Dystopia Pt. 06

"It's looks worse than it is..." he started, but was immediately cut off by Faile.

"You were unconscious for three days," she chortled. "The days and nights. The herbalist says your skull was cracked and the only reason you're not drooling on yourself is because your skull is apparently as thick as my husband's."

"Don't let this idiot talk down his injuries," she said, stabbing a finger at Isla's shocked face. "He is barely upright, and the only reason we came back was because you're new here and he didn't want to leave you alone for too long. He needs rest."

"I'll be fine," he protested.

"Emil Jackson," Faile snarled. "You will take care of that injury or you will damage yourself further and cause more problems. You will rest for at least two weeks like the herbalist said, or I swear to Winter you will have to deal with me."

Perrin put his hand on her arm to calm her down. "Peace my love, he whispered. The boy is young and headstrong, but healthy. He will be fine."

Faile completely ignored him and continued glaring at Emil waiting for an answer.

He did the only thing he could. Nodding his head he looked her in the eye and said, "yes ma'am."

"Good! You're as pigheaded as this giant lummox. I don't care how you feel, your bones are still mending. You will give them time to heal, and that requires rest."

"Yes ma'am."

Perrin chuckled under his breath, then sniffed the air. "Oh ho, rabbit stew. Been a few winters since I've had that."

Isla squeaked and jumped, quickly turning to the pot and stirring it with more force than was strictly necessary, and then serving out large bowls of it and refilling everyone's tea.

As she put the last of the tea down in front of Emil, she spoke quietly. "So if your delay was because of your injury, where is Mr. Markem, and where is your truck Master?"

Emil paused with the spoon halfway up to his mouth. He lowered it and sighed, forehead creased with worry lines and his hazel eyes sad. "Markem is the one who robbed me," he whispered. "Took twenty-one gold, 47 silver, and 13 copper..." He paused for a breath and then continued with a look of utter grief, "And my truck."

Isla reached across the table and laid her hand on his. He met her eyes and saw sorrow on his behalf. She said nothing, but there was nothing to be said. 'It's just a truck' he chanted in his head. It was true. A wonderful, useful, amazing piece of machinery built in the legacy of the forgotten world that was the single largest contributor to the ranch's success, but in the end it was just a machine.

Emil shook his head to clear the thoughts and resumed eating stoically, noting that Perrin, Faile, and Isla watched him for a second before resuming their own meals. The rest of dinner was eaten in silence, with only the thump of carved wooden cups and the scrape of wooden spoons on clay bowls filling the air.

Isla finished first, as her meal was the smallest and she ate with speed born of one who had a lasting fear that their meal might be coveted by others. After collecting the dishes and refilling everyone's tea, they all sat at the table quietly and relaxed.

Suddenly she rounded on Faile.

"Lady Faile, how best can I care for my Master?" she asked, a resolve in her tone that was unusual for her normal demure attitude.

Faile grinned, then shot Perrin a glance. "I like her. Eyes on the prize."

Perrin said nothing but nodded with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk pulling his beard to one side.

"Don't worry about it..." Emil began, only to be completely ignored by both women who spoke over him as if he wasn't even in the room.

"Two weeks. He needs two weeks of light activity and bed rest. He can clean, cook, and sleep, but that's about it. No chores, and absolutely no heavy lifting. The herbalist says there's really nothing to mend bones other than time and rest, but he's really not that fragile. Skulls are designed to take a hit, though perhaps not one that strong," she chuckled. "As long as you don't let him exert himself she should be fine. Watch out for nausea, persistent headaches, dizziness, and confusion. Keep the wound clean and dry. Sterilize bandages to thwart infection, and the idiot will be headbutting goats in no time."

Isla nodded, her attention absolute and unwavering as she committed the list to memory.

Emil fingered the wood of the table in distraction. Faile's no-nonsense form of care reminded him of his mother on her sterner days. He missed her terribly. She was far less blunt and more gentle than Faile was, but they both shared a deep drive of making sure their loved ones were cared for, and the few times he had really seen his mother angry was when he or his father had done something foolish and injured themselves.

Isla turned to look at Emil and waited until she caught his gaze. She stared at him with an unblinking resolve, but spoke to Faile. "Yes Ma'am. I will see that your orders are carried out to the letter."

Emil winced, but nodded in acquiescence. Isla nodded back with finality.

Perrin stood and stretched his broad arms, pops sounding from his elbows and back. "Thank you miss Isla for the meal. Emil here was kind enough to let us stay for the night. Can you show us to our room, we have an early morning and a long ride tomorrow."

Isla shot to her feet and was once again refusing to meet anyone's eyes, finding far more interest in the floor, as she bowed slightly and gestured. "Of course master Perrin. Emil has relocated to the larger bedroom, but his old room has been thoroughly cleaned. The bed may be a bit small for someone your size I'm afraid."

He just nodded to her and let her lead him to the nearby door. He even helped her light the stove, and his blacksmith skills had the fire roaring high faster than she could ever manage. Faile hung back for a few seconds.

Once the fire was lit, Perrin turned to the girl.

"How long you been a slave?"

Isla winced and shuffled back half a step. "I was indentured to the lord of my old town five summers ago. I was enslaved two winters back and sold to a traders caravan," she whispered.

Perrin nodded, then stood and took a large step so he was immediately in front of her, looming like some wrathful god. Isla's hands knotted in her waistband and she shut her eyes for what she knew was to come. Instead of being grabbed though, she felt a gentle touch on her hand, the barest whisper of a hand resting on hers and softer than she expected someone of his size to be capable of. When she opened her eyes she saw him not standing over her, but kneeling on the floor before her his head a few inches below hers and allowing him to meet her gaze directly from her bowed and hunched posture.

"I don't know what you've been through, but I know it was terrible. That's over now. Emil is a good man, raised by good people. He will never hurt you," Perrin's voice rumbled gently. "Take good care of him please."

Isla didn't know what to say so she simply nodded at him, eyes wide.

Perrin stood and began re-arranging the bedding. "Thank you Isla, that will be all."

With another small bow, she left the room, unbeknownst to her a similar conversation had taken place between Emil and Faile.

"You bought her as a farm hand didn't you?" she asked Emil. He nodded mutely, but raised his eyebrow at her wondering where she was going.

"Have you had sex with her yet?" Emil sputtered and coughed the last of his tea, waving his arms in protest.

"No ma'am. She, uh, used her mouth on me a couple times, but no sex." He squirmed in his seat, uncomfortably trying to catalog several new thoughts, worries, and desires.

Faile smiled softly at him. "Relax boy. You are two young adults, with all the burden that comes with. She's hurt though. There's deep damage there, so you leave her be and let her set the pace. I don't think it will be much longer before you two are in bed together, but if you force her she will break. Assuming she doesn't kill you, I very well might." She glared at him briefly, but then her expression softened. "If you want to win that girl's heart, you need to free her. Love cannot thrive in a cage, no matter how convenient it might seem."

Emil shook his head, careful not to slosh his brain too much. "I barely know her. The first few nights I was worried she would slit my throat in my sleep and run off. I enjoyed what she did to me, but I didn't hire her to take advantage."

Faile beamed. "You didn't 'hire' her. You 'bought' her. The fact that you keep forgetting that is proof of your intentions, but you cannot forget that she is your slave. You own her, and you must remember that everything you do will be seen from her perspective as - her owner. You cannot have any relationship beyond master/slave with this girl. That's not to say things won't change in the future, but for now you need to remember that everything you do is an order from a power she cannot refuse."

Faile paused and locked eyes with him to make sure that he understood the ramifications of what she was saying, then nodded and smiled softly. "Don't worry young Jackson. Behave and I think things will work out better than you hope."

Isla returned from the bedroom then and Faile stood. "Has my lummox of a husband got the fire going in there?" Isla nodded. "Good. I'm to bed then." Turning to Emil one last time, she said "I'll see you at first light young man. An injury does not give you license to slugabed."

She then turned and marched into his old bedroom and shut the door behind herself.

He was still trying to process the conversation when Isla was suddenly at his side. "Come Master. Let's get you to bed."

She quickly cleared the last of the cups and placed them in the sink to be washed in the morning, and then took his arm and led him to the bedroom. She closed the door behind them and said, "One second Master."

She grabbed a few small pieces of wood from the bin and stoked the stove to get it warmed. Emil started to shuck his clothing, but caught his sweater on his bandages and pulled them off in the process. The long cotton wraps had apparently been worn too long and some of the clots from the wound had fused with them. Pulling them off abruptly had dislodged the clot, sending a spike of pain through his head and a trickle of blood began to seep down the side of his head.

Grunting he threw the sweater and bandages to the side of the room and gingerly felt at his skull. Small, cold hands gently brushed his fingers out of the way and gently prodded at the long ragged cut that was being held together with some silk stitching. It was hot to the touch and swollen.

Isla grabbed his hands and bade him sit on the bed. She fled to the bathroom and returned with a small bucket of water and washcloth. Gently she cleaned the wound and surrounding area, making sure there was no pus or discoloration. Leaving the room a final time she returned with the bag that she had been carrying when he got home. From its interior she retrieved some alcohol and clean bandages.

Emil hissed as she poured some of the whisky directly on his cut, and grit his teeth at the rough bandages pulling at the sensitive skin of the wound.

"There we go. All done." Isla murmured softly. "Let's get you in bed."

Emil allowed her to pull his shoes and socks off, and then help him under the covers. She offered him the whiskey bottle again and when he looked at her oddly she whispered, "for the pain. You need to sleep."

He shrugged and took a big swig of the bottle, the burn as it traveled down his throat a welcome distraction from the throbbing. When he looked at her again after taking the swig, she was holding out a water bottle. "You should hydrate, too. Don't want to trade one headache for another."

"Thank you, Isla," he said.

She met his gaze again, and a small smile crossed her face. "Of course Master. Did you need anything else?"

"No, thank you. I just want to sleep for a week. The carriage ride was interminable and uncomfortable. My head is pounding."

He laid back and let Isla tuck him in under the heavy blanket, and then she retreated to her own cot. Isla lit a candle and read a book, this one he recognized as a guide on identifying various plants. The only noise in the room was the crackling of the fire in the stove and their soft breathing.

The last thing that went through Emil's mind as he stared up at the rafters was, 'She had an escape bag packed and ready, but she never left.' He wasn't sure why, but that made him feel warm inside. His breathing deepened as he slipped into the embrace of Dream.

*** I just want to thank everyone who has been reading this story, and a special shout out to those readers who have been following since the beginning!

I know I'm not a fast writer and that some people desire more content quicker than I can write, but I promise this story will continue. This story was originally written just for fun and as an exercise. I never expected the that people would be so interested in my mundane ramblings and I am beyond humbled.

The good news is, I have spent the last two weeks in a writers group working on the plot for this story wondering where to go from here; and I finally figured it out. You can expect some upcoming action, some more slow burn romance, and then some seriously hot and heavy sex of every possible variety. I'm also going to start powering Emil up and make him a real player in the world. I am still trying to decide if this should stay a M/F couple story or if it should branch into a MFFF relationship. If you have any comments, I would love your thoughts.

As always, thank you so much for reading and I hope you come back for more soon!

-Cathetel.***