Facing Freedom

By Victoria Roberts

I’ve learned to live with pain.

A copper wilting wasp scuttles up my arm, its stinger poised to strike. I lift my eyes past my rotund master, over the carts of food I’ll never eat, and rest them on distant mountains. I focus on those peaks as the wasp delivers a paralyzing injection. Debilitating fear fills my senses like chains on my spirit while physical tethers keep my body in place. As paralysis subsides, the ache of new wounds rises with my master’s voice.

“Behold, the power of a wilting wasp.” He retrieves the wasp with gloved hands. “Purchase your own for just two gold pieces!”

Onlookers surge toward him, creating a wall of bodies between us. They’ll pay anything for power. Gold pieces change hands. No one barters for my freedom.

Barter for your own.

The buzz of wasps sends a shiver down my spine. It’s no use. No one ever leaves this place. As I look back to the mountains, a white blur dashes between fellow slaves guarding their masters’ wares.

A wolf?

I blink, expecting it to disappear. It remains, prowling through bins of discarded food. A belt lined with woodworking tools jingles across its back. What if the tales are true? Can a wolf share its courage? I watch the creature, wait until its luminescent eyes wander near my platform. Then I move. Just enough that my chains clink. The wolf turns, locks his gaze with mine.

My heart races when it trots forward. I hold my breath as the wolf leaps onto my platform. It presses its wet nose to my face. At its touch, a surge of bravado courses through my veins. I laugh against its chest, siphoning the power it offers. When it licks my arms, I wiggle my fingers across its fur while inching closer to the belt. My fingers search the loops, closing around a wooden handle.

A sharp whistle sounds from the adjacent forest. Offering my nose one last lick, the wolf jumps from the platform. Adrenaline from the wolf’s touch surges through my veins as I look down at an awl in my palm.

By now, the crowd has moved to the other side of the market. My master stands alone, counting the day’s profit. This is my chance. I bring the awl toward the shackles around my left arm, slipping it into the lock. I wiggle it up and down until there’s a faint click. My stomach flutters when the chain on my wrist falls. Its vibration against the wood reverberates through my frame.

Nearby a slave screams, reminding me I’m not free yet. I slip the awl into another lock. The shackles around my other wrist and neck fall next. Then I move to my feet. These are stronger. The wolf’s spirit begins to ebb, awakening old fears. My fingers tremble as the sound of wilting wasps overtakes my senses and the awl slips, rolling to the edge of the platform. Dread snakes up my spine. I glance toward my master. He’s securing his gold into a lockbox. He’ll retrieve me next.

I reach for the awl, snagging it with the edges of my finger. Drenched in sweat, I draw it toward me and plunge it back into the shackles. There’ll be no mercy if I’m caught. I’ll be given to the entire horde of wilting wasps. The click of the lockbox makes me jump. I blink. Look at my ankles. They’re free.

Tucking the awl into my tunic, I shimmy to the back of the platform, slipping down the steps. My master cries out, but he won’t abandon his lucrative endeavors to find one slave boy. Ducking low, I run toward the forest. The line of tents fades behind me. I push my legs harder as the final thread of the wolf’s spirit fades.

I break into the forest, pausing to search the sea of trees as fear retains its grip on my chest. Facing it alone, freedom doesn’t feel so safe.

A twig snaps, followed by rustling leaves. Crouching to the ground, I spot a large stone. My hand closes around it as a form emerges from the trees. I jump to my feet, stone raised.

“Whoa, boy!” comes a deep voice. “I’ve no quarrel with you.”

My eyes fasten on the wolf at the stranger’s side. Its eyes no longer glow after lending me aid, but its presence quiets my fear. With a yelp, it dashes forward and circles me, tugging at my tunic. I lower the stone, welcoming the sensation of its cool tongue against my raw fingers. The wolf’s companion crouches beside me, lowering a red-handled axe to the ground.

“Where did you find this one, girl?” The woodsman peruses me from head to toe, pausing when he notices my arms. “A slave market,” he mutters.

I step back, realizing my mistake. Citizens beyond the valley have no access to the dragon’s gold. I’m an easy trade.

“I seek no bounty from your master.” He glances over my shoulder. “Are there others?”

A line of steel cages flashes in my mind, filled with fellow slaves. Friends. My hand squeezes the stone. If I tell him, will he go back? Take me with him? What if he fails? I swallow hard.

“They’re dead.” It’s not a lie. We’re all dead inside.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Come, lad. There’s always shelter in The Remnant.”

He turns. Tears prick my eyes at the memory of the screams that lulled me to sleep each night. Can I leave them behind? I swipe at the tears, making myself a promise.

I’ll come back someday. I’ll get stronger, find a way to save them. Become their wolf. For now, I only have enough strength to save myself. Still gripping the heavy rock, I step forward. The forest’s canopy engulfs me as grief closes in. I hug the rock to my chest, an anchor against sobs that unfold in waves.

I’ll learn to live with this pain too.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Victoria Roberts has been making up stories in her head for as long as she can remember. She writes uplifting Sonflower Stories that encourage readers to stand for the light. When she’s not penning or devouring a new tale, she spends her time adventuring in the Sunshine State with her husband, spoiling their poodle Beast, or creating book-themed cross stitch patterns.

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