My whole life, I've been taught that my people were created to serve the Anou. On my 18th birthday, I'm taken from my village and brought to the Stye, the Anou's stronghold, to begin my servitude. Little did I know what that entails. The Anou are cr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As we approach the tall walls of the stronghold, the sky is raining tears. Fat drops, splashing on my head and bare arms. I sway with the movement of the open carriage; when we pass through the gates, I have to tilt my head all the way back to see the top of the wall. Guard towers on every corner. A prison. My new home.
The driver pulls the reins and halts the horses in the middle of a courtyard. The buildings around me are built from the black granite of the Isaaen Mountains, weathered by centuries of exposure to the elements. Dark and menacing, they hide the afternoon light. Bars are the centerpieces of the few windows that sit like rotting holes in the structure; the glass behind them is dull and milky.
A sudden breeze makes me shudder, but it's not all from the cold. The fear has been gnawing in my gut for hours, ever since the summoner appeared in our village this morning and rounded up the males and females who had turned eighteen during the last earth cycle. If he had arrived yesterday, I would've been spared for another year. Instead of celebrating my birthday with Mom, Pap, and Alana, I was loaded onto the carriage.
The driver jumps down. "Everyone, get out!"
We oblige in utter silence. I stumble to find my footing on the uneven ground. Behind me, Nylah trips and elbows me in the back. I fall on my knees.
"I'm so sorry." Her words are a mere whisper as she heaves me up. Gazing around, she scratches her arm. The skin is raw and bleeding and crusted blood has dried under her long fingernails.
I give her a small smile and wipe the dirt from my skirt as best as I can, though a few stains still remain. We are all on edge and the uncertainty threatens my sanity. I'm close to screaming my frustrations into the wind, but that would mean an abundance of pain.
"Don't speak unless you are spoken to." Pap's words ring loud and clear in my ears.
The Anou take any sign of disobedience as an excuse to punish us.
"Keep your head down, do your chores, and things will be alright." Advice I've heard all my life and I'm intending to follow.
Lining us up in a perfect straight row, the driver walks back and forth with an inspecting frown. His glare takes in every part of me. He is short for an Anou, Pap called him a runt, with soft muscles and a double chin. His light, golden eyes give away his secret. He's stricken with the curse, the inability to perform magic. The darker their irises, the more power they hold. It's another insight about their race instilled in me since birth.
"Stay away from those with black eyes. They are the most dangerous."
The driver claps his hands. "Alright, listen up. You've been brought here to begin your servitude as required of any Elowen of age under the sentence of the gods. For the next ten years, you will obey the Anou as your masters. Those of you who work hard will be allowed to return to their village to breed and raise the next generation of tributes. Those who slack off or revolt will be killed."
