The Gift of Volkeye (8 page)

The Master will have to wait some years for this one to ripen, I think,
he thought to himself.
…Then again, he may not have that sort of patience!

Murlach moved closer to the angry girl with the fire red hair. Fists clenched, she grit her teeth in anger, as she stood in front of her nanny, who now lay injured on the floor of the cottage. The woman had been thrown immensely hard.

“No, my darling! Let them do what they want with me!” she said, trying to push herself up with her good arm. The other lay limp at her side with a very visible break. “Please, Sir, take me…leave the girl alone!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re in no position to bargain,” said Murlach.

“Please,” the woman begged again, but she was interrupted.

“Where’s Mommy and Daddy? They’ve been gone since yesterday…they never leave that long! What’ve you done with them?!” the enraged girl asked.

Ignoring her question, Murlach advanced. 

“Don’t come near us!” The girl’s eyes wildly fluttered about the room, as if looking for a weapon.

“This one has some fight in her,” Murlach said to his henchmen behind him. “Oh my, how will we ever defend ourselves against a forty-pound girl that has, at most, seen six or seven winters? My god, the horror!”

They laughed.

However, as Murlach went to grab the girl, he found that he’d grossly underestimated her.

“Urgggh! Bitch!”

He limped away from the girl who was now brandishing a large pair of bloody tailor’s scissors. She’d grabbed a pair from atop of the Chester drawer next to her and rammed it all the way into his thigh.

“Get her!”

The four-armed Cyclops ran up and swatted the scissors from the girl’s hand, grabbing her up and tucking her under one of its armpits. She kicked and bit him to no avail.

Murlach limped over, sneering. “You’ll spend the whole fucking lot of your existence in servitude for that prank, young one!”

This was a pointless claim, for he knew very well that was his plan for her anyway. Besides, what would she have done otherwise but starve to death? …After all, her parents
were
dead.

“Take the bitch outdoors…her noise is unbearable!” Murlach ordered.

“Syrah!” the girl squealed as the Cyclops carried her from the cottage.

Murlach had ripped a tablecloth in two and tightly wrapped one half of it around his thigh. Livid over his aching limb, he turned to face Syrah. He was in the mood to cause some serious pain.

Looking upon his victim, he felt not a bit of remorse or sympathy as he watched her wail, her eyes aghast with horror. He snapped his fingers, and his other three minions came forward to receive their orders.

“Make it slow and excruciating.”

3

He lay trembling in his sleep, visualizing the gigantic menacing beast upon him, crushing the vehicle that he was in. As the machinery began to fail with explosions and sparks threatening to light him afire, the beast growled unapologetically as it proceeded to murder him.

Phyllamon woke with a start, his squeals of horror echoing throughout the floor of the complex. He lay there panting in a puddle of wetness that he first assumed was merely sweat. However, upon further inspection of the rancid odour assaulting his nose, he realized that he’d peed on himself, once again.

“Curses!” Phyllamon swore, climbing from his bed.

He looked about the chamber and discovered that his garment wasn’t waiting on him. Good. This gave him an excuse to summon her.

“WENCH! WHERE IS MY BLASTED ROBE?” he cried, his voice echoing throughout the halls a second time.

A voice replied with a tone of utter disgust. “Coming, Sire!”

By now, Sing was far too wise to believe that Phyllamon wanted his robe. He had a closet full of
dictator attire.
No, what he wanted was her body. Phyllamon had always wanted her, ever since she was six years old, the sick bastard!

**

Sing Yi had just been born when her parents Jahdii and Sitju Yi had gone to work for Phyllamon. Syrah had been a good friend of her parents.

Syrah had no children of her own, and she worked from home, so she didn’t mind taking care of Sing. Every day of the week, Sing’s parents were usually gone at dawn and never made it home until evening. Although tired, Jahdii and Sitju always devoted the rest of their day to her. They shared an inseparable bond.

When Sing turned five, she became more inquisitive about the absence of her parents everyday. Syrah explained to her that in order to make a better living, her parents had gone to work for Phyllamon Xyecah…one of the richest men in the world. Jahdii and Sitju had no idea that they were nothing but cheap labour to him, useless workers who could be easily replaced or discarded altogether. They naively hoped that he wasn’t as cruel a man as everyone said he was. And they did in fact find that he was not as cruel…he was many times worse.

Phyllamon Xyecah owned several pieces of land, which contained large sources of Arhyz rock. Arhyz was one of the few power sources on Elum, the energy-deficient planet that they all lived on, and therefore it was valuable as currency as well as a raw material. Citizens of Arhyz mining colonies (or, in the case of Phyllamon’s family, slave owners who had their underlings do the work for them) became immensely rich.

However, as rich as he was, Phyllamon sparsely gave any of the money he owed to his miners or other employees. Instead of their wages, he often gave them questionable food from a secondhand storage facility that froze all the leftover things that butchers couldn’t sell. Though Phyllamon’s people had no idea what they were eating, beggars could not be choosers. The way he felt on the matter was that if they didn’t like the food, the filthy, panhandling animals would have to find work elsewhere!

Although a bit young to understand the extent of Phyllamon’s cruelty that Syrah described, Sing was still old enough to worry about her parents. On the morning of the last time she saw them, Sing threw a worrisome fit, pleading for them to not go back to the castle. However, they wouldn’t hear it. It wasn’t until several years after her capture that a couple of servant friends gave Sing the details on what had happened that day.

Apparently, her mother and father had gone to him and inquired about a pay raise. Infuriated by their nerve, Phyllamon ordered them beheaded. Afterward, their bodies were tossed into the pit, mangled, and then devoured by the castle’s pets.

The next day, Phyllamon ordered Murlach and a few others to track down Syrah’s home, and…

**

Sing fought back a tear as she stood in front of Phyllamon’s naked and grotesque body, staring with contempt as she recalled the last time she had ever hugged anyone.

“Your robe is cleaned and pressed, your Excellency,” said Sing Tzi Yi, rolling her eyes.

“What are you staring at my dear? Do you like what you see?” he asked without a hint of chagrin, completely disregarding the fact that he was wet and smelled of piss.

“I never have,” Sing snapped, purposely dropping his robe in the urine puddle on his bed.

She walked briskly to the door.

“Bitch, I am
Phyllamon Xyecah!
Never turn your back to me when I’m talking!”

Usually, Phyllamon would’ve already dealt with such an insubordinate person. However, he knew Sing (who was particularly adept at eluding him in the first place) was feisty and would’ve put up an incredible fight if ever cornered. Such a commotion would draw his wife’s attention, and he feared the consequences of her learning of his acts with the handmaidens. Hence, Phyllamon put up with things from Sing that others would’ve died for normally. It was her un-submissive, fiery personality that protected her.

She stopped at the door and took a deep breath, closing her eyes in silent meditation.

It’s not time to kill him yet…it’s not time to kill him yet…it’s not time…

But all the same, it was oh so tempting!

So easily, she could have pulled the dagger and jabbed Phyllamon right in his throat, and he wouldn’t have been able to do a goddamn thing about it, except bleed to death! However, it wasn’t killing Phyllamon that was the problem—it was getting out of the castle once it was done that would be difficult.

He always made a racket, screaming her name when he woke, so she had no doubt that other people in the castle had also heard him. Knowing that she was his first visitor everyday, and then, directly after, seeing her darting throughout the castle covered in blood, would be a dead giveaway that foul play was involved. Sing knew that she couldn’t be that sloppy.

For years now, she’d been waiting for the precise moment…a sign to let her know that the time had come.

…A sign from God, maybe?

Yes, that was it, for she had no other way to describe it. Though Sing never prayed, the last fourteen years of hardship hadn’t robbed her of her faith. This was odd to most, for she’d never been directly exposed to religion before, only having read about it in books. However, it was the fact that she was healthy, strong, and unscathed after all this time—unlike many of her other servant friends—that made her place her trust in the
unknown
.

This was why she waited. And as bad as she wanted to spill Phyllamon’s blood at this moment…

No. Now isn’t the time, as I’d be shot and killed by the time I got to the first floor. But I’ll keep my eyes open for the opportunity!

She turned to face her master.

“Sire, forgive me. I only mean to spare you the
heartbreaking
experience of having your wife find the two of us in bed together,” Sing said, playing at what she knew he most feared.

Phyllamon didn’t want to lose his wife, for she was heiress to an immense fortune. Of course, he didn’t need the money, but his desire to become the richest man in the world was overbearing.

“You motherless whore, I don’t appreciate the sarcasm. Show some respect when you talk to me!” Phyllamon said, as his grotesquely large, veiny, chapped penis rose to a vertical position.

He glanced downward at his pride and joy then looked back to Sing, winking at her. Though it was always with a different woman, this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence at Castle Xyecah. To Phyllamon, these sexual favours were about as big a deal as receiving a handshake—that’s how used to it he was.

However, he was immensely frustrated with Sing, for he knew it’d be near impossible to land her in bed. And it was because he’d never been told ‘no’ that Phyllamon had begun to think of himself as some sort of sexual deity who was as appealing as the mighty Aphrodite! As far as he knew, women were proud to be felt up, frolicked, and abused by such a divine specimen as himself!

Sing Tzi Yi gave Phyllamon a stare that, if powered by witchcraft of some sort, could’ve burned a hole in his body. She’d been called a whore one too many times, and (only for a second) she thought of pulling out the dagger and cutting his erect penis right off…

…and give it to that sexually deprived, bitch wife of his! Maybe she can preserve it in a jar of oils or something and pleasure herself whenever she’s in need?

Sing laughed under her breath and quickly turned to leave the room. Phyllamon reached for her, but she was entirely too quick. He couldn’t run after her, as his erection completely hindered such vast movement of the legs.

Shit.

As Sing exited the chamber and turned the corner, she ran smack into a poisonous stench. She swayed and covered her nose, groaning. (Under normal circumstances, the castle’s inhabitants kept themselves braced at all times, should they be so unfortunate to meet this odour. However, Sing had been in such a hurry to escape Phyllamon that she wasn’t mindful.)

What stood before Sing was not a normal appearance for someone of this woman’s eminence, but yet this was her typical state. It was an image that was almost comical. This woman’s frizzy hair stood up in points that erupted in several different directions. Her eyes were dark and extremely large for a head that was disproportionately small as a whole. Her lips were thin and severely chapped, and her nose was so small, one might’ve thought it deformed.

However, none of the previous characteristics could top her most distinct feature, and that was the all-too-visible stench fume rising from her body. It was as apparent as heat waves, swirling over hot coals.

It
arched its eyebrows and tapped its foot with impatience.

Still covering her nose, Sing greeted her. “Morning, Your Highness.”

You would think that this repugnant thing would be more concerned with her hygiene! She’s practically royalty, and yet we have servants that come from the streets who smell better than she…and that breath, my God!

“And where are you off to in such a hurry, you little whore?”

That damn word again!

“Why don’t you go in and ask your husband?”

“Don’t give me lip! I don’t know why Phyllamon needs such a lazy, peasant tramp anyway! If the decision were in my hands, I’d have banned you from the castle long ago!”

Banned? …Oh, God, please let me get banned!

“Forgive me, I’ll do better.”