The blonde pulled the olive-skinned girl up by her ears and threw her onto the sodden, straw-covered floor. A few of the girls gasped, but most looked away, pretending not to notice the ruckus.
“This is my cart,” the blonde exclaimed. “All these seats are mine.”
“No they aren’t,” a dark-skinned girl said, shooting to her feet, her hands on her hips.
They stared at each other for a moment, and everyone in the cart grew quiet, eyes slipping toward the rivals as they waited to see what would happen.
Hissing, the blonde shoved the dark-skinned girl, and within seconds, they were on the floor in a wrestling match, screaming at the top of their lungs as arms and legs flailed, a few eager slaves egging them on.
It was a draw. The olive-skinned girl slowly stood up and walked toward the back as her hands dappled the cage walls, blood running from her nose. The wagon hit a bump, and she wobbled as she sat down on the floor across from Ceres. Wiping the blood with her brown, threadbare, filthy sleeve, she looked Ceres in the eyes.
“I’m Anka,” she said.
The moonlight shone in through the cage onto the girl’s face, and Ceres thought the girl had the most peculiar eyes she had ever seen: dark brown irises with streaks of turquoise. Her hair was long, thick, and black, and Ceres guessed the girl was around her age.
“I’m Ceres.”
Feeling sorry for the girl, but without any strength to become involved, Ceres looked out through the iron bars at the back of the cart, wondering if it would be possible to escape. Life as a slave was not worth living, and she’d do anything to get out, even risk her life, if it came to that.
Unexpectedly, the wagon slowed to a stop on the side of the road, as Lord Blaku yelled for his guards to break up the fight. The cart rocked as the men jumped down from the roof and into puddles of water and wet grass. His face appeared right outside the cage and Ceres heard keys rattling, his heavy breath turning into puffs of smoke.
When the door swung open, a shadow of confusion flickered across Anka’s face, and when two of the five guards entered the wagon, the slaves cowered and winced. The men grabbed the wrestling girls and hauled them outside kicking and screaming.
“You’re a sweet one,” Lord Blaku said, grabbing Anka’s arm. “Come here, girl.”
Anka feverishly shook her head and scuttled backward, her eyes wide with terror, and Ceres felt a wave of nausea wash over her when she thought about what that fat, old, ugly slaver would do to the innocent girl.
Anka shrieked as Lord Blaku pulled her out.
At that moment, Ceres caught a glimpse of her sword attached around the slaver’s waist, and in a split second, she saw her opportunity for escape.
Lord Blaku reached for the deadbolt, but before he could lock it, Ceres kicked the door outward and leapt out of the wagon. A few other slaves escaped and started down the street, but two guards quickly rounded up the runaways as another slammed the door to the wagon shut.
The slaver flung Anka to the ground and reached for the hilt of Ceres’s sword. Ceres kneed him in the groin so he buckled forward, and before he stood up, she drew her sword and sliced his thigh, causing him to fall to the muddy road, wailing. The sword felt so light in her hand, she noticed, and the blade had cut through the slaver’s thigh like butter.
Three guards threw the other slaves back into the wagon and locked it, the girls crying in disapproval.
Just as Ceres was about to pull Anka to her feet, Anka gasped and yelled, “Behind you!”
Ceres spun around to find three guards upon her. The first had his sword raised, and had Anka not warned her, Ceres would have had his blade in her back.
To her astonishment, the same power she had felt in the arena when she had saved Sartes rushed through her veins. Suddenly, she could see clearly what she needed to do in order to defeat the three guards.
She met the first guard’s sword with her own several times before running her blade through him. He dropped to the side of the road in a puddle of water.
The short guard was holding a dagger, and he tossed it between his hands as he scuffled toward her. She kept her eye on the dagger for a few switches, and timing it just right, she flicked her sword between his hands so the dagger went flying into the air, landing on top of the slaver wagon.
“Let me go and I will let you live,” Ceres said, so much authority in her voice, not even she recognized it.
“Anyone who captures her will receive fifty-five pieces of gold!” Lord Blaku yelled, throwing his whip toward the short guard who lost his dagger.
Ha! My mother’s gold, Ceres thought, adding to her anger.
The two remaining guards inched toward her, the tall one with a patch over his eye drawing his sword, the short one cracking the whip. At the palace, Ceres had only ever fought one on one with others, and she felt uneasy having to conquer two at the same time. But then again, there, she hadn’t been fighting for her life, and she hadn’t felt that overwhelming surge of force she was feeling now.
The short man snapped the whip so it latched around Ceres’s sword hand, and with a tug, Ceres fell to the ground, face first. She had gripped her sword so hard that it still remained in her hand, and with one hack, she severed the leather cords from around her wrist, freeing herself.
Quick as a cat, she sprung to her feet, and just as tall guard attacked, she lunged toward him, their swords colliding.
The short guard threw himself toward Ceres and wrapped arms around her legs so she couldn’t move, causing her to topple over, crashing onto her back. He crawled on top of her and wrapped one hand around her sword arm, confining it, the other around her neck, choking her.
“Kill her if you must!” Lord Blaku shouted, still holding his hands around his bleeding thigh.
Ceres kicked her feet up and knocked the short guard in the head, shoving him off her as she rolled backward and up to a standing position. Seeing he was about to stagger to his feet, Ceres kicked him in the face several times until he slumped to the ground unconscious.
Just as the tall guard came at her, she swerved around him, struck his feet from under him, and once he had fallen onto his back, she sliced off his hand. He screamed as blood oozed from his stub.
She hadn’t meant to be so brutal. She only wanted to harm him enough so he couldn’t fight anymore and wouldn’t follow her when she ran away, but the blade was exceptionally sharp and it took almost no effort to slash through his bones. Or perhaps it was this strange force that made it so effortless?
Some of girls in the wagon had climbed up the sides of the wall, rattling the cage, screaming for Ceres to let them out. Others cheered Ceres on, chanting for her to kill their captors.
“Give up your sword, or the girl dies,” Lord Blaku yelled behind her.
Ceres whirled around to see Anka held at knifepoint by the slaver. Anka’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes wide open, and the slaver pressed the blade into her throat, cutting her a little.
Should she try and save Anka? Ceres could just make a run for it and she would be free. But Anka’s eyes pleaded with such desperation that Ceres couldn’t find it in her heart to leave her to such a horrid fate. She glanced over at the girls in the wagon, who had turned quiet, realizing she could free them, too.
Ceres leaned back and threw her sword, praying her aim was true.
She watched as it spun end over end, then finally landed in Lord Blaku’s face, the blade stabbing him in the eye. He fell backwards, landing flat in the mud.
Dead.
With a whimper, Anka crawled away from him, sobbing.
Ceres, breathing hard, walked forward in the quiet, pulled her sword out from the slaver’s skull, and then walked over and slashed the lock off the wagon, opening the door. Shouting and sighing in delight, the women and girls streamed out of the cart one after another. A few thanked Ceres as they passed her, and the mother with her daughters embraced Ceres before turning back toward Delos.