mk km (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} twiceuponatime) wrote,@ 2007-07-31 10:45:00 |
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Someday Never Comes Chapter One
Genre: Historical (first century Rome) slave gay romance
Warnings: angst, abuse, torture, slavery, n/c, minor first chapters, violence
Title: Someday Never Comes
Genre: Historical dark slash (eventual)romance
Betas: Mitts has helped to edit this story, for which the authors thank her sincerely.
Rating: NC-17 NO ONE under 18 or not mature enough, please.
Feedback: Helpful is welcome
Warnings and codes: angst, abuse, violence, bondage, d/s, h/c, minor (first few chapters), m/m, n/c, torture, historical. All dealings with rape and such will be dealt with, hopefully, appropriately.
Summary: Shyro has been traumatized and ripped from his mother while very young. Sold and alone, he immediately finds himself facing the hard facts about what being a slave really means. He strives to become perfectly obedient, without giving up his vague dream of "someday" as he grows up. When he meets and then falls for a wounded warrior who gives him a glimpse of what his life could be, he runs from the heartless man who owns his body to the one who owns his heart, only to find Jera already has a lover, someone he could never compete with, and he has to struggle to find his own true worth. Set in Rome during the rule of Emperor Nero.
Author's Note: These will be at the tops or bottoms of chapters. Although we've strived to maintain historical accuracy, this story is fiction and certainly flawed by our own interpretation and errors.
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I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mother's son,
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
'cause, "someday" never comes. -CCR
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Chapter One: Prologue
-
Shyro played beside his mother, a long stick in his hand tracing lines and drawing pictures of horses and men with swords in the dirt at her feet, peacefully content. She still had laundry to hang out in the breeze while the sun was high, but she wasn't finished picking herbs from one of the smaller gardens when the man approached them. She stood upright and bowed her head, recognizing Zenon, and as she looked down at the child now edged close to her knees, she winked at him. One corner of her mouth turned into a smile where only he could see it. Shyro blinked in acknowledgment, standing quietly while the Master looked them over but briefly, his eyes scanning the yard instead.
Zenon rarely went to the back gardens or work yards, and he could not remember ever seeing this woman or her child before, but that wasn't unusual. That was not to say he knew nothing of the slaves he and his brother owned. He knew those with talent who worked in the kitchen, and the stables and he knew all the 'choice' slaves used to satisfy his physical and emotional cravings, but of the workers in the fields and of the household, he knew little.
He was in a foul mood this day, his favorite horse having just broken a leg during a morning exercise, and as usual he was in disagreements with his younger brother Arrios over finances. He stood, annoyed that his reason for being here was not in sight, when the woman near him spoke.
"Can I help you, Master?" she asked. Syna was quite afraid to talk to him, but more afraid not to. His mere proximity made his needs her responsibility. Like all the slaves in the household, she knew of his reputation for untempered violence if said needs were not met, and swiftly.
Zenon grunted, but didn't answer her. No, she could not help him, he had his sights set on a particular girl and she was proving elusive at this time of the day. That, too, was the fault of his brother, who insisted that all slaves be given duties, even those purchased solely for pleasure. He said it was to keep up their spirits and health, to give them chances to be social with each other. Bah, ridiculous, the man thought, if he had his way, certain slaves would remain all day within their own small chambers, keeping their skin soft and their bodies clean and ready at a moments notice to attend to his bidding.
This skinny wench speaking to him, with the red, swollen hands and sun-aged features could not take the place of the plump, soft young Hatheo, the one he now searched for. With disdain, he finally answered.
"No, you cannot. And do you teach your child nothing, slave?" he growled. "He continues to stare at me, I should see both of you flogged!"
The boy hid himself even further behind his mother at the harsh tone, and that caught the man's attention. His smile wasn't pleasant, even as the woman began to sputter an apology, he interrupted her.
"Bring that boy to me, immediately!"
Zenon was somewhat gratified by the look of horror that passed over her face. Another difference, his asinine brother tried to make life tolerable for the slaves, he did not threaten them near enough, nor did he insist they kneel before him, a bowing of the head he felt was enough to show respect. Zenon, however, liked to be fawned to and couldn't understand his brother's odd deference to what slaves might want.
"Master, I will spend more time teaching--"
"Now!" he was fast going from angry to furious. He was short tempered on the best of days, today his whole countenance fairly hummed with tension.
She obeyed reluctantly. Every single move she made in his direction she forced herself to make, her eyes were brimmed with tears. Her thin arms were around the boy's shoulders, urging him to follow with her, even as he looked skittishly ready to bolt.
"Please, Master," she whispered. "Please don't harm him, he is but very young and doesn't understand, sir."
Zenon was incensed, how dare this female speak to him that way? Maybe finding Hatheo could wait, maybe he could have some fun here, or at least give these pampered slaves something to think about, they were far too insolent and used to easy lives. He did not care at the moment what later his brother might say, he was tired of worrying about Arrios' wishes.
As soon as the woman was close enough, the man grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked him away from his mother with unnecessary force. She drew in a sharp breath, her mouth agape like a landed fish, but her reaction was nothing compared to the youngster's.
The boy pulled back and twisted, he cried out 'no' vehemently and one small hand pushed at the large one encircling his wrist.
"Shyro… don't, don't, be still… please, Master, his behavior is my fault, punish me for it," Syna begged.
Zenon shook Shyro savagely. This was the disobedience his brother caused, slaves who fought and had no proper respect and when he shook little Shyro a second time, it was his brother Arrios he saw in his mind, even as he felt the grinding, the giving of the fine bones in his grasp. The boy screeched in pain, Zenon slapped the tiny slave's face soundly, then a second time even harder and shook him again. All he felt was satisfaction as the boy went bonelessly to his knees, his face now white with shock, making the redness of the large handprint stand vividly out.
He was hardly prepared for the attack, he had never been attacked by a slave, or for that matter, a woman before. She threw herself against his chest, beating at him, her small fists pummeled him and he let the boy go with the surprise of it. He pushed her back effortlessly, shaking his head, as if with regret, but there was a gleam in his eyes that belied any disappointment. Oh, yes, this was proving to be an adequate diversion, and a very good excuse to teach slaves all about their true importance. Which was to say, they had absolutely none, nor did they have a say in what he did to them.
"I should see to your death by my own hand round your throat, here on the spot," he told her. "But, instead, I would rather order your back be cut like a rabbit for stew, and this worthless child to watch with me."
For a short moment the two looked at each other, owner and owned, she searched for anything in his gaze, anything resembling compassion, and hopelessness flooded her. Most of her life she had done the bidding of her masters without complaint, now she hated all of them, seeing the unfocused look in her small son's eyes had been all it took. For Zenon's part, her eyes being so long on his was disconcerting. He had had enough. Of the slaves and of his brother, and Zenon snapped.
He grabbed again the hapless Shyro, the boy came around to full senses as he was yanked to his feet and he fled to his mother's arms, shaking and sobbing. Zenon went to the open doorway and hollered into the house for the sentries, loudly.
Within minutes, the yard was chaos, as guards and slaves, all that were close and available were summoned, ordered or pushed into the yard. Syna was tied to the fence and stripped of her clothes, she went quietly now, numbness mercifully taking over her thoughts. Zenon ordered two of the strongest of the slaves to bring whips to bear against her flesh. She could not be silent once she felt that first strike, she screamed herself hoarse, the beating by two of them at once gave her not but a second to recover between lashes. Amongst the other slaves forced to watch, feet shifted uncomfortably or remained perfectly still, it was the most brutal beating any of them had ever seen.
Little Shyro had never seen anyone whipped, had never seen much violence of any sort, protected as he was, and he stood in disbelief, gripped in the hands of one of the kitchen slaves. He listened to his mother's screams, and Zenon's demands for them to strike her harder. The small blond head shook back and forth slowly, little trembling lips kept uttering 'no', over and over, but he still could not quite grasp what he was seeing, everything had just happened too fast.
And then the boy gasped, for Zenon grabbed him from the slave's hands and held his shoulders in an iron grip, facing him. Shyro looked way up into the cruel face over him, and continued to shake his head.
"This is your fault, child. You did this to her, you did this," Zenon said to him.
Large soft eyes widened even more, looking up. "No," the boy whimpered, tears streaming down his face.
The screams had died to short grunts and then stopped completely, their absence made Shyro try to squirm around in the tight hold to look, and Zenon laughed and turned him, bent down to speak in his ear. "She shall die soon," he said, "because of you."
The whipping still continued, but it was doubtful Syna could feel it anymore. Her back was bloodied, as were her legs, and she was slumped and hanging, lifelessly.
"NO!" Shyro cried. "Please, no!"
"You want to save her?" Zenon asked in a sultry voice, and the boy, panting, nodded frantically.
"Then get in front of that whip, boy, take the strikes meant for her," Zenon laughed softly as he let Shyro loose. The boy ran to his mother, horrified and sickened by the blood as he got closer and then he felt the whip. He yelped and the second slash fell across his tiny back, knocking him down. He scrambled away, pain blackening his vision. He heard the sound of the whip in the air again, and winced as it again struck his mother. Sobbing and panicked, he ran again to get in front of the lash, it cut across his arm and chest and then he fell against her body, trying to protect her, curling up to her. He held on for all he was worth to his mother, but the sound of whips seemed to be everywhere, as did the smell of blood. The severity of the pain by the fifth strike once more sank the child to his knees and he crawled away again, screaming hysterically, trying to keep his churning stomach under control.
"You little worthless coward," Zenon was beside him then, hauling him back out of the way, "Not enough loyalty to save your own mother. Now she will die, and I shall have you whipped, too, for your lack of courage. Why would I want a spineless runt like you around?"
Shyro was racked by sobs, trying to get loose and back to Syna, shaking so hard he could barely stand, his wide eyes were stunned and fixed on Zenon's.
With that last act of what he perceived as defiance, Zenon struck Shyro in the face, then struck harder, giving in to his rage. Holding the boy by his tunic, he delivered blow after blow, even when the small body went limp in his hands.
"This is a disgrace!" came a loud voice from the doorway. "Stop the flogging, now!"
All stopped what they were doing as Arrios came out in the yard. Zenon's brother had been in his study, when the noises had driven him to investigate, and he could not believe what he was seeing.
Zenon dropped the boy, the child crumpled to the ground, and he stepped over his body to go to his brother's side.
"I'm sorry to say, one of the slaves attacked me. They all need to be taught a lesson! Or would you give them more rights, instead?"
Arrios shook his head. "You will never understand. And to make a spectacle of it! What is wrong with you?"
Zenon grunted in disgust, swept right by his brother with long strides and headed back inside. Arrios sighed, turned to one of the older slaves, and said sadly, "Summon the healer for that woman, place her in a private room and have her tended. Let me know when she can speak."
"What about the child?" the slave asked, quietly.
"He should remain with her, of course," Arrios said, and he patted the older man's shoulder reassuringly. "Have his injuries checked on as well."
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Later, Arrios went to inquire after the beaten slave. The healer accompanied him to the room where she lay prone, wet cloth in strips on her back. Beside the bed, the small boy stood, backing away as the two men entered.
"She has not awoken, Master, or I would have summoned you. The blood she has lost is a great amount, she may not recover."
Arrios stood close beside the bed, not noticing Shyro until he heard the whispered, snarling voice. "Leave my mother alone."
He looked down at the child who had spoken, taking in his wild, smoldering eyes and badly bruised face. His small body trembled violently with hatred and fear, and Arrios shook his head and sighed deeply.
"I was not able to check on him," the healer told him. "I am not in the mood to chase him, he has gone quite mad, I fear."
"He will not recover, either, look at him," Arrius said. "It was but too much for him, he was always high-strung."
The healer nodded. "It is good that he is not of much worth, anyway. Much too small for the games or for any proper amount of work."
"He could still grow, he is very young yet. And he is already showing signs of a rare beauty, don't you think? He would have been worth something when he got older, with those looks and his growing talent. Now he is worth nothing. Not here, anyway, with us. I fear he can only end up in a brothel, or taught to fight in the games to earn his keep. I had hopes for him, possibly as an artist or musician. He used to be a happy, gentle child, always drawing and singing. I was rather fond of him, actually."
"I do not see much hope for him being happy again, after this, or right in the head, either."
"Such a shame. It pains me to do it, but make arrangements to sell him immediately. Again, let me know when Syna wakes, I wish to speak with her."
Arrios, saddened, left the room and searched out his brother. Zenon was sharpening his sword, a task he preferred to do on his own, and one of the few things in life he had infinite patience for. He didn't look up when Arrios stood beside him.
"You have well-nigh murdered one slave, and certainly ruined another. We will have to sell that boy, he has murder in his eyes, you have caused him hate us and I can never trust him now," he scowled.
"A man afraid of his slaves. You don't need to trust them if they fear you. Don't you see what you have done here, brother?" Zenon asked calmly.
Arrios waved him away, dismissed his words. "If you took more responsibility, instead of placing it on me, you might find that kindness is actually easier. I am not afraid of the slaves, Zenon. I just prefer the household peaceful, and well run. By treating them fairly, they work to please, they don't wish to be sold, nor do they spend their time fearing every move they make. Nor, for that matter, do they bitterly think up ways to revolt. I am of the opinion that given more rights and more gratitude, including a say in their own destinies, they are strengthened by bonds like family."
"Family," Zenon muttered, shaking his head. "You speak like a besotted old woman, slaves are not family, they are just slaves."
"I have law on my side, for it is Nero's decree that has made it so that a slave may bring a complaint to the court against his master. Times are changing, Zenon, and cruelty is not popular as it once was. Leave the running of the household to me if you must, and take what slaves you will for your own, and let the rest alone. It is the less I can ask, and the least you can do."
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Shyro was alone with his mother when she began to come around. Her eyes opened, fearfully, but softened immediately on seeing him.
"Shyro," she crooned. "Are you all right, my son?"
"Mother, Master Arrios talks of selling me," he whispered, and her heart broke at the terror on his face.
Pain closed her eyes, and not just from the wounds on her body. And then Shyro began to cry and he went close to her and put his arms around her as best he could, seeking her comfort, not knowing it would be the last time.
Tenderly, she embraced his shaking body as if it might protect him, as she wished it could and she murmured nonsensical, for there were no words for the loss, for the ache or the unfairness. What would befall her son now, was in the hands of the Gods, and from what she could see, the Gods had little concern with slaves.
Her child had been hurt and bled and cried for nothing, on whim and on want of those who claimed and were granted immunity for the crime, for the power taken. Shyro had not done anything wrong. So what if he had been curious, were all young children not so? Where was the harm in it?
Arrios had told her for years that she need not bother Shyro with too much training yet, instead, to let his imagination be free. Now, because of one man's evil temper, he would be sold away from her. But then she remembered how she had hit Zenon, trying to protect him. Perhaps, it was for the best, for Zenon would have it out for Shyro now if he remained, and any further attempt she made on his behalf would surely see them both killed.
Her son was so very young, there was a chance he would get a good home with an easy job to perform.
The boy finally stopped weeping and he questioned and wanted to know the whys and she stalled and he begged her to tell him what would happen to him, to help him understand and he was impatient with her hesitation, demanding to know and yet she could not say, what could she say? There was no reason, no easy answers and it could change tomorrow. At the same time, she did not want to send him off with nothing but hopelessness.
So, she kissed him long and sweet on his small cheek, it was a soothing balm and his jumping heart slowed. She caressed him lovingly and she bade him to listen closely, and never, ever forget. She told him they could strike him and they could touch him and they could hurt him, certainly, but they could not touch or break what was inside him. It was what he had to hold to, the future where perhaps fairness ruled or perhaps, his own worth would grant him pension and freedom - someday, and if he dared to hope and keep his heart alive he would someday be allowed to live his own life, choose his own path, love in his own way.
"Someday," she whispered to him, with tears in her eyes and all the love in her heart. "Someday, my precious one."
She put her hand ever so gentle to the side of his head, and his pressed his face to it, shaking. Shyro did not fully understand, although he, without any doubts, believed her, but his mother was too weak to speak any more of it to him. With a last smile, her hand slid softly away, and she fell back into unconscious sleep, never to see her child again.
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Next
Genre: Historical (first century Rome) slave gay romance
Warnings: angst, abuse, torture, slavery, n/c, minor first chapters, violence
Title: Someday Never Comes
Genre: Historical dark slash (eventual)romance
Betas: Mitts has helped to edit this story, for which the authors thank her sincerely.
Rating: NC-17 NO ONE under 18 or not mature enough, please.
Feedback: Helpful is welcome
Warnings and codes: angst, abuse, violence, bondage, d/s, h/c, minor (first few chapters), m/m, n/c, torture, historical. All dealings with rape and such will be dealt with, hopefully, appropriately.
Summary: Shyro has been traumatized and ripped from his mother while very young. Sold and alone, he immediately finds himself facing the hard facts about what being a slave really means. He strives to become perfectly obedient, without giving up his vague dream of "someday" as he grows up. When he meets and then falls for a wounded warrior who gives him a glimpse of what his life could be, he runs from the heartless man who owns his body to the one who owns his heart, only to find Jera already has a lover, someone he could never compete with, and he has to struggle to find his own true worth. Set in Rome during the rule of Emperor Nero.
Author's Note: These will be at the tops or bottoms of chapters. Although we've strived to maintain historical accuracy, this story is fiction and certainly flawed by our own interpretation and errors.
I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mother's son,
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
'cause, "someday" never comes. -CCR
``````````````````````````
-
Shyro played beside his mother, a long stick in his hand tracing lines and drawing pictures of horses and men with swords in the dirt at her feet, peacefully content. She still had laundry to hang out in the breeze while the sun was high, but she wasn't finished picking herbs from one of the smaller gardens when the man approached them. She stood upright and bowed her head, recognizing Zenon, and as she looked down at the child now edged close to her knees, she winked at him. One corner of her mouth turned into a smile where only he could see it. Shyro blinked in acknowledgment, standing quietly while the Master looked them over but briefly, his eyes scanning the yard instead.
Zenon rarely went to the back gardens or work yards, and he could not remember ever seeing this woman or her child before, but that wasn't unusual. That was not to say he knew nothing of the slaves he and his brother owned. He knew those with talent who worked in the kitchen, and the stables and he knew all the 'choice' slaves used to satisfy his physical and emotional cravings, but of the workers in the fields and of the household, he knew little.
He was in a foul mood this day, his favorite horse having just broken a leg during a morning exercise, and as usual he was in disagreements with his younger brother Arrios over finances. He stood, annoyed that his reason for being here was not in sight, when the woman near him spoke.
"Can I help you, Master?" she asked. Syna was quite afraid to talk to him, but more afraid not to. His mere proximity made his needs her responsibility. Like all the slaves in the household, she knew of his reputation for untempered violence if said needs were not met, and swiftly.
Zenon grunted, but didn't answer her. No, she could not help him, he had his sights set on a particular girl and she was proving elusive at this time of the day. That, too, was the fault of his brother, who insisted that all slaves be given duties, even those purchased solely for pleasure. He said it was to keep up their spirits and health, to give them chances to be social with each other. Bah, ridiculous, the man thought, if he had his way, certain slaves would remain all day within their own small chambers, keeping their skin soft and their bodies clean and ready at a moments notice to attend to his bidding.
This skinny wench speaking to him, with the red, swollen hands and sun-aged features could not take the place of the plump, soft young Hatheo, the one he now searched for. With disdain, he finally answered.
"No, you cannot. And do you teach your child nothing, slave?" he growled. "He continues to stare at me, I should see both of you flogged!"
The boy hid himself even further behind his mother at the harsh tone, and that caught the man's attention. His smile wasn't pleasant, even as the woman began to sputter an apology, he interrupted her.
"Bring that boy to me, immediately!"
Zenon was somewhat gratified by the look of horror that passed over her face. Another difference, his asinine brother tried to make life tolerable for the slaves, he did not threaten them near enough, nor did he insist they kneel before him, a bowing of the head he felt was enough to show respect. Zenon, however, liked to be fawned to and couldn't understand his brother's odd deference to what slaves might want.
"Master, I will spend more time teaching--"
"Now!" he was fast going from angry to furious. He was short tempered on the best of days, today his whole countenance fairly hummed with tension.
She obeyed reluctantly. Every single move she made in his direction she forced herself to make, her eyes were brimmed with tears. Her thin arms were around the boy's shoulders, urging him to follow with her, even as he looked skittishly ready to bolt.
"Please, Master," she whispered. "Please don't harm him, he is but very young and doesn't understand, sir."
Zenon was incensed, how dare this female speak to him that way? Maybe finding Hatheo could wait, maybe he could have some fun here, or at least give these pampered slaves something to think about, they were far too insolent and used to easy lives. He did not care at the moment what later his brother might say, he was tired of worrying about Arrios' wishes.
As soon as the woman was close enough, the man grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked him away from his mother with unnecessary force. She drew in a sharp breath, her mouth agape like a landed fish, but her reaction was nothing compared to the youngster's.
The boy pulled back and twisted, he cried out 'no' vehemently and one small hand pushed at the large one encircling his wrist.
"Shyro… don't, don't, be still… please, Master, his behavior is my fault, punish me for it," Syna begged.
Zenon shook Shyro savagely. This was the disobedience his brother caused, slaves who fought and had no proper respect and when he shook little Shyro a second time, it was his brother Arrios he saw in his mind, even as he felt the grinding, the giving of the fine bones in his grasp. The boy screeched in pain, Zenon slapped the tiny slave's face soundly, then a second time even harder and shook him again. All he felt was satisfaction as the boy went bonelessly to his knees, his face now white with shock, making the redness of the large handprint stand vividly out.
He was hardly prepared for the attack, he had never been attacked by a slave, or for that matter, a woman before. She threw herself against his chest, beating at him, her small fists pummeled him and he let the boy go with the surprise of it. He pushed her back effortlessly, shaking his head, as if with regret, but there was a gleam in his eyes that belied any disappointment. Oh, yes, this was proving to be an adequate diversion, and a very good excuse to teach slaves all about their true importance. Which was to say, they had absolutely none, nor did they have a say in what he did to them.
"I should see to your death by my own hand round your throat, here on the spot," he told her. "But, instead, I would rather order your back be cut like a rabbit for stew, and this worthless child to watch with me."
For a short moment the two looked at each other, owner and owned, she searched for anything in his gaze, anything resembling compassion, and hopelessness flooded her. Most of her life she had done the bidding of her masters without complaint, now she hated all of them, seeing the unfocused look in her small son's eyes had been all it took. For Zenon's part, her eyes being so long on his was disconcerting. He had had enough. Of the slaves and of his brother, and Zenon snapped.
He grabbed again the hapless Shyro, the boy came around to full senses as he was yanked to his feet and he fled to his mother's arms, shaking and sobbing. Zenon went to the open doorway and hollered into the house for the sentries, loudly.
Within minutes, the yard was chaos, as guards and slaves, all that were close and available were summoned, ordered or pushed into the yard. Syna was tied to the fence and stripped of her clothes, she went quietly now, numbness mercifully taking over her thoughts. Zenon ordered two of the strongest of the slaves to bring whips to bear against her flesh. She could not be silent once she felt that first strike, she screamed herself hoarse, the beating by two of them at once gave her not but a second to recover between lashes. Amongst the other slaves forced to watch, feet shifted uncomfortably or remained perfectly still, it was the most brutal beating any of them had ever seen.
Little Shyro had never seen anyone whipped, had never seen much violence of any sort, protected as he was, and he stood in disbelief, gripped in the hands of one of the kitchen slaves. He listened to his mother's screams, and Zenon's demands for them to strike her harder. The small blond head shook back and forth slowly, little trembling lips kept uttering 'no', over and over, but he still could not quite grasp what he was seeing, everything had just happened too fast.
And then the boy gasped, for Zenon grabbed him from the slave's hands and held his shoulders in an iron grip, facing him. Shyro looked way up into the cruel face over him, and continued to shake his head.
"This is your fault, child. You did this to her, you did this," Zenon said to him.
Large soft eyes widened even more, looking up. "No," the boy whimpered, tears streaming down his face.
The screams had died to short grunts and then stopped completely, their absence made Shyro try to squirm around in the tight hold to look, and Zenon laughed and turned him, bent down to speak in his ear. "She shall die soon," he said, "because of you."
The whipping still continued, but it was doubtful Syna could feel it anymore. Her back was bloodied, as were her legs, and she was slumped and hanging, lifelessly.
"NO!" Shyro cried. "Please, no!"
"You want to save her?" Zenon asked in a sultry voice, and the boy, panting, nodded frantically.
"Then get in front of that whip, boy, take the strikes meant for her," Zenon laughed softly as he let Shyro loose. The boy ran to his mother, horrified and sickened by the blood as he got closer and then he felt the whip. He yelped and the second slash fell across his tiny back, knocking him down. He scrambled away, pain blackening his vision. He heard the sound of the whip in the air again, and winced as it again struck his mother. Sobbing and panicked, he ran again to get in front of the lash, it cut across his arm and chest and then he fell against her body, trying to protect her, curling up to her. He held on for all he was worth to his mother, but the sound of whips seemed to be everywhere, as did the smell of blood. The severity of the pain by the fifth strike once more sank the child to his knees and he crawled away again, screaming hysterically, trying to keep his churning stomach under control.
"You little worthless coward," Zenon was beside him then, hauling him back out of the way, "Not enough loyalty to save your own mother. Now she will die, and I shall have you whipped, too, for your lack of courage. Why would I want a spineless runt like you around?"
Shyro was racked by sobs, trying to get loose and back to Syna, shaking so hard he could barely stand, his wide eyes were stunned and fixed on Zenon's.
With that last act of what he perceived as defiance, Zenon struck Shyro in the face, then struck harder, giving in to his rage. Holding the boy by his tunic, he delivered blow after blow, even when the small body went limp in his hands.
"This is a disgrace!" came a loud voice from the doorway. "Stop the flogging, now!"
All stopped what they were doing as Arrios came out in the yard. Zenon's brother had been in his study, when the noises had driven him to investigate, and he could not believe what he was seeing.
Zenon dropped the boy, the child crumpled to the ground, and he stepped over his body to go to his brother's side.
"I'm sorry to say, one of the slaves attacked me. They all need to be taught a lesson! Or would you give them more rights, instead?"
Arrios shook his head. "You will never understand. And to make a spectacle of it! What is wrong with you?"
Zenon grunted in disgust, swept right by his brother with long strides and headed back inside. Arrios sighed, turned to one of the older slaves, and said sadly, "Summon the healer for that woman, place her in a private room and have her tended. Let me know when she can speak."
"What about the child?" the slave asked, quietly.
"He should remain with her, of course," Arrios said, and he patted the older man's shoulder reassuringly. "Have his injuries checked on as well."
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Later, Arrios went to inquire after the beaten slave. The healer accompanied him to the room where she lay prone, wet cloth in strips on her back. Beside the bed, the small boy stood, backing away as the two men entered.
"She has not awoken, Master, or I would have summoned you. The blood she has lost is a great amount, she may not recover."
Arrios stood close beside the bed, not noticing Shyro until he heard the whispered, snarling voice. "Leave my mother alone."
He looked down at the child who had spoken, taking in his wild, smoldering eyes and badly bruised face. His small body trembled violently with hatred and fear, and Arrios shook his head and sighed deeply.
"I was not able to check on him," the healer told him. "I am not in the mood to chase him, he has gone quite mad, I fear."
"He will not recover, either, look at him," Arrius said. "It was but too much for him, he was always high-strung."
The healer nodded. "It is good that he is not of much worth, anyway. Much too small for the games or for any proper amount of work."
"He could still grow, he is very young yet. And he is already showing signs of a rare beauty, don't you think? He would have been worth something when he got older, with those looks and his growing talent. Now he is worth nothing. Not here, anyway, with us. I fear he can only end up in a brothel, or taught to fight in the games to earn his keep. I had hopes for him, possibly as an artist or musician. He used to be a happy, gentle child, always drawing and singing. I was rather fond of him, actually."
"I do not see much hope for him being happy again, after this, or right in the head, either."
"Such a shame. It pains me to do it, but make arrangements to sell him immediately. Again, let me know when Syna wakes, I wish to speak with her."
Arrios, saddened, left the room and searched out his brother. Zenon was sharpening his sword, a task he preferred to do on his own, and one of the few things in life he had infinite patience for. He didn't look up when Arrios stood beside him.
"You have well-nigh murdered one slave, and certainly ruined another. We will have to sell that boy, he has murder in his eyes, you have caused him hate us and I can never trust him now," he scowled.
"A man afraid of his slaves. You don't need to trust them if they fear you. Don't you see what you have done here, brother?" Zenon asked calmly.
Arrios waved him away, dismissed his words. "If you took more responsibility, instead of placing it on me, you might find that kindness is actually easier. I am not afraid of the slaves, Zenon. I just prefer the household peaceful, and well run. By treating them fairly, they work to please, they don't wish to be sold, nor do they spend their time fearing every move they make. Nor, for that matter, do they bitterly think up ways to revolt. I am of the opinion that given more rights and more gratitude, including a say in their own destinies, they are strengthened by bonds like family."
"Family," Zenon muttered, shaking his head. "You speak like a besotted old woman, slaves are not family, they are just slaves."
"I have law on my side, for it is Nero's decree that has made it so that a slave may bring a complaint to the court against his master. Times are changing, Zenon, and cruelty is not popular as it once was. Leave the running of the household to me if you must, and take what slaves you will for your own, and let the rest alone. It is the less I can ask, and the least you can do."
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Shyro was alone with his mother when she began to come around. Her eyes opened, fearfully, but softened immediately on seeing him.
"Shyro," she crooned. "Are you all right, my son?"
"Mother, Master Arrios talks of selling me," he whispered, and her heart broke at the terror on his face.
Pain closed her eyes, and not just from the wounds on her body. And then Shyro began to cry and he went close to her and put his arms around her as best he could, seeking her comfort, not knowing it would be the last time.
Tenderly, she embraced his shaking body as if it might protect him, as she wished it could and she murmured nonsensical, for there were no words for the loss, for the ache or the unfairness. What would befall her son now, was in the hands of the Gods, and from what she could see, the Gods had little concern with slaves.
Her child had been hurt and bled and cried for nothing, on whim and on want of those who claimed and were granted immunity for the crime, for the power taken. Shyro had not done anything wrong. So what if he had been curious, were all young children not so? Where was the harm in it?
Arrios had told her for years that she need not bother Shyro with too much training yet, instead, to let his imagination be free. Now, because of one man's evil temper, he would be sold away from her. But then she remembered how she had hit Zenon, trying to protect him. Perhaps, it was for the best, for Zenon would have it out for Shyro now if he remained, and any further attempt she made on his behalf would surely see them both killed.
Her son was so very young, there was a chance he would get a good home with an easy job to perform.
The boy finally stopped weeping and he questioned and wanted to know the whys and she stalled and he begged her to tell him what would happen to him, to help him understand and he was impatient with her hesitation, demanding to know and yet she could not say, what could she say? There was no reason, no easy answers and it could change tomorrow. At the same time, she did not want to send him off with nothing but hopelessness.
So, she kissed him long and sweet on his small cheek, it was a soothing balm and his jumping heart slowed. She caressed him lovingly and she bade him to listen closely, and never, ever forget. She told him they could strike him and they could touch him and they could hurt him, certainly, but they could not touch or break what was inside him. It was what he had to hold to, the future where perhaps fairness ruled or perhaps, his own worth would grant him pension and freedom - someday, and if he dared to hope and keep his heart alive he would someday be allowed to live his own life, choose his own path, love in his own way.
"Someday," she whispered to him, with tears in her eyes and all the love in her heart. "Someday, my precious one."
She put her hand ever so gentle to the side of his head, and his pressed his face to it, shaking. Shyro did not fully understand, although he, without any doubts, believed her, but his mother was too weak to speak any more of it to him. With a last smile, her hand slid softly away, and she fell back into unconscious sleep, never to see her child again.
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