Closed The Quiet Ones (Harkon)

[Kaitanu]

18th of Autumn 514 AV

One bell before midday and already Kaitanu had done almost a full day's work. There had been much to do about the plantation, and though the relatively new slave was getting the hang of routines some wrench or other was always being tossed into the gears. Kaitanu's main task was to make sure everything under his control went smoothly, thereby avoiding punishment. Even Edmund Morealis, even-tempered as he seemed to be, would probably beat his personal servant if he made too many mistakes. That was an expected consequence of failure. However, as long as any problems remained behind the scenes, and the master wasn't troubled by them, Kaitanu would be safe.

The young kelvic slave had so far escaped major punishment, and had even been commended on more than one occasion for his work. The contrast between his life at Blacksugar and that which came before was quite stark, and for the first time in his life the slave was not tucked away inside his own mind. A heavy numbness still hung about him, but Kaitanu's real self was just starting to wake up and peek out. He began to feel the beginnings of curiosity for its own sake, especially concerning those around him. What was more, that faint desire to know wasn't fading quickly, like it usually did.

At the moment, he was wondering about Master Edmund's mercenary, Harkon, and finding that he still wondered. Even after waiting a full twenty minutes for the hired man outside the servants' entrance, Kaitanu's thoughts kept diverting to him, and to others he had met since coming to Blacksugar. It startled the kelvic to realize that he was actually trying to figure out what made others act and speak the way they did. Everything centered in his musings on Master Edmund's unaccountably mild behavior and fanned out from there, encompassing others at the plantation and beyond. He had always assumed that everyone around him was either a mindless slave, like himself, or a cruel, sadistic master. So far his world had consisted of black and close shades of gray. In his fractured mind an idea was glimmering, just beyond the horizon, that life was not merely pain and absence of pain, and people might not be so clearly divided between drudges and sadists.

As yet, Kaitanu didn't really know what to think of Harkon, much less anyone else, but the mercenary was foremost in his mind at the moment. Standing in the shade of the ornamental trees that lined the gravel walkway, he peered down the path with a thoughtful expression in his startling blue-green eyes. Given how empty they usually were, this was an accomplishment. Kaitanu was wondering if this mercenary, whom he had barely met once, was a cruel man or not. He didn't know if Harkon would offhandedly cuff him about the ears if he wasn't fast enough, or if Master Edmund would have lifted so much as an elegant eyebrow if he knew. Beyond that usual train of thought, Kaitanu wondered why the mercenary chose his line of work, and why he decided to serve Master Edmund. Had he any home or family? Not that Kaitanu would have dared to ask, but the fact that he wanted to know, and kept wanting, was a significant breakthrough.

The moment he saw Harkon appear down the path, however, Kaitanu's instinctive fear made his brain shift into its more mechanical cycles. Get the job done, avoid pain and punishment. His desire for further knowledge ebbed away somewhere to a dark corner, and his pale face took on its usual submissive, almost blank expression. It was the look of any well-trained slave when approached by a non-slave, who was automatically their superior in every way.

Unless Harkon was able or even wished to see past the familiar mask, Kaitanu would appear to him to be utterly composed and put-together. Only little things would have given him away, like his reflexively clutching the satchel at his side, or the way he seemed to go very still as the taller man got closer.

[Harkon]

Harkon really disliked days that interrupted his normal, daily routine. He'd received a message the night before, from one of the many Morealis servants, asking him to arrive at Blacksugar later the following day. And yet, he still awoke at his normal time, just before the sixth bell. He went to Shipwreck Beach and bathed in the warm waters. He pulled on his work attire, consisting of a loose white shirt, loose brown trousers, his belt, his boots, and the necklace from his father. He left his home in the Terraces, made his way through the guarded gate with the other early risers. Harkon knew that he would need to kill some time before he caught his river taxi to Blacksugar. Making his way to Dry Island, Harkon decided to get something to eat, so he made way toward Patisserie Novak. He stood around patiently waiting for the next bell, along with a few other prospective customers, for the shop to open. After the others had entered, Harkon stepped through the portal into world dominated by delicious smells and sights. The dark wood interior appealed to Harkon more than the many blonde women working within it. He purchased himself a croissant and one of their famous macaroons, flavored with candied bacon, cream cheese, and apple. He thanked the women, and left, making his way to the fountain plaza to grab a seat and enjoy his food. His hunger sated, and his taste buds pleased, Harkon rose, and made his way to the Draer taxi hub. After securing a ride, he sat on the wooden craft, watching the banks and plantation crops creep by. This boatman must be new, for he attempted to start a conversation with Harkon several times, only receiving short answers and no continuation. Eventually, he gave up the attempt, piloting the boat up river. When they arrived, it was nearly the eleventh bell, and Harkon departed. He was at the back of the manor, and as always would walk around toward the front. Eventually he connected to the main path, and saw one of the newer slaves. The youth had really bright hair, and hadn't noticed him yet. But when he did, he quickly went about working as if he'd been doing so all along. Many people would punish a slave for such behavior, but Harkon did not care, simply because that slave did not belong to him, nor was he his subordinate. Harkon made his way over to his spot, standing at attention patiently waiting for his assignment. It always worked like this, albeit usually at the ninth bell rather than the eleventh. If he waited for fifteen chimes, and no assignment was delivered to him, either through a servant, or rarely, a Dynast personally, then he could leave. When his services were needed after his departure, a servant would be sent to find him. So Harkon stood and waited, eyes forward, body not fidgeting, wondering what the special assignment for today would be.

[Kaitanu]

The pale slave waited in silent apprehension for the taller man to approach, noting everything about him without seeming to raise his eyes. A slave was not allowed to lock gazes with a freeman, at least not in Ravok where he'd lived for most of his life. If things were different here in Kenash he hadn't noticed. Kaitanu would rather err on the side of deference.

"Master Mercenary." he bowed his white-blond head, the polite form to one between himself and a Dynast in station. "My Master Edmund is obliged to you for your services today. A precious heirloom of the Morealis family is to be repaired and must be protected on its journey."

Holding out the satchel to Harkon, Kaitanu waited for him to take it before stepping back. Inside was a smallish bundle of white linen in a gold velvet bag, slightly faded, which was wrapped around an embroidered blue box. The box was thin with a silver clasp, very much in the style of a hundred or more years ago. If Harkon opened it, he would find a delicate necklace with of star sapphires set in antique silver casings. It was the sort of trinket an indulgent dynasty father might have given his young daughter, rather than the huge and heavy jewelry worn by titled matrons in grand ballrooms. All the same, the piece had expensive gems, and it was an heirloom of the family.

Along with the wrappings of linen, which had been tied all around with a black ribbon, was an envelope containing two larger pieces of paper and a short note. The more official-looking papers detailed the repair work that needed to be done; replacing a faulty clasp, tightening a loose gem, that sort of thing. Each were identical, and at the bottom were spaces for signatures of the jeweler and the mercenary. As for Edmund's reason not to send the necklace in a protected carriage, he believed it would draw too much attention. Better for the slave and mercenary to go as they were and look like they didn't have something quite so expensive on them, though Harkon would provide the necessary protection. Had it been a more expensive piece there would be far more security. To those as rich as the Morealis dynasty such a necklace was considered more for its sentimental value, though it could have fed several poor families for a long time. Such was the way of the world.

As Kaitanu waited for the mercenary to check over the papers and see that the necklace was there, he was able to get a close look at the man. Tall, dark, muscular, well-defined features but without the usual brutish look in his eyes. Harkon didn't seem like the type to be needlessly violent, which was good for the slave. That was really all Kaitanu cared about, aside from Harkon doing his job. If anything happened to the necklace the slave would be severely punished. Rather pathetically, he had no ambitions beyond avoiding trouble, which accounted for Edmund's trust in his completing this task and resisting the temptation to steal a valuable item. As long as he could avoid pain it didn't matter whom he was with or what he was expected to do.

[Harkon]

Harkon was a bit surprised the very pale slave was his contact for today. He'd never worked with this particular slave before, and couldn't remember if he'd even seen him. And to top it all off, he'd been given his least favorite sort of assignment. He hated delivering small, delicate packages. There were so many things that could go wrong, more so than escort assignments, or defending the plantation. He opened the satchel, to see what exactly he was working with. Inside was a smooth, golden bag, not a good sign. He carefully dug into the bag, working through the white linen to find a highly adorned box. He opened the box to see necklace so expensive looking, he'd likely never be able to buy it, no matter how long he saved his money. He read through the note inside. A simple jewelry repair. He returned the notes back to the bag, taking one last look at the necklace. There was pretty much no danger of damaging the piece, but the risk of theft was always there. He looked at the pale slave, returned the necklace to the box, and the box within the bag. He passed the satchel to the slave, "Where are we delivering this to? Has the transaction been paid for?" As he waited for a reply, he began thinking of the dangers of this mission, in order to be prepared. They would take the river taxi from Blacksugar into the city proper. While on the ferry, the only danger would be the slave falling in and becoming prey to a granidile. And while he didn't care if that happened to the slave, if he lost the necklace, it would make him look bad to the employer. After reaching the city proper, it all came down to protecting from thieves. That shouldn't be too difficult, Kenash like all cities had some crime, but not a large amount.

[Kaitanu]

Kaitanu would not have been at all shocked or disheartened to know how little Harkon thought of his life and its worth. He himself didn't consider his existence to be valuable. That was the way of things. Even such an individual as Edmund Morealis, who displayed a surprising lack of cruelty toward his slaves, would not have mourned any death among them as more than an inconvenience. At least, not as far as Kaitanu was aware. Slaves were usually less than pets in the hearts of their masters. Kaitanu had noticed more than once the difference in treatment between his human and horse forms. Not much, it was true, but enough to know that animals were rated higher in general than humanoids. Harkon's attitude was par for the course, and not likely to improve, even though he would now be dealing with Kaitanu's other form.

"The necklace is to be delivered to the Hammer and Nail. Payment will be given upon completion of the repair. There is a purse in the satchel." He showed Harkon the inside pocket where a leather pouch full of mizas had been tucked away.

Explaining thus, the slave began to unbutton his light blue satin shirt without further clarification. Edmund's note to Harkon had stipulated that he ride Kaitanu into town in his horse form to get the job done quickly. It was, therefore, necessary for the kelvic to shed his clothing. Whether or not Harkon understood this was taken for granted; kelvics were fairly common in Kenash, and their ways in general understood.

As for Kaitanu, the slave showed no consciousness that undressing before a relative stranger was anything out of the common way. Clothing had never provided any protection against ill-treatment, so it was as one to him whether he was naked or covered. The only thing Kaitanu understood about it was that he should wear clothing unless bathing, washing said clothing, or shifting forms, unless otherwise specified.

Kelvics tended to have trouble with the concept, and Kaitanu was no exception. No blush of embarrassment colored his pale cheeks, nor did he seek to hide himself behind a nearby tree trunk or shrub. Kaitanu only moved back a few steps toward a handy bench by the path, on which rested all the necessary tackle for their journey. It was a little like exchanging one set of clothing for another; pants for saddle and stirrups, shirt for bridle and bit. The slave didn't understand why, as a horse, he wore less than as a human, but that was the way of things.

As Kaitanu removed each garment, folding and placing it in the satchel, he revealed a lean-built frame riddled with scars. They stood out in crisscrossed lines and faded patches on his white skin, bearing mute testimony to the harshness of his short life. The only reason he hadn't lost any fingers or toes was because that would have damaged the hooves of his horse form. What damage had been done was bad enough, though it was too common a sight to inspire sympathy.

Even Kaitanu seemed as unaware of how he appeared as he was about his present nakedness, though that last was his preferred state. The kelvic had paused in the sunlight for a moment, glad to feel a little breeze on his skin. In this climate clothing bred sticky sweat; a moment in bare skin was welcome.

However, Kaitanu didn't linger, but used the brief time to judge if there was room for the transformation. One more step back, hands and feet placed on the gravel, and then he felt the familiar stretching of muscle and bone, sinew and tendon. In the back of his mind, like always, was that spark of desire to feel the wind flowing over him, whipping mane and tail and filling his nostrils. But, like always, that feeling remained locked away. Kaitanu as a horse was just as quiet, just as docile. He was also just as scarred. Should Harkon treat him roughly as a horse Kaitanu would take it, as well as any new marks on his hide, without complaint.

[Harkon]

Harkon noted that this particular slave talked better than most, a trait common to house slaves. Perhaps he could be a professional slave, even if he was quite the ugly fellow, all pale and scrawny. He knew the Hammer and Nail on East Bank, it was the only forge in town. Then the ugly slave began undressing, confusing Harkon for a brief moment. A moment later, he realized that he must have been a Kelvic. Kelvics were the only slaves that seemed to prefer nudity over clothing. Harkon noticed the many scars adorning his ghastly body. He must've been a very slow learner, or a very unruly slave. The mercenary hoped he'd learned his lessons, he didn't feel particularly in the mood for beating one as weak looking as this one. Harkon wondered if he was part Symenestra. They were pale like him, and he'd heard that they were especially fragile. Harkon only now noticed the bench holding a saddle and other equipment. A low groan escaped his maw, this slave was a petching horse. Harkon had never managed to get comfortable with horses. He wasn't around them much, and never really got the chance to work with them. He'd never saddled one himself, and riding them had always turned into incredibly uncomfortable experiences. Even when on his father's trade caravans, they rode in wagons, not on horseback. Harkon saw the naked boy stepping back, presumably to transform. Harkon move forward, his mouth opening to command him to stop, to tell him how to saddle him up. But the flash of light all Kelvics emitted when transforming stopped him, leaving Harkon feeling like a fool. Harkon found his foolishness turning into anger. The scars riddling the horse's body did nothing but make him angrier. This slave clearly was an idiot, and did not know the proper way to interact with his superiors. Rule number one of being a slave, never make your master look bad, be it through laziness, emotion, or any other such endeavor. Harkon reached down and plucked his axe from his belt, as he stepped toward the animal. He flipped the axe around, so that the head was held downward, the anger, and even a hint of embarrassment evident in his eyes. He had no intention of cutting the slave, but he knew horses could be dangerous. Harkon stopped in front of it, seething. "I don't know anything about saddling a horse! There aren't any other slaves here to do it, so you just assume I will do it? Are you trying to make me look like a fool, or are you just a simpleton?!" He raised his fist, the bottom of the axe handle in his fist, and swung it at the horse's jaw. It wasn't a particularly well prepared punch, just one of anger. Harkon had kept his body tensed, in case the horse decided to lash out, so he could evade, and strike it down with the blade of the axe if need be. "Now change back and show me how to do this, and make it quick. You've already put us behind schedule!"

[Kaitanu]

Kaitanu realized his mistake the moment he caught sight of Harkon's features, which were twisted into a look he knew far too well. It was the same expression of embarrassment that always preceded a swift act of violence, and this time was no different. The blow fell, catching Kaitanu on the side of his long face, which snapped sideways as the axe handle broke skin. Not a deep cut, but Kaitanu felt some beads of blood gather at the throbbing area, and knew there would be a dark bruise thereafter. He'd had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing correctly and was paying the price for being wrong. At least Harkon hadn't used the edge of the axe.

If the mercenary expected the pale horse to lash out he would be preparing to defend himself in vain. Kaitanu's head merely slid back into a forward, and slightly downturned, position as though the blow hadn't happened. The only change that came over him was that his large blue eyes seemed to go completely blank, like his mind had locked itself away and he'd become something almost doll-like. Whatever this meant, if Harkon even noticed, it did not prevent the boy inside the horse from transforming back. Without showing pain or even the smallest tremor, his newly-human head bent until the white back of his neck was visible.

"A thousand pardons, Master Mercenary. This slave is a simpleton, as you say, too simple to mean any offense."

Oddly, he seemed to believe this of himself, even though circumstances were not quite as Harkon thought. It was true that a slave must never make his superiors look bad, but therein lay the problem. Asking his betters if they needed assistance could be fraught with as much peril as assuming they didn't. Many men of a non-entitled rank, like Harkon, were far more touchy than the elite about a slave knowing more than they did. Even if it was something relatively simple, they could not bear to have a lowly slave "show" them how to do anything. Some of Kaitanu's scars were from assuming that one of his superiors didn't know how to saddle a horse and might need assistance. Slaves were, ironically, expected both to be dimwits and mind-readers. Kaitanu was neither, but the expectation was there anyway.

Harkon couldn't have known any of this, any more than Kaitanu had known whether or not the mercenary could saddle a horse. They were worlds apart, the free agent and the broken drone. The kelvic would have avoided Harkon's outburst, had he been able, but Kaitanu couldn't saddle himself and then transform. He'd tried to before and gotten in even more trouble for the saddle slipping off or getting his head caught in the bridle. Therefore, someone else had to do it once he was fully a horse, but none of the other slaves had been available that morning. As the kelvic was not allowed to explain himself, he merely had to take whatever blame or punishment came his way. No "excuses" for a slave.

Without looking up, or wiping the blood from his jaw, Kaitanu moved to the bench and took the bit and bridle in his hands. Every movement was swift but deliberate, like he was trying to go as fast as he could without making any sudden moves. There was no cowering or begging not to be harmed; he'd learned long ago that just brought more pain. Briefly, he explained how the harness was supposed to go over a horse's face, putting it as well as he could over his human one to give Harkon an idea of how it fit. Then, setting that aside, the slave demonstrated how a saddle worked, holding it up around his slender midsection.

To any onlooker this would have seemed a strange sight to come upon, watching a pale, naked young man try on tackle meant for a horse. Anyone familiar with the Radacke and The Caged Sun would have thought something else was going on, something not at all suited to the sophisticated grounds of Blacksugar. However, Kaitanu seemed just as unconscious of how the situation looked as he was about his own appearance. Kaitanu's voice was soft and his posture submissive in the hopes that Harkon would not strike him again.

When he had finished explaining, the kelvic slave placed both saddle and bridle on the bench and held his hands at his sides, bowing his head. A few drops of blood had dripped onto the gravel but he didn't really see them. Nor did he notice the dull throb on the side of his jaw. Both were easy to tune out; he'd had far worse in the past.

"Master Mercenary, I hope that my clumsy explanation has been enough. I apologize for taking so much time." It hadn't been more than a few minutes. "I also hope that my mistake will not reflect poorly upon my Master Edmund."

There was another fear, which he hid behind a well-trained stillness; that Edmund should hear of his blunder and punish him. However, Kaitanu showed no hint of what he felt, and his voice was as placid as ever when he added, "I am at your command, Master Mercenary, to transform or explain further at your word."