– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Annon awoke from the dream, startled by the thoughts whispered into his mind from a pair of Jasmine spirits. They were night dwellers who only came out during the moonlight. As he blinked awake, he smelled their sweet aroma.
You are hunted, Druidecht. A band of Preachán, roaming the woods in the dark. There is a Vaettir among them. The leader. Be warned.
Annon swallowed the rising panic. How far away? He pushed the thought at them.
Far still. These woods are vast, and they fear being found out by the Cruithne. They hunt you, Druidecht. Be warned!
The two spirits flitted away, taking the smell with them. Annon rolled onto his stomach, nestled in the blanket for warmth, for there was a chill in the night and streamers of fog above the trees. He heard voices speaking in low tones and cocked his head slightly. It was Paedrin and Hettie. They sat side by side, their voices hushed to avoid waking anyone.
“But you are free,” Paedrin said. “We cannot be bound by traditions invented by madmen for the purposes of enslaving others. These are traditions, Hettie. They are not binding.”
“Traditions can be more binding than sturdy ropes,” she answered. “You don’t understand.”
“You are right. I don’t. I don’t see why you cannot just walk away. There are places you could go—Kenatos for example—where the Romani will not be able to take you.”
She snorted derisively. “You are a fool if you think Kenatos is safe from the Romani. They operate within the walls of the city through a guild, of sorts.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Exactly my point. Fear feeds these sorts of traditions. They want you to believe that there is nowhere you can go. They use fear to keep you from thinking, from believing in yourself. You are free already. You do not need to pay a king’s ransom to earn it. You are free now. Accept it.”
She sighed. “It is not that simple, Bhikhu.”
“Why not? Explain the complexity to me. It will be a long while until dawn yet. Tell me.”
“I do not wish to wake the others.” She turned and glanced toward where he was sleeping, but Annon shut his eyes and held still, listening to their banter.
“You don’t want to discuss it because you know I’m right,” he answered.
“You are arrogant.”
“You are evasive. Explain this to me then. What will happen to you if you forsake the Romani and someone snaps that ridiculous earring off you? Hmm? What will they do to you?”
Annon opened his eyes and watched her lean her face against her arms, crossed over her knees.
“I don’t know.”
“What were you taught?”
“Nothing. Only that the punishment would be extreme. It was never something specific. Not like receiving lashes with a switch or punishment like that. Punished in other ways. It was always…vague.”
Paedrin breathed out like a hiss. “And you were a child when you were told this?”
“Yes.”
Paedrin let out a pent-up breath, a seething sound. “Truthfully?” It was quiet for a long moment. “There is no pain so awful as that of suspense. It is the cause of even the wise man’s fear. Not knowing what will happen. It is more effective than any threat at binding someone’s mind.” He exhaled again, shaking his head. “To be so cursed as a child. You were bound with strong ropes indeed.”
“I was taught the only way to freedom was to buy mine.”
“Indeed. They bound you with cruel, vague threats and said the only key was coin. Do you understand me, Hettie? The key is in your mind. You need but turn the lock and free yourself.”
“But if I am caught by a Romani…”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I know. So many possibilities. That is part of the trap.” He pointed at her. “You were born free. You were abducted as a babe and purchased as a child. And because that is all you have known, you perpetuate the trap they have created for you.” He tapped his forehead deliberately. “The lock and key are right here. Open them. I know that is asking much from a sullen Romani girl who gets lost in the woods. But truly, Hettie, you have little to lose.”
“What if they kill me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He glanced at her sharply and snorted. “As if death would not be preferable to living as a slave-servant-wife for the next thirty to forty years?” He chuckled softly and shook his head. “I will, of course, strenuously object to any Romani who comes along and tries to kill you.”
Annon awoke from the dream, startled by the thoughts whispered into his mind from a pair of Jasmine spirits. They were night dwellers who only came out during the moonlight. As he blinked awake, he smelled their sweet aroma.
You are hunted, Druidecht. A band of Preachán, roaming the woods in the dark. There is a Vaettir among them. The leader. Be warned.
Annon swallowed the rising panic. How far away? He pushed the thought at them.
Far still. These woods are vast, and they fear being found out by the Cruithne. They hunt you, Druidecht. Be warned!
The two spirits flitted away, taking the smell with them. Annon rolled onto his stomach, nestled in the blanket for warmth, for there was a chill in the night and streamers of fog above the trees. He heard voices speaking in low tones and cocked his head slightly. It was Paedrin and Hettie. They sat side by side, their voices hushed to avoid waking anyone.
“But you are free,” Paedrin said. “We cannot be bound by traditions invented by madmen for the purposes of enslaving others. These are traditions, Hettie. They are not binding.”
“Traditions can be more binding than sturdy ropes,” she answered. “You don’t understand.”
“You are right. I don’t. I don’t see why you cannot just walk away. There are places you could go—Kenatos for example—where the Romani will not be able to take you.”
She snorted derisively. “You are a fool if you think Kenatos is safe from the Romani. They operate within the walls of the city through a guild, of sorts.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Exactly my point. Fear feeds these sorts of traditions. They want you to believe that there is nowhere you can go. They use fear to keep you from thinking, from believing in yourself. You are free already. You do not need to pay a king’s ransom to earn it. You are free now. Accept it.”
She sighed. “It is not that simple, Bhikhu.”
“Why not? Explain the complexity to me. It will be a long while until dawn yet. Tell me.”
“I do not wish to wake the others.” She turned and glanced toward where he was sleeping, but Annon shut his eyes and held still, listening to their banter.
“You don’t want to discuss it because you know I’m right,” he answered.
“You are arrogant.”
“You are evasive. Explain this to me then. What will happen to you if you forsake the Romani and someone snaps that ridiculous earring off you? Hmm? What will they do to you?”
Annon opened his eyes and watched her lean her face against her arms, crossed over her knees.
“I don’t know.”
“What were you taught?”
“Nothing. Only that the punishment would be extreme. It was never something specific. Not like receiving lashes with a switch or punishment like that. Punished in other ways. It was always…vague.”
Paedrin breathed out like a hiss. “And you were a child when you were told this?”
“Yes.”
Paedrin let out a pent-up breath, a seething sound. “Truthfully?” It was quiet for a long moment. “There is no pain so awful as that of suspense. It is the cause of even the wise man’s fear. Not knowing what will happen. It is more effective than any threat at binding someone’s mind.” He exhaled again, shaking his head. “To be so cursed as a child. You were bound with strong ropes indeed.”
“I was taught the only way to freedom was to buy mine.”
“Indeed. They bound you with cruel, vague threats and said the only key was coin. Do you understand me, Hettie? The key is in your mind. You need but turn the lock and free yourself.”
“But if I am caught by a Romani…”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I know. So many possibilities. That is part of the trap.” He pointed at her. “You were born free. You were abducted as a babe and purchased as a child. And because that is all you have known, you perpetuate the trap they have created for you.” He tapped his forehead deliberately. “The lock and key are right here. Open them. I know that is asking much from a sullen Romani girl who gets lost in the woods. But truly, Hettie, you have little to lose.”
“What if they kill me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He glanced at her sharply and snorted. “As if death would not be preferable to living as a slave-servant-wife for the next thirty to forty years?” He chuckled softly and shook his head. “I will, of course, strenuously object to any Romani who comes along and tries to kill you.”
