A Grave of Chains - The Journals of Kowèn

Part VIII: A Generous Smile

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I'm okay.

I am.

I am fine.

Fake it till you make it, a phrase everyone seems keen on throwing at those who reach out for aid or those who need to be saved from themselves. I figured it could be worth a shot. The worst thing that could happen had already hit my chest with a sledgehammer.

Seeing as Dimos thrived and delighted at my 'predicament,' I decided to oppose him with what little resistance I had to offer. If begging, crying, and pleading wouldn't change my situation, I needed another outlook.

A smile rarely speaks the truth. It convinces and ensures the onlooker of a fabricated tale that everything is fine and in order. It does not matter that the smile suffocates the artist.

I returned to my duties with Dimos' brand etched into my upper shoulder. Instead of averting my gaze from the estate's guards, I gave a thin smile. Most did not understand how to react. Some merely scoffed, while others stopped in their tracks to take a second look. They must have figured I was damaged, that Dimos got his wish.

What the smile got me was an unexpected friend. Her name was Lady Marian, but to me, she was a curious little girl who refused to leave my side. The upper classes of society have never been a place for children. She snuck out into the enormous gardens whenever she could distract her servants. She hid in the bushes for weeks as I chiseled the stone slab into a stallion. Although my skin told gruesome tales, my weak smile lured her closer.

"Have you ever seen a horse that big?" Marian said one day.

Dimos had other business to attend to, which left me in the care of his brute, Jon. Unlike Dimos, Jon lacked finesse and the capability to instill constant fear of being reprimanded.

I did not let my gaze avert from the blinding stone when I answered. "Yes, my lady. I have."

"Where?"

"In Baster. There are hoards of wild horses that live near my home."

"You live in Baster?"

"I... it," I stuttered, throwing a quick gaze over my shoulder at Jon, whose interest refused to leave our interaction. "My lady, I ... I was born in Baster."

"My lady, is this thing bothering you?" Jon asked with utter distaste at the word thing.

"No, but you are. I want to be alone with," she paused for a moment. "What is your name?"

"Kowèn, my lady."

"I want to be alone with Kowèn. So leave." Marian demanded of Jon, who shot daggers at me, informing me of what lay in store for me. But that was later; I could not afford to live in the future. I smiled at the ten-year-old but quickly returned to my work. Interacting with the highborn as a low-life sculptor was not a well-known or accepted sight in Redilla.

"Are you a slave, Kowèn?" Marian asked.

The question stumped me. In the eyes of the world, I was but to me, it was a fabricated lie others forced upon me. "I am simply an artist, my lady."

Her beautiful silk dress scraped against the dust and dirt surrounding my work as she moved to gaze up at me with big brown eyes. "Do you like being an artist?"

"I do, my lady. It gives me purpose and a way to have my name linger long after I die."

"I want to be an artist too; mother and father will not let me. They say that lesser people should do that."

Ah. Yes. Lesser people. Although she was only ten, the so-called truths of society seeped through her. I gave a weakened smile and hit the chisel hard against the stone. Particles rained down on her raven-black hair.

"Why are you here, Kowèn?"

Again, shocked by her abruptness, I stopped the work and sat on the plateau next to her. This could be one of my few chances to get word back home to Yorah and my family. I will never hesitate to grab whatever compassion and concern stop before me. "I was taken from my home, my lady. They're forcing me to sculpt for them. But I have a family and a husband back home. I just want to return to them."

"They won't let you go home? That's bad."

"My lady, can I ask you for a favor? If you help me, I will do whatever you ask."

"Can you teach me to do this?" The little lady pointed at the statue, which cast its' shadow upon us.

"Yes, of course."

"Okay." A generous smile puffed her cheeks more. "What do you want?"

"Can you send a letter to Yorah Morzí in Baster, telling that I was taken by the La'n'terre?"

Marian wasted little time understanding the value of services rendered. She wrote a letter that afternoon, showed me the text, and had a messenger sent off to my home. I thanked her over and over again as the letter began its journey. Instructing her on the art of my craft seemed like a small compensation for what she had given me. The broad smile on my lips radiated with newborn hope. The thought that my nightmare would soon come to an end brought me tremendous joy.

Unsurprisingly, Jon's firm hand escorted me back to the barn and my quarters which reeked of my blood.

"What did you make her do, coward?" Jon yelled, replacing the meaty slap to my side.

"Nothing," I struggled to repeat as the hit vibrated through me. I pushed my mind back home. Months had passed without a word from me, but soon they would rally to my side to pry me from Dimos' vicious hold. Though I was unable to show it, I smiled within my soul.

Everything would be fine. I would be whole.

I would come home. 

-------------------------------------------- To be continued ---------------------------------------------------