Siscci - Sneak Peek

Another tear caressed her cheek as she watched in horror at her master’s whip snapping against the already-broken skin of her would-be brother’s back. She wanted nothing more than to break free and put an end to his torture; knowing that unlocking their shackles would be the simple part. Stopping Johorr’s violent outburst and then caring for Thomlin during their escape, and likely his entire life thereafter… the sheer prospect of such a responsibility overwhelmed her.

Her subconscious mind screamed out for her to stand up and declare that it had all been her fault; she’d broken Johorr’s favorite tankard, not Thomlin. Returning to the campfire from the rear of the carriage with his dinner and ale delicately balanced on her arms had been her decision, not his.

I should have made trips! I could have watched where I was stepping!

After traveling as Johorr’s slave for over twenty years, she knew better than to succumb to her internal desires. Claiming the burden of guilt would only lead to two bleeding slaves; both under-performing because of their pain and heading directly down the path toward even more beatings. There was simply no reasoning with Johorr when he was enraged.

She knew it was best for them both if she kept her mouth shut. Thomlin knew it as well, and his eyes said as much as their gaze met across the camp. As the whip ripped through his already tattered shirt—tearing at his flesh as it had so many times before—he looked at Syl'Kara and smiled. It was a forced smile; barely more than a grimace as he bit back against the pain.

Thomlin couldn’t speak. He was born with a defect that prevented him from producing anything more than the simple hiss of rushing air. His silence often compounded Johorr’s rage, driving him to whip harder and longer in some feeble attempt to make the boy wail. Thomlin couldn’t wail. He couldn’t protest. All he could do was take the beating in silence; and he had plenty of experience doing so.

Syl'Kara looked out for Thomlin as best she could in their day-to-day lives. He saw it as his responsibility to take Johorr’s beatings for her whenever the opportunity presented itself. She knew that about him, and knew that it didn’t upset him that she hadn’t spoken up about the broken tankard’s true cause. It was his duty to be her whipping boy, and in his mind, it was one of the few things he was good for.

When Johorr finished, he tossed the whip haphazardly at Syl'Kara, demanding, “Put that away and fetch my ale, ya good-fer-nuthin’ welp!”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood, carefully coiling the whip like she knew he preferred. After stowing it in the satchel that was sitting by his hip, she returned to the rear of the carriage with a simple mug and once again tapped the small keg. Carefully watching her step, and the balance in her arms, she deftly traversed the camp and avoided the small cluster of roots she’d tripped over on her previous attempt, right next to Thomlin’s bedroll.

“Here is your evening ale, my lord. Would you like anything else?” she asked meekly as she handed him the frothy mug.

“Silence! I must contemplate our route!” he belted, taking a large tug on his drink.

She could have said his words along with him, had she felt snarky. He said the same thing every night when she asked after his needs. He expected her to ask, and if she didn’t, he’d have whipped her just like Thomlin. So, she asked. Nightly. Even though he never once had any further desires.

Thomlin lay on his belly, staring at Johorr with anger in his eyes while she tended the wounds on his back. She’d seen him suffer worse beatings, if she was being honest. Those beatings usually happened less frequently, however.

Two nights in a row, she lamented as she dabbed more ointment onto Thomlin’s tattered skin. He winced ever-so-slightly at her touch. I wish he’d take us south already. Just a little closer to Haern, and I can break us free. Does he know that to be my plan? Is that why he keeps us in the frozen north?

Sleep did not come easily for either of them that night. Johorr passed out just as he always did, his belly full of ale and his mind devoid of regret.