Sorry about the late publishing. I got a concussion last week, so it's been rough.
I'm really sorry if I seem a bit naggy about reviews. Reading reviews is really one of the big highlights of writing my stories. I look forward to it every day after I publish a new chapter, so it gets discouraging when my number of regular reviewers drops from four to one within a single chapter publishing. I am satisfied with two reviews, happy with three, and overjoyed with four. With one review, I am glad that somebody is still reading. Even if you are the only person that is still with me by this time, - though I'm sure I have more than just one consistent reader - I will still finish this story. We are coming close to the end now. Please be patient with me. I feel kind of sick of myself for dragging it out so long, but I had no other ideas on how to tie up all the loose ends.
Please remind me if there is something I have forgotten to address. I don't mind a little help - especially if it helps to make my fic into the best version of itself.
This is the first story that I've given reviewing assignments for. I thought it would be nice so that my regular reviewers wouldn't have to keep repeating the same things. Anyways, what separates my story from the other fics you've red? What stands out that makes you like it more or less than others?
Umed scooped another shovel-full of horse muck and straw into the wheelbarrow. Three hours of stall labor in Calormen's blistering hot temperatures were sure doing their number on him. It wouldn't be long before he would pass out entirely from dehydration, or heat, or exhaustion - just about any or all of them would do him in if he didn't get a break, soon.
Fortunately for the dark haired boy, he'd learned a positive about working in the stalls. No Calormene wanted anything to do with the dirty horses and muck, or the slave who cleaned them - at least not until both were clean enough to suit their liking. Since this was the case, however, Umed often found himself left alone and unsupervised while working in the stalls. He could take more breaks if he wished - that is, as long as he was never caught. He was sure to be careful that he only stole a few minutes rest, and a couple of refreshing swigs of water from the bucket outside the stalls before returning to work. And so he decided to take one of his quick breaks.
Dusting off his tunic and rubbing his blistered, calloused hands together, Umed walked to the stall door and, stopping just outside of it, bent down and cupped his hands in the water-filled bucket. It was unfortunate that the water was so warm, but it was still rather refreshing when compared to the distressing heat of the Calormene sun.
After taking a few drinks of water, Umed reached down once more to cup his hands in the bucket. This time he drew the water up and splashed it on his face, allowing it to drip down his neck and into his sweaty tunic. The liquid caught what little breeze there was and soaked it into his sunburned skin, causing him to sigh in comfortable relief.
"Papa!"
Two little voices caught Umed's attention from a ways behind him; he turned to see two young boys - the taller, darker haired boy no older than ten years of age - running into the arms of a man dressed in rags with no shoes, his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail behind his head.
"My boys!" The man clutched both children close, placing a tender bearded kiss on each of their foreheads. "It's over. We can be free now."
At the sight of a soldier closing in on the trio, Umed quickly ran back into the stalls. He picked up his shovel to continue his work, but was quickly distracted by the voices of those outside.
"What do you think you're doing?" Asked a harsh voice, which Umed guessed belonged to the soldier. "These boys belong to the Tisroc."
Of course! He thought he'd seen the boys before, but the children slaves were kept apart from the rest. They were preserved for the more important jobs.
"I've come to take them with me." The voice of the father said.
Umed stalked over to the other side of the stalls and placed his left eye to one of the larger cracks. The father stood hunched over his sons, staring defiantly at the soldier who looked to take the boys from him.
"And how do you plan on doing that?" The Calormene said, clearly unamused with the lowly man before him.
"I can buy their freedom. I have the money. I've been saving up for this day for as long as I can remember."
Umed couldn't help but notice that the soldier seemed a little caught off guard by the answer. Buying freedom was legal, but the price was placed so high that it would be next to impossible to gain. Not too mention that slaves were never granted the time or opportunity to earn money.
After the soldier had shook himself free of shock, he held out his hand. "Let me see it. All of it."The father paused a moment, as if considering whether it was wise to hand over all his money to a Calormene soldier - Umed couldn't blame him. Finally, deciding that his sons' freedom was worth more than his mistrust, the father reached into the pocket of his tattered brown tunic. His hand returned a moment later holding a small weathered bag. He placed the bag into the open hand of the Calormene, before turning to his sons and pulling them into a tight hug. He couldn't be sure because of the distance, but Umed thought he could even see a tear trickle down his cheek.
The whole scene took him back to when he'd last seen his own father. That last embrace in the arms of the only man he'd ever looked up to -until he learned to respect Peter, that is. Umed never expected to get past it. It was torture to wait every day, never knowing if that would be day that the letter would come to deliver the news of his father's death. It never came, though; at least not while he still lived in Finchley. He didn't even know if his father was alive today. If he was, what would he think of him? What he'd become?
"You think this can buy two boys? Maybe from some careless Tarkaan who doesn't know any better, but you are buying from the Tisroc!" The soldier threw the coins at the frightened family, and dropped the bag to the floor. The boys whimpered and huddled closer to their father. "This amount is good enough only for one boy. The Tisroc will not give both."
Umed could see the anger in the father's figure; he'd seen Peter look very much the same, with his hot temper and all. The man stood protective over his sons, but he was careful to speak softly, "Sir, you cannot expect me to take only one of my boys. I have worked many long years to build up even this much. I may die before I can afford to take the other. How can I ever leave knowing one of my children still lives in slavery?"
Umed's stomach turned as he considered the situation. He knew for a fact that the boys weren't worth whatever the soldier was saying they were worth - at least not to the Tisroc. Children were never capable of many duties, and they never received enough nourishment to become the strong slaves that masters wanted. The family was the victim of the all too common acts of the unlawful Calormene military. The word of a soldier would win out the word of a lowly Archlander in any court case - in the unlikely event that they even bothered to hold one in the first place, that is.
The soldier sneered at the man. "If you think it will be a problem, then just choose one of the boys. Once you have made your decision, I will see to it that the other is quickly killed. You and your living son may move on knowing that there is no longer anything left for you in Calormen."
At his icy words, the boys started to weep, clutching each other and allowing their father to push them protectively behind him. "I will not choose between them. Please, give me more time. I will double this amount - triple it even - if you let them both live. I'll return when I have the money to buy them both. Please."
The soldier seemed to consider his words, but Umed knew that the decision was already made. The words that left those cruel lips only confirmed what he'd already believed. "The Tisroc is tired of your face. He would rather you not come back. Now choose one of the boys and give the other to me!"
The father took a step back and bent down to his sons' level, holding one of them in each arm. "Please. No. Give me time. Please!"
But the soldier did not comply. He summoned three more soldiers who seized the family, separating father from sons and brother from brother. The first soldier approached the younger boy, taking him harshly by the arm.
"No! Please!" The father screamed from his place between two of the other soldiers. "I'm begging you!"
The main soldier gave him barely an unimpressed glance before turning to the child in his grasp. "Your father chooses to give you up and take your brother instead. How does it feel?"
The little boy turned around with tears in his eyes to look at his father, restrained by the soldiers. "Papa?"
"Amias, don't listen to the man. I love you more than you could ever know. I didn't choose this." The father's body shook with sobs as he struggled to speak. "I'm so sorry. love you, Amias."
The little boy attempted to run to his father, but he was held too tightly by the soldier's tight grip. Umed wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He was entranced and yet sickened by the scene laid out before him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a glint of silver in the soldier's hand. A knife.
No!
The boy was not even paying attention to the soldier as he fought against the hand holding him. He looked squarely at his father, confused and frightened.
I love you, Amias." The father said again, clearly attempting to keep his youngest son's attention on himself, so as not to let the boy see the knife, but also saying a goodbye of sorts to him. It seemed so wrong to say goodbye from so far away. "I love you, Amias. You are my treasure. You are my light. You are my life. Aslan hold you between his paws, until I take you in my arms again."
Papa?" The boy whimpered. "I love you, Papa."
Umed closed his eyes to avoid seeing the way the heartbreaking reunion would end. He couldn't bear to watch what would be sure to happen next. At the unearthly screams and shouts that followed, Umed knew exactly what had happened. He opened his eyes to see the younger boy lying limp on the ground, and the father and older son being forced away from the Tisroc's palace.
After a few moments passed, the group had fully dispersed, leaving the body of the young boy alone where he fell.
Alone.
No one should have to die alone - especially a child. An innocent child whose life already carried much more grief than it should have had to.
After he'd deemed the coast clear, Umed crept out of the stalls and made his way over the dark haired boy who, up close, reminded him a lot of himself. Blood seeped from an open wound in the boy's abdomen. Bile rose in the back of Umed's throat, and he was about to turn away in disgust when something caught his attention. A little hiccup passed the child's lips as his head lolled a little closer to the ground.
Umed was immediately on his knees, tearing a piece of his tunic and applying pressure to the wound. The boy whimpered in pain - a good sign meaning that he was not yet as close to death as Umed had first thought.
"Hang in there." He said, not exactly expecting an answer.
"Papa?" A little voice wheezed.
It broke Umed's heart to have tell him otherwise. The boy was clearly close to his father. "No. No, not Papa."
"No?" The boy's dark eyes never met his own, but he kept on speaking. "Anto, is that you? Where's Papa?"
"Not Anto, either." Umed said, applying more pressure to the wound. "Your father and brother are safe."
The child winced before speaking again. "Who are you?"
Umed hesitated. Who was he? He wasn't entirely sure he knew anymore, so he gave the only identity he'd known since entering Calormen. "Umed. I am Umed."
The boy seemed to relax at the answer, though Umed couldn't understand why. "You are hope?"
'You are my hope, Umed.'
Zebah had said those words to him. And here they were, back to haunt him.
"Yes, I am hope."
PSELPSELPSELPSELPSELPSELPSELPSELPSELPSEL
Edmund woke in a cold sweat. Sitting up in bed, he ran his hands over his face and drove them up through his dark hair. Dreams were never kind to him anymore. Every night one old memory returned to haunt him; always either of himself being tormented, or others. Of course, he knew that the ones of others were always the worst; they left a different kind of wound than the others. While old cuts and lashes would heal and scar over with time, these memories left the deepest wounds that would take much longer to heal. But they never healed completely. No. He would carry these memories for the rest of his life.
"My Child." The deep voice drew Edmund out of his thoughts. He lifted his head to the corner of the room, where he heard it comes from.
"Aslan."