In a world where a name means everything, what would you do without one? You have a name, and you are known, you are visible, you exist. With a name, you are free.

If you were born without a name in this world, what would you do for one? Would you stop crimes, or commit them? Would you sell your soul for a chance to exist? Or would you let yourself be nothing, knowing no one would ever remember you or what you did with your life? What if not having a name meant you were forever a slave, at the command of the named ones and unable to make your own choices? What would you do then?

How would your answer change if you knew that an evil being could take your name? A new dark power that had risen and could take your identity, make you their slave, and no one could change things back. Would you risk it, for the chance to be real? Would you risk more to destroy this new evil?

Would you do it not for a name, but to protect those who will never even know you?

——-

Our story of one who stared Fate in the eyes for the good of people they had, and would, never meet begins on a sunny Sunday around noon. I was only 19 at the time, and among the nameless. A farmer had taken me in and raised me as a slave, though an educated one, out of the kindness of his heart. His son ran the farm now, and he did a great job at it. The farm was prosperous, the slaves all well kept and in control. Being the only slave who had been raised on the farm, I was the only one of us with a real education. The rest of the slaves had been bought, brought in to work the fields and care for the animals as the farm grew over the years.

My chores were more home oriented- I did dishes, cooked lunch and dinner, did laundry, and cleaned each room of the house on a schedule. Monday was the kitchen, the front room, and the entrance hall. Tuesday, the focus was the rest of the first floor. Wednesday centered around cleaning the front half of the second floor, Thursday the back half. Friday and Saturday covered the third floor, and Sunday was my day off cleaning. Instead, Sunday consisted of preparing a large meal for dinner, greeting guests as they came over, and watching the children of guests that visited.

It was a quieter Sunday than usual, with no guests planned for the day and no large meal to cook. Instead, I was tasked with repairing various outer portions of the house, such as weathered paint on the porch or the broken railing on the front steps. I was working hard to repair the front gate when I heard a commotion down the road, toward town.

“Come in the house,” My owner, Reynold, called to me. I frowned and looked over.

“But I’m not finished with the gate yet-“

“That doesn’t matter, come inside,” He repeated. “The gate can be repaired another time, I just received a message from one of the town mages that there is a riot brewing in town. I would much rather you were safely in the building, in case they come this way.” I got up from my crouch by the gate at this news, grabbing the tools I had been using and trotting back to the house. Reynold let me in and closed the door behind me. “I ordered the others to get in the barn and barricade the doors. Should anyone break in, they have been given my permission to attack or to defend themselves. Their children are all upstairs. I want you to go up there as well and try to keep them calm.”

“Yes sir,” I agreed, setting my tools to the side and heading upstairs.

“No matter what you see or hear,” He called as I reached the stairs, “Remain upstairs and protect the children. Do not, for any reason, come down until I come for you. Do you understand me?”

“But sir, what if you are hurt or killed defending the house?” I asked, concerned. He had been kind to me as we’d grown up, and had continued to be so to me when he took ownership of all of us. Of course I cared if he got hurt.

“You’ll know if I am. Keep defending the children, and if I am killed, lead them and the remaining slaves to the capital. You remember my scholar friend in the palace?” He asked.

“Yes sir, Master Jerra,” I answered.

“Go to him. There is a note in the room the children are in, in the top right drawer of the desk. I wrote it a while ago, in case something should ever come up. Take it with you, it should appease the palace guards. Now go!”

“God keep you safe,” I told him before I ran up the stairs. As I reached the top, I could hear shouting and pounding downstairs. Did Reynold have a weapon on him? Did he even know how to use one? I had never seen him with sword or knife in hand, but his family was quite wealthy. It would make sense to train him to defend himself and anyone with him, should someone attack him or the farm. I knew there were trained guards among the slaves, but they were all in the barn. They could not protect him here.

The children were all huddled in a corner in the room they’d been sent to. It was Reynold’s parent’s room. He had left it as it was when his father had died, which was lucky for me. That meant there was a sword hung on the closet door. I ran over and grabbed it, keeping it with me.

“Don’t you worry,” I told the children gently. “We’ll all be alright. Just stay calm, and stay quiet. I need to be able to hear when the all-clear is called by Master Reynold.” They all nodded gravely, understanding the situation was dangerous. We all stayed quiet, myself by the door and the children remaining still in the corner. I heard the front door break open or down, and the sound of a fight. Everything was saying I should go and aid in the defense, that Reynold would be outnumbered, but orders were orders. I knew he wanted to be sure the children were protected, and I was the last line of defense for that.

~~~~~~~

It felt like hours before the sound of fighting finally died out downstairs. No one had come up the stairs through the fight, so I had to assume Reynold had at least stood long enough for help to arrive. I couldn’t be sure that he was still alive, but I knew he’d lasted long enough for neighbors or friends to step in and give aid, keep those of us upstairs safe. For all I knew, some of the slaves from the barn had broken orders and came to his aid. He had been kind to them, from what I saw, so why wouldn’t they? Surely even the minute scorn for all those with names could not be enough for them to ignore his kindness? It wasn’t enough for me, and I was an ordinary enough slave.

It was several minutes of silence before I really started to worry. What if I was wrong and the rioters were just exploring the house and taking anything of value now? They wouldn’t need to be noisy for that, and a normal conversation did not carry to this room that well. I knew that much from past experience. Could Reynold really still be alive? He had said I would know if he was dead. It didn’t seem possible he could be dead, but what if he was? Was it only a matter of time before rioters came up the stairs and I was all that stood between them and these terrified children?

If it came to that, the children could escape out the window. The first floor’s roof was just outside this window, and there was a trellis they could climb down. The older children could help the younger. Hurrying to the window, I checked outside. Everything looked clear, so they should be able to break for the barn, or the woods if the barn was not safe. The oldest child was 12, so he could lead them to safety and wait there until I caught up. I could hold off the rioters to buy them time, then make my own escape. We could make it to the capital, if we were quick and careful.

A noise on the stairs made me hurry quietly back to my position by the door. Was this Reynold, or was it a rioter come to search the upstairs for money, valuables, and slaves? I would know in a minute. If that door opened, I would be ready to strike if I did not see Reynold’s face, no matter who it was.

“This door you said, son?” An older man’s voice said as the footsteps stopped outside the door. There was a mumbled answer, and then a knock on the door. “I’m going to open the door,” The older man called gently. “Reynold is with me, but he is hurt. Please, do not attack when I open the door. It wouldn’t do any of us any good.” I hesitated, taking a step back and holding the sword at the ready. This could be a trick, so it was best to be ready, but I would be back a little to give them room if it wasn’t.

The door opened. A man stood there, supporting Reynold, but did not enter until the sword had been lowered. I didn’t lower it until Reynold gave me a small nod, then put it on a dresser and moved to help support him. “Now what business did you have getting hurt like this?” My voice was shaky, but I tried to sound stern, to lighten the mood. Reynold chuckled a little.

“I forgot to dodge. My mistake,” He answered quietly. “You remember Jerra,” He added.

Jerra was in his late forties, a plump and cheerful man. He made his living as a scholar and a mage. Thankfully, his magical abilities included healing, so Reynold would be able to heal faster. Jerra and his family lived in the capital, making it odd that he was here to help when Reynold needed it, but I wasn’t going to question such good fortune.

“Of course.” We got Reynold to the bed and laid down. “Shall I go let the others know it’s safe to come out? They must be terribly worried by now.”

“Yes, please,” Reynold nodded. “Take the children with you… And that sword, in case any stragglers are still on the grounds.”

“When you return, please bring hot water and some towels and bandages. We’ll get his wounds patched up,” Jerra smiled kindly to me. The children did not need to be told to get up and follow. We hurried down to the barn, the sword back in my hands. Bodies were strewn around the downstairs, but I got the children to keep moving. Once they were to the barn and the message was given, the other slaves started to come out and reassure their children. I left them and hurried to the kitchen, then the storage room to grab what Jerra had requested. Hurrying to the bedroom again, the tension felt completely shattered. Things were calmer, knowing Reynold was alive and Jerra seemed to think he could help patch up his wounds. The sounds of the riot were a distant memory, the children and their parents were all safe, and things would go back to normal.

“Everyone’s safe?” Reynold asked as I came back in the room. His shirt had been removed to reveal several bleeding gashes. Nodding, I passed over what Jerra had requested.

“Please, Master Jerra, is there anything else I may do to help?” I asked politely.

“Not at the moment, my dear,” Jerra answered kindly. “I’ve got him from here.”

“Do you think you can handle clearing the bodies out of the house?” Reynold asked. “I know you don’t usually handle heavy labor like that… If you don’t think you could do it, or if your stomach isn’t up to all the blood, I will understand.”

“I can handle it, sir,” was out my mouth in an instance. I bowed and hurried out of the room and back downstairs.

Moving the bodies was dirty and time consuming work, but it wasn’t that hard to do. The blood was everywhere, but I did not find it to be upsetting at all. This was mildly surprising, having never dealt with more than shallow cuts that come from doing chores. How I could handle this so easily was a mystery to me. Several of these people were ones I knew, people Reynold invited for Sunday dinners or to holiday parties. Most of them were, however, horrible to the nameless, and got no sympathy from me.

As I dragged the last body from the house and laid it out in the row I had started for the inspection of Reynold or the town guards, someone called out to me. Jerra was leaning out a window on the second floor. “Come upstairs, please. We need to speak with you.”

“Yes sir!” I called back up, and headed back in the house. I didn’t mind showing up dirty and filthy before my master and his kind-hearted friend, as it was routine when Reynold had orders for me in the middle of chores. Both men were still in the same room, Jerra perched on the dresser and speaking quietly.

“She didn’t so much as flinch,” Jerra was saying. “Most girls her age, brought up as carefully and protected as she has been, would not have been able to handle it. But she did it, without hesitation or grimacing, without becoming ill.” He said it with a tone of awe to his voice. Reynold looked surprised.

“Nothing? Just… As if it was nothing? But she’s never dealt with more than small cuts and scrapes…” They fell silent and looked over as I came in. “You’re alright?” Reynold asked. “I thought no one got up here, but I wasn’t sure…”

“No one, sir. And let me just say you are a terrible, terrible person for making me listen to that whole fight and not come to even see how you faired,” I added with a weak smile. “I was afraid you’d be dead by the time it was over.”

“As I said, you’d have known if I had died,” Reynold promised gently. “But I did not, so you won’t understand what I mean.”

“You never told her?” Jerra asked, amused. “About what your mother did when you both were 6?”

“Of course I didn’t. It’s never been necessary before,” Reynold replied simply. He looked to me. “Please, find a seat. You must be exhausted with stress and after clearing out those bodies- Which Jerra informs me did not seem to phase you at all? Handling the dead?” He asked, watching me curiously. I shook my head.

“Why should it? They couldn’t hurt me, after all.”

“Most people hate handling the dead,” Jerra explained. “Especially those unaccustomed to the work. But you did not so much as flinch at the work. The blood did not at all bother you?”

“None. It smelled terrible, but so do some of the cleaning solutions I have to use,” I answered, blinking and confused. “Why should a small clean up job bother me?”

“Why indeed?” Jerra asked quietly, before falling silent, looking thoughtful.

“Well, I should explain a bit. You see, when we were little… Mother noticed how close of friends we were becoming,” Reynold explained. “She always told me something was different about you. Something was… Odd, not quite normal. Not bad, just… Just different. You weren’t scared of things that frightened other children. You weren’t afraid of punishment, even when you were older and father became harsher about them. All you ever worried about or showed any fear for was my safety, and that of the few other friends you’d made.

“So Mother decided you might one day be a good companion, a good friend for me. She thought a good way to seal that was a spell she knew Jerra could perform. It ties us to each other, in such a way that should you come to harm and need help, I will know. Should I die, you will feel it and know that you must try to handle things for me. I have no children, so if I die… The farm could be taken, before anyone I want to have it could get to it. It would be up to you to get word to Jerra, who I’ve decided to leave the farm to if he’s still alive, or to his children if he is gone by then.”

“I’d like to hope I will live for a long time, but not so long as to see you go, Reynold. Nor you, young lady. You’re good people, both of you,” Jerra smiled. “Now, that spell has been renewed every year, as the dying wish of Esme,” He added as an explanation. “Though the next renewal is coming up tomorrow, so I don’t know how strong it’s fairing right now. But that’s why I came today.”

“And it’s a damn good thing you did!” Reynold answered. “If it wasn’t for you, we’d have found out for sure how well it was working. They were about to skewer me.”

“So this spell… Tells you when I get hurt?” I asked, confused. This seemed entirely ludicrous to me. “Why is the spell not the other way around? Isn’t it more important that I, as the slave, can help you when you are hurt? Why is it important you know when I am hurt?”

“Because Mother had a vision that you would be very important one day. She wasn’t sure to whom, nor why, but she was convinced you were the one who needed to be kept safe, not me,” Reynold smiled. “Of course she never wanted anything to happen to me, but you… You were, and are, as I’ve said, different. My mother felt… She felt that you were important, or one day would be. She never did explain better than that.”

“Though I believe I can,” Jerra offered. “I noticed something else when you were doing your clean up task just a few minutes ago. You are a small little thing- Maybe five foot three at best, height wise, and you can’t be more than 110 pounds. Yet you were lifting and carrying bodies that I know are 200 or 300 pounds, and lugging them around like it was nothing. Reynold said you’ve never done heavy lifting, so how do you do it? How did you carry weight over your shoulder that Reynold, a physically fit and healthy young man, would have trouble shouldering?” Jerra’s eyes were on me, and I got the distinct feeling that he was staring through me, into my soul.

That was an odd thought. What would it matter if he did? Was there anything there to see? Of course not. I was normal enough, I just must be stronger than I look. I said as much, and Jerra laughed.

“Just stronger than you look? Girl, that’s more than ‘stronger than you look’ by any account! No… There is something different, something special about you, and Reynold agrees.”

“You do things all the time that you don’t seem to be aware of or don’t seem to realize you’ve done. That cup you broke, two weeks ago? I tried for three days after to shatter its twin just by gripping it too hard, and I couldn’t. That cup was solid, one inch thick ceramic. Yet you crushed it in your hand. A month ago, you kicked a large rock and didn’t manage to hurt yourself, but did send the rock three feet from you. I managed to weigh that rock, and it was 70 pounds of solid rock. How didn’t you shatter your foot? How did you make it go so far?” He smiled, seeing bewilderment on my face, and shook his head. “There’s more. You were never taught to swim, had never seen anyone swim, yet you saved my friends daughter when she wandered off the dock last year. What’s more… You were completely dry. She was soaking wet, couldn’t explain how you’d managed to pull her back up onto the dock that set three feet off the water, and you were dry as stone. That’s not normal, girl.”

“All I did was reach for her. I fell in myself and managed to pull us to the dock and climb up,” I answered, frowning. “I don’t know how I dried off so fast. But you know I climb really well. The rock was odd, but surely not that odd. And the cup was just weakened- You’d dropped it the day before. There was a chip out of it.”

“The cup with the chip out of it is the one still in the cabinet,” Reynold countered. “If you don’t believe me, I can’t force you to. But I know you are special. For that reason, we are going to the capital.”