7.26.2004
Look, Kyra's actually posting!
This is one of the first scenes I wrote for Out of the Shadow. And...let's see...how much rambling explanation does this require...this happens when Naethiel's 17, after she's been living with Easterlings for about seven years. She and Eluréd had tried to escape a few days before this scene, but they were caught, and he ended up getting killed; the Easterlings just had Naethiel whipped (because she's a girl, I guess). Adham is a random Arabic name I picked for Naethiel's master, and I really don't know who he is otherwise. (The name apparently means "black," if anyone cares--I had been using Brodda as a stand-in and really needed something else.) I guess Naethiel's cleaning his weapons when the scene starts out; I just needed an excuse for her to be alone in a fairly small room. *roll* I haven't edited this particular scene much (or any of them, really), so any comments are welcome.
I paused in my work and listened. The house was quiet—as it ought to be, at this hour of the night. My back burned, and I wondered how much longer this would take. I dared not risk Adham’s wrath tonight, but I could feel pain and exhaustion dragging me down.
I sheathed the sword and reached for another. Instead I found a small hunting knife in a leather forearm sheath. From the feel of it I guessed Adham had never used it. I slid the dagger out and ran my fingers down its length. Slim, deadly, engraved with some kind of marking—
Runes of Doriath, I realized with a chill. This was an Elvish blade—stolen, I guessed, from the body of one of the marchwardens in the attack so long ago. Adham had kept it all these years and never made a use for it.
Nor would he ever. Without giving myself more time for thought, I slid the knife back into its sheath and buckled it onto my right arm. He would not miss a single small knife among all his blades, and if I still meant to escape, I would need a way to protect myself.
Especially if I did not have Eluréd’s eyes.
I straightened, gripping the rag in my fist, and groped for Adham’s axe. Soft footsteps sounded behind me, the barest whisper in my ears. I froze.
“Finished yet, Rhangeneth?”
Adham’s voice. I dropped the rag and stood, out of wariness more than respect. “Almost. I was about to begin on your axe.”
The door clicked shut, and his footsteps moved around the room, as if he were inspecting my work. “You’ve hurried, haven’t you?”
Had I missed something? “I was hoping to find time to sleep a little before dawn.”
The footsteps paused, then grew closer. “That could be arranged.”
“Alone,” I said, hearing in his voice what I had dreaded for so long.
“Of course. Away from prying eyes…like right here—”
“No.”
“You would be unwise to refuse me, Rhangeneth. I could make things very painful for you.”
Hardly more than they were already. I backed toward the door. When Adham didn’t stop me, I tried the handle and was not surprised to find it locked. “Let me out, Adham.”
“Not yet,” he said. His voice was closer now.
“I will kill you if you touch me,” I hissed, loosening the knife in its sheath. Valar only knew how I’d had the luck to find it tonight of all nights.
He laughed. “I would greatly enjoy watching you try, girl. Do you know what I could do to you?”
I could feel his breath on my neck, and I had nowhere else to go. “Touch me and I’ll kill you!”
“I could have it done cleanly, of course, with a sword,” he continued, as if I had not spoken. “Or I could have you flayed alive and turned out into the forest for the animals to have.”
Not if I finish the job.
His cold hand brushed my arm. I stepped back again, and my spine pressed against the wall. I did not want this, not yet, not this way, and I did not want to take the first irrevocable step onto this path. If I took that step—or if he did—I would have to carry it to the end.
Paralyzed by indecision, I froze where I stood. Adham’s fingers found the line of my jaw, slid down my neck and across my collarbone. His touch sent a shiver of revulsion through me that freed me from my hesitation. He had made the first move; now I would make mine.
I twisted away, and he seized my wrist, pulling me to him. I let him do it until I knew I was directly in front of him; then I wrenched my hand from his and caught him between the legs with my knee. He stumbled back with an oath, and I groped for the door again, planning to pick the lock with my knife if I could. A hand grabbed my hair from behind, yanked me back, a fist connected with my jaw. I slumped to the floor, dazed, and he was on me, his hands around my throat, trying to choke me into submission.
Struggling for breath, I managed to free one hand, found his face—just inches away from my own—and raked my nails across it. His grip tightened. I fought down a wave of panic, flung my other arm free, jerked my knife out, stabbed upward. Adham released me with a grunt of surprise and pain. I flailed with my right hand, found thick hair, yanked it, slashed for his throat with the knife. Skin and muscle ripped. He went limp and collapsed across me.
I struggled away and crouched for a moment, panting. My own breathing and heartbeat slowed, and I could hear the quiet once more. I could not hear Adham’s breathing.
I rocked forward onto my knees and reached for his body. My fingers touched a still-warm shoulder, and I felt for his neck. Blood still flowed from the jagged wound under his chin, but the beat of his heart had ceased.
“Count this the first of your revenge, Eluréd,” I said over the Easterling’s body. I wiped my knife clean on Adham’s tunic, sheathed the dagger, and stood. I had not planned to escape quite this soon, but Adham had forced me. Now, I realized, I must flee with nothing but my small blade.
Better to die free than to live for nothing as a slave. It is still true.
I paused in my work and listened. The house was quiet—as it ought to be, at this hour of the night. My back burned, and I wondered how much longer this would take. I dared not risk Adham’s wrath tonight, but I could feel pain and exhaustion dragging me down.
I sheathed the sword and reached for another. Instead I found a small hunting knife in a leather forearm sheath. From the feel of it I guessed Adham had never used it. I slid the dagger out and ran my fingers down its length. Slim, deadly, engraved with some kind of marking—
Runes of Doriath, I realized with a chill. This was an Elvish blade—stolen, I guessed, from the body of one of the marchwardens in the attack so long ago. Adham had kept it all these years and never made a use for it.
Nor would he ever. Without giving myself more time for thought, I slid the knife back into its sheath and buckled it onto my right arm. He would not miss a single small knife among all his blades, and if I still meant to escape, I would need a way to protect myself.
Especially if I did not have Eluréd’s eyes.
I straightened, gripping the rag in my fist, and groped for Adham’s axe. Soft footsteps sounded behind me, the barest whisper in my ears. I froze.
“Finished yet, Rhangeneth?”
Adham’s voice. I dropped the rag and stood, out of wariness more than respect. “Almost. I was about to begin on your axe.”
The door clicked shut, and his footsteps moved around the room, as if he were inspecting my work. “You’ve hurried, haven’t you?”
Had I missed something? “I was hoping to find time to sleep a little before dawn.”
The footsteps paused, then grew closer. “That could be arranged.”
“Alone,” I said, hearing in his voice what I had dreaded for so long.
“Of course. Away from prying eyes…like right here—”
“No.”
“You would be unwise to refuse me, Rhangeneth. I could make things very painful for you.”
Hardly more than they were already. I backed toward the door. When Adham didn’t stop me, I tried the handle and was not surprised to find it locked. “Let me out, Adham.”
“Not yet,” he said. His voice was closer now.
“I will kill you if you touch me,” I hissed, loosening the knife in its sheath. Valar only knew how I’d had the luck to find it tonight of all nights.
He laughed. “I would greatly enjoy watching you try, girl. Do you know what I could do to you?”
I could feel his breath on my neck, and I had nowhere else to go. “Touch me and I’ll kill you!”
“I could have it done cleanly, of course, with a sword,” he continued, as if I had not spoken. “Or I could have you flayed alive and turned out into the forest for the animals to have.”
Not if I finish the job.
His cold hand brushed my arm. I stepped back again, and my spine pressed against the wall. I did not want this, not yet, not this way, and I did not want to take the first irrevocable step onto this path. If I took that step—or if he did—I would have to carry it to the end.
Paralyzed by indecision, I froze where I stood. Adham’s fingers found the line of my jaw, slid down my neck and across my collarbone. His touch sent a shiver of revulsion through me that freed me from my hesitation. He had made the first move; now I would make mine.
I twisted away, and he seized my wrist, pulling me to him. I let him do it until I knew I was directly in front of him; then I wrenched my hand from his and caught him between the legs with my knee. He stumbled back with an oath, and I groped for the door again, planning to pick the lock with my knife if I could. A hand grabbed my hair from behind, yanked me back, a fist connected with my jaw. I slumped to the floor, dazed, and he was on me, his hands around my throat, trying to choke me into submission.
Struggling for breath, I managed to free one hand, found his face—just inches away from my own—and raked my nails across it. His grip tightened. I fought down a wave of panic, flung my other arm free, jerked my knife out, stabbed upward. Adham released me with a grunt of surprise and pain. I flailed with my right hand, found thick hair, yanked it, slashed for his throat with the knife. Skin and muscle ripped. He went limp and collapsed across me.
I struggled away and crouched for a moment, panting. My own breathing and heartbeat slowed, and I could hear the quiet once more. I could not hear Adham’s breathing.
I rocked forward onto my knees and reached for his body. My fingers touched a still-warm shoulder, and I felt for his neck. Blood still flowed from the jagged wound under his chin, but the beat of his heart had ceased.
“Count this the first of your revenge, Eluréd,” I said over the Easterling’s body. I wiped my knife clean on Adham’s tunic, sheathed the dagger, and stood. I had not planned to escape quite this soon, but Adham had forced me. Now, I realized, I must flee with nothing but my small blade.
Better to die free than to live for nothing as a slave. It is still true.
1:00 PM|| 
