It Begins...

How many times must my curiosity get the better of me before I stop?

Justinian's lesson should have stayed with me longer. I should have considered his teachings even if he had decided to take his leave and move on. In what time he owned me, profound lessons had been taught. Some of the more physical nature, some not. His words had the bite of a lash, without ever having the whip in his hand.

I've seemed to get myself in and out of things that it is likely not many other slaves have done. How I manage to pull some of it off is beyond me. I'd like to say it was quick wit, quick thinking and being fast on that which flatters the ego of man, distracting away from what I intend or intended. It has never been that I am a bad or disobedient slave, but I see no reason to be some walking, mindless drone that some slaving houses are known for droning out. If I cannot think for myself, how can I possibly ever expect or hope to anticipate and please? Bah. My breeding doesn't dictate that I must be empty minded. But maybe it is that fact itself that enables me to do some of the things I do. I haven't quite figured that out yet.

I've always been used to coming and going, much more freely than most of my station. It was always easy enough to come up with a reason, and easier still to duck behind someone, kneel at their feet and be secure in the protection offered there given a slave in service is often focused on one lone individual. I learned much. Maybe too much. A woman has to stay a step ahead if she doesn't want to be found beneath the lash. I've had my fair share of that, too.

It should have been easy. A sneaking on board, strike out for a couple of days, then beg of some lonely traveler on his way to the coast. I've done it a hundred times. From Ar to Picaroon. Little did I know that this day would be different. I would come face to face with the most fascinating, fierce looking man I have ever laid eyes on. And unlike the others, he gave me no choice. By the time my brain registered to run, there was blood and screams everywhere. Complete chaos.

He was injured. Blood streamed down his chest. By all rights, I would have thought he'd have been more concerned with taking care of his shoulder rather than selecting a prize for himself. The smell of blood was strong. Between the whirling chaos, the pools of blood, violence and the constant rocking, I became horribly ill. I don't know how many times I faded out only to wake with heaves. I tried to watch from my position, to see if he would falter. What if he fell back on his kaiila and bled to death? Would I have stood a chance of running?

By the time we arrived, he was ashen. The blood loss was greater than perhaps he wanted to let on. As I sat among the other slaves once he had dropped me off to clean up, I got the feeling that my life as I knew it had just changed. Many things were changing. The slaves stared at me as though I was some odd rarity, whispering amongst themselves with not too welcoming glares. Drawing my knees up, I put my head down, seeking just a small nap. I needed my head clear. My body ached and my stomach still lurched. For what short time I got to close my eyes and rest, I was most grateful.

Soon enough, I would come face to face with this man again. I had no rehearsed lines to recite nor witty remarks to make. I wasn't even sure I could get words out at all. Even in the darkness behind closed lids, his voice whispered to me.

Do I dare listen?