hound pulled out a cattle prod and shocked his hound into unconsciousness. The other handlers all drew their weapons as well.

Beaoul was relieved that Klugg did not display such stupidity. "Beaoul, I need you to sit at attention. I don't want to have to shock you."

She sat primly back where she had been and looked to their master behind the chain link.

"Now, Pair off, and take your hounds into the combat rings."

Beaoul blinked. Combat? She was so stunned she passively followed Klugg to a large metal cage. Waiting inside for her was one of the largest hellhounds other than herself that Beaoul had ever seen. He stared at her with his empty bloodshot eyes. The only thing keeping him from lunging after her was the spiked collar and leash holding him to the far wall. Wisely Beaoul was reluctant to enter the cage. Klugg unfastened Beaoul's collar from the leash and shoved her in. With half a mind to turn and nip at him, Beaoul spun only to find the door slammed shut behind her. The other Hellhound's handler released their end of the leash and the hellhound lunged at Beaoul. Beaoul drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, bracing for an impact that never came. When she opened her eyes the male was down on his belly looking up at her with adoring eyes. His stub of a tail wagged behind him.

"What in the HELL!" The other hellhound's handler swore. Beaoul knew the male in front of her should be attempting to rip her throat out, or eviscerating her by now. Every bone in a hellhound's body was supposed to be aggressive and deadly. This male was not. His handler swore again and entered the cage. He walked up to his animal and kicked him. The hellhound rose and attacked the handler viciously. The man was eviscerated before he could protest that the chain mail should protect him. Beaoul's would have been opponent began eating his former trainer. So strong was his hunger that he had half devoured the man's chest before pausing and dragging the corpse in front of Beaoul as an offering. He then assumed the same supplicatory posture as before.

Klugg opened Beaoul's side of the cage, "Beaoul, come on out of there."

Gratefully, Beaoul walked away from the gruesome scene, aware that in the neighboring cages the superior hellhound was consuming the failure. A figure cloaked in black mist materialized in front of them. Beaoul recognized her as Mira Black, master of everyone in the compound. "Klugg, what is going on here?" Her scowl was at its most threatening.

"I was training Beaoul."

Mira rubbed her face, "I thought I made it clear that she was not to be treated as an ordinary hellhound."

"You did? I mean you did, but I was at a loss as to how to proceed."

Mira sighed, "You should have come to me. I would have told you to see how well she obeys commands and go from there. Clearly, she is not as stupid and savage as her counterparts. She has sat here obediently for this whole conversation without collar, leash, or another restraining device."

"I thought you were commanding her." Klugg stumbled.

Mira rolled her eyes, and looked to Beaoul, "Perhaps I should have put him in your charge. What I want is some approximation of your skill and intelligence. See if you can teach him a routine." Mira waved at them and disappeared like a dissolving mist.

Klugg looked to Beaoul, for direction. Beaoul began walking back to her pen along the route they had taken to get to the training room. It took just two heartbeats for Klugg to catch on and join her.


* * *

An interesting word, puntiglio, it meant a fine point, particular, or detail, as of conduct, ceremony, or procedure. Nova’s days and nights were full of them. She had become an arm of the religious oligarchy as a bonafide representative of the founders and the creator the moment she crashed into that field. The first feast was awkward. Nova tried to follow the examples of the other women and stay to the rear of the line for the feast. The bishop and other clergy urged her to the front. Eventually, she let the bishop pile food on her plate. She ate it all and wanted more, which they were all too eager to provide.

In the days that passed, Nova learned that they were motivated entirely by a childish need to impress her with their prosperity and gratitude, so she could pass word on to the founders and creator.

In their beliefs, there was a strict hierarchy. At the top was the creator of all things. Below him were the founders. They were the mystical entities that brought the people to Plymouth. Below them stood Nova, as an emissary to the creator and the founders. On nearly equal footing were the bishops, priests, and monks. Their wives were next and then came the men, male children and women, girl children fell at the absolute bottom.

The clergy acted as the earthly representatives of the founders, and they were exclusively male. Only men were taught to read, write, and more than the basics of mathematics. That said, Nova was taught by the best and the brightest minds of the colony. She learned everything voraciously. They all wanted her to know every single element of the proper observance of their religion.

One of the founders, Michael, had carried the fruit of life from Eden. He had planted trees, but without the soil of Eden, they lacked the fruit with near-miraculous healing ability. Still, the fruit of those trees was an important element of religious observances. The fruit did not heal but it did allow children who ate it to grow taller, faster, and smarter than children who were denied it. Once a year, in the fall, the fruit of the trees was harvested. It was evenly distributed to the temples of each city. On the autumnal equinox, the fruit was consumed. Mostly it went to the members of the clergy, though some were distributed to male children. Only the children of the clergy ever received a taste, and only a select few, destined to become bishops, received a whole fruit.

Nova received a whole fruit, she tasted it and marveled at the sensation of energy flowing into her. It spread through all of her cells. Shortly after consuming the fruit, Nova cut herself while preparing the children’s share of the fruit. The bishop, the only other person in the city trusted enough to prepare the fruit for the children, panicked when he saw her blood flowing freely from the cut. He quickly began first aid, wrapping a cloth around her hand and having her hold her hand above her head, before racing off to find a medical monk. By the time he returned not only had the bleeding stopped but the cut had healed.

“By the founders, I swear that it was deep enough to need stitches!” The bishop told the medic.

The medical monk shrugged, “I see the blood, but the cut is gone. I can’t say this surprises me, she is an emissary of the founders. Wasn’t it said Michael could heal from any wound?”

The bishop nodded, still disbelieving. Though only Nova’s ability to sense the thoughts and feelings of those around her clued her into that fact. “It is true,” He replied.

The medical monk left, and that was the last Nova saw of him, anytime she was injured the clergy she was with just patiently waited for her to heal. Nova cut herself again on purpose just to watch as it healed. One thing she did notice was that when she healed herself, she became rather hungry. Other than after healing, she had almost no appetite. A piece of toast, a cup of soup, and a few roasted vegetables could sustain her for an entire day.

Nova learned everything they taught her, but she knew there were subjects they avoided. Every so often she would catch wisps of knowledge floating through the minds of the clergy which trained her. Not all was as black and white as the bishop was presenting it to her.

Sometime during the first spring after her arrival, Nova decided she needed to see life as the laypeople lived it. As a society, the people were very superstitious, very religious, and believed in the founders and creators of all things. They worked tirelessly, each in their own personal niche. Lords kept order and provided the secular laws. Peasants worked for their lords and depended on them for their residences. The military and police forces answered to the clergy first and the lords second. Merchants made a living somewhere in between the groups in power and the peasants. Society was rigid, it was clear that change did not come easily.


* * *

Fiona knew the emotions of others her whole life, even before she could speak, and she did that exceptionally young. Over time she began to connect those emotions to people’s thoughts. Their inner voices bled over into her own. If it had been any different, she might have gotten lost in the press of other-selves. The thoughts drifted through her consciousness like scents in the wind. If she really focused she could grasp them and follow them to their source.

One day, at around the age of eight, Fiona was out playing in the park with two of her older brothers, and she felt a wisp of a thought, “Just a little colder and the lock will break.”

This thought piqued her interest. She followed it to its source. A teenage boy wearing a spiked collar, cut-off jeans jacket, black pants hovered near the bike rack. He had his hands around a bike lock. Fiona saw what looked like smoke slipping out the places where his hands weren’t quite touching. He pulled his hand back and the lock was covered in frost. He took out a pair of pliers and pried at the lock. Success was the lock cracking and falling away. The boy unwound the chain and pulled the bike from the rack.

Fiona realized he was probably stealing the bike and went up to him. She tapped him on the bare arm, to get his attention. What she actually got was a blurry history of his learning to freeze things with his mind. He flung her hand from his arm and quickly rode off on the stolen bike. Fiona stood stunned the air around her hands dropped in temperature by ten degrees. She realized that she had just shoved the heat further away from her. She drew the heat energy back towards her and felt her hands warm to ten degrees warmer than the surrounding air. That was something the boy couldn’t do. She wondered if she could make things hot enough to start a fire, but out in the open in a city park was not a place to experiment with fire.

Evan, her older brother by two years, came running up behind her, dripping with fear over her wandering off. “Fi, you can’t just wander off! Dad would kill me if you got lost!”

Joseph, Fiona’s older brother by five years soon followed, with his phone to his ear, “You found her! Dad, we found her! Yeah, we’re on our way home right now!” Joseph hung up his phone. “Dad’s pissed! Let’s go.”

Fiona nodded and normalized the temperature around her hands, barely before each of her brothers grabbed one. They practically dragged her the whole way home. Fiona thought about telling them what she had learned, but their reaction reminded her that she was the treasured family secret, and knowing she could do more would only make them hold her all the closer.