Book of Eucalypt

[NB: In going through my old folders I found short stories I had written several years ago.]

The early morning wind rose across the sandy mountains of Lu’dendai, a northern breeze that carried the heat into cracks and crevices, into shade and shelter. Over the high walls of the city, once pure white of a stone lost under the changing hills, were yellowed from the beat of the sand and the wind. She kept going, running, panting, checking over her shoulder; dodging the constant movement of strange dirty feet in well-worn sandals as the crowd ran their errands in the Bazaar.

Tuning out, she ignored the cries for wares, of jewels and fruits, of salted meats and fine carpets. She had to tune them out; there was only one thing she was listening for.

She huddled down to the side of a merchant stand selling silks of magnificent colours, closed her eyes and sought the void, a place in her mind her father once taught her. Seek the darkness, he had said, years before. Find the darkness, no light, no sound. See each speck of light fading out, each sound becoming dull. Her breathing slowed, stilled, and the chorus of voices singing the songs of the Bazaar hushed.

“That damned street rat is around here somewhere.” A man said in the distance somewhere to her right, down from where she came. His voice was rough, harsh, and pained. He did not need to raise his voice to issue orders to his men. A man didn’t need to when he demanded loyalty, and radiated authority. “Hamal, take your men left towards the Palace. Yasha, take the right towards the city gates. The rest, follow me.”

She stayed, huddled, trying to become invisible. The merchant didn’t notice her, the crowd was ignoring her. They don’t see me. She wanted to feel relief. Her feet were burning from running, her bare feet smacking across the beaten ground. To feel relief would mean letting her guard down, losing the void – not something she was willing to risk.

Something moved in front of her. She could not see it within the void, but the stench was unmistakable – dirt and animalistic sweat, with a hint of manure. The thing spat, feet pounded heavily past, and a man shouted – breaking the void. Looking up, a camel stood close to her, then a

blur of shiny black silk pants and dyed black leather sandals on the other side of animal’s nobly legs. Imperial Soldiers, she thought. The merchant in dirty grey tried to move the camel, pulling at its reins to continue on its way, shouting at it frustration; but it wouldn’t move. Not until the soldiers had passed did it consider taking its first step, allowing the girl to be seen.

Slowly she got up. Her clothes were little more than rags stained from sweat, blood from beatings, and dirt from the ground she slept on. Her dark hair was matted and wild over her face, the rest of her head loosely covered by a dirty and faded yellow scarf. Her eyes darted throughout the Bazaar, scanning for trouble before moving from her hiding position.

The silk merchant finally noticed once his expensive customer was gone. “Off with you!” he yelled. “Don’t you think about stealing from me or I’ll call the guards!” She trailed off into the direction the guards went. They don’t backtrack; it would be safe behind them.

As she followed them she hid behind stalls, in door frames and within the crowds. Her eyes never wavered too long from the men. Even from her safe distance it wasn’t hard to spot them as the crowd moved around the group unconsciously. No one stood in the way of an Imperial Soldier, as those who did found themselves in an unfortunate position.

She ducked into the nearest doorway once they stopped, her heart pounding within her chest, not daring to look around the corner. Seek the void; she heard her father’s voice say. Her dear father had been one who had stood in the way of an Imperial Soldier.

She didn’t have a chance to scream as a dirty calloused hand covered her mouth, while another found its way around her waist and dragged her into the building. She tried to bite the hand over her mouth but he held too tightly. She kicked and wiggled about, trying to loosen his hold, but he was too strong. The strong smell of pipe weed drifted off him as he dragged her backwards, deeper into the building and out a back door. Shouting at another man to help him, he threw her into a wooden crate on the back of a wagon. Cracks between the wooden panels let minimal light

through, highlighting the dust within as she attempted to move around, banging on the walls, trying to force her way out. It was useless. She calmed herself and sought the void.

The man clicked a heavy metal lock on the outside of the crate before climbing up the front to take the reins of the horse from his colleague. He didn’t trust a find like this to the likes of someone like him, so low in rank. He was a Catcher, and had set out to find another wife for the Highest ofthe Council of Merchants in Kandoritan. That man has too many wives, the Catcher thought to himself. Surely twenty-three women are too many wives. This find would not convert easy – none of them did – but this one had the most fight in her yet. He hated watching the Highest and his men break the women’s spirits, but the Catcher did what he was paid to do. He did not ask questions, and never turned away.

They never chose girls from Kandoritan – it was easier to take them from the cities a day’s journey away or more as they were unknowns, and not knowing the city made escaping almost impossible. The journey back was the first step in attempting to break them: they were given no water, no food, and were expected to soil themselves when the need arose. They were not to be taken out of the cramped wooden crate on the back of the wagon until they were behind the walls of the Highest’s compound, under supervision of a minimum twenty guards armed with broadswords and spears.

The girl made no sound. She had stopped banging to be let out, had never cried, and never asked for water. He fought the urge to check on her, but he had made that mistake before. It had cost him a finger at the Highest’s orders.

It was near sunset when they reached the estate within the Inner City. The setting sun reflected off the red tiled walls that affirmed the Highest’s wealth, its guarded conical towers at the corners ensured no one entered or left without purpose. The heavy wooded gates opened upon site of the wagon, and guards immediately came to surround them, less the find somehow escape.

Word had reached the Highest of his Catchers return. Dressed in his finest blue silk pyjamas, the fat, hairy, balding man waddled down the stairs, his adoring wives trailing behind him carrying golden plates of fruits and spiced wine ready for when he demanded.

“Let her out.” He called from the bottom stair, waving his hands at the women in dismissal, his belly wobbling over the waist of his bottoms.

The Catcher braced himself for the find to run. Upon opening the crate, however, he found her still, lying back against the far wall with her legs tucked beneath her. He had stalked her through the Bazaar running from those Imperial Guards, but hadn’t taken real notice of her until now.

Beneath the layers of dirt and dried sweat, he found beauty. Only she didn’t move and she didn’t look. Her eyes were cast down, and she did as instructed. Where did her spark go?

The Highest came down once the find was on her feet, and with a rough hand he moved her head this way and that, checked her teeth, turned her around and had her clothes removed. This was all a part of the breaking that he enjoyed. No one turned to look away, the girl did as commanded.

“What is this?” he asked his Catcher. “Why did you bring her here? She is already broken.

Take her away.” He Highest turned and the Catcher caught his arm, much to the Highest’s disproval. “Highest, I give you my word, she put up a fight. She had at least thirty Imperial Guards chasing her in the Bazaar at Lu’dendai.”

The Highest looked at him with disgust. “You caught the wrong find.” He looked towards the Catchers hand with only three fingers and motioned the guards in. The Catcher clenched his body as the guards grabbed him to carry out orders. “You are lucky you are my nephew. Balance his out other hand and get them both out of my sight.” The Catcher didn’t scream, and the girl didn’t look; she just picked up her dirty, bloodied scarf and wrapped it around her head.

Upon release with nowhere else to go and no clothes to wear, the Catcher took the unwanted find to his home in the hopes her spark would return. “You will stay here.” He said to the girl as they entered his home. It was small with the bare necessities – a table, two chairs, a bathroom and two small rooms off from the kitchen. “I will not have you go back onto the streets, do you hear me?” The girl didn’t answer; she just looked around taking everything in. He grabbed a robe from one of the rooms. “Here.” He felt shamed staring at her in that state. She reluctantly took it.

“I don’t know why you were running in Lu’dendai.” She didn’t say anything. “I won’t ask, but I will not return you there.” He poured alcohol over his new stub and found a scrap of material to keep the wound. “You will sleep in there.” He continued, pointing to the smallest room with a tiny window, not large enough to climb through. She moved in, looking around at her new surroundings – a litter and a blanket. It’s better than the streets, she thought. She gave him a nod of gratitude, and then sat down in the corner. As he closed the door, he finally heard her weeping.

Days became weeks, and she never left the cottage. The door was always locked, but there was a key for her on the small table. The days were her own, as he would be gone from sunrise to sunset. Once she felt he would be coming home, she resorted back into her room. He always left a day’s rations on the table for the next day- usually some cheese, a piece of fruit and some bread. It wasn’t always fresh, as she suspected it was taken from the fat man the day before. But she was thankful. Every now and then she would find a new robe, or slippers, or a new scarf, but she always chose her dirty faded yellow one when he was home.

Eventually she came out of her room of an evening when he came home. He tried to make small talk, but she hadn’t spoken for a long time. She smiled, nodded, and sometimes gestured, and that was enough for him.

One day she gained the courage to go outside, so she chose her nicest pale green linen robe, and the purple head scarf he had given her, but could not find the key. She became furious. Did he take it? She thought. Did he still believe I would try to run? Why should I when he cares for me? She had been inside for too long – she felt soft and broken. Her feet had gotten used to slippers and soft linen. She felt she had lost her independence, relying upon this man for food and shelter. She had to leave, yet she was trapped. She ran to her room, backed into her corner, and cried. She looked around for her dirty head yellow scarf for comfort, but it was gone. Her cries became harder, and she collapsed on the floor.

The sky was shades of pink when the Catcher came home to the sound of sobs. He dropped the night’s rations and ran to her room, crouching down in front of her. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, but he wouldn’t allow himself.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Why are you crying? You look so beautiful today.” She looked up at him; her wide brown eyes were red and swollen. She pointed to his key hanging from his belt.

“Your key is on the table.” He said. She shook her head. He got up and left the room. She could hear sounds of rustling, furniture moving around. He let out a sigh of defeat before coming back to her. “It’s around here somewhere. I promise. I’ll leave the door unlocked tomorrow, ok?” She continued to stare off into nothingness. He took a risk and placed his hand on hers. She flinched, retracted her hand, and then stared up at him. What are you doing? She thought angrily. You locked me in here.

He left the room and came back with his hands behind his back. “I have something for you.” She sat up and wiped the tears away on her sleeve. “It might make you feel better.” he smiled.

She didn’t know how to react. That was her scarf, but it was different. It had been properly washed and mended, as the stains had disappeared. The holes had been darned with a brilliant red stitching, turned into embroidered flowers with yellow centres to hide the mending. Green embroidered vines and leaves seem to dance all around it, beautifully connecting the flowers to one another. It had been given a border, of green vine with swallows and moon drops. She sobbed, and wiped her snotty nose on her sleeve.

”Thank-you.” She whispered softly. He smiled, and sat down before her. Gently, he unravelled the purple scarf she was wearing, letting her clean and brushed long wavy brown hair fall forward. “This had been my mothers.” She continued. “It is all I have of hers.” She clutched it to her chest as he moved a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What of your father? Do you have any other family?” he asked gently, playfully arranging longer strands by her shoulders. She shook her head, her hair waved around her face, making him start again. She didn’t mind.

“My father stood up to the Imperial Guards, arguing about the unfair treatment of a young man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, demanding justice. My mother passed two days after from a broken heart.” He wiped the tears away from her cheek. ”The day you found me, the man who was after me,” she shifted away to face the wall. “He killed my father.” He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to show support. “He found me in an alley, and forced himself. He… he forced my mouth open, so I bit down.” As she began to weep, he moved to sit next to her and draped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to him.

“How dare he,” She wept. “How DARE he!” He held her as she cried into the night, not letting her go.

There’s her spark, he thought. It had been masked by the weight of the pain.

The morning sun shone through the tiny window in her little room, casting light upon the sleeping pair. His neck and back were sore from sleeping upright, but he smiled when he found her using his lap as a pillow. He watched her sleep as the sun rose higher, the room getting brighter.

“Good morning.” He said as she stirred. She smiled at him, the yellow scarf wrapped around her hand as she stretched. He inspected his hand with the newly missing finger, and sighed. She noticed and touched his other hand, feeling the fingerless stub.

“When I captured you,” he began, unfazed by the lack of sensation. “Why did you not fight when you came out of the crate?”

“Would it have done any good?” she replied softly.

“I suppose not.” He admitted. “The Highest, he likes to break his women. He has us choose the strongest women we can find, so he can bend their will and break their spirits. Sometimes they survive.”

“He cannot break what he thinks is already broken.” She smiled to herself.

He shifted, causing her to sit up. “How did you manage to survive the journey? I was so cruel to you.” She looked beautiful in the morning light, the sun highlighting her strong cheek bones and soft lips.

‘The void,” She replied. “A trick my father taught me.”

“I… I know of it,” He said cautiously. “It is something taught to the Great Army of Akaindan to concentrate in battle.” She nodded and shifted herself back to using his lap as a pillow.

“My father was a great man,” she said softly. “He did not deserve his fate. That soldier lost honour amongst his men with his actions, and tried to regain it by stealing mine.”

Six weeks passed and they returned to Lu’dendai as husband as wife. She wore a beautiful new orange robe of embroidered silk, soft red slippers, and her yellow scarf over her head. The Catcher used his contacts within the city to let the guard know “that damn street rat” had been found.

Somehow the guard found his way into the crate on the back of the wagon. He was still in the crate when the wagon was discovered abandoned several days later, a good three days ride the nearest town on the outskirts of the realm, the latch closed over and missing a lock.