Chapter Two

Working in the fields was torture, as it was every day for Kyra and the other slaves. The scythes that they used for the harvesting always seemed to grow heavier as the day passed slowly by. The slaves, resigning themselves to another day of sweat, pain, and torture, tramped out to the fields, all the spirit gone from them.

Kyra Longfletch was in the rear, helping the stragglers along, and often taking blows for them. This was not a strange or unnatural thing to do. In fact, it was actually quite a common act of charity among the slaves. Many of the younger beasts felt that it was their duty to protect the elders. Some did it because they had relatives among the old.

Some did it because it was expected. Some did it so that they would be assured protection in their own old age. Some did it simply to try and do what they could to defy Mavarl without taking up arms. Kyra did it for all but the first of these reasons.

A whip cracked down upon the ottermaid's right shoulder, and when she reached behind her with a paw to feel the wound she had just received, Kyra felt the trickle of blood staining the fur of her shoulder, and the fur of her paw. She tried to ignore the pain, gritted her teeth, and kept on. The sound of groans and whimpers echoed around her, emitted from all of the other marching slaves.

The others were getting their fair share as well. With Kyra was her friend Skythistle, called Sky for short. She was a tall and lanky haremaid, spirited even in slavery and well muscled, though this was demeaned to the extreme by the starvation that the slaves of Fortguard were forced to endure.

It was almost like any other miserable day... except for the fact that Kyra was about to put her escape plan into action. The first step was to tell Sky. Sky was Kyra's most trusted friend, and would be able to aid her.

Sky, as mentioned before, was a haremaid and was Kyra's best friend at Castle Fortguard. The spirited, ever-hungry, and equally ever-cheerful hare had filled the void that the ottermaid's long forgotten twin Ronil had left. Kyra missed her other- and possibly better (at times)- half dreadfully, and had often turned to Sky for comfort, as Sky had turned to her when she was feeling depressed.

It was a never ending cycle of friendship and compassion. Skythistle Morningdew Meadowsong, to use her full title, had grown up in a peaceful environment, much like Kyra. She too had been taken as a slave only shortly before Kyra had. Sky had been caught by Mavarl's crew on the coast near the Mountain Fortress known as Salamandastron, her previous home.

Kyra and Sky, being of the same age and spirit, had become fast friends. The two were almost inseparable, as Kyra and Ronil had been.

Skythistle was almost the same size as Kyra was, with the typical long legs, long ears, and strange accent of the Mountain Hares of Salamandastron. Her sandy brown fur was normal, and the haremaid sported soft brown eyes. These carried a warmth and understanding that often comforted Kyra when she felt sad.

Still, Sky had a temper that was almost uncontrollable, and her soft, understanding eyes reflected nothing of the anger within her. Kyra had learned to control her emotions, to numb them. She was strong enough to try and hide her feelings, except to Sky. She did not get rid of her emotions- with out emotions, she would simply be a savage beast- but she could numb them and try to forget their existence.

However, Sky's fierce bouts of temper never seemed to last long, though they occurred frequently. Kyra was the opposite, rarely getting angry, but holding her anger inside the pit of her stomach for long periods of time. As they approached the field, the haremaid flashed her friend a grin. Kyra felt a warm smile spread across her own face in answer.

Dark, black-brown eyes met light, warm brown ones as the two grinned at each other, offering each other what little encouragement their souls could muster. The two friends took the scythes that the rat guards handed to them and headed out to the fields, following a vermin overseer to the patch that they were to work on that day.

Of course, with such weapons as these sturdily built scythes, rebellion would have seemed imminent! But with archers posted around the field at strategic stations, and the overseers with their whips prowling about the slaves as they worked, nobeast would have time to kill more than one or two guards before being subdued. This would most likely lead to days of torture and pain, and few looked forward to such treatment. No one tried anymore.

The bright sun crawled higher still in the morning sky, tinting the blue hued heavens around it a bright reddish golden color. Wispy white clouds floated above, with streaks of pink and blue light running through them. Normally, a sunrise and sunset would have been beautiful to watch. Kyra saw them every day, and to her, the red that was painted in the sky symbolized blood and death.

She could no longer see beauty in such things as nature.

The ottermaid ran a paw through the matted fur that covered her head, her paw slippery with the sweat that was already pouring down her face. She had grown accustomed to the immense heat, but being accustomed to the heat and enjoying the climate were different things.

Though the heat did not bother her nearly as much as it did when she had first come to the west, it was still an immense burden to her and the other slaves, even this early in the morning. Kyra did not even want to think about how much the heat would increase as the sun rose higher in the red golden sky. She did not want to reflect on the torture yet to come.

The blistering heat was possibly worse than the hard physical labor. Many creatures collapsed during the hottest hours of the day. When that happened, the vermin simply left them there, laying out in the fields. The slaves were not allowed to stop working, or to help them. If they did... Kyra gulped, not wanting to think about it.

She had enough trouble numbing her emotions as it was. Thinking of the pain ahead would not help her. Sky waggled her ears in a friendly manner and flashed her friend an encouraging smile as they worked their way farther into the fields to begin their work. "A bit chilly this time of year, Kys, eh wot! Y'cold, M'dear? Y'look as if you're shivering! I c'd do with a nice warm fire m'self, doncha know!"

Kyra grinned back. "A nice fire'd warm us right up, aye? If I didn' know better, I'd swear t'was goin' t'snow in weather like this. It's almost too cold t'work."

Sky could tell that she had cheered Kyra up somewhat, and remained silent as she and Kyra looked for a place to begin their work. Soon, they found a suitable patch to begin harvesting. Kyra grabbed Sky's paws in her own, ripped a bit of her tunic off, tore the strip she had obtained in half, and wrapped each part around one of the hares forepaws.

Sky did the same, tearing off a strip of her own dirty tunic and wrapping it around Kyra's forepaws. It was a ritual that the two followed every day. Creatures were likely to get blisters after working in the fields with a heavy wooden scythe all day.

The ragged cloth wasn't much protection against popping blisters and bloody paws, but it was better than nothing. Over many seasons, Kyra and Sky had both built up a layer of rough calluses on their paws, and their muscles had become accustomed to the painful daily work. In heavy rain, in blistering, scorching heat, and even in sickness and fever, they were forced to work.

There was no excuse for refusing to come to the fields each day. Those who were in no condition to work were killed. The pain that the hard work caused for the slaves was almost unbearable, but they did it anyway. It wouldn't take long for her paws to start bleeding, and so Kyra made sure to work as fast as she could so that she could get more work done before the blisters came.

The more work she did, the less the others had to do. The oldbeasts and the young were brought up to the palace to work because Mavarl could not get anything done with them in the fields. Why waste a healthy young body on cleaning and dusting when he could have the weak and old do it?

The slaves were expected to get a certain amount of labor done, and if that potential wasn't reached, they were all beaten, and sometimes were refused rations. Kyra did more than her fair share, and so did all of the younger and fitter beasts, to take off the burden from the old and weak.

Kyra hefted the weight of the well-made scythe in her paws and swung it in a smooth, clean motion. That particular swing had taken years to perfect, and now it came almost as naturally as breathing. The ottermaid's muscles had memorized the exact pattern in which a scythe was to be swung, and it now caused her no more effort than walking two paces.

But she knew that with the heat and blistered paws, this feeling of ease would soon go away. The soft shhhhht. . . shhhht. . . shhhhht. . . of the scythe as it connected with the flesh of the plants it was cutting lulled Kyra into a sense of monotony.

She snapped herself out of it. She had to keep thinking until the pain started. She couldn't let herself become bored. Otherwise, she would be more prone to making mistakes. Other creatures had chopped off entire limbs with the curved, shining blades that they were forced to wield simply because they hadn't been paying attention.

Once her paws were blistered and bleeding, she would have enough on her mind to keep her from being bored. For now, she had to distract herself. The ottermaid caressed the back of her neck with a wrapped paw, wiping off a thin layer of perspiration as she blinked the glare of the red sun out of her eyes. The fiery ball was now as evil to her as Mavarl was to all of the slaves.

The sun meant pain to her now. Kyra, now remembering exactly what she should be occupying her mind with, returned to the work with slightly more vigor. Thinking of her escape plans would keep her from falling into a half- asleep state. Besides, she needed to run it over in her head just one more time.

She was careful to avoid the eyes of any guards that passed, their matted fur reeking even more than the sweat-laden bodies of the slaves. Kyra hated the degree of uncleanliness that the slaves were forced to put up with. The Slave Compound was hardly ever cleaned, and they were hardly ever able to take baths, even in the sea.

Kyra remembered living at Holt Ruddaring, where she had hated baths and had done everything in her power to get out of them. Now, she felt differently about cleanliness. She scoffed, trying not to smile at the guards. They would surely think a smiling face among slaves odd, and she did not want to stick out in the least from the others that were bound to endure unending misery of slavery.

And to believe these disgusting vermin refused to take baths willingly? How could they stand it? Kyra only put up with the foul conditions of the slaves because she had to. The second she was free; she would make sure to take a long, thorough bath. Otters were meant to be in the water.

Kyra had to work even harder not to smile as she thought of her childhood. She often did, since it was the only time that she hadn't been a slave. She had hated baths then, and put up such a fuss whenever anybeast tried to force her to take one that most were too scared to do it.

It was an old nursemaid who had come up with a way to get her to take baths. Kyra, of course, admired the older otters of the Holt, and had wanted to be just like them. One day, her nursemaid gave her some cleaning materials, and said that if she used them regularly while she was swimming, it would make her swim even faster than she already did.

Kyra, not knowing any better at such a tender age, had agreed to take baths with the lavender soap oil and other supplies the old otterwife had given her, hoping to match the times of the older otter kits. She had, but that was most likely because of her prolonged time in the water, swimming and building muscles while she washed continuously to win every race.

Now, Kyra hadn't been swimming in seasons. Not a proper swim, anyway. Otters were not meant to be kept confined to the land all of the time. Swimming was in their blood, and Kyra yearned to be free to swim, laugh, and play again. And, with luck, that was just what she was going to do.

Kyra jolted herself from her revelry quickly. She shouldn't have lapsed into amusing memories like that! You had to pay attention, at least a little attention, to your work so that you didn't injure yourself! First, Kyra had tried to find thoughts to get lost in. Now, she had let her thoughts distract her. Kyra grimaced, biting her lip as she continued working.

Feeling a sickeningly thick and wet substance oozing down her arm, she turned it over to see a mixture of blood and puss from a blister running down her wrist. She growled and wiped it off. First blister. How many more today?

She hesitantly took off the dirty cloth that surrounded both her paws and winced as she looked at her paws. Many more blisters were about ready to pop, and her paws were bleeding from numerous scrapes and cuts despite her protective calluses and cloth bindings. She sighed, rewrapped her paws- tighter this time- and continued her painful work.

After a while, Kyra could stand it no longer. She just had to tell Sky about her plans! The ottermaid felt like she was a bubble close to bursting. The plan she had come up with was simple to tell. They would pick the lock on the strange eagle-slave's cage and send it for help while they stirred up rebellion right under Mavarl's very nose.

Now, the hard part would be to find a way to tell Sky of this scheme while they were working in the fields. Of course, Kyra could have easily waited until later that night, but she was beginning to grow impatient. After all, she had waited seasons for this.

She quickly came up with a suitable plan. The vermin wouldn't think much of a small argument between slaves, would they? Keeping her plan in mind, Kyra slowly made her way up to Sky, swinging her scythe all the while. Telling the haremaid of her intended plan would be too risky outright, but in the guise of a well-staged argument, it might just work.

Kyra grinned as she grew closer to her friend. Sky was never far off from her in the fields. Kyra, taking in a deep breath, pretended to jump back. Sky was alarmed, for she hadn't yet caught on to Kyra's plan. She feared that she had hurt Kyra with her scythe. It was not an uncommon occurrence for one beast to injure another with the deadly metal blades.

"You long eared idiot! Kyra said in a rather loud tone, "what d'you think yore doin'? You almos' chopped of my rudder with your scythe, y'great dolt! Be careful where you're swingin' that thing, eh?" Kyra managed to give Sky a wink.

Sky knew exactly what Kyra was trying to do. "Dolt yourself, ruddertail! If you hadn't been in my bloody way, none of this would have happened, wot! Let a poor chapess alone t'do her slaves work, eh?" Kyra grinned, continuing the mock fight. The otter glared at the haremaid, an expression of false indignation and anger distorting her features. Sky was impressed by the otters acting skills in spite of herself.

"No, I won't let you alone. If you don't watch out, Skythistle, I'll get my revenge. If you aren't careful, I'll use this scythe and chop you up and feed you to that bloody great eagle." Here, she brought around the subject on which her plan was based.

Sky understood Kyra perfectly. "How'll you unlock the cage?" she taunted, "a weak otterling like you, wot! Couldn't even make me break a sweat if y'were t'fight me, doncha know. Now lemme alone, rudderbrain. The sooner we get this lot cleared, the sooner I get my food."

"Ha!" retorted Kyra, thoroughly pleased that her message was going through. "Just you watch out, Skythistle. I'll pick the lock meself, an' feed you in little tidbits to him. Bet you anythin' he'd do whatever I asked him after eatin' such a tasty thing as you and getting his freedom." Sky smiled, and nodded at Kyra. She understood. The message was clear.

Kyra, with Sky's help, would pick the lock on the eagle's cage. She would feed the eagle from their meager rations, and gain a favor. Perfect. Hardly anyone had been listening, and those that had thought nothing of the conversation. Not even the slaves. Sky was satisfied. She decided to finish off the argument with a flare, and continue her work.

"Well, Waterhound, be on your way. Y'can't do anything to me. Get away before I forget about the torture ahead an' use this Scythe on you, eh wot!" Kyra grinned. Sky managed to murmur a quick phrase before her otter friend left. 'Meet me outside the compound after dinner.' Kyra nodded, and continued her work. Sky smiled. Kyra's plan had worked.

The rest of the day wore on, but Kyra hardly noticed it's slow passing. Though she had thought up the plan a long time ago, she hadn't really taken hope from it before this very moment. Now that another creature was involved, the otter felt confidence flow through her as if it were a drug. That night, her plans for Rebellion would start at last!

Even the pain surging through her paws and arm muscles was hardly noticeable. She was accustomed to it anyway. It was amazing what a little confidence could do for someone as miserable as a slave. The sun no longer seemed a torture, but a bright beacon of hope, floating high in the sky and urging Kyra on with her plans.

Soon, she thought to herself as she looked up at it, soon. All that she had to do was wait for the day to be over; wait for the sun to set. She smiled slightly, a rare enough occurrence for a slave who had been imprisoned in body and spirit for over eight seasons. Kyra Longfletch smiled for the first time in a long time. The possibility of freedom was real for her now, as real as she was.

The sun sank lower in the sky, and the only reason Kyra noticed that her paws had started bleeding with renewed vigor was the feel of blood running down her arm and dripping onto her scythe. Kyra sighed, shook her head, and unwrapped her paws. The smell of bleeding flesh was repugnant to her nostrils, but she couldn't do anything until she got her daily water ration.

She would then clean her paws. . . and hardly get a drop to drink. They were worse than usual today. Kyra could only blow on her hands, caress them tenderly, add a little saliva to them, and wrap them even tighter than before. Hopefully her wounds would stop bleeding soon after the work ended.

Kyra's attention was soon drawn away from her bleeding paws as she thought about the coming night. Soon, with luck- she dared even think about this possibility often- she would be free! Kyra could hardly imagine freedom, even though she had experienced it while some other slaves hadn't ever seen anything but Fortguard.

She couldn't help feeling even sorrier for them than she did for herself. The road would be hard, the pain would most likely be intolerable, and the journey would be filled with thorns and obstacles. But her determination was great, her body was strong, her heart was ready for all that was to come, she had a friend to stand by her, and a dream.

Kyra felt her heart lurch in her breast as she watched the sun sink lower and lower and lower in the sky.

The shhhht. . . shhhht. . . shhhhht. . . of the scythe seemed to urge the sun onward on it's western journey. Kyra's own mental powers- wishing for night to fall- seemed to be apparent to the great celestial orb, and it was soon sinking beneath the horizon. Then, the thing Kyra had been waiting for all day came. The overseer gave a sharp whistle, and the guards began to round up the slaves.

The area for the day had been cleared, and it was time to head back for the compound. Kyra felt the newly cleared and fertile ground with her footpaws, enjoying the feeling of the freshly tilled soil. Soon, she thought, soon. She pushed her way into the slave compound, yawning. Soon, with luck. Soon. Soon.

Vaguely, Kyra wondered how many times she had thought of that same word throughout the day. Many times, she knew. It symbolized hope. Maybe someday in the near future, the word 'soon' would become the word 'now'. She was determined to try and make 'soon' a possibility, even if it cost her life.

Kyra rubbed her eyes, and winced as she remembered her sore paws. The reminder was a painful one. Shaking her head at her mistake, she put them in her mouth, despite the dirty and bloody bandages, and stepped in to tend to them.