Of Winds And Quakes

23. The Mob

Year of the Lilies
Torrid Season
The Hut
Altsas

Alysia

IT'S LATE IN THE EVENING when the goldsmith returns home. Mye runs into his arms, clearly very happy to see him. He scoops her up in his arms, throwing her up and catching her again. Her bubbly laughter bounces off the walls, reverberating in the house. His overall is dirty and stained with grime, and his yellowed teeth flashes as he grins at his daughter.

Mistress isn't exactly pleased to see him, her contenance is as indifferent as can be. She does send me a chilling look. Maybe she is still angry that he criticized her cooking earlier.

"Go make some soup for your master," she snaps.

I turn on my heels and enter the kitchen. My master indeed, I scoff. Not for long.

Making soup is not one of my specialties, at home Mother does most - if not all - of the cooking. But I do know the basic ingredients for any soup. Considering the only groceries we have are few pods of okra and some boiled fish, okra soup is what I'm expected to cook.

I rinse the chopping board and blunt knife with some water from the drum of the kitchen, then I begin dicing the pods into teeny weeny cubes. Once that is done, I rinse a pot and put the slimy gooey diced okra in the pot and add the boiled fish. I place it on the stove to cook and I lean on the counter while I wait for it to get done. Then, a thought comes to mind; the soup would need spices to taste nice and Palm oil for added flavour and vibrant colour.

So I throw in pinches of nameless spices, some of which makes me sneeze. And then, I add a pinch of salt. Feeling proud of myself, I hunt for some palm oil and pour in generous dollops.

The soup takes less than ten minutes to fill the room with its aroma. I put it down from the stove and dish it out into a wooden bowl. I place the bowl on a tray and take it to the goldsmith.

He sits just opposite his wife on a smaller mat, one I've not seen before. They sit in perfect silence not even glancing at each other.

I place the food in front of him. He glowers at me. "Where's my bread?!"

Something inside me wants to pick up the bowl of steaming hot soup and pour it on his ugly wrinkly face. But I suppress my rage and turn on my heels to go to the kitchen.

I make to go to the kitchen but his voice holds me back. "Hold on."

I turn and face him. His face is twisted into a grimace and he is sucking on his finger. "What's in the soup?" He asks me.

What a weird question. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He knows the soup but I'll play along "Okra soup with some, fish, a little water and palm oil," I recite.

"What kind of spices?" He barks.

What's wrong with this man? If he wants cooking classes why doesn't he just say so? "I don't know. I just put the spices in the kitchen," I reply. I'm grateful my voice don't falter or quaver.

"What's wrong with the soup?" Mistress jumps from her stool and marches to her husband.

"Why don't you taste it?" He asks with a sneer.

With an exaggerated sigh and an eye roll, she dips two fat fingers into the soup and tastes it. She smacks her lips loudly then her expression changes, she squeals and races out of the hut. I hear her loud retches.

The goldsmith turns to me with a sardonic smile. "You can't cook." He shakes his head," a slave that can't cook."

My fingertips tingle, sending little zaps up my arm. I clench my fists, my power has been renewed, I'll just need to put it into good use.

Storm or earthquake?

I don't know yet but I know that I'll be leaving this crazy family in a matter of moments.

I jut my chin out," I'm not a slave," I spit. "Well, not anymore."

He considers me for a brief second then gushes out a roar of mocking laughter. Just then, his bulk of a wife enters the hut. She storms to me and grabs my ear in her hand. The sensation is of excess pain, like my ear is about to be ripped off.

I don't know what happens within the span of three seconds but the mistress is stumbling back with a bewildered look on her face.

"How dare you slap my wife?" The goldsmith is up on his feet and his small but hard palm connects with my cheek. My cheek stings and my eyes water. I hear Mye burst into tears and her mother tries to hush her but her efforts are wasted.

"You are but a slave,"the goldsmith begins to say with disdain in his eyes, he reaches for an object I can swear wasn't there moments ago. "You must respect us as your master and mistress." He flexes the whip with a sated look on his face.

I watch as the whip curls up in the air with a whisper of sound before connecting to my side. The shriek is mine, I'm sure of that. The burning of my side is proof that I've been whipped by this insufferable man. I hear another whip curl up in the air before landing on my back.

Mye's screams and cries become louder, they are muffled when her mother cups her hand over the screaming child's mouth to prevent her cries from being heard.

Another burning spreads up my thighs. I can't take it, I can't let this man flog me like an animal. Even animals are treated with more respect, Valri was loved and respected by us like a member of the family.

Something I don't comprehend gives me strength to stand up from the dirty floor of the hut and stretch out my hand to catch the whip. The whip gets caught in my fingers and wraps around my hand with a bearable sting.

The room falls into hushed silence. My breathing is in short pants and sobs.

"How dare you-!" His words are punctuated with a howl. He writhes in pain and his wife shrieks out like a banshee.

"She's possessed! She's a demon!" The woman grabs Mye and runs out the hut screaming. This is my cue.

I throw the whip to the floor and sprint out of the hut.

"She's possessed! She's possessed! She's a demon! That slave is possessed!" Mistress's hysterical shrill screams travel fast and I can hear lots of stumping. It's like the whole neighbourhood has nothing better to do but listen to the overweight screaming woman.

I turn back to catch a glimpse of what's happening and-

Uh-Oh.

A horde of people are running after me. Where did they all come from? The ground shakes and vibrates with the stomping of their feet.

Screams of witch! Demon! Slave! Fills the air.

I'm not a slave, not anymore. I've claimed my freedom. I've claimed my life back. From my peripheral vision, I see a large hand swoop in and grabs my hand. The pain of my injury causes me to cry out. The man laughs sardonically and tosses me down like I'm nothing but a rag doll.

In no time at all, the stomping stops as the horde gathers around me with fury in their eyes and their hands bearing machetes and go-to-hells. I gulp.

"You know what we do to demons in Altsas?" The goldsmith snickers.

The mob goes wild with chants of," burn! Burn! Burn! Burn!"

I'm literally at the edge of my seat. Keep turning the pages to see what is going to happen next.

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Your author, Lixxie.