Free Vengeance by Amy Miles

darkness.  A droning hum
reveals that I am on some sort of a ship, though I have never known
of one to exist like this.  The heat is sweltering, not all that
different from what I’ve been told the rainforests on the
emerald moon that orbits Calisted are like.  Sweat pools in the
creases of my arms and knees.  My legs are bent to the side and
chained to the wall.  I have only a few inches to wiggle before
the chains pull taut or I hit the heated cell bars.
    “You are
aboard a D’Hatil ship.  One of the largest I have ever
seen.  Seems to me they were pretty intent on making sure they
got their hands on you, little lady.”
    The voice sounds
deep, rough around the edges if that were possible.  “I am
not familiar with the D’Hatil race.”
    A throaty laugh
leads into a phlegmy cough.  I close my eyes and wince as I hear
the man spit to the side, praying that it didn’t land anywhere
near me.  “They are not called D’Hatil.  It is
the type of ship.  A slaving ship.”
    “Slave?”
My head jerks around to try to look at the man but something
unforgiving clamps my neck in place. I can feel the skin about my
neck has grown raw.  A fresh patch of aggravated flesh stings as
I still my movements.  “I am no slave.”
    “None of us
are.”  The way his voice trails off makes me wonder if
there is any more to his statement.  A moment passes without
another word.  
    “Who
are you?” I ask, staring up at the ceiling above.  It is
not made of metal as I would have assumed, but instead of a
glass-like material.  If I do not close my eyes I will be ill
from the sight of bright flashing lights speeding past.   Stars ,
I muse as I cast my gaze aside and stare at the cell room bars
instead: solid, firm and not moving a single inch.
    “A name no
longer matters where we are going.”
    His response sends a
ripple of apprehension down my spine.  I fight to suppress it.
“All the same, we have not yet arrived so I assume that you do
still have a name.”  
    His laugh comes
again and I guess that he sits less than ten feet from me, possibly
with his back turned in my direction.  “My name is Vondran
Sterling.”
    “It is nice to
meet you, Vondran...sort of.”  I bite on my lower lip as I
shift and feel pain lance through my side once more.  “My
name is Illyria.”
    I hear an intake of
breath but Vondran says nothing more.  I lay in silence as
seconds turn into minutes.  I begin to wonder if he has somehow
left or fallen asleep.  
    “I suppose I
know now why they made a pit stop for you then,” he finally
mutters.  I hear the clanking of chains and realize that he must
be caged as well.  Like me.  A slave.
    “You shouldn’t
be speaking to her,” a second male voice calls from somewhere
near my feet.  I stiffen, surprised to realize that I am not
alone in my cell.  I had assumed that I might be in a room with
rows of cages, small and confining but by my best guess now I would
say that I am in some sort of large and obviously crowded space.
 This voice sounds slightly younger though hardly any more kind.
 
    “Who is
there?” I call out, shifting my legs closer toward me.  My
dress is torn into tatters, that much I can tell by the way heat
seeps through the large tears in the fabric.  How much of my
skin has been exposed to this man’s eyes?
    “The name’s
Hyde.  Wish I could say that it’s nice to meet you,
Queeny, but that would be a bald faced lie.”
    “Oh, come off
it, Hyde,” a higher pitched voice pipes up from my right.  
    How
many people are in this place?   I
begin to feel exceedingly self-conscious, but even as this emotion
begins to overwhelm me, one with far greater potency slips in to
takes its place: anger.
    “Can we do a
head count here?  I don’t know if all of you can see me
but I sure as heck can’t see you and it’s getting on my
nerves.”
    “She feisty,”
a gravelly voice calls from my left though I can’t tell if it
is a male or female.  “I