Chapter 8

Emil carefully pulled into the barn. There wasn't a lot of clearance on for the truck, and there were sharp tools lining the walls. Last thing he needed was to damage his precious U-Haul. Turning to the slave he just purchased he considered her form. Her skin was flushed and taught from the cold, and she was shivering despite the emergency blanket he bought for her. He had caught her staring at him with fear in her eyes, like he was a rabid wolf that would lunge any minute, and it made him wonder about the horrors she had endured. He had to be very careful dealing with her. She might be docile now, but if she felt threatened... there was nothing more dangerous than an animal backed into a corner.

"Wait here and stay in the truck." He told her, waiting for her nod of understanding. He glanced down at the floor of the truck wondering what she was looking at, then heaved himself out of the cab. Since he was already in the barn, he quickly dropped some hay into the rabbit's pen glad to see that they were all still alive. Tugging his coat around him as the wind started to pick up, he stomped over to the house.

'Great the door is iced over again.' He bemoaned. Holding the latch open Emil slammed his shoulder against it, popping the door free of the ice. Of course he forgot to account for the ice under the door, immediately slipping and falling flat on his face...hard.

'Yeap, that seems about right. Missed you too house.' he groaned.

Rubbing his shoulder where he was sure he would be sporting a phenomenal bruise, evening out the one on the other shoulder from last night, he quickly gathered a spare set of boots. Isla couldn't walk across the ice barefoot, she’d slice her feet all to ribbons. He lugged the boots back out to the truck and opened the door to find Isla still staring at the floor. What the hell was so fascinating about the floor?

"Come over here," he said motioning to Isla. She slid across the bench seat and over to the driver's side of the cabin, all without meeting his gaze. He grabbed her chin and forced her head up.

"Ok listen. I'm going to take the chains off so you can put these boots on and protect your feet. There's no point in running. As you saw we're three hours away from the nearest human being, and all that's between us and them is tundra. If you did run, you'd die of hypothermia in less than twelve hours. If you managed to steal my truck and drive to town, everyone there knows I bought you so you'd be returned very quickly and I'd have to take measures to ensure that never happened again." He let the obvious threat hang in the air, her imagination taking care of getting the message through.

Emil removed the manacles from her feet and wedged the boots on. Using the ankle manacles as a leash, he led the girl from his truck. By the time they had made their way to the front door, Isla was shivering uncontrollably. He kicked the front door open and drug her inside, since she was having a hard time guiding her legs in front of each other. He noticed her eyes were beginning to blink slowly, which was not a good sign for her body temp. At this point she was moving so slowly he began to get frustrated. To speed things along he grabbed and threw her over his shoulder.

Kicking open the mudroom door he carried her through the house and into his bedroom, throwing her down on the bed and piling the blankets high. He then busied about making a fire in the pot bellied stove that was in the room. Normally he saved the stove for severe storms because it pumped out so much heat, but Isla was in a bad way, slave or not, and he needed to warm her up quick. Once the tinder caught he threw a few small logs on it, and opened the flue. He checked on Isla making sure she was still conscious. Sure now that she wasn't going to die he attached one end of the manacles to the stove itself making sure that she wouldn't go anywhere, then hurried outside to check on his flock.

The goats hadn't eaten through the fence, but nevertheless three of them had somehow made it out and were gnawing on the wood of his house. Why?

‘Because goats are assholes that's why. They eat everything you have and then pass the time by smashing everything else to pieces with their empty skulls.’

Grabbing a rope from the mudroom, he was able to herd two of the goats back in the pen, but had to rope the third, tossing him into the mud room.

Fortunately, the sheep and rabbits were much better off. After a quick feeding he threw a heavy blanket over the rabbits and unloaded the truck. By the time he had finished the wind was howling and the temperature dropped precipitously; from freezing to ‘fuck you’. Emil stumbled back into the house as just as the snow started to fall sideways in big wet flakes. The goat was bleating incessantly until he drug it outside and slit its throat, as well as a few large arteries in his fore legs. Tying its hind legs, he hung it outside the corner of the house letting it bleed out. While it hung there he went back inside to check on Isla.

He opened the door, and almost choked on the heat. The room had to be in high eighties, and the stench of unwashed clothes and goat hide blankets was atrocious. Isla was as far away from the stove as her chains would allow, and had kicked the blankets off using a sheet to cover her nakedness. Emil reached to unlock the chains, and immediately burned his hands.

"Ow. Fire hot, dumbass."

He went to grab one of the blankets off the bed, but as soon as he was hit by stench, he changed his mind. Stomping out room and over to the kitchen, he grabbed the largest stewpot he could and went to fill it up with snow outside.

Unfortunately, because of yesterday's warmth there wasn't much snow on the ground and instead he had to chop through a thin layer of ice on the water barrel just outside the door, and fill from there. Lugging the giant pot back into his room he set it on top of the stove to begin warming. He then walked down the hall to his favorite room; the bathroom.

Quickly he took in the raised floor with its half sunken tub, repurposed from some abandoned house. There was a dangling pipe that led from a cistern outside, and another that led to a homemade water heater on a stand above a brazier. Turning a valve on the side of the cistern’s pipe he allowed it to fill the tub as he bent to light the brazier to start water heating. Filling the tub about a quarter of the way, he shut off the cistern valve and went back to fetch the Isla.

The room was rank. The stove had warmed the room up to about ninety degrees and all of his bedding stank from having not been washed in the past month. Add to that the ripe sweat of a slave who likely hadn't seen a proper bath in a month... it was enough to curdle goats milk.

Ignoring the shackle connected to the stove, Emil reached for the slave who was now sweating profusely. He unlocked her remaining shackles and pulled her to her feet.

"You smell like shit. Come with me."

***

Isla winced at the comment, thinking about this morning's bath in the laundry room. It wasn't her, it was the bedding, but she figured insulting his room and hygiene wasn't a good way to start a relationship with a man who owned her. She grabbed a blanket from the bed to cover herself with, but Emil grabbed it away from her. He pulled her roughly down the hallway and into the water closet and she saw the small tub half sunken into the floor. Emil tested the water in the water heater and it was very warm. Dumping the entire reservoir of heated water into the tub filled it about halfway and brought the temperature up to a lukewarm, but then he added the water from the pot and it was now steaming.

"I assume you can bathe yourself?" He asked

"Yes, Master," she squeaked.

"Good. Soap is in the bucket, towels are in the chest." Emil then pointed to the next room over in the hallway. "That room has spare clothes. When you're finished, get dressed. I've got to finish getting things ready for the storm." Emil then turned and left her to it, but left the door open so he would be able to see her if she tried anything foolish.

Isla crawled into the tub, reveling in the heat. She had always preferred her baths to be on the hot side, and now twice in a single day she was allowed to be truly warm. She sunk deep with a sigh, just her knees and the tops of her breasts out of the water. Her relaxation ended quickly though when she remembered he hadn't given her a time frame. He could be back any second.

She reached into the bucket near the tub and pulled out a lump of hard soap that was mostly from animal fat, with a very small amount of lye in it. It was much better than the harsh chemicals she had been forced to use earlier. After scrubbing her skin thoroughly she started in on her hair. The tangles in her hair were so thick and matted, it took her nearly fifteen minutes of fighting with it, just to be able to run her hand through it reliably. She would have to find something to make comb out of eventually but for now it would have to do. Rubbing the soap into her scalp felt so good. Little tingles went down her spine as she scrubbed and scratched, cleaning off nearly a year of dirt, sweat and god knows what else. Her entire life she had taken for granted the ability to be truly clean, but now she reveled in it even as it made her feel vulnerable.

When she was done she rose from the tub, grabbed a towel from the chest, and padded over to the room he had pointed at. This room had obviously been occupied by two people previously.

'Probably slaves. I wonder what happened to them. Maybe they died. Or maybe they displeased him and he killed them.'

The thought terrified her. If he had already killed two slaves before her, then he wouldn't hesitate to kill her too. He was obviously rich enough to buy more as needed. She remembered his hesitance when he was negotiating for her. He remembered Regina saying something about proper tools and trying to send him to a brothel. Is that why he bought her? Was it to have a sex slave? Her breath caught in her throat, as part of her brain accepted this rationale and she began to acknowledge she was his. Well, if she was going to be a sex slave, she would give him exactly what he wanted and never give him cause to hurt her.

'Sleeping with him is a small price to pay to keep living. Maybe next spring I can escape into town and get away from this monster.'

She dressed quickly in clothes she found, though they were a bit loose on her. She even found clean socks, putting two pairs on over her feet, as the rest of the house was very cold. She couldn't find any shoes, though, so she padded from the room looking for Emil, but couldn't find him anywhere.

She ended up in the kitchen, and was eyeing the cabinets with her stomach rumbling when she saw him walk past the window holding a gloved hand over his face as the wind whipped his thick coat. She had no real frame of reference, but it looked like the storm had hit, and it was just snow everywhere. She couldn't see beyond twenty feet. She heard the front door open and slam shut, then after a few seconds the mudroom door open and slam as Emil stumbled inside and made a beeline right for the bedroom. Isla's eyes widened when she saw the ice encrusted on his jacket and followed him into the room.

'The storm must be bad.'

***

Emil peeled himself out of his jacket, under coat, and gloves and sat in front of the stove rubbing his ears. The storm had roared up quick and he didn't have time to grab his cap. His ears were burning something fierce. Fortunately in Emil's experience, the harsher the storm the faster it blew itself out.

He saw Isla standing just outside the room watching him out of the corner of his eye, dressed in some of his mother's old clothes. She was too thin and short for them, but she wouldn't be freezing any time soon. It was already late, the storm was upon them, and the animals had been seen to. The room still stank in the heat that the stove was putting out and he knew some of it was coming from his bedding.

"Did you dump out the water from your bath?" he asked Isla.

"No, uh, Master."

"Good, take these blankets and wash them in the tub, hang them up over it until they stop dripping and then bring them in here to dry. Then search the other room for any bedding and do the same."

"Yes Master"

Emil just grunted. He wasn't used to being called Master, but he figured it was a good way of reminding himself not to get complacent. She was a slave, but she was still a human being and humans don't like being caged. If she got it into her head for even a minute that she would be better off without him, she would try to kill him and run. Having her call him Master seemed like a good way to remind himself that she was dangerous.

Emil's ears stopped burning, and he wandered into the kitchen to start cooking dinner looking at his supplies and deciding to celebrate a little bit with some roast rabbit. Firing the stove, he threw a whole rabbit, carrots, onions, mushrooms, salt, pepper, and garlic into a roasting pan, put in a little water to make sure nothing dried out, and set the whole kit in the oven. Emil wondered absently if Isla knew how to cook. That would be nice.

He then set about filling several buckets with water just in case the storm lasted longer than anticipated and froze the cistern solid, and quickly emptied all the wash basins refilling them instead with clean water. It took him a few minutes, but by the time he was done they were set for clean water and the rabbit was roasting away nicely.

He checked in on Isla, who was struggling with the weight of the bedding from his parents room. He watched as she lugged the heavy sheets and wool blankets down to the bathroom, studying her body. She was very pale, even more so than was common for people that lived as far into the cold as he did. She was at least thirty pounds lighter than any girl he knew, even the flirty waitress. Her hands were smooth and callous free, and her wrists were very thin.

She had never worked a day in her life. Not real work anyway. Quietly sighing to himself he thought about all the basic chores and survival skills he was going to have to teach Isla before she would even be able to help with daily routine.

This was going to be a long winter.

***

Isla struggled with the slave bedding which was heavier than she ever would have thought necessary, It was several very thick and heavy wool blankets, as well as a quilt that had been made from the skins and fur of some animal. The bedding was so well cared for and so thick she was surprised that it was in the slave's room, she would expect to see this in some lord's manor or in a nice inn.

‘Must be one of the perks of being a well off rancher. First pick of the herd.’ she thought. It was obvious that Emil was well off, but she wasn’t sure how well. Not that it really mattered to her. Her job was to just stay until she could figure out a way to get out.

Wrestling the blankets into the bathroom she started to load them into the tub one at a time, and scrub them clean of dirt, sweat, (and several questionable stains), then hanging them to drip dry. She busied herself with the task completely oblivious to the man who was watching her, losing herself in a task that she knew she could complete well.

Slave or not she took pride in being helpful and the simple chore reminded her of growing up in her father's laundry. A place she missed badly. The smell of the salt baths, the chatter of the laundress’ gossiping over the days wash. The kids laughing and shoving each other into the springs. Her father buying exotic fruits for the family to taste.

She had a good life. Until now.

Isla finished hanging the last of the bedding to drip dry from a couple wooden rods suspended near the ceiling, she imagined were for just this purpose, and checked the first set of sheets she had hung. They were no longer dripping so she pulled them down and brought them into Emil’s room. She eyed the bed intending to lay the sheets flat on it allowing it them to dry, but doubted he would appreciate sleeping on a wet mattress.

She looked around the room for something to hang the sheets from, and spotted several coat hooks on the wall behind the stove. Smiling inwardly at her own genius, she tied small knots in the corners of the sheets and hung them on the hooks.

‘Now they’re near the stove and out of the way. Behold the cleverness of me.’

Isla repeated this process with the last of the sheets, but was forced to leave the quilts spread around the room, as they were too bulky to hang on the hooks. Finished with her task she drained the water from the tub, and tidied up the bathroom leaving it as when she arrived.

She padded over to the kitchen just as Emil pulled some fantastic smelling pot off of the stove and her stomach rumbled audibly. He glanced her way and she shrunk a little in his gaze, embarrassed by her unseemly noises.

“I’ve finished the bedding, and tidied the bathroom Master.”

“Excellent.” A small smile tweaked the corners of his mouth, as he turned back to his pot. “Grab some plates out of that cabinet,” he said, indicating one with a nod of his head.

Isla quickly scurried over and grabbed two wooden plates out of the cabinet and stood there while he dished food into them. Her eyes widened as Emil completely emptied the pot of rabbit and vegetables equally on to both plates, and then took one and sat down at the table digging in quickly with fork and spoon.

She held the plate in her hands trying to decide if this was some sort of cruel joke. This was more food than she had eaten in one sitting, in over a year. Hell, this was more food than she had eaten this entire last week. She looked up and met his gaze, and he chuckled.

“If you don’t eat it quick, it’s gonna get cold.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. Grabbing a fork she tucked in with a vengeance. The steaming hot rabbit burned her tongue at first, but she ignored it and scooped the delicious meat as fast as she could.

She was surprised at the flavors; it was a different spice palate than she was used to, but it was delicious. Savory and sweet, with the vegetables providing a nice texture to complement the meat. This was a meal fit for a king.

Emil finished first and rose to rinse out his plate in the sink, adding it to the collection of dishes needing to be washed.

“Alright Isla, time we talked.”

Chapter 9

Markem sat at the grimiest wooden table this shit heap of a tavern had. The grime bothered him, but it was more important to keep his back to the wall. Too many times he’d cheated death from behind, and usually from someone claiming to be a friend. He wasn’t relying on luck anymore.

The flickering light of the fireplace at the far end of the room barely made it to his table, leaving his corner in a murky shadow. He played with the dented and scratched mug, half filled with the piss the bar claimed was beer, as he sunk deep into his thoughts. Absentmindedly he pulled and straightened his coat, which at one time had been pristine and bright, but was now stained and torn.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Twelve years of service to Lord Aldridge, and what did he get? Literally the coat on his back and a bounty on his head. He had no idea how those letters made it into his satchel, and had only ever seen Lady Wellington from a distance. He had no interest in trying to woo a Lady who literally bought and sold soldiers like him every day. He was more than content with the local brothel, no matter what those letters said.

Of course there was no love lost between him and his commanding officer in Lord Aldridge’s guard. When he was accused of planning to kidnap Lady Wellington for -ahem- physical reasons, Commander Archer had been more than happy to pile on any discrepancy she could think of.

Markem tossed back the last of the swill in his cup, wiped his stubble with the back of his sleeve and rose to leave glaring at the barmaid who had basically ignored him all night. She obviously thought herself too good for him, with her short skirt and tiny cleavage. He preferred women who had a certain...plumpness about them. Her meager offerings spoke more of hunger and sickness, than attractiveness in his eye. Not that he would have turned her down, had she been interested. His current circumstances and distinct lack of coin saw him more desperate in his love life than he was used to, lacking even the resources to visit one of this small towns establishments.

He slunk through the crowded room, keeping a wary eye on several cutthroats and his hand over his coin purse, out the doors and into the frozen night. Pulling his coat around his narrow shoulders he staggered through the muddy streets of Colvain, heading more or less in the general direction of the post office. As he slogged through the frozen mud he saw even less scrupulous types watching him from the alleys, the light reflecting in their desperate eyes. He understood that feeling now more than he ever had before.

He trudged up to the post just as snow started to fall lightly in small flakes. He brushed a little snow off the painted sign outside the door, reading the destinations and departure times of the delivery coach. There would many routes heading from Colvain, it was a small town but strategically located for cargo traveling through the countryside to the port city of Tampico in the southeast.

Tracing a finger down the list he ticked off the cities and prices posted. As much as he'd love heading south to the more civilized part of the world, he knew his skills would stand a much better chance of survival in the more untamed north; where the law was loose and man with a good sword arm was worth his salt. Deciding to head in the exact geographic opposite of Mazatlan, he headed back to the bar hoping they would let him sit in the common room and stay warm for an hour or two before ousting him back onto the streets to fend for himself.

The chill wind cut through his clothing as if it wasn't there and made mockery of his unprotected ears, which were now burning with the beginnings of chilblains. Shivering now uncontrollably, Markem ducked between the buildings trying to mitigate the wind, instead trading it for deeper snow on the unkempt ally. His progress slowed considerably, as he had to stomp through the icy mounds of snowdrifts, hands stuffed in his armpits, wishing for pockets in his coat for the millionth time. Lord Aldridge fancied himself after the ancient ship captains depicted in the art he loved so much, and had his men dress in ridiculous outfits with tassels, and of course pocket-less for "good discipline".

Deep in his thoughts, it came as a huge surprise when Markem was abruptly smacked in the face with a chunk of wood, presumably a board from some broken crate. Blood fountained from his now broken nose in a spectacular fashion. He instinctively reeled back and clutched at his face while bellowing every obscenity he’d ever heard, and even made up a few.

Quickly blinking the stars and hate out his eyes, he saw a scrawny man in even worse rags, rearing back for another blow. Stepping into the hit allowed Markem to take it on the shoulder instead of the face and grab the man by his neck, squeezing even as he took blows in his side.

He was furious. Furious about life, about hunger, about his pockets, about the cold...and now this asshole thought he would rob him in a frozen alleyway?! Markem slowly squeezed the waif’s throat, cutting off his air. A stinging ball of ice struck him in the side of the face, bringing his attention to the boy who had hidden behind some crates in the alley. Likely he was trying to defend his father, and succeeded as the man wriggled out of his grasp, and turned to bolt.

Markem lunged at the fleeing man, tackling him around his thighs, and dragging him into the snow. Piling all his weight on top of the man, he snaked his arm around the assailant's neck and rolled over onto his back in a move he learned as a foot soldier. Slowly applying sideways pressure, he twisted the man’s jaw around until at last he heard a grinding pop, and the man went limp. Shrugging the now limp weight off his chest, he doubled checked to make sure the man was indeed dead by peering into his now glazed eyes.

Markem quickly went through the pockets of the thief, taking what few coppers the man had. Ignoring the quiet sobbing coming from behind the crates, he pocketed the coin, tore a strip from the man's shirt, stuffed it with snow and applied it to his face.

Sure he may have a broken nose, but with his new coin he could now afford a night in the hotel before his journey north tomorrow morning. Tugging his coat straight around his skinny shoulders he brushed the snow off his hips, and held his newly made ice pack to his face in effort to ease the pain. He trudged out of the alleyway making a beeline for the hostel, shouldering the door open and stumbling inside. He tossed a copper to the arrogant barmaid for the key to the washroom.

Standing in front of the cracked and dirty mirror, he took in the wreckage of his face. Both his eyes were already starting to blacken, and his nose was cracked at a horrific 45 degree angle. He would need a healer to fix it properly.

Not for the first time, Markem considered how all his problems could be fixed but a simple abundance of coin. If he had even a few gold, he could turn his life around in a very significant way.

Bellowing in pain Markem straightened his nose as best he could, getting it only mostly straightened, and causing fresh blood to gush from his nose as his nasal passages were re-aligned and cleared of the coagulated blood. He let the majority of the blood drain, and then began to clean himself up as best he could, scrubbing his face with the frigid water from washbasin. Once the blood slowed to a trickle, he stuffed some pieces torn from his new rag into his nose to stopper the last of it.

Taking one last look at his disfigured face, he kicked the door open and stumbled over to the bar paying for a room, and grumbling his thanks to the red faced woman who seemed to have a scowl permanently attached to her face.

A short trip up the narrow and rickety stairs found him in a large room with multiple stacked beds and several shapes already snoring beneath tattered blankets of rough wool. Finding a the least objectionable mattress in the corner where he could keep an eye on the door and most of the room.

Tomorrow he would get on that coach, and head for one of the only places in the world that was even worse.

Dallas.

Chapter 10

Emil stared at Isla from across the table, her fidgeting exemplifying her nervousness. He wasn’t sure why she seemed so terrified, he hadn’t done anything to her. Hell, he’d even carried her across the yard so she didn’t freeze. Then again, he’d never bought a slave before, maybe there was some sort of training or expectation that made them all that way. Either way, she’d figure him out sooner or later.

“So Isla, where are you from and how did you become a slave?”

Isla’s eyes turned down and as she toyed with her food, organizing her thoughts.

“My father wasn’t a wealthy man in the beginning, we only had a small bathhouse that doubled as a laundry. In reality it was just a small natural spring that my mother had accidentally hit while trying to dig a garden.” Isla chuckled remembering all the mud and her mother's frustration. “We started making a little money, with my mother and I washing clothes at night, and offering the bathhouse during the day.

“Eventually we had enough money to build a second small laundry building and soon we became the main laundry in the town. We became the best by working our asses off. While my father spent most of his time running the baths, my mother, sister and I stayed up all night and washed. We worked so long sometimes we slept there. Needless to say, when you start making money, people start targeting you.

“My father was killed when a bandit broke into the house to rob us; broke his skull with a cudgel. We got lucky and there was a group of people walking home from the pub and when the bandit came running out of the house they grabbed him, wondering why he was running and covered in blood. Turns out the bandit was the son of the local lord, who had been ousted from the home of one of his mistresses, a lady from a rival family. Needless to say the scandal was going to be huge.

“My mother reached out to the father of the bandit, who agreed to keep the whole thing quiet. The son turned up dead and my mother received gold in compensation.” Isla blinked back a tear, and tried to steady her voice.

“My father’s life was worth one hundred gold. That’s all. You’d think that a human life would be worth so much more, but I guess not.

“My mother took that gold and expanded the business, building a huge stone bathing room. It was really pretty. Painted stone bath and tapestries on the walls of birds in flight. She always loved things of beauty, and dreamed of the life of a Lady; surrounding herself with furs and silks from every corner of the globe; never having to work again.

“The problem was, mother spent all of the money on the onsen. She assumed that if she built a beautiful bath that people would come from all over the country to bathe in it, and she’d get the lifestyle she wanted. But nobody came.

“Four months after we opened the new spa, things went bad. With no one coming to the new bathhouse, even at reduced prices we couldn’t afford to heat the pool. Then we couldn’t afford to heat the house. Then we ran out of food.”

“In a move of desperation, my mother reached back out to the Lord and demanded more money or she would tell everyone about the scandal and the murder his son had perpetrated. He didn’t like a laundress threatening him, so he had her killed and took our home from us. Everything. The house, the laundry, the onsen… all of it. They kicked my sister and I out on the street.

“With no food, no shelter, no parents, it didn’t take long for us to start stealing food, and of course we were caught. Since we couldn’t pay we were forced to work in the lord’s manor. The same lord who had my mother murdered because she was inconvenient. We worked there for over a year, scrubbing floors, mucking stables, painting walls, and they entire time we were charged rent and food expenses.”

A small mirthful chuckle escaped her. “Rent. We were forced to sleep in a barn and they charged us rent. Our debt kept growing and growing. One day my sister was carrying dishes from the dining room to the kitchens when she ran into a visiting lady, spilling wine all over her gown.”

“They beat her. They beat her so bad. When they were done there was more blood on the outside than in. After that night we were sold as slaves to pay the debt on the Lady’s gown.”

“I haven’t seen my sister since we were sold. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

*****

Isla finished her story and sobbed quietly to herself, reliving the past she’d spent so much time intentionally suppressing, shoulders shaking with grief as she mourned not for herself, but for her sister. The last time she had seen her she had been so broken, and bruised, she had barely even looked human. She couldn’t even remember what she looked like before then. She couldn’t see her smile, or hear her laugh. She just saw the blood and broken bones piled in the bottom of a slave cage, unconscious, even to Isla’s screams as she was hauled away for her auction.

“Master, may I please be excused?” Tears streaming down her face, she barely waited for his nod before fleeing to the washroom and letting the tears come unrestrained. She cried until her tears ran dry, and her soul became numb.

When her she had nothing left in her, she cleaned herself in the bucket of water kept and attempted to regain her composure. A difficult feat since her owner had just seen her come completely unglued.

“Great, now he’s going to think you’re weak and emotional,” she berated herself. “Way to make a first impression. If you don’t keep your act together he’ll decide you’re more work than you’re worth and dump your body in his garden for fertilizer.”

Opening the door she marched meekly back to the kitchen, ready to apologize for her outburst, only to find the dishes done and the kitchen empty. She checked Masters bedroom, but it was empty. Looking out the window she could see only the fury of the storm. The snow was falling so thick and fast that she couldn’t see anything. He must have gotten so irritated that he stormed off, preferring mother nature’s wrath to her instability.

“Well… shit.”

Chapter 11

Emil busied himself in the barn checking the rabbits, making sure they were handling the cold. The temperature dropped from the mid thirties to negative ten in a little over an hour. There was an arctic front coming down from the north, whipping over the tundra and bringing its subzero temperatures with it, and it would probably be a day or two until it ran out and warmed up again.

Emil considered his rabbits. They could handle average temperature changes, but they weren’t really cut out for sub zero storm. Their coats were nice and thick for the winter, but the ice was already forming on the walls from the residual moisture in the air. Better to be safe than sorry. Grabbing a nearby length of rope from a shelf, he looped it through the wire mesh of the cage top, and drag the whole cage rabbits and all to the mudroom. Stashing them in a corner of the room would protect them from the worst of the elements and their natural herd mentality would keep them warm enough to ensure survival. They also didn’t much care for being drug over three hundred feet of ice and snow, and Emil figured a little bunny rage probably wouldn’t hurt anything.

With that done he ensured that the sheep were well penned in their rain shelters, trusting them to rotate the herds to share the cold. A group of caribou wandered by the eastern fence line, heads bent and heading south towards warmer climates with the goats bleating obstinately at them and just generally being retarded asshloes.

Emil hauled in the goat hanging from the corner of the house that he had killed earlier that day, chuckling that there was at least one less goat. With the outside chores done and the house shuttered up he eyed the door tentatively. He wondered if enough time passed for Isla to pull herself together, and then pondered the irony that as a slave owner he was forced into the cold because of his crying property.

Deciding that freezing to death wasn’t really an option, he crossed himself in an ancient prayer to the old gods and headed inside, dragging the goat behind him. If worse came to worst he could try to distract her so she could feed on the goat instead of his soul. Like the giant predator from the old earth documentary, chronicled by the noted historian Michael Crichton.

He kicked open the mudroom door listening for the sobs coming from the washroom. Instead he heard nothing. Picking up the goat he carried it into the kitchen and dropped it on the table. He went to the cabinet and pulled out his leather roll of skinning knives and sharpening block, preparing for the task ahead. A squeak behind him made him turn and he saw a very somber slave standing in the doorway with her eyes downcast.

“Please forgive me for my outburst Master. I spent a lot of time not thinking about how I got here, it was a lot to remember all at once.” She raised her eyes to look at him, waiting for a response.

Completely baffled as to what to do next he simply waved and coughed something about not worrying about it. He looked at her standing there all meek and contrite, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her predicament. Despite her circumstances, it didn’t seem that she was a bad person, just a victim of tragic circumstances.

All that being said, she was still dangerous. Oh sure she was vulnerable and insecure right now -”And damn is that hot,” he thought- but she was still a dangerous, naive, caged animal; who was completely unprepared for the harshness of the farm. Out here in the tundra an untrained hand was just as dangerous to herself and others as a bandit raid.

Pulling out several knives, Emil quickly set to sharpening them while Isla watched from the other side of the room. Making long slits down the animal's neck, legs, and gut, he quickly removed the entrails and placed most of them in the sink for washing and later usage, discarding the colon and other unmentionables into the refuse bin for composting. Then he peeled the hide from the carcass, and quartered the beast. Hanging the limbs from several hooks from pantry that was double walled on the inside, but thinly sealed on the exterior wall. The effect was not unlike that of the fabled fridge-boxes of old. Rubbing them with salt, Emil made a note of the date in charcoal on the wall next to two others set there for some rabbit he had hung last week.

Isla watched him with a queasy expression on her face, and a ramrod straight spine. She was the very picture of stubbornness. Waving her over to him at the sink, he showed her how to clean the knives, oil them, and roll them in their case with strict instructions to never sharpen them. It was a delicate procedure and new knives were very expensive.

“Clean the table and floor, while I hang the hide” he said handing her a bucket and rag. He almost laughed out loud at the look of dejection that briefly crossed her face before it was again hidden behind demure acceptance. She looked so cute when she was out of her element and screwing up her courage.

Pulling the hide out of the sink, Emil winced as blood dripped from it as he walked to the mud room. He refused to look back but he was sure that her face was just crushed as she surveyed the grisly scene that was his kitchen.

Emil quickly stretched the hide up on a wooden rack, and salted it with the same rock salt he used for ice build up. Satisfied with his work he left the rack in the mudroom until the weather cleared up and he could relocate it to the barn. It wasn’t exactly warm in the, so he wasn’t particularly concerned with the smell getting out of hand.

He returned to the kitchen and saw Isla on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor for all she was worth, with an adorable expression of hate and determination. Emil stepped over the clean bit of floor she was currently working on and over to the sink, to start washing, sorting and storing the gizzards for later stews.

The heart, lungs, liver, pancreas, stomach and most of the small intestines were thoroughly cleaned and set in a large pot of water to boil. Boiling would toughen the meat, but it was the best way to preserve the meat without freezing it. This way he could keep cool in some clay pots and it would last for months without spoiling, and would be added to later meals as a protein.

Finishing his task Emil washed his hands in the basin, and dried them on one of the bits of rag that his mother had affectionately called “tea towels”. She insisted on it, always made a point of purchasing some for the winter solstice. She talked often of an even more rare beverage called coffee, but they had only been able to buy it a handful of times in his lifetime. Emil hadn’t tasted the bitter brown brew in some time now, and doubted Isla had ever tasted it despite her mother's grandiose machinations.

“Isla have you ever had coffee?” Emil asked. He snickered to himself under his breath as she started at the abrupt question, interrupting her thoughts and bringing her back to reality. Her nose crinkled as the odor of the blood covering her hands hit her again, and Emil had to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Coffee, Master? Um, I think I’ve had it once. My mother bought some, but I didn’t like the taste. It was very bitter.”

Emil considered this. “Was it a very dark brown that you couldn’t see through?”

She shook her head gently as she wrung out the soiled rag into her bucket, which rapidly becoming more blood than water. “No Master, it was a greenish water that tasted like grass.”

Emil nodded in understanding. “That wasn’t coffee, that was tea. It can be very good, if you make it right. Coffee though, when prepared properly is...divine. It’s been a few years since I’ve had it. Perhaps I should see if there is any in town next time I make a run.”

********

Isla finished mopping up the last of the blood, and dropped the rag in the bucket. Picking up the bucket she carried it through the mudroom and out the front door, making sure that none of it sloshed over onto the now pristine dark wood floor.

The wind slammed into her like a runaway caribou; stealing her breath, freezing it, and ripping it away from her as if jack frost was taking pieces of her soul. The new clothing she was wearing was far better than she had worn in a long time, but it was nothing before the fury of the blizzard right outside the door.

A single step outside numbed her, as her body began to tremble in the shock of the temperature drop. She was barely able to empty the bucket of bloody ice she was carrying, and stumble back through the door, she was shaking so bad it was like the convulsions of the fever driven. Dropping the bucket just inside the mudroom door, she stumbled back into the house; making a beeline for the bedroom and the lifesaving warmth of the potbellied stove.

Isla collapsed in front of the stove, her body shivering so bad she couldn’t hold herself upright. She heard Emil chuckle behind her, and looked up to see him in the doorway watching her suffer with a lopsided grin on his face.

“I very nearly stopped you, but I figured you would learn better by experiencing. You’re not in Morocco anymore, the cold here will kill you in minutes if you’re not prepared for it. I know it feels like it’s too late, but stay there and warm up; you’ll be fine.”

Isla started at him agast. He let her do this on purpose? That fucking asshole!! She was in full convulsive shivering, and he’s just standing there like the goat that ate the apple. If she wasn’t suddenly so sleepy she would give him a piece of her mind. But this floor though. This is the most comfortable floor in all existence. Maybe she’ll just take a quick nap; then later she’d yell at him. Just close her eyes for a few seconds.

Isla didn’t get to rest very long. As soon as she closed her eyes she heard humming and several stomping footsteps she was nearly positive were on purpose. Emil, humming some nameless tune, came into the room, took off several of his outermost layers and laid down in bed, climbing over her thawing corpse in the process.

Isla was suddenly stunned still. What was she supposed to do? His bed wasn’t very big, they would have to be VERY close to squeeze into it. She certainly wasn’t going to lie here on the floor like some sort of animal. Oh god! What if he wanted to make her sleep on the floor?! Maybe it was better than being forced into his bed.

“Stupid! There’s no way he’s going to let you out of THAT. He’s a man after all. You don’t know anything about ranching, he obviously didn’t buy you for help with the butchering. He bought your flesh and that’s what he expects. Maybe not tonight, but soon. Might as well try to win a few favor points with him and make the first move. Men like that right? Oh shit. What if he’s super rough?! Oh please, please, please don’t hurt me!!!”

Horrific and terrifying scenes of him pinning her down, raping her, tearing her open and apart, played themselves over and over in her head; each worse than the last. She was so deep in her thoughts, shivering now for a whole new reason, that when he let out a loud snort in his sleep, it startled her so bad that she yelped. Emil reacted to the noise by bolting upright, flailing his arms out and spinning towards the noise.

Of course in his daze he neglected to counter balance himself and ended up tumbling ass over tea-kettle straight onto the floor; face planting right into Isla’s lap. They both froze. Isla was torn between laughing her ass off at the sight of Emil windmilling his way right off the bed, and scared that he was going to punish her for waking him.

“What the hell are you doing you gorram woman” Emil barked at her while rubbing his nose that hat hit her pubic bone hard enough to smart. “Don’t got no cause for scaring me like that. Damn near lost ten years of my life.”

Isla tried, she really did; but the sight of Emil rubbing his nose in pain as he whined about her scaring him. The whole situation was just too surreal, and she burst out laughing. Long braying laughs echoed in the room, as she held her sides rocking back and forth. Here she was all terrified, and he hurt his face on her crotch!

She was laughing so hard that she didn’t see him move. Emi grabbed her shirt, hauled her into his lap and before she even knew what was happening gave her five firm swats on the ass. Isla was stunned into silence.

“That’s for scaring the shit outta me,” he said without any fanfare. He then hoisted her up into his arms in a reverse hug and rolled over back into bed with Isla facing the wall. She laid there expectantly, waiting for him to rip her clothes off and begin her punishment in earnest. Instead she just...laid there. Listening to Emil’s breathing slow and deepen, as he slipped back into the darkness of sleep.

She felt the heat of his breath against her neck, tickling her and making her shiver. The warmth of his chest against her back, as his arms encircled her stomach made her feel things she wasn’t expecting to feel ever again; especially not from her slave owner. Her mind drowned in confusion, fear, and gratitude; as the exhaustion of the day began to overwhelm her and her eyelids drooped.

Well at least she knew where she was going to sleep now.