Sold

4: Delivered

Someone owns me. I'm a belonging, not a person. 

My thoughts race as my brain struggles to wrap around what has just happened. I scan the crowd, looking for the man behind the name, but I can't distinguish him beneath the lights and between the waves of other audience members.

The announcer hands me back to the Genren who grasped me before. His lips curl into a smirk as he drags me off stage, down several halls, and back into the forest. The wagon he takes me to is not the same wagon I arrived in; the wood is painted black and red, inset with sparkling ruby gemstones. A Genren shoves Lyda into the back of the cart, alongside two of the regal-looking captive girls I'd seen before.

My breath hitches. This is it. This wagon will take me to my new life as a slave alongside all these other girls. Will one do the cleaning and one do the cooking and one do the...other things? Why would someone need so many? Would I be the one doing the "other things," since I'm easily the oldest girl here so far? Was that why I sold for such a high price?

I look around for Fexen, but he's nowhere to be found. I wonder if he's inside the wagon or still inside the amphitheater. The Genren ushering me pushes me into the back of the wagon, cramming me against the other girls, and locks the door.

We sit inside, shrouded in darkness, for what feels like an eternity. None of us speak but the girls beside me cry and whimper. After ages of waiting, I lean over and ask Lyda why they're sobbing so much.

"Fexen has a wicked reputation. He owns many slave girls, barely of age, and..." She hesitates. In the darkness, I can't see her expression, but I wish I could. "Let's just say you're the oldest I've heard of him purchasing."

"Why does he buy such young girls? How many does he have? How is he terrible?" So many questions burst from my lips before I can reel them back. I keep my voice low, hoping to not upset the younger girls any more than they already are.

"Why do you think he buys such young girls? I've heard he has many. Too many. And he..." Her shoulders shudder against mine. "...I've heard he's abusive. I just hope the rumors are wrong. Perhaps the Genren and other captives have things misconstrued..."

"I'm sure they do." My voice falls flat as it mixes with the whimpers of the others. Lyda says nothing in response, so I lean back against the wall of the wagon and wait, listening to the sniffs and sobs surrounding me. I've yet to see the man who is supposedly so horrible. But, I am curious...if he typically buys young girls, why did he choose to buy me - and for such a hefty price, too?

The wagon lurches to life and rocks from side to side, traveling endlessly across bumpy terrain. I try to envision what we may be passing over - at times it sounds like babbling brooks, at other times the wind whistles hard as if we must be in a desert, and in other moments the wheels crunch and bounce over what feels like rock. I'm not sure how far we've traveled or what environment we're in, but I know for certain that I'm far away from home.

The cries from the other girls soon fade to silence. Occasionally a flat conversation strikes between the younger girls but it quickly simmers out. None of us feel like communicating; we just sit in dread, waiting for whatever life is ahead. Soon our stomachs rumble - we've received no food or water for who knows how long - and I find it harder to keep my eyes open as my body grows weak.