He Gets What He Wants

A young female slave was in intense pain from bearing a child only a few minutes ago. The female’s black hair was drenched in sweat and her lower body was drenched in blood. Her head was spinning and she knew she was going to die. Her Lord came down into the birthing chamber to see his new slave. Peering at the child, he was excited to know it was a boy. ‘Good, it’s a boy. I need someone to do all the manual labor, and Tyson is about to die in a decade,’ the Lord thought. “My Lord,” whispered a voice from behind him. The Lord turned to see his young female slave in a heap of blood, “Yes,” he asked in the gentlest voice he had. “May I see my child, My Lord, for I know I don’t have much time left,” the young woman said trying not to burst into tears. The Lord picked up the calm child and gave him to his beautiful mother. She let a few tears fall at the sight of her son. She gently pet her son’s head of soft black hair, and he looked up with violet eyes. “You will be one curious and handsome child, …Miroku,” she whispered to him. Her child rubbed his head sleepily against her breast before grabbing the top of on and falling asleep against her. The blood was drying, but she knew that she was going to die in the next few minutes.

An old hag made her way down into the bloody birthing chamber. She carried a bag of unusual odds and ends, and placed them on the desk beside the bed of the sleeping baby and the slowly dying mother. “What can be done?” asks the Lord. “Nothing can be done to save the mother, but I think she will rest peacefully if she gets her son’s readings,” the old hag said. The Lord was puzzled by her words, but let her do her work. The hag stepped next to the bed and stared into the child’s sleeping face before laughing softly. “What is it?” asked the mother quietly. “My prediction for your child is that: He shall be a wild ass of a man, his hands against everyone, and everyone’s hands against him,” the crone said cryptically. The withered old woman noticed the woman’s confusion. “I can’t tell you everything, but I will tell you this: he will be loved by many and envied by many, and he will continue on your family’s blood in many children,” the old woman turned and continued talking to the Lord, “To you: he will be another slave until he turns 15, then he will be the difference between your daughter’s death or her life.” The Lord stood stunned and wondered of what she spoke. The beautiful slave felt her eyes go heavy, and looked at her son who had woken, “Take care of my son, My Lord, he means the world to me. Miroku, my lovely Miroku, always know that I love you, and that I gave my life so that you could have life,” she told him as tears rolled down her cheeks and the life was snatched out of her.

The Lord watched his most trusted slave die. He shooed everyone out of the room and called for his wife. The Lady descended the stairs into the chamber. The Lady looked in horror upon the scene; her most trusted and loved servant was dead, and her crying child was held loosely in her arms. The Lord said nothing but watched as his wife kissed the dead slave on the cheek, then picked up the crying child and held him in her arms. The both walked upstairs with the now sleeping baby in the woman’s arms. “Clean her up, and give her a good burial. Don’t cut any corners. She deserves the best,” the Lady whispered to the servant standing beside the door. The servant nodded and he headed down the stairs. The Lady dropped off the child with a slave mother, and told her to raise it like her own. The Lady stopped and looked at her husband, “Now isn’t a good time to tell you I’m pregnant, is it?” she said. Her husband smiled at her and hugged her, “No, but I promise you, you will survive it.” She smiled at her husband and they went to celebrate the happy news.