The Tatar Yoke
"I told you to stop using those words, boy." The tall, dark man's long black plait swung dangerously as he whirled around, whacking the now ten-year-old boy across the arm with a switch. The boy made a pained gasp and glared at the man for a second before the man raised a fist, causing his expression to immediately change to one of fear. "You will speak my language like I've had you taught. No more muttering those horrible sounds, you understand?"
"Da."
The man hit him again, at his hip, livid. "I said don't!" And again, across his shoulders. "DO YOU understand?" He spat angrily.
The boy whimpered, nodding and speaking in the man's language. "Yes…"
"Good." The man sneered, grabbing the boy's arm and thrusting him toward a nearby handmaid. "Clean him up and dress him, I don't need him disgusting my guests." The handmaid nodded and took the boy's hand gently, keeping her gaze down until the man left and then leading the boy away. She warmed water for a bath in a large basin and washed the sullen boy with care he knew nowhere else. She dried him and led him out again, and dressed him in heavy robes, his enemy's clothes…
...
...
He sat at the table and stared at the food in front of him. Only when the dark man turned to him, black eyes holding a hidden threat as he told the boy it was rude not to eat when you have guests eating with you, that he reluctantly picked up his silverware, cutting into the meat on his plate and grimacing at the blood that trickled out. He'd never gotten used to the way they ate here…
...
It was dark and he wasn't quite awake yet. Rough hands grabbed him and he whimpered, trying to push them away. He smelled something harsh, alcohol on breath, and the hands pulled him closer. Tears ran down his face as he shook his head, pleading as the man ignored him and tore his clothes off. He didn't want this. Not again. Please not again…
...
The snow was blinding but he couldn't stop. Not even while shouts got closer. He heard a rapid whistling sound and his heart almost stopped, envisioning the arrows falling around him in the blizzard. He was so close to his border he could feel it almost tugging him onward. He couldn't die now. The arrows stopped and he ran onward, feeling hopeless as he heard the sound of a hoofed animal galloping behind him. Suddenly something heavy hit him, pinning him to the ground. The man gave a feral laugh, punching the preteen boy in the side.
"Agh!" The boy cried out, jerking and trying to push the man off. "Let me go! I am done! LET ME GO!" He screamed and threw his head back, nearly smashing the man's face with his skull. The man stood up, hitting the boy as hard as he could across the face and grinning at the satisfying crack.
"You want to go? You'll never make it without me, stupid. You know you were just a small child when I found you. You would have died then." The man spat, grabbing the boy by the front of his clothes and shaking him roughly. "If you want to leave you want to die!"
"Shut up!" The boy shoved the man with what little strength he had left, jumping up and trying to limp away.
"No, Rus'…" The man growled, grabbing the boy from behind and causing him to stumble backwards. "You leave... you die." Suddenly he grabbed a fistful of the boy's ashen hair, yanking his head back. The boy cried out angrily and reached up, attempting to grab the man's face. There was a flash of light reflecting as the man pulled the long dagger from under his robes, pressing it to the boy's throat. "Without me… you die."
The boy's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to plead, but wasn't given a chance as the blade was roughly drawn across his pale skin, blood gushing from the wound and from his mouth as he gasped for air. The man released him and the boy collapsed, gurgling as his blood stained the snow and ice.
"Now you can leave." The man growled, kicking the boy in the side and eliciting no response. He made a sound of anger and jumped back on his mount. "See what you've done? I could have used you! Kept you! Protected you! Now look! This is your fault! Yours! You fool!" He spat on the ground, gritting his teeth, before turning around and riding back into the flurry of snow.
The boy raised a hand, trembling, reaching out as the man disappeared from view. The pain was starting to become more real as the seconds passed, and his strangled cries became more desperate. His eyes, dull and unfocused, drooped nearly closed as he tried to force himself to his hands and knees. He could still feel that tug inside, pulling him. He blinked at the trail of blood beneath him, cutting a river in the snow, flowing steadily in one direction, as if he needed to follow it.
After what could have been seconds or hours the boy was on his feet, staggering blindly forward. He pressed his hands to his torn throat and bent forward into the wind as he walked, trying to breathe while blood filled his mouth. He felt a rushing in his head and heard his heart pounding louder, glancing up he saw a line of trees before everything faded to black…