Shackles Of The Past

Chapter 7

Dark humor,

and darker clothes.

~Unknown

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[Music Recommendation: The Sword of Kings by Trevor Morris]

The portcullis slid up, inserting within each jamb of the gateway, an acknowledgement that the riders could precede. The chains clanked against the stone pavement, and the captives moving along. Then the iron bars creaked shut behind them.

Medusa gazed ahead the dark castle, her manacles jerking her back into line. The gloomy sky above hovered in eeriness, a foreboding sign of the danger that lay ahead. Those clouds towered above the tallest tower that touched the thick clouds, firm and proud. And now they arrived, it was more foreboding on closer look than afar. More dead and likewise.

It was marbled in frightening and sheer beauty of landscaping. The palace was majestically built in grandiose but devoid of light and flocked in strange birds roaming around the towers. Although it looked a bit day-lish outside the village, but in the castle ground, it was nighty.

The castle loomed in a rectangular shape and a monumental structure. It had three round towers on each corner at different height. The walls were obsidian and the windows were made of glass with the curtains shifted to one side symmetrically.

The part of the castle they were brought to seemed different. Not havens full of flowering fragrance were smelt. Nor even a tiny uproots of flower or grown tree could be spotted. The place looked empty.

Medusa's eyes were seen on one place upon her arrival. A place where ravens, blackbirds, warwicks and stranger birds roamed at the tallest tower, few seated on a particular window at the rooftop. But when her cold eyes loomed the tower much longer, they all flew.

CROAK!

Her eyes diverted for a moment, her sight much clearer. And there was a garden. But it was rather called a monastery. She remembered this spot. Of green grasses and trees filled with lively leaves and tall ferns, it was left with dry barks and just branches.

A great number of headstones lined up one after another, a certain number of precession that lived on and passed away. It must be the royal family’s tree, she thought.

And she looked away, her eyes returning to the window. But there was someone. The plane window pane without curtains, with its appearance tainted like a dark transparent mirror blotted her from viewing further.

Time stood still as they gazed upon each other’s entity, boring and piercing the darkness to something palpable.

It was as though the window were covered in deceit and lies, imaginary blood stain that had been tough to have unnoticed. But she could see this. She could see someone. But she couldn’t see more than that.

The figure stared at her and she stared back. The aura illuminating like a dark mist, curling her senses in a way she returned.

“Keep moving,” she was pushed forward, stumbling with her chains rattling as she struggled to regain her footing, breaking the eye contact. Medusa glared at the guard, and he almost stumbled at the intensity of those dead eyes.

She looked back at that rooftop. But darkness was all she saw. The figure had long disappeared. They continued their slow procession through the castle depths, passing and moving, the air reeked of mold and decay.

She smirked internally in satisfaction as dark thoughts imposed her mind. One thing Medusa was sure of was that she was certainly going to enjoy her stay. Not just her, but Medyse.

.

"For the duration of your servitude, you are bonded to His Highness," A woman in her late thirty's spoke, addressing the newly brought slaves. Now, they all wore a sack-like garment.

"Your freedoms are restricted, movements are forbidden unless an order is passed. You wouldn't receive the level of justice in courts that a non-indentured person would receive." She passed glances at each faces, before speaking. "You will be assigned duties that must be commenced with immediate effect. Sooner or later, a grand celebration would uphold here in the palace to welcome the arrival of the Lord." She announced, her tone dripped with disdain.

"Slaves, you would be punished for laziness and getting late to the gardens and other duties I shall assign you. Being inconsistent is one thing that his highly prohibited. Punishments will befall for defying the authorities, attempting escape, and for a number of other reasons." Her voice was stern at the last sentence. "Whipping, torturing, imprisonment or death would be fated to your poor souls the day you decide to disobey orders and break the rules." She concluded with finality.

“You shall be given a quick tour around this part of the palace, so you can be conversant with the knowledge of other duty posts. Nothing beyond,” she stated.

"Any question?" She asked the slaves, who had their heads lowered when she spoke, lifted at the question.

A girl slowly raised her hand, a bit shaken.

Feeling irked by the girl's presence and her unsettling fear, the woman sighed, stirring a glare to her face. "Speak." She ordered.

The girl jerked at her tone but regained composure after taken silent breaths.

"Ma'am-"

"Do I look like a sixty year old worthless woman?" She bickered in annoyance, glaring at the young girl who referred to her as ma'am.

The woman looked more than her late thirties. She had a dark scar at the right side of her cheeks and raw patches. Her face was covered with wrinkles that gave an exact copy of an evil stepmother. With short brown hair and flaring nostrils that expressed her anger, she shot her a deadly look.

"I just asked a question," she threw a cold glare at her. "Do I…" she paused, "… look like an old freak? Or precisely, ragged dogs of your worthless and treasonous mothers?" She flared, walking to where the girl stood until she blocked her view. "Tell me, do I?"

The girl flinched at her harshness and reluctantly shook her head.

"Don't you have mouth, or are you dumb?" the question came out with a low growl and she shook her head again.

"N-no ma'am. I mean-"

Before she could correct her words, a slap cut through them, harsh and resounding. “Ah!” She cried.

"How dare you refer me as ma'am?!"

The girl shook her head tremendously, holding the side that she was slapped. Tears threatened to fall, but she bit her lips to control it.

"You shall refer me as Keeper Aelin," She introduced with a powerful tone. "For I am the keeper of this part of the castle, to train you into becoming a proper maid." The position of a keeper was one of the lowest positions in the palace, but of course, she boosted with grace like she was given a title in the council.

The keeper then frowned. "Bad slaves would be whipped; upstarts peasants who dare challenge the crown of Dragsholm would be killed. And that is the end of it." She raised her voice to be acknowledged by all.

"I'm I clear?"

"Yes, keeper!"

"Good. Any other question?" She asked. And no one answered. “Your first work of the day is to restore life to this garden,” she said, gesturing towards a dead portion…

***