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How to Change the Course of a World Pt 1
"Fly.. just a little bit higher..” Avalon said to himself, pushing his muscles farther to greater height. It was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and he knew that this might have very well have been his last chance to taste the sky that he loved so well. He was already winded and close to exhaustion, but he kept flying. In some ways he was trying to push himself to the limit where he might fall from the sky and tumble to the earth below.
In the morning he knew what would occur - what occurred on the fiftieth day of birth for every slave on Naltor. On that day, he would be called a man and he would be taken from his parents to be sold to a new owner. Whatever his fate on that day was, he had no way of knowing. In many ways it frightened Avalon. He had never taken a lover, he had never even spent a single night away from his parents in all of his life. His greatest fear however was that his wings would be chopped off by some malevolent new master and he would never taste the wind again.
His old master was waiting when he finally came back to the farm, his expression thunderous. Avalon knew that he would be beaten for his insolence, for daring to fly when he had been told not to. This night, he didn’t even feel the strikes of the man’s switch on the back of his spine and thighs. He was already too numb.
The next morning passed as a blur. Avona, Avalon’s mother, was heartbroken and crying, and Avalon found himself tending to his mother’s hurt emotions more than his own fear. “I will be fine, mother..” he whispered into her hair as he hugged her tightly.
“I worry for you.. I know that I shall see you again, but I still do not wish to see you go.” she sniffled, blue eyes looking into Avalon’s own that were the color of the ocean.
Avalon’s father Sunsinger was no where to be found, though he would find out much later that the big man had been taken away earlier that morning to keep from being an issue when the guards came. And come they did. Eventually they arrived, armed even though they would not need it. Avalon met them outside his family home, head held high and spine straight.
Avalon’s old owner couldn’t wait to be rid of the troublesome boy. The only reason he had not beat the winged half-alien more the night before was his simple beauty - he was worth more without bruises and his lovely silver wings intact. That didn’t stop him from being sure to relish the smell of burning flesh as he administered the mark of the slave himself on the right side of the boy’s throat. Every adult slave wore that mark, and it was with a passing amount of cruelty that he made sure that Avalon’s brand was particularly deep and heavy.
Avalon weathered the branding with as little signs of pain as possible. He couldn’t stop his eyes from filling with tears, but he was careful to not let them fall. Even though it hurt terribly, he reminded himself silently to hold onto his Hope that things could only get better. He made himself Hope that he would eventually see his parents again, even though that seemed impossible.
The man was saying something, but Avalon did not listen, he did not look at him, or even acknowledge his presence. Despite the pain and how difficult it was for him to do so, Avalon bid his mother a quiet and regal goodbye, and then walked away with the guards upon his own power.
The trip to the selling yards went like a blur for the boy, and even though he was almost delirious with pain, he did not let it show. Thankfully he was rather docile, and so the guards and other agents of the selling yards did not find it necessary to beat him further. He was taken straight to the infirmary however, for his brand would not stop bleeding, and lavender blood streaked down his shoulder and chest. By the time he was lead to a bed, Avalon was dizzy though he still had not spoken.
“Oh son, look at you..” came a soft voice from somewhere to Avalon’s right. Swinging his head over and trying to focus bleary eyes at the person, Avalon was amazed to find himself looking into the face of a girl perhaps only a few years older than him.
“My name is Sa’fori..” she said, smiling a bit as she pressed her palm to her chest in a traditional Naltorian greeting. For the first time, Avalon found himself feeling the urge to speak, and he replied in a cracking voice, “I am Avalon..”
Sa’fori gently reached out, tilting his head to the side to examine his brand and clucked her tongue in sympathy. “You had a vengeful Master..” she commented to the boy, and then turned to fetch what she would need to clean him up. He was truly a mess, and she hated to see anyone in so much pain.
Avalon simply watched her, sometimes having trouble keeping his eyes focused upon her. She wore a brand exactly like his on the right side of her throat, though she didn’t seem to be any different than a normal Naltorian. He was instantly curious as to what had brought Sa’fori to the selling yards.
“Sometimes, others come in with brands as bad as this..” she commented as she worked, carefully cleaning the blistered and burned wound and wiping blood from his throat and shoulder. Avalon’s eyes simply followed her, his lips once more silent; there was little for him to say.
Quickly though, Avalon realized why Sa’fori was a slave like him - she wasn’t fully Naltorian. She tilted his head more to the side and then placed her palm directly over his brand, startling him a bit. She murmured a soft sound, and he gasped as he felt his skin starting to knit back together. The bleeding immediately stopped, and the swimmy dizzy feeling that made his head spin started to fade away.
Shocked, he looked up at her with wide eyes, but Sa’fori simply laughed softly and ruffled the boy’s hair. In some ways she felt sorry for him - he would not have an easy time at the brothel. Anyone whom was as attractive as the blond headed boy often burned up far too quickly at the brothel. She had seen it far too many times in the past.
“Don’t look quite so shocked,” she said with a gentle tone to Avalon. “I’m just glad that my skills keep me off the working floor.” She drew silent then, and Avalon’s empathy filled with Sa’fori’s emotions. She didn’t pity him, but she did feel sorry for him, although it was complex. He didn’t quite understand exactly why.
“Why do you feel sorry for me, Sa’fori?” Avalon asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The girl hesitated, her words on the tip of her tongue. It took a moment of silent encouragement from Avalon, his hand reaching out to grasp her own and squeeze, before her words finally tumbled out.
“This is not a happy place, and you must protect yourself.” she said quietly. “You must not let it break you, and you must not let them take your spirit from you. Protect your heart, Avalon. Never give up hope that one day you will be free - even if that freedom comes with death.”
Tags: avalon, narrative
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