The Gatekeeper; Preface of novel

This is The Gatekeeper. I much appreciate comments and critiques, especially since this is the first time I've unveiled this to anyone.  This is merely the preface and when I clean it up a bit more I will post a larger sum of the novel.  Happy reading!

The Gatekeeper
Ch.1 


         
         The heat was exhausting, even at night.  There was no escaping the furnaces and the ovens; once the fires are going, they burn on their own for days at a time and no one is allowed to quite working unless the fires are weakening.  The sound of hammers beating against wood and the sound of metal rubbing against rusty fragments echoed every hour of every day and seemed to never cease against the hallow shackles of the gray, derelict sky.  However; after a year or two it becomes nearly unnoticeable. 
         The smoke is thick enough to hide the stars at night and the sun is blotted out like a shadow by clouds of dark, heaving smoke shuffling out of chimneys when the furnaces burned.  The air fills with the suffocating fumes of chemicals and hot dense smoke pilling out of factories and great large wells of fire coming from pits of the mined land, all contributing to its intolerable nature.  It is difficult to see how it is possible for most people living and laboring in that barbaric city named Corwin to survive, but it is quite a typical day as comes every day.  The city is known for being treacherous, inhuman, and unjustly.  The streets are old and filled with ruble and filth from years of neglect while the buildings are dark and decrepit, whereas, it would appear as though no living thing can live in such conditions, but many do and thrive. 
         Besides the over whelming stench and the terrible food, the people are the worst aspect of Corwin by far.  Corwin, the capital of the over powering country of Dunvegan is extremely isolated from much of the world, or just refuses to acknowledge the fact that there is other parts of the world.  Therefore, they adopted their own culture centering at the pinnacle of greed and malice.  They particularly like money and power, which stems the desire to look and behave more superior than all others so men adopted a significantly defined dress to obnoxiously portray themselves in outrageously foul ensembles for their own manipulated sense of caste, which includes long flowing furs with very dark expensive dyes, unusually thin tipped black shoes, towering hats varying from color-to-color, and most importantly they prided themselves in status most of all are the terribly large medallions they wear on their shirts or around their necks to signify their birthright as Elite.  The men are typically very thin and very tall due to their careless aptitude towards nutrition and their obsession with alcohol.  Their faces are usually pale with sharp features such as hook-like noses while their eyes remained fairly small and sunk in like a skull’s empty cavern.  Men of high class are perhaps some of the most ruthless men in all of Dunvegan, as their taste would imply.  Common men were quite different; poor and feeble.  They were a little shorter and a little thinner than those of class. As you can imagine they wear often what resembled rags, but that will never compare to what the slaves endure. 
         Women are possibly just as ruthless as men, but in an entirely different way.  There isn’t a high class of women, as you know they all are alike; the common woman and the Elite woman.  It does not matter what birthright a woman has, the only thing she is entitled to being free to pursue whatever she wants and the manner of which she receives it.  If a woman wants something she gets it, even if it means killing another in order to obtain it.  Unfortunately, it is that way with every woman.  They often are jealous of each other and brawl in public places tastelessly.  They completely adore attention and are willing to do anything to get it, which leads to more brawling.  Women are foul beyond imagining, if it’s possible to imagine it;  their faces are round with blisters and sours, which they vainly try to conceal with little hope and teeth they bear are hideous including the smell coming from them, which is cruel to whoever stands in front of it.  They dress to what impresses their male escorts; they wear nothing flattering whatsoever with bizarre ritualistic behavior aimed at out-doing one another. 
         Dunvegan is a pathetic, barren wasteland filled with scum, rats, the hungry poor scavenging around for bits and pieces of tormented wrappers of food.  It’s hell, really. 
          Now, to what have Dunvegan and Corwin spinning night and day: slaves.  Dunvegan has a desire to convert the world under the complete control of Corwin.  With their grueling foulness and abundant strength, they achieved almost exactly that.  Many countries fell to Dunvegan, even the most powerful at the time, but whichever countries did not find themselves struck down by an army were intermittingly subject to the will and reign of Dunvegan regardless.  Those who survived war have been sent to Corwin as slaves to work laborious positions until death beseech them.  There were perhaps thousands working night and day making weapons and doing miscellaneous tasks against their will and without the luxury of rest, food, and water.  The life of a slave is very hard and treacherous, alluding to only a few years’ lifespan.  Besides all of the sadness of being away from home and the despair of being a slave, the guards were something to truly worry about.  They were bred specifically for the purpose of fighting and the resurrection of destruction upon the weak and helpless.  They were taller than most men and very much broader and muscular and had been taught to hurt and to kill without dutiful reason or doubt.  They stood next to slaves and made sure they worked every minute they stood, or they would receive death or severe punishments including whippings, bashing, hitting, and physical torture over some sort of element depending on the mood of the guard. 
         Slaves came from everywhere.  The largest amount of slaves came from a country called Odalis, the most prized defeat of Dunvegan.  Odalis was a very powerful country with a patriarch, Faram, who governed well until his eminent death after the country was seized.  The country bordered with Dunvegan at the north and prospered with its abundant resources, which Dunvegan desperately needed.  For years afterwards, there always existed some speculation whether Faram really died or whether he merely went missing, or if he had safely eluded Dunvegan’s army just in time to go into hiding, waiting until the perfect moment to rise once again and free his people.
         Sadly, Faram left behind a daughter.  At the time of her father’s defeat, she was eleven years old.  Her name was Mara and no one could recall how Mara was taken captive.  Some say she was already in Dunvegan when Odalis fell.  People did believe she was forced to give away tidings from Odalis to the Gatekeeper of Dunvegan, Rowin, but there were other royal children held captive with her, mostly her devoted friends and cousins. 
         Unfortunately, every child was converted to a slave.  It was like taking a white cloth and burning it so it became black and mutilated and nothing similar to its true nature.  After they became slaves they never saw each other again.  Most slaves slept in large sleeping quarters poorly made and poorly maintained.  Mara, on the other hand, slept in the Gatekeeper’s edifice.  It would never be what anyone would think; she slept on a cold stone floor with a thick black chain wrapped around her neck with guards and soldiers throwing bones and heavy objects at her for their amusement.  Some people thought Rowin kept her there as a trophy, trying to lure Faram out of hiding to claim his daughter, but he never came so they assumed he was dead. 
         The Gatekeeper had a peculiar relationship with her.  He always made fun of her and taunted her about the way she looked and who she was.  He tried to make a mockery out of her, an embarrassment as was typical of his behavior towards anyone, but Mara and Rowin had a very strange past together.  Before Rowin took over Odalis, or more like when he was planning it, he came across Mara when she was four-years old in a frosted forest during a chilling morning.  He took her to a camp that lay hidden in the forest filled with soldiers.  Immediately, the barbaric Gatekeeper fell in love with the tiny girl with a bizarre fatherly instinct taking over him.  Many people noticed the sudden up lift in his dark heart and he took Mara to her home with her father the next morning, completely dreading it.  As he put her in her father’s arms, he gave her a ring that would forever remind her of him and the bond forged between them. 
         It’s utterly strange for any situation; but it would endow terrible consequences disastrously and painfully on both of them.  Mara at the age of eleven, disturbed by the rumors about Dunvegan, grew livid with her father and decided to run away to Dunvegan with her cousins Lillian and Waylon.  She was frightened and yet up lifted by what she saw on her way to Corwin.  She managed to rest in Calum next to what was Indolla.  The Gatekeeper Clovis was nicknamed Gatekeeper of Roses and certainly lived to the reputation.  Calum was best known for its elegance and care for nature and mankind.  Mara had never really met the Gatekeeper before then, although she had seen him on previous occasions.  As she met him for the first time he sternly urged her to go back home.  Mara, being eleven and unnaturally stubborn, did no such thing but go to Corwin. 
         The soul purpose driving Mara was the idea that she would marry Rowin.  She often fantasized about it and assumed he would take care of her as no one seemed to do on her behalf.          However, nothing turned out quite as planned in the least bit.  In one minute Mara learned from Rowin that Odalis had been destroyed by his command, she was forever to be his property, and he would never marry her.  Struck with despair, Mara became paralyzed by the news and upon such being true she never saw her family again and instead was subdued by the tasks of serving Rowin at his every whim while he mocked her and constantly denounced her father as a coward and a fool.  She was subject to his harassment for some years to come. 
         Then one day Rowin left.  The entire city fell into chaos as his departure was so sudden and he left no one appointed to take his place.  Instead, the rich and greedy took hold of his edifice, his money, and all his property and rights for their own benefit as they suspected they would not hear from their master for many years, or never again. 
Nevertheless, the people of Corwin took the absence of the Gatekeeper as an exception to take advantage of all that he left undefended, including the slaves.  They saw them as underlings, inferior races to be enslaved for their masters’ pleasure.  The slaves never received peace and comfort; only the torment of endless days without food or rest.  No slave was safe from the cruelty of the Elite, but one.  She sat beside the tall wooden Purple Heart chair surrounded by hanging candles in a very dark cave-like room. 
                The marble floor was cold beneath her as it was every morning.  This girl was the only departing instruction the Gatekeeper left; she must remain alive and exactly where he left her when he returns.  She figured it would be extremely cold that day if she could feel it seeping through the stone floor.  Winters in Corwin are always treacherous.
                  Every day the slaves were counted.  Mara is number one every morning.  They counted her and took her outside to the Gray Square where the remaining slaves were assembled in rows.  It is dead winter with fierce snow and wind that shot water-like bullets in the slaves’ faces as they stood erect while the counting took place.  The chilling breath of death opposed their survival and they all could feel it as the day began.  The guards squeezed Mara’s arms as they escorted her down the bloody stairs outside Rowin’s edifice.  There were spikes lining the plundering doors and dead bodies hung from it, prisoners who defied the authority of the Elite. 
                  Before her now were slaves lined up in hundreds of rows stretching far across a large gray surface, the Gray Square, from the steps of the edifice to the Metal Factory across it.  Every single one was being counted.  The rain was sharp like needles and every slave had their heads bowed in grief while the guards passed them, smacking their heads as they counted.  Counting took longer than usual today.  The slaves figured the guards did it out of spite and to torment them in that terrible weather.  A spectator arrived just to endure the pleasure of seeing people shake from cold and admiring the emaciated face of a fifty-year-old man on a thirteen-year-old boy. 
                  Everyone knew him as Marius Affreux, perhaps the most notorious of all the Elite.  Within the absence of the Gatekeeper, he played a key role in seizing public land for himself and creating his own dominant (and yet not known to anyone else) position among the city’s council of leaders.  He was a poll among men; tall without even the occasional lump of a hipbone to be seen.  His hair slowly glided down his back like a black cascading waterfall.  His wide and pale forehead had the continuous presence of a pulsing vain that rather became his companion than disappear once his frustration vanished.  He always carried a bronze capped cane with him for beating slaves and uncanny peasantry when they came too close to him.  He wore tiny brass circle glasses that rested lazily on his flat nose to shield the rain from his eyes, but it did no good that morning.  Sometimes he looked feeble and weak, but his strong willed stubbornness and his undying desire for power always caused him to create some spectacle of devastation among the slaves.  He was there every day to watch the slaves out of some bizarre amusement.  He always told the Elite around him that death was the easy way out and encouraged continuous beatings to “repress” their wild and pathetic character.  With those words, without a fragment of care or reason, caused pain among the poor people working night and day for a cause and a dream they fought against.  Perhaps fought to the death, but death was no longer an option. 
                  Most of the slaves were taken from Odalis and knew that if things had been different Mara would have been their next matriarch. She always noticed they watched her, but she never understood why.  She lowered her gaze to the ground; she refused to look at the starving skeletons lined in rows, and to avoid looking at the carts of corpses being carried out of the Metal Factory from the night’s ending shift.  Marius stood next to a pillar and gazed at her in an observing manner as he was appointed her Keeper by the Gatekeeper himself. 
                “Behold!” Marius said in a very sluggish tone as he slowly came to Mara’s side, almost theatrically.  She refused to look at him, as she would find it difficult not to retaliate against him when he antagonized her.  “Why do you act this way?  Look at yourself; you are nothing among us pure-breds.  You have no rank here, so why do you look that way?” 
                “Unlike you, Marius, I have some dignity left, and I can stand erect without leaning on a cane.” Mara spoke, perhaps so quietly that none of the crowd could hear her.  Her voice was small and sweet.  The innocence in her tone only made Marius even more frustrated with her.  The man was determined to bury her with pain, regardless of the Gatekeeper’s requests, so long as he could watch her cowardice in pain.
“But they have no idea what you are…” He pointed to the slaves and took the back of his hand and smacked Mara across her porcelain face.  She almost toppled over, but the strong grip of the guards on either side of her kept her from falling.  Instead she kept her face focused to her side so no one could see her struggle to fight back a moan or two.  The guards and Marius laughed.  The slaves watched, helplessly, devastatingly.  “I know what you are: a whore!”
                  Two guards from the crowd approached Marius without humor. 
                  “One is missing.” They said plainly.  The crowd was motionless as though this had no great consequence.  Perhaps that is so because they already knew one was missing. 
                  “Get the dogs!” Marius cried raising his hand.  The guards did what he ordered without hesitation. 
                  “Brilliant idea, sir,” said a very filthy and pathetic old man with thin dangling gray hair and a bald scalp groveling at Marius’s feet.  He was a rottenly hideous old man and Mara cringed at the sight of him, “We’ve needed a reason to use them.”
         “Why Ogden, I don’t need a reason to use the dogs.” Marius walked into the darkness of the edifice, but before that he spat on Mara to symbolize the lowest degradation he could.  She was sent to work in the most gruesome conditions once he departed.  The slaves dispersed into their required work positions assigned for that day, replacing the fatigued and humiliated slaves from the night before. 
           “It’s the boiler room for us today; the upper level.” Said a short blonde girl named Morgan approaching from behind once she noticed it safe enough to engage in discourse.  She looked rather innocent and fragile for being a slave; her eyes were very heavy and dark from emaciation like so many others.  She certainly did not belong there like the rest of them.  Being anywhere near fire was a bad place to be.  She had heard too many stories of the guard’s cruelty when it came to fire or hot water.  Usually someone dies in the boiler rooms, large vats of hot water used for cleaning drapes and sheets the Elite slept in.  Honestly, none of them minded death, it was just how they died that they didn’t like.  A girl appeared on the other side of Mara, Corty, as they all walked towards a large wooden edifice with several chimneys spewing thick black smoke.  Suddenly people began to scrounge, running in all directions, banging into each other, leaving the dingy, poorly kept Gray Square in fright. 
         “Why don’t you stand up to them?” a girl, Celia asked.  “They don’t have the order to kill you.” The girls and a hundred of other women went from the wooden edifice to a large gray tent.  Inside it were several large and monstrous machines that had fire spurring out like a thousand tiny tongues.  Piles of black coal sat in front of them.  Across the tent was a large stone bowl with steaming hot water filled to the very top.  The floor was wooden and already leaking with spots of blood on it that appeared to be coming from the ceiling above that harbored a great pool of blood for some reason.  The tent was large enough to have two stories and attached to the large wooden building.  The first floor had pipes from the boilers running along the floor and on to the walls leading to the base of the stone bowl. 
         As everyone began to work the guards feverishly stormed back and forth, bending and nearly breaking the flimsy wooden floors with all the weight.  To avoid being killed, the women and men worked without raising their heads or speaking to one another.  The fear of being tormented with great physical pain was so overwhelming that the slaves shook or began to whimper whenever a guard walked past.  With every vibration of the floor beneath them as the guards stomped passed the screaming began.  There was always whipping, even if someone was working hard already.  It only slowed their progress, the cause for only more whippings. 
         Mara was cleaning a yellow stained exotic chemise when a guard approached her.  A cold chill strong enough to make her face turn pale caused her to freeze in fright when she felt his presence approach.  She may have been exempt from being killed, but who’s to say she could not be punished?  The guard took the woman next to her and dunked her head in the boiling water.  As he held her down, she frantically struggled to breach the surface.  The guard let her go and she twitched sliding down to the floor like a dead fish.  She was screaming and moaning with unimaginable pain and her face was red like blood or a strong sunset and she didn’t move after that.  Mara was frozen with fright and shock.  She knew there was nothing she could do for that woman, but for some reason she felt guilty for her pain.  No one could do anything unless they wished to be lying motionless on the floor as well.
         Mara’s gaze traveled over to a boiler, the very last one to the left, where a boy no older than she was working alone shoveling coal into the massive blaze in front of him with the largest guard she had ever seen standing at his back, waiting for him to shudder slightly. 
         She glanced at Corty, Celia, and Morgan and nudged them to look at the boy.   
         “He isn’t even a man and he’s doing that.” Morgan muttered with detest. 
         “That guard is just waiting for him to do one thing wrong…” Mara sighed, knowing the fate of that young boy would be horrible to witness, and she knew they would all have to hear him scream even if they looked away. 
         “I know it is horrible to say, but I wonder how long he will last.” Corty thought out loud. 
         “Don’t make it a game!” Mara said louder than she ought to.  Then a shriek came from that direction.  The guard had shoved the boy into the fire.  His screams were drowned by the lofty, thick sounds of a fanning fire.  Everyone was silent in horror.  There was complete silence besides the silent and soft welcoming whisper of death in their sensitive ears. 
         As the sun rose in the morning Mara was forced to work and as the day retires she was handcuffed and dragged back into her prison next to the empty purple chair.  She was jerked roughly as she and two large guards dressed in black rush towards a dark and bestial edifice that caressed the heavy sky.  It’s windows were tall and thin, sometimes they would have stained glass with many different colors, the brick was black due to age and poor care, the doors in front of the edifice were large enough for a cavalry to speed through with spikes sharply placed on the door with the occasional slave attached to it with blood creating a lake at the base.  Mara dreaded the thought of stepping into that place.  The point of her existence in that room was the pleasure of the guards and whoever was there to enjoy her torment. 
         As they approached, the black doors slowly separated as two slaves worked a machine opening the doors.  At the entrance there was a short old man dressed in very sleek black clothes with a short cloak behind him.  His face bore many wrinkles and looked rather  weak.  Mara saw how pale he was.  His complexion was almost gray.  What Mara hated most of all was the fact that the man’s eyes were red. His tiny pupils were the color red instead of the usual blue or brown.  He never spoke or gestured or anything that gave her a sign that he was alive behind that hideous exterior. 
         The guards handed the chains to the old man and he began walking into the edifice.  Mara followed as if she was a dog on a leash.  The edifice was cold and quiet in the evening before the guards and Elite began to retire.  Candles on strange dark figures were lit against the walls.  Into the reflection of the mirror next to Mara’s head came a man’s face.  It was Adonis, Rowin’s right hand man.  He never went with Rowin on campaigns or battles; his position was to make sure everything was being done as if Rowin never left.  He was very quiet.  He never taunted or made fun of Mara like the others did.  He was the Observer if Mara ever saw one.  He never interfered, he just watched and observed. 
         “What is it?” Mara moaned.  The man with the brown curly hair in all black, wrapped in a short black cloak slightly opened his mouth.  He never spoke.  Out of all the years Mara was condemned to him, he never spoke a word to her just like the old man. 
         He attached the chains to the side of a highly regarded chair.  Its wood was well managed and purple.  She knew what it was.  Her country had many different trees with unique wood that she often recognized as prizes were carried into the edifice after victories. 
         It was Purple Heart wood.  She liked it very much.  It was popular too.  There was massive detail added to it as it sat so far above her, yet it was connected to her throat.  It shinned in the dim light and outlined carvings of children and mythical figures delicately embellishing the wood.  Mara was never close enough to actually see what was carved into the wood, but from a distance it looked strangely very beautiful.  She sat on a worn out pillow given generously to her several years ago.  She leaned against the tall side of the marble and rested her head.  There were red lined marble stairs leading to it, therefore Mara was quite a ways from the actual chair to gloat at it. 
         For some reason no one was there.  It was nice feeling, the opportunity of being alone.  She never was anyway.  As often as the slaves could, they would linger behind her or just sit in her presence for company.  She believed sometimes they thought one day she would lead them away and into a land rich with freedom, it was her birthright.  It would never happen, and she was sure of it. 
         Usually it is always the women who escape.  They run away into the dark forests nearby when the guards are eating or switching posts.  They had been there long enough to know these things.  Eventually, the guards know they’ve gone, and by the next day she is back, but not before they all can enjoy her company.  Men are the ones who fight in the heat of pure ardor during their escape attempts.  They die when that happens.  But there once was a man who escaped without confronting the guards.  Little be known, the guards knew he left and immediately chased after him.  The slaves never saw him again, though they assumed he was dead as they saw the guards emerging from the forest with smirks and giggles after they ran into the forest after him.
         “I can’t wait until Rowin gets back from his campaign.” Said a voice suddenly, startling Mara awake.  It had been so long since she had any that she grew rather alarmed. 
         “Why?  We are completely capable of ruling this land and every slug in it without him.” Another more hostile voice spoke.  It wasn’t as casual as the first voice.  This one seemed angry and perhaps frustrated. 
         “Everything seems to be getting more chaotic as the years pass and he has not returned.” The first voice spoke again. He sounded concerned and strikingly more peaceful too. 
         “Too bad; nobody cares.  We haven’t gotten a letter or any document in a little more than a year.  Some say he’s completely out of reach, gone, away, taken by the tantalizing prizes of the world not seen yet!” The second voice quivered. 
         “Perhaps it’s just taking longer for letters to be sent?”
         “I wouldn’t care young master!” All of the voices stopped for a brief moment.  Mara noticed her chains were moving and making a subtle, mocking noise that echoed in the dome room.  She held them so they could not be heard. 
         “Adonis...?” Someone said.  The room was silent other than the soft tapping of footsteps.  Before her was Adonis carrying a silver plate with dried bread and a slice of cheese.  The two men followed him curiously.  One man was younger and he didn’t look entirely like the others.  His face was fatter and had more color to it, while his hair was thick and brown drenched with wild curls.  He wasn’t as thin as the others either.  He dressed in a dark red tunic with a dark green scarf and gold jewelry.  He was of high ranking, an Elite maybe. 
         The other man was much different.  He resembled every man in Dunvegan.  His face was weather worn and filthy.  His back arched and his hair was gray and thin.  His eyes bulged from his gray skull.  He looked unpleasant.  He sounded unpleasant.  Fowl is what he is.  Ogden is his name. 
         They stared at Mara in her state.  She could hardly open her eyes entirely.  Her skin was so dry it was peeling off her face in certain places like dandruff and the fatigue was overwhelming after finding sleep. 
         “Lousy good-for-nothing piece of dirt!” the old man muttered and turned away.
         “She might know something about Dracaena!” The young man cried. 
         “Who?” the old man glanced at him irritably with a knitted brow.  The young man sighed, preparing his lungs for a brief story. 
         “My friend,” he stirred the old man away so Mara could not hear a thing said, “not but a couple months ago a young man vanished into the woods near the compound.  The guards seized after him, but they never managed to find him.  It is direr that we find him so we may keep secrets commonly known in our realm in it, or some other power might some how adopt a way to defeat us.  Generally, it would be best that every slave not leave at all!  Something could happen disastrously and not be in our favor.  If we knew more about this man we might be able to track him easier. If an enemy were to get hold of what he knows then they might have success in our demise if the Gatekeeper is not here to protect us!  And I fear he was no mere slave; that, in fact, he was a spy from Calum.  That is why it is so important to hinder the escape of any slave.”
         “Ay!  We should kill any slave that attempts to escape, even better, kill slaves if one were to escape.” The old man cracked a gray smile with black gums and a hideous stench that marked it. 
         “I must admit, the Elite class is beginning to take slaves from the property.  What if a slave was to end up missing and it was not the slave’s choice, but the master who took the slave?” The young man questioned thoughtfully.  It was certainly true.  Many men began to hold chains and tug behind them slaves as symbols of power and fashion.  It was typical of them to conceive such an act of inhumanity. 
         The old man stared at the one before him almost angry with him.   
         “My young master, the slaves are barely being worked!  Don’t take it to so much offense to hear that the good men of our nation are unloading spare baggage from the Gatekeeper’s rear.”  The gray smile was almost faded, but reincarnated by the scheming desire to impose doubt on another man.  The young man stared at him partly confused and alarmed by the speech the old man said about the Gatekeeper and his spare baggage. 
         “I’m quite baffled…”
         “Well of course!  You’re too young to be living amongst such a title and style.”
         “I can’t deny it, but I am worried.” The young man closed his eyes and exhaled.  There was brief silence in the room.  The only noticeable noise was the clanking of Mara’s chains. 
         “There is nothing to worry about, Muet.” Adonis said much later.  He randomly walked into view of all three people, startling them.  He walked tall with both broad shoulders swaying in his movement.  His teeth were tight and clenched.  His face was hard as stone, not even his eyes seemed to move. 
         “But could there?” He sighed miserably. 
         “No.”
         “I take my leave.” Muet left, only leaving behind him the faint tapping of his well made shoes. 
         “I don’t argue either of you should be ruling in this place.  Both of you are weak in mind and spirit.” The old man muttered. 
         “But I must assure you, a mere commoner who believes he has the direct right to govern his own Gatekeeper, that in good time you will get all that you deserve.” Adonis said softly.  The old man muttered something under his breath and left Mara alone with Adonis.  He stood for a moment and watched the old man disappear behind a curtain.  He quickly glanced at Mara and walked back to whence he came. 
         There was no sleep for her that night.  A few dogs outside the edifice doors would not stop barking.  They scratched at the door and made terrible noises.  As the night grew thick, the guards and whoever remained in the edifice grew restless.  They broke things and hit the slaves in a drunken stupor.  They were brutal, as always.  Mara shriveled against the throne, hoping no one noticed her while distraughtly drunk.  There were crashes outside and large bangs.  Some women screamed and the rowdy laughs of some commoners rang through the vibrant air.  Hours of moaning and creaking of wooden chairs shrouded the night in vague sinful lust and desire.  When the morning came, or if it ever felt like it, things would calm down.  It was still that dreadful night, with the barking, the moaning, the scratching, the banging, the screams, the laughs, the shattering, the sound of bones breaking, the sounds of bones shaking, and the heavy distant breathing of Mara that seemed to fill the room. 
         When the morning really did come Mara was given dry bread once again.  There was nothing different about that day than the day before.  It seemed colder.  In Mara’s country the trees rarely died of cold.  In Dunvegan, however, the trees that she saw swaying in the chilling morning wind were dead, dark, and pathetic. 
         She was bringing water to one of the many stables when she passed by a line of men wearing identical black trousers with white shirts tainted by the array of dirt and mud.  Their backs were arched although they were little older than she.  They pulled thick chains over their shoulders.  Their heads were bowed down to hide their faces so no one could see the pain they could not contain in just their minds.
         Mara entered the stable.  The doors were wide opened and let out an affable light from lamps that hung above her head.  It was important that the stables remained clean. The Elite were obsessed with being neat and clean despite themselves always appearing foul and disgusting to her.  Their animals were always kept in large protective stables.  Most of the animals kept primarily produced some kind of food or sustenance.  If a slave was caught eating the animal’s food, they were sentenced to death immediately.  Mara knew better.  She would not let temptations rule her judgment.  She learned that lesson quite well.  She put the water in large stone basin embroiled with gold for all the animals to flock to.  The floor was clean without straw or hay.  The wooden pillars were slick and smooth with polish and elaborate carvings of tales about enormous mandrits and battles.  To Mara, the cows and goats were the sweetest creatures she had ever met.  They were kind and enjoyed being touched, but the guards were particularly strict with their animals and greatly disliked them being touched at all.  The cows were auspicious among the people of Dunvegan. 
         Mara walked outside the stable and watched as the slaves were dragging a massive tree trunk.  It was painful watching them.  She was sent to wash sheets again later.  The pain and worry never stopped.
         “I think we have more slaves transported here, but I’m not sure; they seem trained, but I’ve never seen them before.” Mara spoke softly to her friends a short while after. 
         “Why do you think they are new?” Corty asked. 
         “I had never seen them before, but their backs were curved and they bowed their heads as they walked so they must have come from somewhere in which they were previously slaves…?” Mara questioned. 
         “That must mean the…Gatekeeper, he is still conquering.” Morgan said quietly.  Everyone shuddered at the thought of Rowin in their minds. 
         “I beg to differ,” Mara interrupted, “I just over heard a couple of the Elite say that they haven’t received a letter from the Gatekeeper in several months.  It truly makes me happy wondering if the foreign powers so well recognized and with such great reputations killed him for us.  I wonder if they are coming here now.  Do not repeat any of this to anyone.  The last thing we want is to get everyone excited and rebellious.  I also heard that some slaves are being kidnapped and taken as personal slaves for the Elite.  And if any slaves are to be missing we will be punished for it.  Worn others and be alert.”
         “There is no way we could ever protect ourselves against the Elite if they ever try to kidnap us.” Corty shook her head at Mara.  “We can be alert, but there is no way we can defend ourselves.”  They all grew silent as the guards stomped past them.  It was a sign to them not talk about the Gatekeeper or any uprisings.  If the guards caught wind of the subject the nearest slave would be brutally killed to make a powerful statement. 
         There was no doubt that the guards had searched for a missing slave.  Hours after he had been proclaimed missing the guards dragged his body back to the slave compound.  The next day another slave was missing and the day after that another one went missing and all the days after that.  All the while the guards stood within the dim shadows of the early morning and laughed to themselves with their dignity forced onto their sleeves by such a manner as theirs; to be doing what they were bred to do, but yet fulfilling their senses of humor with the uncunning lives of those in which they possessed.