Of the Orient (A Viking Story)

Chapter Four

Spring had gone by in a blur of busy days, bruises of violet hues and empty stomach once in a while if fortune decided to abandon her and hand her fate over to her master's disposal.

And with uncertainties plugging her mind, she was not fortunate to the bone.

She tried to forget. She really did, but the foreboding sense of dread she felt when they sent off her master's lover had not leave her mind. It was there... like a constant warning that something unfortunate would befall upon them.

She'd momentarily forgot about it during morning, yet, when she laid on the comforts of her bed at night, it would come crawling back to her, resurfacing like a stubborn itch.

So, naturally, sleep had been hard to catch these days. It made her awake at nights and sleep-deprived the next morning.

She was unfortunate but if there was someone with the most unfortunate circumstances than her, that would be Markka.

She felt pity for the poor girl.

For the past months that had gone, Markka was not sold. There were customers who came to the store, took a glance at her direction, some even talked to her, but then, at the end, they all ignored her afterwards.

Physically, Markka was not ugly. Although her body was average, she was pretty. However, her fearful demeanor probably discouraged the customers into buying her. Yes, they wanted submissive slaves but probably not the type who shake like a leaf on a twig upon introducing oneself. She would not even pass as a working slave. Her thin limbs would not endure the heavy task.

Her master was definitely not the happiest man and there was no lover who could appease the bad taste of Markka's failure this time.

Mercy was not given and bruises littered Markka's body in a hue of orange and violet. The girl was starved, maybe thrice in a week depending on the master's mood. Most time of the time, he would hit her while spewing curses.

They all turned a blind eye, a deaf ear just to sleep, but Markka's cries of pain did not help with her sleepless nights. Her master would even shout and ordered Markka to silence her mouth or he'd do it himself like what he mostly did usually.

Tonight as well, the master hit Markka and spit on her face. "Useless!"

Every single one of them had fled to the back to eat their meal in peace amidst the yelling of their master and grunts of pain from Markka.

When the beating had stop, everyone had finished eating. They all cleaned the tablewares and retired for the night without any much fuss. She, on the other hand, relieved her bladder first before marching to her quarter quietly. Well, it was quiet, except for Markka's sobs across the dim light.

Sighing, she scratched her covered head in annoyance and decided to take a turn. She was not one to interfere at other people's problem, but it wouldn't hurt if she gave the girl a piece of advice.

When she reached Markka's cage, she leaned and called the girl, "Markka," her voice a whisper.

The girl ceased her sobbing and turned to her. She could faintly see the wetness of her cheeks.

"Stop crying. If you do not, you would anger the master again. Please, it is for your own sake," she warned her. It's the least she could do, for Markka and for herself.

"Nameless?" Markka whimpered.

Confused, she tilted her head and frowned. "Name...less? Did you just call me nameless?"

Markka nodded. "Yes. Not a single person has call you by your name yet, even master. Not once, did I hear it being spoken. The other slaves... they call you the slave who barely spoke, the slave without a name -- nameless..." she sniffed and rubbed her nose with her arms. "So... I call you nameless, too. Are you..." she paused, thinking if she should really ask such inquiry. Her curiosity won anyhow. "Are you really without a name?"