Chapter 5: Awakening
Present
day
For days Mariah drifted in and out of consciousness. When she awoke she would feel the pain, and then, somehow, blessed relief as the clouds surrounded her limbs. There was a sound that could have been the wind in the trees outside the wall, or could have been the low murmuring of voices. Sometimes, on the edge of awareness, she could hear the breeze whispering to her, "Strength. Life. Courage."
Once she woke up. A human she did not know was sitting on the edge of her sleeping ledge. He held her left hand. It seemed his voice was the breeze, for he was saying those words. Then she slept.
The next time she awoke he was holding her hand again, or still. But this time he was sitting on the floor next to her sleeping ledge, his head bowed against his chest, breathing deeply, only his arm reaching onto her sleeping ledge to hold her hand. His hair was so black it was almost blue, and curly and shiny. On an irresistible impulse, she took her hand from his and smoothed down a cowlick. His hair was soft to touch, like the leaf of a violet.
He awakened with a start and turned to her, a haggard, embarrassed smile beginning on his lips. "Hey there," he said quietly, with the voice of the breeze.
She froze, chilled to her core. On the path, leading the horse, the stranger. It was this master who had assured her he was not playing a mindgame, and, what was worse, who she had believed. She shut her eyes and wished they had carried out their promise to kill her, no matter how slowly, in the fields.
"Mariah, I'll never hurt you," the master said. "You're safe now." His voice was low but gravelly with sleep. She involuntarily drew back. She concentrated on keeping her eyes shut, although the tears that could not fall made them sting.
He stood up clumsily. "You need to rest," he said at length. "We'll talk later." Mariah heard him leave the room and quietly close the door behind him. For a minute or more she lay entirely still, fearing a trick. Hearing no noise in the room, she opened her eyes and looked around. The master had indeed left her alone.
Her tears escaped. She lifted her hands to wipe her face, then gasped as sudden pain shattered her right elbow, spreading through her arm. She dropped her hands and waited for the pain to subside enough that she could hear her own thoughts.
She looked around. Sunlight through a high window illuminated the room. She was in a bedroom, and she realized with a start that she was not on a sleeping ledge but in an actual bed, alone. The room had only the standard furniture: the bed, a small bedside table, a storage trunk, a couple of wooden chairs. A pitcher of water and a glass stood on the bedside table, water droplets condensing on them. Mariah spied on top of the trunk some bottles and what appeared to be dried leaves.
These mysteries would be solved or not, Mariah told herself, but they were not important. What mattered was that she was alive. In the middle of a mindgame, true, but alive nevertheless. The slave woman Vancea's words echoed in her head. Mariah had been outside the gates. She had been free. The thought of it made her heart pound fiercely.
Mariah remembers
The corn was well-grown. It was late afternoon in the season when the daylight was shortest. Mariah was grabbing ripe ears and tossing them into her cart. She was towards the end of a row when the bell clanged. She started at the unexpected sound and stood for a moment, unsure whether to bring the cart or leave it.
A few rows to her left, Samson looked to her. He had been small and weak, but recently, he, like the other males in the cohort, seemed to have shot up as if he were a stalk of corn himself. The girls didn't grow as tall, but their shapes had changed as well. Mariah was glad that her breasts hadn't ballooned out like those of some of the others, but she was no longer flat like a little girl. There had been other changes as well - not just her hips widening and hair growing in unexpected places. She felt mysterious sensations, in her breasts, and in her crotch. Sometimes, as she fell asleep at night, she found herself thinking about the bodies of the boys, their deepening voices, how their penises had started to look more like snakes than worms. Then she tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere. If Master Timon suspected where her mind took her, he would thrash her.
She silently indicated with a nod that Samson could walk with her. He trotted over, his sandy hair falling in his eyes. "What is it?" he said in a stage whisper. "Why is Master Timon ringing the bell now? It's so early."
Mariah shushed him and preceded him down the next row. "I don't know," she said in a considerably softer voice. "Let's hurry."
As they arrived at the circle of lean-tos members of Mariah's cohort appeared from all directions. In the center of the circle was a slave woman, full grown, probably ten years older than Mariah. Her hair was tangled and over her face. For a moment Mariah thought the slave woman was flying, like a witch, but then she saw that her legs dangled down like a scarecrow's over a vertical wooden pole that was dug into the ground, wide at the bottom and narrowing as it went up. With a gasp Mariah saw that the pole went into the slave woman's crotch. Her arms were stretched out lengthwise over another pole which was attached near her hands to two other poles which also led to the ground. Her entire body from her neck to her ankles was covered with fresh whipmarks. There was silence as the cornfield slaves took in the horror of the sight.
The woman moaned weakly and shook her head, vainly trying to get her hair out of her eyes. Mariah's own eyes welled up with tears at the sight. Samson grasped her hand tightly, clinging on to it.
As if on cue, Master Timon stepped out of the shadows of one of the lean-tos with a mistress Mariah had never seen before. They approached the slave woman and then turned and faced the cohort.
The mistress spoke. She was about the same age as the slave woman, but tall and imperious, her blond hair pulled back in a neat braid. She wore a knee-length sleeveless blue tunic that displayed her muscular arms and legs. "This girl's name was once Vancea." The mistress's voice was as proud and strong as her body. She looked at some of the slaves in the eye, one by one. "Now she has no name." Her voice dropped. "You are all young and do not know what is to become of you, and I am not allowed to speak of it. But I will tell you that, if you are found worthy, you will serve humans. The work is easy and good, and your master or mistress will love you, and you will love them."
