The TwiceBorn

When The Devil Goes Walking

I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.”--Siehl

Blood slavery. 

All her beliefs that Abigor would not shame her in front of the others vanished. The shadowjack she’d downed earlier rose up in the back of her throat and she had a brief, horrifying moment of thinking she was going to be sick.  With a heavy swallow, she leaned back and propped her weight on her hands.

Dropping her head back, she gazed up at the stars as they began to peek out of the night sky.  She’d never thought of herself and blood slavery ever being connected together in any way.  She was one of the ones who’d laughed and jeered along with all the others as they’d watched the blood slaves perform.

She had been one of the ones, anyway.  Things had changed.  Horribly.

It was a spell practiced by the dark lords for entertainment and was used as a reward for distinquishable deeds.  Her tribe had used it quite often and Alora remembered the slavish eyes, and the wild gratification the slaves received just from a mere glance from their appointed Masters.

Blood slaves were spelled into servile devotion to their greatest enemies and they existed, from the moment the spell was cast, for the slightest touch, or the merest glance of their beloved. 

The mindless reverence of a dumb beast was nothing compared to a blood slave and the horror lay in the spell itself for it allowed the slave to retain his revulsion for the person served and to experience all the shame of actions they could no longer control.

The only thing that kept Alora from breaking down in tears was the fact she knew Yzebel was watching from the shadows. 

No wonder the old bitch was in such high spirits.

  She’d love having The Twiceborn for a blood slave.  Alora pictured a dismal existence of crawling in the dirt to satisfy Yzebel’s every whim and being put on display for the entertainment of mere thralls.

And now even running was no longer an option.  The spell could be cast from Abigor’s hand at random and she would return of her own accord.  Desperate to see Yzebel’s face.  And begging for a pat on the head.

“Have I strayed so far?”  She whispered, her voice thick with tears.

Leonard studied her pale face with his bright animal eyes.

“You no longer walk with us, Alora.”  He stated as though it were the simplest thing in the world to understand. As if she’d gotten up one day and simply decided to be different.  There was a gentle tone of finality to his voice and she was frightened badly by his easy acceptance of what could come to pass.

She stumbled to her feet, no longer wanting to be near him. 

Had she really thought he would stand by her and risk his own stature?

“Tell me, Leonard,” She managed.  “Does Yzebel know that I might become her blood slave?”

“No, she has not been told,” Leonard didn’t look up from his grooming.  “But she has guessed as much.”

Alora nodded and walked away.  She didn’t look back.

*********

“Now,Alora?  Is it time now?”

Alora ignored the pesky goblin as she made her way over to the feasting table.  Her stomach gave a sickening liquid lurch but she ignored it as she picked up another goblet of shadowjack and forced it down.  A drunken passed out blood slave wasn’t nearly as entertaining as a sober one.  Her last hurrah.  She pulled a face as the liquid burnt a hot trail down to her already raging stomach.