Caged Birds-05
- "Caged Birds Don't Fly High - Chapter Five"
- by xenaRRa
To Kelley without whom this would have remained only a dream.
All characters in this work are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author.
Copyright 1989 by K. Xenarra Brown.
CHAPTER FIVE
The day, as usual, had not gone well for Krea. She had been sent to the kitchen so long ago that she had lost track of the years. It seemed that all she had ever known was a world bounded by the cold stone walls which surrounded her. And she hated it.
No matter how hard she tried, she was never the good girl she tried to be. Sometimes the task was too hard to do, or to understand. The water buckets were simply too heavy for her tiny frame - she always spilled more than she returned with. Sorting good potatoes from spoiled was beyond her - they all just looked like potatoes. Other times Krea was too tired from her other work and fell asleep on the job. She carried a set of bruises for a month from the time she slept and missed turning the spit, charing a good roast.
In the beginning she had been able to quietly disappear upstairs and play with her 'Aby, returning before she was missed. No one noticed until that ugly boy Godfrey followed her one day and told. Though Krea didn't know the word, if someone had explained what a nuisance was, she would have recognized Godfrey immediately. He never was given the chance to threaten her overtly. But his covert actions were always annoying, and sometimes a menace.
She was never comfortable. In the summer she was kept inside, sweltering near the fireplace, the sweat running off her in rivers. Winter time brought an amazing number of outside chores. Krea's cast-off clothing and bare feet were never adequate for the bitter cold and snow. As she grew older, she learned to wear her worn out clothing underneath the newer, adding layers of insulation and protection. But in the beginning, she suffered constantly from colds and chillblaines.
Krea was not aware enough of her surroundings to know that Godfrey and Cook had formed a league against her. The accidents which always earned her a beating were often carefully devised. Masters at the art of insideous torment, the gruesome pair derived untold pleasures from their subtle methods of torture. They made sure that the girl was never seriously harmed, they knew the Mistress would never stand for that. But was it their fault if the clumsy girl constantly needed punishment?
Krea grew older, but no taller and not much wiser. Godfrey and Cook began refining their techniques, adding shrewd touches which directed attention to the girl and away from them. They would excite Krea about the possiblity of something wonderful, then snatch the joy away just as it began to bloom. Carnivals were a perfect example of this harassment raised to an art form.
Twice a year a traveling carnival passed through the area. Each time Cook promised Krea that she would be allowed to go. Godfrey talked on and on about how wonderful it would be, how nice the food would be, how exciting the performers were. But the tasks the girl needed to complete before going were never done to Cook's satisfaction, and Krea would be forced to stay back and work. The pair always pointed out that it was Krea's own fault that she was left behind. Being very naive and not very bright, Krea believed them whole-heartedly and vowed each time to work harder.
Things never improved, however. Krea would have run away except for two factors: The Mistress had managed to instill a fear of the woods so complete that the mere mention of them was enough to send ice water running through Krea's veins. And, despite all the suffering Krea experience, her love of the Mistress surpassed all reasons to leave. The glimpse of her beautiful face or gown was enough to keep Krea in good spirits for days.
For the most part, the Mistress remained removed from the kitchen squabbles. She was disappointed that Krea did not work harder, and always admonished her to do better. But the impish grin that the girl produced only for her had a tendency to melt her heart at the most inopportune moments. As the lady in charge, she discovered that if she was to maintain a straight face and stern discipline with the staff, she needed to stay away from the only person in the manor who could make her laugh - Krea. The girl inadvertantly lost her only advocate during a time when one was desperately needed.
The year Krea reached the age of twelve, Godfrey turned sixteen and became as ugly inside as his body was outside. His father had provided no fitting role model before Godfrey had been given a place in the mistress' household. Indeed, the boy had done better than expected coming from a home with no mother and a father who would as soon fuck a sheep as a woman. But full of angry hormones with no hope of release, Godfrey's calculated teasing began to take a monstrous turn.
The household had grown, and so had Cook's responsibilities. As her duties involved more, she paid less attention to Krea. Increasingly, the responsibility for insuring that the girl did her work fell on Godfrey's shoulders. Cook had been demanding, but Godfrey, as he began to exercise his new authority, became impossible to please.
The transition had been so gradual that Krea had not noticed. The first time she had really recognized Godfrey's control was the afternoon he decided they should go pick wild strawberries. He was his usual annoying self, teasing her about her height, laughing at her speech when she tried to defend herself, on the walk to the edge of the woods. Once they were out of visual range from the manor, his attitude changed abruptly.
"Girl," he said domineeringly, "You don't show me enough respect. From now on, you are to call me Master Godfrey." He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. "Do you understand?" he demanded, shaking her so hard it felt as though her eyeballs would fall out.
"Yessss, Gawfee," Krea responded, trying to squirm out of his grasp.
"Master Godfrey! Master Godfrey!" the youth exploded, now shaking her by both shoulders. Her head whipped back and forth like a puppet on a string.
"Yessss, Mater Gawfee," Krea managed to say in between shakes.
"That's better," Godfrey said, giving Krea one last shake for good measure. "Sit down," he ordered and the girl gratefully dropped to the ground. Hands on his hips, the boy towered over Krea as he paced back and forth in front of her, expounding his new doctrine. "You've had a pretty easy life here. Pretty easy, I'd say. I do most of your work, and you just hang around, getting in the way. Well, that's over now. Cook told me today that I'm to take over in the kitchen soon, and believe me, there are going to be some changes."
"First off, now that you know I am Master Godfrey, I want you to know your new name." Krea watched him, fascinated by his posturing, but understanding very little of what he said. "You are my slave now. Do you know what a slave is?" Krea shook her head. "A slave has to do everything I say or she gets punished." "Krea save now," the girl said softly.
"No, you're not. Not yet, that is." The boy pounced on her words like a tiger. "Do you know what this is?" Godfrey asked, pulling a length of rough twine from his pocket. Krea shook her head. "It's rope. I made it myself," he said proudly.
"What 'ope for, Gawfee?" the girl asked.
To wrapped up in his personal pride at having produced such a wonder, Godfrey didn't notice Krea's omission but proceeded to walk toward her, waving the cord threateningly in front of her. "I could use it to beat you." He suddenly turned and slashed at a nearby tree. The thin filament sliced the bark off where it hit. Krea shivered, imagining what it would have done to her skin.
"But I won't. It's really for making sure little girls understand what slaves are. Come here," he said, pointing to the ground in front of him. She got up slowly and stood where he directed. Her eyes were wide with fear and he pushed her down onto her knees. Grabbing her right hand, he wound one end of the wire-thin twine tightly around her wrist and knotted it securely. She could feel the blood flow slow to her hands as he repeated the process with the other end of the cord and her left wrist.
Godfrey then took up the remaining line from between her hands and looped in several time about her neck, drawing her hands up so that they dangled helplessly. Any movement on her part would only pull the rope about her neck tighter. He then pushed Krea's face into the dirt at his feet.
"Kiss my boots, slave," he commanded.
"Don' wanna," came back the muffled reply.
"Is that so," Godfrey exploded. He never dreamed that Krea would defy him once he had bound her. She knelt, unable to raise her face from the dirt, her normally good-natured disposition degenerating by the moment. She hadn't done anything to deserve such treatment. At least nothing that she could recall. Godfrey was always picking on her, but this was the first time he had acted like this.
While her brain was carefully sifting facts and events for meaning, Godfrey was combing the bushes, looking for willow switches. Krea was still face down when he returned, so he slipped a boot under her face and repeated his command.
"Kiss it, slave!"
More convinced that ever before that she had done nothing to warrant such treatment, Krea again refused: "Don' wanna!"
"Gawfee, my hands hur'," the girl whine. "Let 'Rea up, pees?"
"I will not. Not until you've learned what it is to be my slave," he responded, then began striking her bare, exposed legs and thighs with the willow wands. As one broke, he would take up another. "I'll give you something to complain about," he said as he continued to beat her. The thin whips cut deeply into her flesh, raising welts and drawing blood. Krea screamed with the pain and rolled from side to side, trying in vain to escape his wrath, yet ever mindful that any movements of her hands would only add to her troubles.
When at last the supply of switches was exhausted, Godfrey, panting from his exertion, shoved a booted foot into Krea's face. Without prompting, she kissed it. He held it there longer, savoring his victory. Terrified, she began to lick it, almost vomiting at the taste of the dirt and muck which covered them.
"That is what being my slave is about," Godfrey pronounced gravely. "Do you want to be beaten like that again?" Stunned into silence, Krea could only shake her head. "Good," he said, malevolence radiating from his smile. He stooped down and waved a wicked looking blade in her face. Frightened, she turned her face away, but he grasped her jaw in his big hand and forced her to look at the knife.
"What do men do with big knives like this?" he asked with a grin. Krea shrugged her shoulders, her mind totally blocked with fear. "They kill animals. Slaves are animals. Do you want me to kill my slave?" The logic behind this question was beyond Krea's limited abilities, but the boy's intent was perfectly clear. The girl shook her head wildly.
"There is only one way to save yourself from being killed like a slave, like an animal. You must do everything I say. Do you understand?" Krea nodded.
"And what will happen if you don't do what I say?" he pressed, glaring into her eyes.
"Hurt 'Rea, kill 'Rea." She uttered the words so clearing that Godfrey knew she grasped their meaning. He brought the knife closer to her face. "Maybe I'll kill you anyway, just for fun."
"No, pees, Gawfee, no kill 'Rea. 'Rea do what you want."
"That's better," the boy said as he quickly slit the cord where it ran between her hands and her neck. The twine at the wrists he loosened a bit, but knotted more securely with some complicated knots. The loose ends of the cord at her neck he knotted with those same knots. He wanted to make sure that Krea could not remove the twine without considerable help.
"You must wear these at all times," he said, putting away his knife very slowly. "If I ever see you try to take them off, I will beat you. Every time you see them, I want you to remember that you are my slave." He pulled her to her feet and thrust his face into hers. "Who are you?" he roared.
" 'Rea Gawfee's save," the small girl replied sadly.
"That's right. Now we're going to pick berries. And we're going to pick them a new way," Godfrey said as he hurried the girl in front of him.
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