Destined For A New Life by J D Jensen, enslavement
A young, innocent girl is suddenly, inexplicably, ripped away from her home forced into a life a slavery

Copyright 2006 by J D Jensen, all rights reserved

Shasha ran her wooden comb through the silky curling mass of her dark hair, letting the locks fall around her shoulders. She smiled fondly all the while as she thought of Zhani, wondering what he was doing at that moment. He was away in the village of Hujang, hunting in the nearby forest or helping to build a baking oven. Perhaps he was already toiling there, stripped to the waist, his muscular body tanned by the sun, his strong hands working skilfully at his task. Perhaps when he returned he would bring her some small gift, some trinket or token of his love for her, and as always her heart would flutter and her skin would tingle deliciously as he touched her.  

Slipping her smock over her head and letting the hem drop down to her upper legs she yawned and went outside, the instant familiarity of her surroundings coming pleasingly to her eyes. Already she could see several boats on the River making their way upstream. Each was laden with cargoes of she knew not what, and no doubt destined for the distant cities of the interior.

But one of the boats seemed bigger and somehow more majestic than the others. Putting her hand up to shield her eyes from the morning sun she gazed out at the approaching vessel, noting its sleek pointed bow and the ornate dazzling red and gold paintwork of its hull. With a little pulse of excitement she watched its progress, wondering at its purpose and what rich men in their fineries would be coming this way. Certainly the boat seemed to be making towards the village, gliding through the water more swiftly than the slow leisurely speed of the other craft out in the middle of the river.

Oddly, there was no sail from its mast and she could see that on either side of the boat – apart from where the raised front section came – there was a line of heavy oars, perhaps a dozen or more of them. Almost lethargically they dipped into the water in a rhythmic synchronised movement, sending little white spumes behind them with every powerful sweep.

“A boat…one that is gaily painted and surely with great finery aboard…comes here, Mother. I’m sure,” she called back over her shoulder into the hut, without even knowing whether her mother was awake or not.

Then, standing on tiptoe, still with her hand shielding her eyes, she peered out at the craft again, her voice rising with excitement.

“I can see a man standing at the front. He’s wearing fine robes and a…a sort of silk hat…and his face looks stern, like he might be some sort of high official of the Imperial Government. And there are soldiers, too…fierce looking and with spears and swords that glint in the sun with the sharpness of their blades…”  

But still there was no sound from within the hut; no reply; not even a weary maternal rebuke. Down below, near the jetty, several of the village men had gathered there. They stood there motionless and uneasy perhaps, looking out towards the approaching boat. The headman of the village, Khanugi, and another village-elder turned now and glanced up at her, their eyes expressionless or even sad as they fixed upon her.

And where was father? Why was he late in returning? Surely he would miss any trade that this fine boat would bring. And why was her mother not yet about, busy in her usual early morning chores?

For some unknown reason a sudden chilly surge of apprehension swept over her, like a passing cloud blotting out the sun. She dropped her hand now from her eyes, standing silently as she watched the boat approaching the landing-jetty. The heavy clomping sound of oars was loud across the water, but there was another sound, too – one that was like a slow monotonous thumping beat of a drum, as if it might have been directing the rhythm of the oars themselves. Of the oarsmen there was no sign. Hidden from sight, they must have been somewhere below the level of the sides of the deck. A high canopy stretched back along the entire length of the stern-half of the boat, and Shasha presumed that this was to shelter the invisible oarsmen from the fierceness of the sun. In the middle section of the boat, just in front of where the canopy began, was a raised deck upon which had been constructed a large enclosed cabin. Forward of this was an open bridge, and extending beyond was a slightly lower deck that ran all the way to the gradually sweeping curve of the bow. At the very stem of it a curled wooden buttress seemed as if to rear up out of the water like the head of some evil sea-monster. Its jaws were open, revealing fang-like rows of teeth that seemed to Shasha as if to be set in a permanent, terrifying snarl.

Letting her eyes take in every detail of the huge boat she could see that the cabin itself clearly housed the high-ranking official, as it was festooned with brightly coloured drapes at the sides and over the doorways, and fluttering over the end of it was an instantly recognisable flag – one that might have brought fear to any beholder.

Even Shasha, in the innocence of her youth and her sheltered village upbringing, knew at once the significance. The Imperial crest of dragon and sword and the gold-threaded embroidery were unmistakable. She had once seen a procession of such boats passing swiftly downstream, and the villagers had bowed low to the ground, even though the officials and dignitaries onboard had not even deigned to look their way – as if perhaps the village-dwellers on the banks of the Great River were of lesser status than worms of the soil.

“Mother! The boat is fast coming here!” she called back again. “Come out and see! What business will these high-up men have with our village? Come, Mother, tell me!”

Yet still there was no reply. Curious now, but not wanting to miss the boat’s arrival, Shasha turned and went back inside. Stepping quietly into the second of the three dwelling-rooms, in the dim light she saw at once her mother lying motionless in the bed, her back turned away from her.

“Are you not well, Mother? Why do you not get up?” Her curiosity had become anxiety now. “Do you sleep, even when a rich boat in coloured finery visits our village? Are you…?”

It was then that Shasha saw that her mother shook with silent tears.

“Mother, what ails you…?” Shasha began, reaching out to touch her gently.

“Daughter…oh my daughter. Go from here!” A voice that was scarcely that of her mother came as if it were smothered by the goat-hair blanket she held to her face, and this muffled sound carried with it such profoundness of grief.

“But Mother, I do not underst…”

“Go! I say go now! Your place is no longer here, daughter. You must go. You are to…” But those final words were incoherent, muted by shaking sobs of anguish, and coming sometimes with outbursts of anger that was perhaps not true anger, but more of remorse and despair. Nonetheless they brought both alarm and hurt to Shasha’s countenance.

“But, Mother…,” she protested feebly, reaching out with desperation now and shaking her.

But her mother shrugged her away, curling up into an ever tighter shell of angry denial.

“Mother! Tell me what…”

But at that moment a shadow loomed behind her in the outer doorway of the hut, blocking out the friendly morning sun. Shasha turned anxiously, a bleak chilly surge of unknown dread coming over her.

“Who…? What are…?” she began, her feet suddenly frozen to the spot. Then seeing Khanugi standing there she said with evident relief, “Oh, it is you, Wise-one. I did not…”

But she broke off again, her eyes suddenly widening with puzzlement.

Flanking Khanugi were two tall fierce-looking strangers, whom she realised must be soldiers from the boat. Swords hung from their leather belts and their swarthy faces were stern and menacing as they looked in at her.

The headman spoke gruffly now, as though with false harshness and in a way that Shasha had never heard him speak to her before. His pallid face was lined with years of both wisdom and hardship, but now the usual kindly twinkle to his eye was gone. His lips were unsmiling, his features uncompromising.

“Shasha, you must come with us. You are to go…on the boat. It has been decreed. Go in peace, girl. You are destined for a new life…”

“New life? What do you…? Why must I go on the boat?”

She turned desperately then to her mother’s bed, but before she could take a step towards it the headman roughly grabbed her arm, holding it in a vice-like grip.

“No, Shasha. Your mother can do nothing for you anymore. Her purpose is done. You must come, now.” His voice was not unkindly and his eyes were filled with sorrow, but even though she pulled away from him his grip was unrelenting.

“Where’s my father. I want him…”

“Come, Shasha. He is not here…and he cannot help you.”

“But he…”

She began to struggle now. One of the soldiers came and took her other arm, snarling at her and propelling her out through the door with Khanugi hurrying to make her move quickly, tugging at her arm.

“Mother!” she called back frantically, turning for a final look, but hearing only a low moan of despair from within the gloom. Her feet scuffled uselessly at the familiar dirt of her departing childhood, her toes snagging against the scattered stones as the headman and the soldier dragged her outside and away from the place that had been her home.

“No! Leave me alone. I do not want to go, Khanugi! Why…?” she called out petulantly. “Why…where am I being taken? I’ve done nothing….”

A few villagers stood silently all around, only watching her with knowing eyes – eyes that could offer neither hope, nor even friendly kindred empathy. Some of the women had their hands to their faces, as though either in sorrow or perhaps complicit shame. Helpless to intervene in the ways of men, the women perhaps saw the now flowing tears of despair in Shasha’s eyes, which were wide in such innocent incomprehension. As she was frogmarched down to the waiting boat her feet were scarcely able to stumble on the ground, so quickly were the men bundling her along.

“Do not struggle, girl! You have to go. There is no choice,” Khanugi mumbled in her ear, panting at the exertion, feeling her young agile body so full of resentful energy. “You are the property now of the Imperial Masters. Be brave, my poor sweet girl…and perhaps your life will not be so bad.”

But his voice was nervous. He wished to complete his unhappy duty speedily, lest perhaps the Devils from the boat should want to take more from the village than just this one sacrificial human offering. Of course, he had always known what Shasha’s fate would be. He and the village elders had secretly chosen her to be the one. They could not have done otherwise. If it had not been her, it would have been one of the other girls – perhaps Lallina, or Suufala. Both were strapping pretty girls who surely too would have pleased the Imperial Masters no less than Shasha herself would do. But Khanugi and the elders had to make their choice, painful though it had been.

…

By the time Shasha had been brought down to the jetty, struggling and protesting with every step, more villagers had gathered silently on the gentle slope above. It was a place she knew so intimately, and faces that were so familiar to her that she could picture them even in her sleep, watched her. Yet now those faces were so distant and remote, eyes staring emptily at her.

As she was dragged nearer to the boat, it was only now that she could appreciate its terrible splendour, the hull looming before her unwilling eyes. The length of it was perhaps as much as a line of twenty sleeping men, and the height to the top of the cabin was more than twice that of her hut. Now that she was so close up to the side she could see how the polished curves of the woodwork were so ornately worked, with inlaid patterns and twisting furls, each painted in red and gold in such vivid intensity that the colours gleamed in the sunlight. Looking fearfully up at the high forward deck she could see the grim faces of more soldiers – at least a dozen of them – who waited there silently, watching the villagers menacingly. The richly-clad man she had seen from afar was clearly some sort of nobleman or high-ranking official. Now he stood at the deck-side looking down at her, perhaps with disdain, but nonetheless with casual interest.

“Let me go! I do not want to go on this…,” she pleaded again. Yet already her protests were more feeble than before, as if somehow she knew that they would be in vain.

Khanugi’s hand was still firmly on her arm, and the huge soldier was gripping a handful of her hair now, so that she could barely turn her head to look back at the silent villagers behind her.

“Go peacefully, Shasha. And think not badly of me or your poor mother, or your father. We had no choice,” Khanugi whispered in her ear, pushing her towards the waiting gangplank. “Remember well the times you had in this humble village…and we will remember you fondly and wish you well.”

Now she felt his grip loosen on her arm and finally he stood back, letting the soldier take her with a suddenly more forceful grip on her hair, before then he shoved her roughly onto the gangplank. Again she tried to turn to Khanugi, but the soldier yanked her sharply forward, snarling at her in guttural words that she could barely understand

“Go, wench! Obey or I will place a rope around your pretty neck…and drag you onboard like a stubborn goat.”

“Obey, Shasha! Obey!” she heard Khanugi call out softly to her.

But she scarcely heard his words, her fear now numbing her senses as her bare feet stumbled on the wood of the gangplank. For a moment she faltered, feeling only the tugging pressure of the soldier’s hand on her hair, making her go up. Then, as if at once resigned to her fate, she relented, allowing herself to move hesitantly forwards, but grimacing at each reluctant step.

Her eyes were so wet with tears now that she could scarcely take in the detail of her new surroundings. As she alighted on the deck, for a fleeting moment she glanced around, seeing again the nobleman standing there, watching her. He had an air about him of ruthless authority. Instinctively she realised how men would fear him, they knowing the unfettered limits of his power. There was not the slightest trace of compassion in his eyes. They were like unfathomable slits of brooding darkness, and she felt herself wither under his piercing scrutiny, her fear coming upon her in a fresh wave of icy coldness.

The deck was long and flat, but separated into two or three tiers that went up in shallow stages towards the front of the boat. In the middle was a small stairway leading down below the deck itself. Further back came the large cabin on the raised central deck. In front of it, set upon the bridge, was a throne-like chair covered in plush silk cushions.

Shasha stood there shaking now even in the gentle warmth of the early sunlight. Blinking back her tears she tried to accustom her mind to this new fearsome strangeness, her nostrils twitching at the unfamiliarity of so many unknown and unwanted aromas. Whatever part she must unwillingly play in this sinister floating place, she had not the slightest notion of it. She only knew that it would bring misery to her soul, and that her freedom had been taken from her.

“Oh, help me Father…Mother…,” she mumbled, turning her head suddenly and looking back at where her home was, seeking out her mother.

But she was nowhere to be seen. Instead there were only those many impure and curious eyes of the onlookers as they watched Shasha. Now she turned away from their unfriendly gaze, all the while continuing to look timidly about her and wondering where she was to be taken.

Below the raised sides of the forward part of the deck were benches for the soldiers to sit or stand on. Slightly aft and in the middle of the deck was where the tall mast rose up, and just above her was its jutting boom with its folded sail, which seemed as if it were seldom used.

The silk-clad nobleman moved towards her now, as though he had finally deigned to acknowledge her lowly presence. A tense silence descended on the gathering as he stopped close up in front of her, glaring disdainfully at her with those same slanted eyes of malevolent darkness. For a moment or so he only looked at her, but then – as if he might have wanted to see more – he gestured curtly at one of the soldiers and suddenly she felt herself wrenched backwards. There was a tearing sound of linen as her smock was ripped from the back of her neck and then all the way down her body in a single powerful flourish until the final remaining tattered strips were pulled away from around her knees.

Gasping from shock, Shasha tottered there unsteadily for a moment, glancing down in disbelief at her newly unfamiliar nakedness. Her hands instinctively reached up, at first to cover the humiliating exposure of her breasts. Then seeing his eyes between her legs, one of her hands flew down to cover the lightly-furred pubic coppice of her innocence, and to clutch frantically at the twin-budded mount of her sex beneath.

‘Stand straight, girl! And place your arms at your sides! Like any beast of the fields your skin will henceforth remain exposed to the sun and air. You will have no need of linen to cover yourself.”

Although she could understand, his hateful words were spoken in a dialect of some distant place.

Meekly she complied, even in the mortifying debasement of the act, her mind engulfed in a confused turmoil of silent fury and terror.

“What name do you have, girl?”

“Shasha,” she replied timidly, but then adding in a more defiant tone, “From the Gonhwan family.”

The nobleman’s eyes seemed to narrow yet further, glittering as if with some hidden inner wickedness.

“Well, Shasha from the Gonhwan family…in future you will bow before me whenever I might speak to you…or even should my shadow fall across the ground within six dozen paces of your lowly frame. And when you reply to my questions you shall call me ‘Lord’, for indeed that is who I am to you.”

Even before his words had sunk in, she felt a stinging blow that came to her rump with such suddenness that she stumbled forward. The numbing shock made her gasp out a little choking cry, her hands immediately flying back to clutch at her assaulted buttocks.

“Bow down, girl!” A female voice snarled from behind her. “Bow low! Now! Or I shall strip your hide of its flesh before the day is out.”

Not daring to turn round to look at her assailant, Shasha was too stunned at first to obey. But out of the corner of her eye she could see the end of a long black whip that hovered there behind her so wickedly and as if poised to make another strike. Gasping still from the pain and shock she obeyed now, quickly forcing herself to make a humbling bow, her hands still clutching at the throbbing welt that was already rising on her flesh.

“Bow lower to the Lord Tuan, girl!” the female voice barked. “And place your hands against your sides.” The whip rose threateningly again.

Shasha forced herself to bend more, her hands shaking as they moved away to her sides.

“Oh what degradation!” was her silent cry.

The nobleman nodded slowly, his eyes taking in every detail of her nakedness.

“Good! That is better! Here, in this your new home, you will quickly learn the meaning of instant obedience,” he said, and then with a casual wave of his hand at the woman beside her, he added, “This is Ixandja, your Mistress-of-the-Galley. She will see to it that you adapt to your duties…so that your life here will be tolerable.” 

 …

 The reality of her predicament came ever more shockingly. The remaining threads of her innocence were being plucked away with every unwanted moment. She felt such shame and degradation, sensing a thousand eyes upon her in this so indecent exposure of her body. Her cheeks burned hotly with the sheer cringing humiliation, and the throbbing welt across her buttocks made her eyes smart again not only with the agony of her flesh, but as much with the agony of her soul.