Ressa Ch. 1-3

Chapter 3

Ressa didn’t see Murlth anywhere as they passed through his castle. She lost count of the twists and turns and narrow hallways she was run through. She only knew when sunlight shone on her face, breaking through her frenzied stupor. She breathed deep of the fresh, clean air and started struggling that much more. Her captors’ hold on her stayed firm, and now it was no surprised when she saw the slave wagons loaded with cages on the castles front stones. Ressa was thrown onto the bed of one wagon and roughly chained to the metal poles by her ankles. There were few others kept that way on the wagons.

It was a classic way to travel with feisty, tricky or violent slaves. There were metal poles embedded into the flats of the slave wagons. The poles were made to be very large and they were very hard to move up and down, but easy to turn. So if the slave fidgeted, the pole would turn and turn the ankle chain with it, throwing the slave off the wide back of the wagon, where’d they be dragged for the rest of the journey. It was a painful sort of torture.

Ressa pulled herself up, carefully, against the wall of the wooden wagon. So, she was sold into slavery once again. It was beginning to get annoying. She still couldn’t see Murlth anywhere. A curse on that vampire Ressa thought angrily; a curse on him, and all who didn’t lust for his death. Like Chlora. Ressa frowned at the thought of her. Then again… Chlora had tried to warn her, hadn’t she? Her feverish murmurs had been stopped last night by Choff. But Chlora had tried to warn her. Ressa sighed. She had been taken from yet another place. She’d miss Bruz, and especially –“Kila!” How…?!

“Kila!” Ressa jerked, remembering just in time not to move her legs. Visible between the slave catchers was Kila’s wizened face, creased with fear and fury. Ressa gasped as she saw a muscular arm around the old slave’s shoulders, clutching her tightly. The arm was Ramir’s. The ex-slayer smiled, showing white fangs. Ramir? With fangs? Was he…he couldn’t have… Ressa’s mouth went dry. She could see in her mind’s eye, Ramir’s head coming forward and Kila’s expression of pain and fear as he bit her. Kila dropping to the stones, dead, and Ressa could see his smirk. She could see Kila’s blood on his overlarge teeth.

But Ramir was not so merciful, nor so traditional. As the slave catchers readied themselves to leave, Ramir pulled a shard silver axe from behind him. From Kila – Kila! – Ressa knew that the axe was a slayer weapon, engraved with the pledge of Nyrrah. Ressa’s chest heaved as the wagon bumped into motion. She gagged, on the verge of tears. As if Ramir could tell (Ressa had little doubt that he could) how distraught she was, he waggled the broad axe at her. Then he laughed, using one hand to push Kila away while with the other he swung.

The first swing cut across her sand-brown eyes. The second swing cut off her head. Kila never had the time to cry out.

Ressa saw Ramir drop the axe like a cursed thing before she could fall prey to the screaming in her mind. Her shocked eyes were dry. Something new and angry glowed within them.

Ressa awoke to find herself staring over the wagon edge. She eased herself back, silently cursing as she shot a glance back at the poles she was shackled to. They were two moves away from the quarter turn that would send her over the edge. She shook her head. You never fall asleep on the wagons. It was a slave rule. Slaves needed to be alert to their surroundings. Ressa looked at the wagon following hers, at the cages in rear of the driver’s station. Some of the caged were screaming and thrashing. Others were just sitting or standing, gazing into space. They were the broken ones. Kila had told Ressa never to break.

Chapter 2

“'All a master a slave could pray for.' Ha! Never thought I'd hear such foolishness. Nyrrah bless that girl, with death or revelation,” Kila scorned.

“Death, likely,” a cold voice put in from behind Kila. “You shouldn't ask Her Goddess Nyrrah for anything, old-timer. What business do you have calling on the Goddess of Slayers?”

Ressa frowned at the man who had spoken. Fresh from writing invitations himself, Ramir was looking cocky as ever. Some time ago, Kila had told Ressa all about the formidable man. Ramir was an ex-slayer, betrayed and sold into slavery by the same people he used to work with. Ressa didn't know why. Kila was amazingly perceptive from being a slave for most of her life, but even she had limits. Ramir, apparently, was one of them.

Kila spat at him. “I have the same business as you, Ramir. I ask Her Goddess for the elimination of bloodsuckers, and the liberation of the Slayer-”

“Exactly. The liberation of the Slayer. Not of the pitiful who sit on the sidelines, too weak to fight, disrespecting the name of-”

Kila grabbed Ramir by his shirt. She was old, but strong as anyone. “You disrespect the name, Ramir! You are unworthy of a Slayer's power and the rights of Nyrrah. Ramir, you are no better than a vampire yourself!” Her voice was a furious hiss.

Ramir didn't bother with words, but roared and threw himself at the old woman. Ressa and Bruz leapt to hold him back, struggling at his arms, but it wasn't until a blood slave named Choff came in and took Ramir in one heavy hand than he angrily stopped his charge. Ramir glared at Choff, Bruz, and finally at Ressa before stalking away. No one noticed Choff depart.

Ressa lifted her eyebrows. “Kila?”

The old slave chuckled. “Calling a slayer a vampire? Dear, it's a high offense. Fighting words, so to speak.”

Bruz nudged them with a smile. “I hear it's the same, other way around. But you couldn't care less, huh Kila?” The two women laughed together. Ressa could only shake her head with a sheepish smile.

----

Ressa was at the ovens, on cooking duty with three others, when Chlora staggered back in. She was pale, far more than usual, and her eyes were so dilated that they were a hazy gray. She was trembling from the blood loss, but Choff was there to support her. Other blood slaves flocked to help as well.

Chlora's eyes found Ressa's for one short moment. They were pleading, desperate. “T-Taking... R-Ress...” she mumbled, but Choff slid his thumb over her lips and led the drained slave back toward the quarters. Chlora struggled once, a futile movement that looked more like a twitch, then hung limp in Choff's arms. Other blood slaves near to Ressa shook their heads, some clucking their tongues. They could tell she was within an inch of life. Murlth had come very close this time, close to draining poor Chlora dry.

However, a small problem like Chlora couldn't keep Murlth's workers from business. Slaves came and went as dawn broke. Blood slaves took shifts with work slaves to sleep and eat. Cleaners came in and out, makeshift chefs (Ressa included) were made to fix breakfast before they could retire. Writers penned letters of Murlth's personal affairs, and all was busy in the slaves' den. Chlora hadn't been seen since she stumbled in with Choff, and though some worried they were kept too busy to check on her. Ramir's absence since his scene with Kila was also left unchecked, but with less concern involved.

Ressa nodded to Kila on her way into the sleeping quarters. The woman had already gotten her two hours' rest, and was heading back into the fray. Ressa, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than her due sleep. It was one of the moments that the girl envied the blood slaves. They got six hours of sleep, to keep themselves fresh. Not even for a hundred hours would Ressa give her blood to Murlth.

Yet, no sooner had Ressa lowered her eyelids than they were jolted open again, harshly. Heavy hands held her at the shoulders, waist, and ankles. There was little more that she could do than flail, curse and bite. Of course, these she did in plenty, to very little avail.

She was carried from the sleeping quarters and through the main den, where all the slaves had stopped working to watch. Choff and most others had featureless, dutiful expressions. Chlora was in tears, which Ressa was surprised to see. Bruz dabbed at her stern face with a stained piece of tissue, blotting the tears as they came. And... Kila? Ressa's eyes widened as they carried her out of the door. Where was Kila? Why wasn't she in the den?

Chapter 1

Flame-red hair brushed over the girl’s face, shadowing her emerald eyes. The young woman yawned, pushing her elbow long hair back with her left hand. Her right was firmly gripping a grimy rag with which she was scrubbing a stone floor- the same floor she’d been scrubbing for the last three hours. The girl sighed angrily.

A male figure watched his slave from the top of a wide staircase. She had been a worthy buy, for only thirteen coppers. She was a sturdy mortal, not like some of the other stick girls they’d had at the markets. She was strong as well and spirited. He grinned, even though she was mere mortal she still insisted on fighting him every time he came near. The vampire licked his fangs. He liked her that way.

He slowly descended the staircase behind the girl, the oily gray of his coat’s train floating behind him. Beneath the coat he wore a dark red shirt and black pants, both in stark contrast to his pale skin. He approached his slave and knelt, pulling her back by her beautiful hair that reminded him of vibrant fire. He twisted her head until his night blue eyes were staring into her green ones. “Having fun, dear? He asked, his smile vicious. The girls’ hand, studded with short nails, released the rag and flew to land beneath his hold. The last thing she needed was to be scalped. She spat into his face, right on the bridge of his handsome nose. “May death come for me first, Murlth,” she snapped.

Murlth laughed. “Oh no, my little Ressa. Not death!” He cried in tones of mock horror. “Never death, please!” He snarled and stood, his grip still on her hair, bearing her up until she was level with his six-foot height. Ressa’s feet hung three inches from the floor, and her head was pounding with the pain. Only her own hold on her hair kept it from being torn from its roots. “Death is not allowed here, wench.” Murlth snapped. “Remember that you are mortal and I am not. When you die it will not be here”. The vampire bared his fangs. ‘That’s if you have to die at all, of course.”

Murlth shoved Ressa hard into the stone stair rail. His fangs shot forward to her neck. She stifled a scream and struggled, slamming her head forward to meet the vampire’s mouth. She felt his teeth and then her own blood dripping through her eyelashes; a reward for her defiance. Murlth jerked his head back hissing in anger. He held one large hand to Ressa’s throat, forcing her against the stair, while with the other he slashed at her wherever he could reach. His nails tore her simple clothing and opened bright red wounds in her skin. Ressa screamed, and only then did the vampire release her, throwing her viciously to the ground. She twisted, catching herself hard on bleeding palms.

Ressa coughed and glared at Murlth, her hate for him trembled through her limbs. Murlth chuckled and turned his back on her, heading up the stairs. “Clean yourself," he called down to her, “and when you’ve finished send me Chlora. She’s easier than you.”

Mentally Murlth cursed himself. Chlora’s blood was decent, but anyone could tell from its color and the way it ran that Ressa’s was far better. If only he could bring himself to force his fangs into her.. .if only she wasn’t so willing to die first. This could not continue.

The girl picked herself up off the floor, bleeding in a dozen places. Ressa hesitated, then picked up the floor rag, dropping it into the bucket of dirty water and bearing it with her. She headed through the large hall she had just cleaned, putting the stairs at her back. Rounding a corridor, she ducked into a small room and shut the door firmly behind her.

As soon as she was within the slave quarters, human hands swept her cleaning things away. A frail woman with a motherly look in her eyes bustled Ressa behind a counter where letters of invitation were being written. Ressa dared not guess to what. The aged slave clucked her tongue at Ressa. “Nyrrah’s Grace, girl.You just can’t help getting into it, can you?” The old woman’s graying hair swayed as she spoke. Ressa couldn’t help but smile at the oldest of Murlth’s mortal slaves.

“It wasn’t my fault, Kila,” Ressa protested as the old woman took to cleaning her wounds. “He attacked me. I will not be a blood slave, Kila. Not to him.” She stated this firmly, winching as Kila’s stinging solution touched the wound on her forehead.

“That’s where the blood in your eyes was coming from.” Kila chided. “Now that it’s gone, maybe you will see better. He is a vampire, Ressa. Stronger and faster than you will ever be. Fighting him is useless”.

“My blood hasn’t touched his throat yet, has it?” Ressa replied petulantly. “That means my fighting has plenty of use.”

Kila parted her lips to reply, but was cut off by a snow-skinned girl with blonde hair and subtle green eyes. “No, fighting is still useless, and stupid too. You don’t even know the good of being a blood slave, Ressa. The fun of it... and knowing that without you, your vampire master will starve.”

Kila and a few other work slaves couldn’t help but mimic Ressa’s look of disgust. Even other blood slaves looked down on those who enjoyed being fed upon. Ressa snorted. “Shut up, Chlora. Just wait until Murlth forgets himself one day - or not - and drains you dry.”

Chlora laughed, flipping a careless hand. “My master would never do such a thing. He is a supreme example of a vampire." Her smile was blissful. "Oh, I could never be like him, but he.. .Master Murlth is all a master a slave could pray for.”

Kila scowled, but it was a slave named Bruz that spoke up. "All a slave should pray for is for their release. The only good master is your own self,” she said curtly. Ressa nodded her agreement.

“Go sing your praise to your master himself, Chlora," Ressa relayed the vampire's message, frowning. "He sent for you.” Chlora strode out smiling smugly; Bruz and Kila shook their heads.