The Thief and his Willow

The Thief and his Willow

Hello readers! Well if things go well, I will do what I can to update at least one chapter every week! That is my promise, but only if I get reviews wanting more. I’ve written up to chapter 3 so far! And I’m working on chapter 4! So please read and review! Here’s chapter two!

Chapter Two: A Willow’s Fate

-

With key in hand, Bakura enters Zorc’s sanctuary, a cold, damp dungeon surrounded by lit candles. Yellowy wax dripped, leaving patterns on the floor. And the stone walls were stained with dry dirt, paint, and candle wax. The place was very unsatisfactory, but Zorc loved the darkness, and the business he ran was sanctioned underground.

When Bakura became Zorc’s attendant, he had been given a special key that allows him, and only him into Zorc’s sanctuary. Bakura thanked Zorc generously, after hearing Zorc’s ranting about not wanting Bakura to ‘sneak’ in and out. Still, Bakura was capable of sneaking around. Zorc still does not know the secret as to how Bakura made his way deep, deep into Zorc’s lair that one fine night, when Bakura became Zorc’s attendant. And Bakura would never reveal his secret. Luckily for him, Zorc never forced him to give it. Bakura assumed Zorc did not ask, for Zorc found Bakura intriguing. After all, Bakura was once the greatest thief alive -- and still may be.

Perhaps that is why Bakura lived.

Bakura knew he was grateful. Sure, there have been times he’d though of escaping, running far, far away. But like all men, he feared Zorc. But Bakura knew and understood that if he dared leave, Zorc would haunt his mind, haunt him in his dreams. He feared a monster he was not even sure has ever left the safety of the dark dungeon Zorc called home. And Bakura never admitted out loud that he feared Zorc. That’d be cowardly.

Instead, Bakura worked hard for Zorc, brining slaves in every other day or so. Life wasn’t too dissatisfying for Bakura’s taste. Zorc had offered him his own chambers, provided with a toilet, sink, and not too uncomfortable bed. Plus, Bakura got to enjoy the delicious foods cooked up by many of Zorc’s servants. And most important of all, Bakura got paid.

Yes, this life didn’t seem too terrible.

-

Making his way down steep stairs, Bakura came face to face with the main dining area. In this room is where Zorc resided, feasting on the glory of many beautiful human women. The only times Bakura was permitted into the room was when he brought new slave arrivals, when he bid Zorc goodnight, or whenever Zorc called for him.

At that moment, Bakura was ready to go to bed. He would say goodnight.

Knocking on the door, Bakura awaits his master’s approval. There is a sharp, short mumble before a deep, dark voice calls for Bakura to enter. Bakura obeys. Opening the door, he steps into a large dim room, lit with very little yellow and black candles. A strong aroma fills his nostrils. Lavender. And looking ahead, Bakura looks upon the mighty Dark Lord, Zorc.

Zorc sat upon a throne made of stone. He sat there completely unclothed, not counting the golden jewels cupped around his wrists, ankles, and throat. Zorc was perfectly best described as a demonic monster, with rough black skin and beady red eyes. He had a large mouth full of razor sharp canines, capable of swallowing two cows in one. Atop his head sat two white horns, swirling to the sides of his head. Behind him, a pair of long black wings, currently curled together, hardly visible. He had sharp white claws on both hands like a gargoyle, and on hunched feet. Indeed, Zorc was hideous to look at, but the most gruesome thing about him was the large, slithery appendage that rested between his legs. Long and scaly, the massive member had a mouth as a tip, moving about with a mind of its own: literally.

Zorc was disgusting. Bakura hated seeing him. But he had no choice.

Kneeling, Bakura bows before his master. “Lord Zorc.” And at that moment is when Bakura noticed the two naked women before him, sitting at Zorc’s feet. Both tried covering their nude forms with a single red sheet that looked almost blood red in the dark. “My Lord, I am sorry to interrupt.”

Zorc chuckles. “Bakura, have you come to tell me sleep awaits you?”

“Yes, my Lord,” nods Bakura. “I am very tired this evening.”

“Very well,” Zorc said. “You may go.”

Bowing his head, Bakura stands and turns to take his leave.

“One moment, Bakura,” Zorc nearly shouts. His voice, loud from his major size, causes an echo. Bakura freezes in his tracks, turning to his master, bowing. “I meant to ask you. How long have you been with me now? Four years?”

“Yes my Master,” Bakura answers.

“Time sure does fly, Bakura,” Zorc pauses. He suddenly begins to chuckle, causing Bakura to become rather curious. Usually he’d be in his bed right now, trying to sleep for a new day of hell. Why was his master keeping him? “You have been very good to me, Bakura. Four years is a long time. I’m surprised you’ve survived this long. But you have been very good, very loyal. That is why I’ve decided to reward you.”

At this, Bakura raises his head from shock. His violet-gray eyes even widen from Zorc’s speech. “Master?”

“Tomorrow, Jalal will be coming with a brand new selection of slaves. As you and I know, Jalal is the finest slave trader in Kumal, and he always brings me the most beautiful women in all of Kumal.” Mentioning this, Zorc lets his long, red tongue trail from his mouth. He licks at his long, sharp teeth, making Bakura want to barf. “My slaves come and go. I grow bored with old ones and always love new ones, and I have you to thank, Bakura. You always bring me the finest of females. So, as a reward, I am allowing you, tomorrow, to choose one of the new arrivals to keep for yourself. A special slave that I promise not to touch.”

Bakura could not believe his ears. Had he heard his master right? He was being awarded a slave? How very -- interesting.

“My master, I am speechless,” Bakura mumbles.

“Well I must think so,” Zorc chuckles at his own remark. “I mean after all, it has probably been years since you’ve last been in bed with a fine woman.”

Bakura nods his head at his master. In honesty, Bakura has never been in bed with any woman. He was still pure, but he did not mention this to any soul. He was a thief. Thieves were meant to get as many women as possible.

But not Bakura.

Thinking deeply, Bakura was beginning to grow into the idea of having his own slave. It may be fun. He was nearing age twenty-six -- what a fine age to lose his virginity. And his master had said he will be choosing. He gets to choose out of many, many beautiful women. How generous of Zorc, indeed!

Smirking, Bakura gives his master a bow. For once, he can sleep knowing the next day just might be one to remember. “Thank you, my master. I shall choose wisely.”

--

A cool night breeze brushes sharply against the cheeks of many shivering slaves. They sat, both male and female, on the cold pavement of Dire, the poorest city in all Kumal. Some slaves were crying, for many of them were forced into slavery. Most of them were pale-skinned, which is a rare skin type in Kumal. Light skin indicated that these slaves were outsiders, (those born behind Kumal‘s borders.) The majority of Kumal citizens had tan to dark skin.

All of the slaves were tied by fine rope, their hands placed behind their backs. Many of the slaves had cuts and bruises. The majority of them were dirty, and smelled of rot, obviously not having the chance of bathing for days, weeks, even months.

Sadly, there were a majority of slaves that get abused by their owners. There are slave traders that beat and torture their slaves if disobeyed. But of these slaves, there were two that were neat, hardly dirty at all.

A father sat with his daughter, both tied down and both seeming out of breath. The father, named Fumio, watched as more slaves came piling out of a carriage, being forced to sit and stay seated. Fumio turns to the beauty beside him. “There’s not much left now.” He quiets down as a slave trader passes them. As soon as the trader was far down the slave line, Fumio continued, “As soon as Jalal gets here, stand tall. Show him your beauty.”

The young beauty shook her head. “No.”

Fumio sighs. “Rye…”

“No, I -- I can‘t do this” Rye looks up at her father. Her pure, chocolaty brown eyes glittered tears. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you. Please father.”

“Rye, we’ve already discussed this,” Fumio sighs, agitated by his daughter’s remorse. “Rye, at this moment you will be safer the farther you are from me. I do not know what these men will have in store.”

“But father, what if something goes wrong? What if they…”

“Hush,” Fumio glares at his daughter. “Hush about that, Rye. What have we discussed?”

Rye cries in her heart, knowing she could no longer argue her father’s wishes. She knew her father meant well. She could only nod, awaiting a fate she wished she could avoid.

Hearing the oncoming sound of a new carriage arriving, Rye knew that he has arrived.

The carriage pulls to a halt. Slaves keep their heads lowered as the two slave traders greet a man they knew very well. Jalal has arrived to purchase slaves. He greets the slave traders with a nod. “Good evening.”

“Welcome, Jalal,” smirks a chubby, balding slave trader.

“Is my order here?”

“Indeed, she is. Follow us.”

Jalal follows the men, drawing near Fumio and Rye.

Fumio spots them. He turns to his daughter. “Here they come, Rye.”

The chubby man pounds over, grabbing Rye roughly by her headdress. “To your feet!”

Rye screams out, crying from the sudden pain. Her father shouts, “Rye! Please, don’t hurt her!” as Rye falls to the ground, stumbling to rise to her feet. “I beg of you! Don’t hurt her!”

“You be quiet!” shouts the chubby slave trader. However, a gentle hand rests on his shoulder. He turns to Jalal, who is giving him a kind smile.

“Now, now,” Jalal smirks, “That is not how we treat a lady. Release her.”

The trader grumbles, but he lets Rye go, making her cheek hit the pavement. She whines, wishing she could untie her ropes and rub the soreness on her cheek. But a gentle hand does so for her, Jalal’s hand. He smirks at her. “Stand.”

And Rye stands, stumbling into position. She keeps her gaze lowered, only to have her chin lifted by the soft touch of Jalal’s fingers. Her eyes meet his, his expression seeming generous. However, Rye knew not to trust any slave trader. Jalal’s smile was addicting, however, and Rye could not look away.

Jalal shivered at the sight of this beauty. Fine and pure, Rye had very light peach skin. Her bangs, white as snow, fell out of the tan headdress she wore, matching her long, tan robes.

“What is your name?” Jalal asks.

Quivering at the sound of Jalal’s deep, almost wicked voice, Rye answers him. Her voice was calm, soothing. Jalal found her to be extremely beautiful. He circles her, eyeing her like prey. He wanted to make sure she was perfect enough to offer to Zorc.

And she was.

Jalal turns to the traders. “I accept. Bring her to my carriage.”

Rye begins to panic. She turns to her father. “Father!” And she pushes into his chest, crying her tears out. “Father…”

“Rye,” Fumio frowns, watching as his daughter is pulled off of him by the strong arms of the two angry traders. They ordered her to ‘come’ and ‘move her ass.’ “Go, Rye. Go.” Fumio turns to Jalal. “About our deal, Sir Jalal…”

“Do not worry,” Jalal smirks. “I will see to it that your daughter is kept safe.”

Nodding, Fumio turns, having one final look as his daughter is forced into Jalal’s carriage. “I love you, my daughter.”

--

Jalal enters his carriage, sitting opposite of Rye. He smirks at her, seeing that she is crying. “Please do not cry, Ms. Rye. Tears do not suit your lovely face.”

Rye’s eyes raise, glaring daggers at Jalal. “What is going to happen to my father?”

Jalal has never seen such distressed eyes. Rye’s tragedy caused his own heart to weaken -- briefly. His smirk transforms into a kind smile. “I do not know, Rye. My business is you.” Rye tightened her arms, wrapping them over her body. She leaned against the soft cushion, getting sleepy. “That is a fine robe you wear, Rye. Especially for one as poor as you.”

Rye nods. She closes her eyes, whispering, “It was my mother’s…” as she drifts into dreamland.

As he watches her sleep, Jalal rubs at his lips. His eyes never drift from her, and he even allows his gaze to take Rye in, inch by inch. She was utterly beautiful, just like an angel. Jalal allows his imagination to run wild. Placing a single hand down the darkness of his pants, Jalal entertains his aching body as he watches Rye sigh in her sleep.

-Chapter Two End-

So, we have Rye introduced. And Jalal has a crush on her. What shall happen? Stay tuned!