The Lost Ones

We weren’t crying for Him as we huddled together in the dark room, our arms wrapped around one another as we shook. At least, I wasn’t crying for Him, and Jerome said he wasn’t either, even though he’d actually served the king personally. Jerome said He was a good man, but I didn’t see how that was possible.

Outside the storeroom, we could hear the guards searching for us. They described Jerome as “the dark-haired boy” and me as “a wine girl.” I wasn’t sure how they could pick us out of a crowd. There were lots of dark-haired boys and wine girls. If the two of us kept our brand hidden under a cloak or a large shirt, they’d never be able to find us.

I tried to say this to Jerome, but he pressed his hand against my mouth and kept looking at the crack of light coming under the door. Every time a shadow blocked it out, he pushed me into the corner, and we froze, holding our breath until the person outside passed by. I’d cried a little, but Jerome kept his hand over my mouth so I would be quiet.

After a long time of silence out in the hall, Jerome stood up and crept to the door, pressing his ear against it. When he was sure there was no one outside, he motioned me to join him. “They’ve given up, I think,” he whispered. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“What about the brands?” I asked, unaware that I’d reached up to stroke the scarred skin on my shoulder.

Jerome thought for a moment before he searched around in the dark. The clattering of extra silver goblets and plates made us cringe, and I quietly prayed that no one would hear us. With a chuckle of triumph, he brought over a large tablecloth dyed some color too dark to recognize in the shadows.

“Here,” he said as he pulled out his paring knife. He tore the hem and the cloth groaned in agony as he pulled the two halves apart, threads snapping as they clung to each other. “Fold it so the tear doesn’t show and we’ll carry them over our shoulders like we’re bringing them somewhere. With you being a wine girl, they’ll never think twice about me helping you.”

I nodded and did what he told me. Jerome would take care of me, no matter what happened. Then he opened the door and we slipped out of the storeroom.

The palace was crowded with people from the country; all of them were dressed in black and lamenting for the King. There were lords and ladies too, along with wealthy traders who had brought the treasures for the tomb from distant places. Nearly a hundred colorful macaws, the King’s favorite bird, squawked and flew about over the heads in the crowd, their bright red a blinding contrast to the otherwise gray wash of the audience. Jerome had to grab my arm more than a few times to keep me walking, the piles of gold and silver and jewels made me gape just thinking of how much money would be buried in the ground where no one could use it ever again.

For a moment as Jerome and I cut across the grand hall, I caught sight of a line of young women dressed in gauzy blue robes. The most beautiful of the King’s harem. I saw a few of them crying, their tears soaking the wispy veils wrapped around their heads. I doubted they were crying for the King, either, especially not the one at the end. She looked as if she were only three years older than Jerome, and the other women snapped at her every time her sobs became too audible. Not everyone was as brave as they tell us to be. It’s supposed to be an honor, but I’m not sure how that’s supposed to calm the cold knot in my stomach.

As we lost sight of the harem, Jerome led me down a side hallway. I knew my way around well enough, but he’d been in the palace for a long time. He actually thought of it as his home. Just as we turned the corner that would bring us toward the back courtyard, a blur of red and feathers and claws came out of nowhere at me. The fluttering of the wings and the claws flashing in my eyes made me scream and throw my hands over my face. Something heavy pushed down on my shoulder, and it felt as if someone were driving tiny needles through my robe and into my skin. A shattering squawk echoed in my head. I cracked my eyes open, still standing hunched and frozen in the middle of the hallway. The macaw on my shoulder tilted its head to get a good look at me and blinked.

Jerome was the first to break from his shock, and the first thing he did was burst into laughter. “You should have seen the look on your face!” he said, trying to choke back his laughter. It was strange how easily we could both laugh, but I suppose when you’re terrified, you’re willing to laugh at anything to keep your heart from flying out your mouth.

I tried not to laugh too hard, because when I did, the macaw tightened his grip on my shoulder and his claws dug in further to keep his balance. Jerome lifted a hand to stroke the bird’s head, but it snapped at him. If the macaw could tell I was a little afraid of him, he didn’t show it, and chose to tenderly lick and nibble at my ear.

I had just worked up the courage to try and pet him when a huge man dressed like a merchant’s servant, barreled around the corner and let out a yell. “There it is!” He stood looming over us, glaring as if we’d done something wrong. “Thinking of stealing one of the King’s macaws, are you, you little scabs?”

“No, sir,” Jerome answered. I was glad he spoke so quickly, because the man had been looking at me as if expecting me to reply. “It flew in from the main hall, and we just caught it. We knew you wouldn’t want to lose one.”

“Lose one, you say?” the man snorted. “Merchants don’t lose things, you wretched child! Merchants have things stolen from them!” With that, he grabbed the macaw around the body, pinning the wings at its side. The bird screeched its fear and anger, and Jerome grabbed my shoulder to keep me from saying anything to the man.

The merchant’s hired hand gave us one last glower before walking swiftly back to the main hall. The two of us quickly turned and went the opposite direction.

“They’re going to kill that poor bird, aren’t they?” I asked.

“Don’t think about that,” Jerome replied. “Just pay attention to what we need to do.”

At last, we pushed through a door leading to the great hidden courtyard, and Jerome motioned for me to drape the cloth around my shoulders like a shawl. Servants didn’t carry tablecloths away from the dining rooms.

The courtyard was full of people all standing around the edges as they watched the lines of servants standing in the middle. The King’s Guards patrolled them like prisoners, while the chief of the guard stood stiff, as if waiting for something. There were no silk sheets laid on the ground under their feet as the women of the King’s harem would have. There were no trumpets, no brightly clad spiritual leaders to call out the last rights of the servants. We weren’t good enough for that. It was why we were in the back courtyard instead of the front, as even the macaws would be, a bright celebration of color and emotion.

Maybe it was because of the number of servants. Maybe it was just too many to concern the public with. The servants were organized into five lines, and each line contained nearly eight to ten people each. I knew most of them. How could they wait so patiently? Some of them had been friends of mine, close friends, people who had cared for me when I first came to the palace to serve in place of my father’s debt as a wine girl. Jerome pried my fingers away from his arm and gave me a glare.

“Keep your head down,” he whispered. “They’ll recognize us, and they’ll turn us in. Don’t think they won’t!”

“Kepha wouldn’t!” I whispered back. “Jof wouldn’t! Or Lia, or Stephan, or Yuneh!”

“You’d be surprised,” Jerome growled. “People do crazy things when they’re afraid.”

All the same, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them. Kepha was second in her line, and she stood with her hands on the shoulders of a young wine girl I didn’t recognize. The girl had been crying, and her face was ashen as she stood shaking. With a stab of understanding, I realized what made her keep my eyes. My mouth went dry as I watching myself waiting, shivering. It wasn’t me, she wasn’t me, but it was too close to be a coincidence. Jerome pulled me along.

We made our way through the crowd, and most of the onlookers were too preoccupied with watching the display in the center than they were at two small servants pushing past. The outer doors, leading to the stables and freedom were just in sight when a shout came from the opposite end of the courtyard, and the crowd parted to allow a red-caped guard to come through, pulling a small figure behind him.

“Ho! Captain!” he called, coming to salute in front of the Chief of Guard.

“Yes? What is it?” The Chief’s face was mostly hidden by his helmet, but I could see his moustache twitch as he spoke.

“I couldn’t find the boy, but I’ve brought another servant who matches the description. He only needs a brand to stand with the spiritual servants.”

“Are you suggesting,” the Chief began, shivering with fury, “that His Majesty won’t notice the difference that you’ve given him a different servant in replace for your ineptitude? We’ve already replaced one of the lost ones, and now you expect me to put in another?”

The guard opened his mouth to explain, but the Chief cut him off and waved over another guard. “Take this boy and brand his shoulder. He’ll stand in place of the other lost one.”

At this, the boy let out a moan and his eyes when wide as the two guards pulled him over to what was usually used as a contraption for public shaming. They clamped the boy’s head and wrists between the wood planks while the blacksmith was fetched to bring the brand. It all happened so quickly, within minutes the blacksmith was there, heating the metal symbol in a blazing fire, made while the guards waited for him. The boy groaned and moaned and sobbed with each crackle of the fire and with each crunch of the blacksmith pushing the brand deeper into the coals. From where Jerome and I stood, watching in rapt horror, the white-hot metal symbol was brilliantly clear.

The moment the brand touched the boy’s shoulder, he screamed, and everyone within twenty feet of it could smell burning flesh and could hear skin sizzling. I clamped my hand over my mouth, unable to stop shaking as I relived the searing pain that seemed to linger for months after I’d received the brand. Jerome had gone white as he watched, and he was trembling too, with his fists clenched at his side.

“That’ll do!” the Chief of Guard called. “Put him in the line!”

The guards opened the wooden hold and lifted the boy to his feet. He was still conscious, which was more than I had been after mine, but his legs were too wobbly to support him. After carrying him over to the lines, the guards posted two of the serving men at his sides, holding him up as the Chief of Guard turned to the people watching.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Citizens of Jicantra! Behold the Spiritual Servants of his Majesty, King Herat the Mild!” As he spoke, the Chief waved a hand behind him as if showing off his best troops. “Admiration and Honor to these most faithful servants of the King! Admiration and Honor to those who would serve him even in the afterlife!” At this, several of the servants stifled sobs, pressing their hands over their mouths as I did to keep from breaking down.

It took only a hand gesture for the Chief to command the Honored Guard, the murderers, into place at the front of the lines. The metallic whispers of their blades being drawn from the scabbard echoed through the fascinated, yet terrified, silence. Those standing at the heads of the lines looked almost apathetic to the things going on around them, as if their fear had numbed their senses when faced with this one last fright. After this, there would be nothing left to fear. But the girl, my shadow, her eyes were wide and she was shaking so violently it seemed her knees would collapse under her. My fingernails dug into Jerome’s arm, but he said nothing as he frowned. Instead, he gently pried my fingers loose and laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Honor and Admiration!” called the Chief, and the blades flickered downward splattering the first blood onto the cobble stones with dull thud as the bodies toppled. I saw my look-alike slide to the ground, her eyes glazed, her shaking had stopped. “Admiration and Honor!” More thuds. More blood. “Servants of the Everlasting King!” Red. So much red on the stones. The vision at the edges of my eyes spiraled inward, focusing on the color at the end of a dark tunnel.

The boy was coming up. He was next. I couldn’t watch, and instead clamped my eyes shut and pulled my consciousness inward so I wouldn’t have to listen to another series of splatter-thump duets.

“Honor the most faithful servants-”

“Wait!”

I was shoved aside as someone pushed past me and stepped out into the courtyard. The Chief guard stood dumb, staring at the boy who had interrupted his ceremonial speech. People closed in around me, pressing for a better view. They were so much taller than I was, I couldn’t see. Turning around, I reached for Jerome, only to find he wasn’t there.

“Who are you, boy?” the Chief’s voice demanded.

“I’m the King’s servant, not him!” I knew the voice, but my mind didn’t register it. I turned around again, dizzy from the jumping of my eyes from place to place, searching for someone… I couldn’t remember who. There had been someone, but where? Where were they?

“You?” The question gurgled with disbelief.

“I wish to take my rightful place and spare this servant his death. I’ve served the King. It is my right!” There was scuffling, and the grunt of someone being tossed to the ground not far from where I stood.

“Fair enough!” Footsteps leading away from me. Away from me! “Honored Guard! Return to positions!” The crowd drew in their breath again. I couldn’t. I’d stopped breathing so long ago. My sight was fading, my head ached and my lungs burned. I couldn’t stop myself from trembling.

“Honor and Admiration!” the Chief bellowed, followed by the splatter-thud. The sound hammered into me as if I’d just received the fatal blow myself, and my body had just crashed to the stones. The splatter was so wet in my ears, I could taste it in my mouth, could feel it oiling my fingertips. It was only after the sound continued, the calls continued, the deaths continued, that I could move enough to lift my hand to my face and feel the tears.

The crowd pulled back, now fully aware that the ceremony was continuing as planned, torn between watching and running in disgust. Between their legs, I saw the servant boy, the skin on his shoulder scarred deeply with the brand, the pallor of his thin face, the sheen of half dried tears under his eyes. He must have felt something, for he looked up and caught my eyes. We both shivered. And then I ran.

The doors to the stable were open, but it took so much effort to walk straight and not collapse. The world was blurred everywhere I looked, and nothing seemed familiar. Even when one of the stable hands smiled at me, all I could see were the buckets of soapy water lined up beside him, just waiting to wash away the splattered red on the stones of the courtyard. I got outside at last, but didn’t remember where I was going, we hadn’t decided that yet. I was alone, so alone, and so frightened. I wanted to scream, but I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to hide, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to hide from. I was lost with the very first step I took away from the palace, but being lost was better than being found. So I ran.