"Nineteenth child and youngest son, step forward." Raven locks fluttered as the young boy walked up the marble steps. His large, sky-blue eyes were locked on his father's green eyes. The king looked the thin, fair skinned child over. And his eyes narrowed, his coldness not even making the boy flinch. He was the only child who was impudent enough to look him directly in the eye. Weak in body, though not in heart, feh. The boy is useless for the world we exist in now. He cannot survive war. I do not need 19 children….18 is enough.
"I gave you the name Vladimir, did I not?" the king's gaze was steady, untouched by his thoughts.
"Yes." The child inclined his head slightly. "That is so, Father."
He glared at the boy. "Since when have you had permission to call me thus?" he said in a low voice, disgusted as it failed to affect the boy beyond an unnecessary blink.
"That is what…the others call you, my Lord."
He relaxed, but his stern look didn't. "They may, because I choose so. You cannot choose thus on your own, child." The king looked at his son with his uniform detached expression. "Leave me now."
The boy's eyes widened only to the point that one could have fancied he had shown the reaction. He bowed until his face was parallel to the ground and turned. The king always demanded the last word.
Pale fingers distorted the smooth surface of the pillow as the boy threw himself on the cushions that were piled in a mass, and he gripped the fabric until he clearly felt the feathers within it. He gritted his teeth in fury, but clutched the pillow in his loneliness.
"Vladimir?"
The gentle voice made him gasp and he sat up. "Mother." He smiled slightly, as he was always brought to a state of wonder when he saw the graceful woman. He never heard her make the slightest sound when she walked or opened the door, and her presence always felt like it was a blessing bestowed upon one's self. She seemed to ride the air as she made her way to her child and she lay down next to him and touched his cheek.
"You have upset our Lord."
"Why!" the boy's body jolted, but her eyes remained undisturbed. "Why must we have to call him that? Is he not my father?" His eyes burned with emotion.
"Do not cry." Her voice tried to soothe the rage.
"Never would I cry for such a man." He said heatedly, but the fire in his eyes was fading quickly. She wrapped her arms around him drew him down to her.
"You are a good child, Vladimir. Do not forget your kindness. It is all that can keep your soul pure within this turmoil." She said quietly into his hair.
"The war with the Turks?"
"Yes….and so much more." She kissed his hair and he sighed and closed his eyes. "Remember the Lord, Vladimir. Our true Lord, our God in heaven. He is our Father and he shall never forsake you. Did you hear me?" she pulled away to see his closed eyes.
"Yes, Mother. I always do, and I will remember God for your sake." He showed her the cross necklace he kept around his neck.
Her eyes deepened with sadness. "For your own sake, child." She kissed his hair.
"Of course." He smiled, without opening his eyes. They fell asleep together, mother and child.
He felt the sigh of the cushions as his mother got up. The boy's lips tightened in a frown when he heard noise and he got up, seeing his mother listening by the door, her face pale.
"Mother?" he said in alarmed and she silenced him with her hand. A moment passed before she returned to him hurriedly.
"Vladimir…" she began, reaching out for him, but just then the door opened violently, cracking as it struck the stone wall. She clutched her child to her chest. "No! Leave the boy! Please!" she begged, tears welling in her eyes. "Have you no mercy? He is a child! He has done nothing!" she trembled as they approached.
The boy couldn't speak, nor could he see the men as his mother held him protectively from them. He gasped as he felt her body ripped from his, her finger that gripped at him desperately scratched lines of blood into his arm. She screamed and sobbed on the floor, and still no words or thoughts could be conceived in the boy's mind as he was carried out of the room in rough, uncaring arms. When he felt the coldness of the air coming from the hallway as they made their way to the door, he cried out. "MOTHER!" he twisted in the man's grasp so suddenly that he was able to slip to the floor. He ran to her, but his steps faltered as he saw her tortuous eyes, and the fear of his returning to her. He froze, disbelief numbing him. A tear slipped down him cheek, but was discarded when the arms claimed him again. He didn't resist as he was taken.
"Ugh." One of the men looked at the silent child, who undoubtedly knew what was going to happen to him. "Why is the child so quiet?" he frowned. "Is it a boy or a girl? It's really impossible to tell."
"Boy. No wonder our Lord couldn't suffer having such a boy." He noted no response came from the constricted figure. He walked over to the boy. "You know what our Lord said about you?" he crouched in front of the child, putting his face inches from the smaller one. He continued despite the silence. "He called you an eyesore…a useless thing that disgraced his honorable name!" The silence persisted.
"Leave him be." The other man said, eying the pitiful creature. Suddenly he saw the low clouds of dust from the hooves of horses. "Perfect." Relief poured from this word. The boy looked up to see the Turkish horsemen stop, and one came down from the huge beast. That's a horse. Looks nothing like the picture in my book. His empty thoughts stopped when the Turk jerked his chin up. A satisfied grin hinted on his features and he nodded to the two men and tossed them a sack that clinked when it was caught.
"Ah!" he called out in surprise when the man picked him up and practically tossed him on the horse and then swung his leg into the saddle, seated behind the boy. They rode off into the rising moon, and the wind stole the child's thoughts, but his eyes still possessed their clarity that reflected the shadowed world around him and he could manage to hear the chorus of hunting wolves. He was shivering violently by the time they stopped, and his cheeks and nose were pink, providing his face with its only color. He was pushed into a campsite made up of numerous, temporary animal hide shelters that were rounded and had distinctly pointed roofs. Directed to a tent in the center of the site, he was left inside, without a word from the man who had ridden with him.
A tall, well built man adorned with the distinguishing purple robes under a display of a few gold trinkets, turned around after a moment and he analyzed the boy. The unnatural color was fading from his face, as the boy noticed how warm the tent was, and he rubbed his hands to coax feeling back into them. "The eyes are quite beautiful."
The boy started, making the man raise an eyebrow. "Do you speak Turkish?" he asked in the same language he had spoken in before.
"Yes." A smile spread across the man's face.
"You are quite well educated then. Can you read and write?"
The boy's confusion disappointed the man for only a moment. "Yes, I can, but may I ask you why it is that you would think otherwise?"
"You are a slave." It was the man's turn to show a slight confusion.
"I know that I am, now." He glanced at the room he was in. "But I wasn't before." His eyes returned to those that continued to watch him. "What were you told when you were given the choice to buy me? And when was that?"
The man hesitated, unused to being asked and spoken to without severe reverence. "It was only today, but I was told that the offer would not last for long. I was told you were a captive."
The boy's eyes widened and he chuckled. "Yes…I suppose I was."
The man's chuckle melded with the boy's. His rough voice contrasted with the child's softer, more delicate tone, as he approached. "I can say….that you are quite interesting."
"Oh yeah? Is that so?" mischievous eyes peered up at the man without apprehension or fear in his expression, only amusement used to drown his current state of sorrow. The Turk watched the boy's innocent ignorance and smiled, his eyes flashing as he observed the boy's figure. He stoked the raven hair with a careless hand, succeeding in surprising the youth. "What are…?"
"You are my slave, little one. You seem to have overlooked the complications of the situation." He took the fabric of the boy's garments into his hand and drew the small body towards himself and whispered in his ear. "You are mine to do as I wish with you…no one will stop me and…" he lifted the boy's shirt, "..no one will save you."
"What are you doing?" A warm hand snaked up his body, setting off an alarm in his head. "What is this?" he recoiled from the large, engulfing hand but was kept in place as the other found itself under his shirt holding his back, across his shoulder blades. A shudder rippled through him. "Stop that." He pushed the hand away. "A…anyway. I'm a boy. I'm not a girl."
The hand returned, eager to explore the unknown body. "That doesn't matter. War does not permit pickiness. And anyway, as I said before,,,," he pulled the faced up to his and kissed him on the cheek. "You are beautiful."
The boy's horror developed into rage and fear and his body shook from a mixture of both. "Get your hands off of me!" he yelled, ripping at the hands investigating him. The face nuzzled his neck, and a cold pierced his heart and he trembled. "No! What are you doing?" his voice shook and his eyes closed as a shudder traveled through him. A small shirt fell to the floor, and other garments followed silently. Soon the boy fell and beat at the one who was on top of him until his wrists were pinned and then tied with a sickeningly convenient piece of rope that was drawn from the Turk's clothes. He had even prepared…thought this out…and he was toying with me! A whimper replaced any words and the boy's mind clouded with sensations his body was not ready to experience. He managed to strike the man when he loosened his grip for a moment while trying to tie the squirming boy's wrists. A much harder strike sent stars into the boy's vision and he didn't remember how he had found himself turned around…the man behind him. Tears would not come, even as he screamed in agony. They would not come, but his voice sought God in his own language. Like the Turk had claimed, no one saved him.