/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\
10
"The Master Returns"
It took awhile, but eventually things settled down after the mysterious murder of Sir Richard Korven and the collapse of his estate. All three heirs wound up convicted, and all three were sentenced to be hanged but the gallows only claimed one (the eldest.) They stretched his neck to give a sense that justice had been served. Truth be told, he was the lucky one. Official word had it the other two were exiled, but the truth was darker: they were sold into slavery in a far away land to pay off the Korven debt.
That's okay. They were mean nasty brats anyway. Their childish and juvenile pranks would no doubt evolve into vicious and malicious harmful assaults that would destroy people and make entire families miserable. It's better this way.
Anyway, more importantly: now Mr. Curtis and Miss Agnes got back on their feet and were getting along fine. They offered Tira a permanent place in their home so long as she earned her keep, which she happily did (and then some.) Not only that, but she also managed to get along with other people in the community. She even got invited to a birthday party which was tons of fun with games and food and stories and laughter and she got to dance! She had so much fun dancing, and everyone cheered and clapped! It was the bestest day of her life!
But she should have known. It couldn't last. Not with her luck. Not with her life …
"Tira, could you help me in the kitchen? I need you to reach the flour for me," Miss Agnes had said. A short woman, with age creeping into her back and joints. She had a special step stool to reach the high shelves, but Tira could get it down faster. And, besides, Tira didn't mind.
"Okiedokie, be right there!" Tira opened the window so her three feathered friends could stretch their wings outside, and then she quickly went to the kitchen to help. She'd just pulled down the small sack of flour when they all heard the front door crash open. Time stood still for Tira. It didn't take a scholar to know trouble had just entered the household, but a paralyzing knot in her stomach told her it was something more.
Tira wanted to tell Mr Curtis and Miss Agnes to wait here while she went to look, but by then Mr Curtis had already gone to investigate. "Mr. Curtis, no!" Tira cried, and rushed in after him, soon followed by Agnes.
"Who are you?" Mr. Curtis demanded, "What do you think you're doing—"
A familiar voice answered, "I've come to reclaim my slave."
Seeing the dark cloaked figure, Tira stopped in her tracks and wavered dizzily as though her body slammed into a wall after a full on sprint. Her arms dropped to her sides, she fell to her knees, then lowered herself down to all fours where she started to crawl—
"Tira!" Miss Agnes grabbed the girl and stopped her. "Tira, what are you doing?"
"Leave her. She belongs to me," Zasalamel said, snapping his fingers, and Tira tried to answer the summons. But Miss Agnes held on to her and kept her anchored to that spot.
Mr Curtis too went to Tira. The enslaved girl looked straight towards her master with a blank expression, and she regarded nothing else. She whimpered and whined like a lost puppy trapped on a leash.
"Tira! Wake up, honey. Tira!" Curtis slapped her face gently at first, but then struck her harder and harder in a vain effort to snap her out of the trance. But it was no use, and he dared not hit her any harder out of fear of hurting her. The spell had an unbreakable hold on her. Glaring back at Zasalamel, the old man demanded, "What kind of witchcraft is this?"
"None of your concern. All you need know is I have no quarrel with you. Release my slave, and we will be on our way," the Egyptian said, tossing a small pouch on the floor. It clinked with what could only be coins inside. "Compensation for keeping this wretch all this time. She will burden you no more."
"She's not a wretch!" Mr Curtis snapped.
"Nor is she a burden!" Miss Agnes added, "she's a sweet girl, and you can't do this to her!"
Tira reached out towards her master and continued to whimper. Miss Agnes pulled her close to her bosom, rocking the helpless girl in her arms, and whispering, "no, it's okay, Tira. Everything's going to be okay. We're not going to let him take you. It's okay."
"This is your final warning," Zasalamel said. "Release her."
Mr. Curtis stood up defiantly. "You'll have to take her."
"So be it. Slave!" Zasalamel said. Tira tilted her head to the side attentively. And the Egyptian gave his order. "Kill them."
Tira threw her head back, slamming Miss Agnes in the jaw and making the old woman bite her tongue. Stunned, from the abruptness of the attack, she released her hold on Tira and the young dancer leapt up and pounced on Curtis. Before he could respond, she had wrapped her arm around his throat and squeezed his wind pipe.
"Curtis!" Miss Agnes cried out, her words sounding a little slurred having bit her tongue. But Curtis couldn't answer. Only gasps and coughs came from his suffocating vocal chords. Miss Agnes stood up quickly and went to her husband, making a vain effort to pry Tira's arm away from his throat. "Tira! Stop it! Tira!"
"Her mind is gone, woman," Zasalamel intoned. "The vermin you call Tira has no will of her own. She knows only obedience. She belongs to me."
Mr Curtis abandoned his futile efforts to fight the girl and her death grip. She was too strong for his old body to pry off him, too slippery for him to land any kind of elbow or kick. Instead he reached out to his wife, a symbolic plea for help.
Miss Agnes shook her head, "Tira, sweety, fight it! Whatever he's done to you, you can fight it!" She took a step closer, trying to circle around, but the girl turned to keep Mr. Curtis between them as a human shield. "Tira, please! You have to fight it! I believe in you, Tira! You can do it! Please!"
Tira looked at her. For a moment, only one brief moment, they flashed with fear, despair, and sorrow but then it was gone. She ever so slightly shook her head and mouthed the word "sorry". Then her eyes were empty again. No recognition. No emotion. Her grip never let up, keeping Agnes' husband from getting any life-sustaining air, and Mr Curtis grew weaker by the moment. His arms, still outstretched, wavered up and down as he fought with his fleeting strength to keep them up.
"Tira no! Fight it! I know you can! I know you can!" Frantic now, Miss Agnes wrapped her arms around her husband and Tira both (the closest she could get to the enslaved girl). The tears came freely, her voice rose an octave, and the words shot out in a frantic fragmented stream of consciousness, "Listen to me, Tira! I know you're in there! You've got to be! You've just got to be! Whatever he's done to you, you're stronger than that! You can overcome it! You can beat him! Tira, please—Curtis no!"
Her husband went limp, held up only by the slave's firm grip.
"No! Nononono! NO! Oh God, Curtis! Tira, please, let him go! You're killing him!" the old woman swung at Tira's exposed arm, the only part of the girl she could reach, but it was no use. She couldn't hurt Tira. Not enough to make her let go. Tira never raised an eyebrow. Never indicated that Agnes' blows did any damage (doubtful they did). Tira didn't smile, didn't frown. Nor did she flair her nostrils. She didn't even blink. She was murdering Curtis with absolutely no reaction.
Defeated, Agnes turned to the Egyptian and begged. "Please, make her stop! I'll give you anything, just leave us alone!"
But Zasalamel turned his back to her, and, before stepping into the night, gave one final order. "When you're done, burn this place to the ground, slave."
Agnes heard a thud behind her and whirled around. "Curtis?"
And she came face to face with Tira. And, staring into those terrible empty eyes, Agnes saw her own horrible and inescapable fate. She stood paralyzed as the girl raised her hand, and, gulping, the old woman uttered her last words in this world, "fight it, Tira."
She walked in the center of the road, staring straight ahead and never looking back to the town behind her nor back to the bright orange spot on the far side of town. A distant building set ablaze with a thin rising smoke trail reaching into the sky. No, Tira looked straight ahead to the covered wagon at the edge of the forest. She walked right up to the dark cloaked figure standing next to it, and as she went to lower herself down to all fours to kiss her master's feet he reached out with a firm hand and gripped her chin.
"No," Zasalamel said, keeping her on her feet, "We don't have time for you to crawl anymore. Come. There is much that needs to be done, and we can't afford delays."
Tira climbed into the wagon and, like a cat, crawled in a circle before lying down at Zasalamel's feet.
Writer's Note:
For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my profile. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)