by Nelson, J P
All around the Jutte’s it felt like eyes were watching, but we weren’t attacked.
We then reached the Clements River and traveled parallel to the east until getting through Clements Gap. From there we followed the river to its point of origin at the Phabeon Sea and continued north around the eastern side of the Jutte’s.
When I first saw the Phabeon I just stared. I remembered the tales momma told me tales of elvin civilization and the City of Phabeous which once governed the land. It had been a paradise long ago, but the ruins were now all under water. What it must have looked like, I wondered. In the distance all I could perceive in the horizon was a beautiful sea.
The days turned into weeks and I lost all track of time. It was all the same to me now, anyway. The travel was always precise and well planned. Riding time was balanced with walking and we traveled six days with a full day of rest on the seventh. This had nothing to do with religious observations, Stagus simply wanted to make sure his animal and slave stock were in good condition.
Food was always well prepared and we watered regularly. Whenever we bedded down Stagus would always inspect each of the slaves for health, but he never touched any of us. He did seem to give me a little more attention than the others. A couple of times I would notice one or two of the guards give each other a knowing look.
There were now thirty-four of us in chains, but I was the only one with pointed ears. My wounds healed quickly and my strength had completely returned. I was still the outcast and when I ate, I ate alone.
Often my thoughts would go back to my momma and our nights beside a warm fire. Looking at the night sky I would remember her pointing out the many stars and telling me the names of constellations. Her favorite was the constellation called The Archer. This was an elf, she said and he resided in the southern sky. His drawn bow and arrow ever pointing the way due north.
I missed my momma dearly, her smooth voice and the calm way she had about her. How I wished I could just talk to someone and have them not look at me like an infection.
It’s a bad feeling to be a misfit even among misfits. These humans were already forming friendships, but me; I felt like a child looking through a window into a room of happy people, only I wasn’t allowed inside. It was like suffocating but being allowed to breathe just enough to stay alive. I think I would have rather been back in that box, at least I wouldn’t see what was going on that I couldn’t be a part of.
I learned to listen to their conversations and could detect three distinctly different dialects. I found I had a natural talent to learn words and mimic their accents. The most common language used among Stagus and his crew was the Lohngish tongue. To hear Lohngish used for the first time, it seemed to have a much broader scope of terminology with a somewhat smooth sound; quite different from the more guttural sounds of the Gevardic language. I would learn that, predominately, only people of Gevard spoke this language, consequently making it an uncommon tongue.
One of the slave boys, a mid-teen called Hamges, heard me repeating syllables to myself one evening at camp. He seemed to swear at me, and then threw a clod of dirt my way. The whole idea of this human boy, also a slave, trying to provoke me rekindled my smoldering anger. We met eyes and held a moment. The challenge was there; his insolence and my seething anger, his need to prove himself tough and my need for vindication. Nothing happened that night, however.
As the journey continued I noticed communication developing between Hamges and Stagus. And then Hamges began spending occasional nights in Stagus’s wagon. Hamges still journeyed with the rest of us and seemed to gain no special treatments. But if the others ignored me before, they seemed to avoid me now. What was worse, for me, was now every time I heard laughter it seemed it was directed at me. Hamges and all the rest were making me the butt of their jokes. All, that is, but one tall, big boned boy who looked to be about thirteen or fourteen years old named Jared.
This Jared was kind of gangly, with oversized hands and clumsy feet. He had a dark complexion with a long, ragged shock of almost black hair falling over his eyes. He was a newly captured slave, I gathered, but he still had spirit. Even though he was younger than most, he was as big as some of the grownups. When he talked he had a really clean and cultured accent and he seemed to be accepted, even respected by some of the other slaves.
When I looked around at the laughter directed at me, though, I saw he wasn’t part of it. I think he found the jokes funny at first, but then he caught the look in my eye and I noticed the humorous smile slowly leave his face. We locked eye contact, he and I, and my expression was as if to say, ‘How would you feel if …?’
After that it was as if he wasn’t sure what conclusions to draw about me, like he was trying to understand what I was thinking. He still, however, kept his distance.
The road north was not easy and as the terrain grew worse we were all fitted with shoes. The guards were always wary and scouts went out regularly. Often the road paralleled the Phabeon Sea, but was not very smooth much of the time.
Thrice we were attacked by denizens of the Wilderlands, the name of the Sahrjiun’s south-east regions bordering the sea. These were my first actual experiences with orgs, a hideous humanoid creature averaging about six feet tall, hairy, dirty and with facial features resembling a cross between a baboon, gorilla and an opossum. It was said they were as intelligent as a mentally challenged human and the result of a wizard’s experiment gone wrong. The name org was a play on the creatures called ogres, but they weren’t connected in any way.
Orgs are more intelligent than ogres, live in nomadic tribes, are fierce warriors, indiscriminate as to what flesh they eat and can be encountered anywhere along the regions west of the Phabeon. Again, Stagus’s team was well trained and we made it to a seaside settlement called Valiedo.
There we met with more of Stagus’s guards, eight more wagons of supplies and tools and more slaves for him to look over. These new slaves were mature human males and numbered about forty-five to fifty. With our additional losses, due to the org attacks, this brought our total number up to about seventy-five or eighty slaves.
Most of the new slaves were vagabonds and ruffians caught in crimes; sale into slavery being not exactly uncommon as a criminal punishment. After these were inspected and approved of, we were issued clothing and blankets for the colder climate and continued on. We picked up more supplies in a tent settlement called Stuches, and spent a day and night on the outskirts of the foothills town, Kynear. Finally we arrived at our final destination, a region called the Tremount Valley.
Tremount was a wild and dangerous region of the eastern Sahrjiun’s. Here, Stagus was involved with building a section of a new trade route. This route would connect the city-state of Dahruban, which was located at the southernmost coast of the Alburin Sea, with various lands to the south and through a pass in the Sahrjiun’s to connect with the western lands. Up to now trade and travel down the western Phabeon coast and Clements River was scarce. This new route would allow for forts, walled settlements and all the travel protections that come with them.
Stagus planned to move up and through the Tremount Valley, deep into the Black Aggie Mountains, eventually reaching a place called Sahnuck Pass. On the other side of this pass ran the Sahnuck River. The Sahnuck would eventually flow past the Stonebridge Citadel, which Herrol said our ancestors, excuse me, his ancestors built.
This was where Stagus had been successfully making a road for around ten years. He had left to pick up custom made tools from Gevard and bring some new slave boys for training.
We were about two days from Tremount when we were hit hard by a well organized force of brigands. The attack was sudden and some of the guards went down fast. Catapults were used to send flaming missiles our way and I saw magic used for the first time. An ugly creature suddenly appeared in the midst of us and started swinging a huge ax, instantly cleaving the head from a horse one of the guards was riding. Then I saw a bolt of lightning streak through our ranks and took out eight or ni
ne guards at one time. The stench of burnt flesh filled my nostrils and the scream of electrocuted guards near us rang through my ears.
The livestock went berserk and mayhem was all around us. Most of the slaves were riding the wagons at this time and our driver took a lance through the body. The team of mules took off bucking and jumping and we found ourselves being bounced off the road. The mules ran through some rocks and I heard a splintering crash. One of our wheels shattered and then the wagon rolled into a small ravine. Eight of us were in the wagon and I saw one boy, a black headed fellow named Vyet, get caught in between the bars and his neck snapped like a twig in the roll. Another boy hit his head hard on a rock as the wagon rolled, and I could tell from the way he flopped in the rolling he had been instantly killed.
A tall and lanky fellow, Rajan, was bruised but landed fine when we finally came to a stop. I managed to come out all right, but Jared was in the wagon as well and his leg looked to be broken.
I hated humans, hated them in a bad way. But sometimes you do things without thinking, like when I was climbing that curtain, and this was one of those times. As the wagon came to a stop we could hear the fighting still going on. Rajan was in a panic and cowering against a corner.
I am not going to say that I wasn’t scared, I was. But right then was a time for action. I was in a cage and fighting was going on in the distance. The cage construction was of high quality and the gate didn’t break open, so we couldn’t escape. But Jared’s left thigh was horribly bent in a way that it shouldn’t go. He was clearly in pain, but unlike the panic stricken Rajan he was keeping his wits about him.
Without asking, I helped Jared sit up and then took his knee in the crook of my left arm. Setting my left foot carefully into the straddle of his right thigh, I thought of my momma and the Family Secret she would practice on me. When I tried it on momma it didn’t work, and it probably wouldn’t this time, either. But I wrapped my left hand up and over my right elbow with my right hand down directly over the broken place in a figure-four position.
Jared looked at me through his pain-wracked face and I heard him groan, but we made eye contact for just a second and he grabbed the wagon bars. Closing my eyes, I focused on the thought of my momma and how she would touch me. I could feel the shattered bone moving in the grip of my arms, and I knew his leg would probably have to be amputated.
What happened next I couldn’t have explained and it isn’t like I made him completely well, but I gently pulled while thinking of my momma’s hands. I felt a slow sensation of heat rise up through my chest, into my arms and the bone fragments seemed to come back together with a sickening sputtering sound and Jared yelled. Well, actually he screamed. But when I let go, the leg stayed in place and I felt a strange dizziness mixed with a nauseated exhaustion.
When the battle was over, it was Stagus who made it to the wagon first. Rajan was still sobbing uncontrollably in the corner and had noticed nothing. Another slave boy was impaled and dead on a stick poking up through the wagon bars and a seventh was folded over backward with blank eyes looking up at the sky. A red headed fellow, who was simply called Red, had been cleanly knocked unconscious.
Jared’s leg was bruised something awful and he was clearly in pain. But when they got the doors open he was able to stand up and walk out on his own. He walked with a limp, mind you, but he walked. Rajan never really knew what happened and Jared didn’t speak a word. But when he looked back and we made eye contact, I could see he had finally made up his mind about me.
There were several casualties among Stagus’s party and there had been around a dozen losses among slaves. But he wasted no time in recovering what he could and getting us back on the trail. Despite the danger, Stagus did not rush through the remainder of the journey. That isn’t to say he took his time.
We weren’t allowed to speak or make any unnecessary noise during the rest of the trip. Everyone stayed on edge and crossbows were kept at the ready. When we camped the wagons were driven into a circle. Slaves and livestock were kept in the center. We made what was called a dry camp, which meant no fire. Tea was steeped cold and we ate rations.
Why Stagus said it to me I don’t know. Perhaps it was just an absent means to communicate with someone while making his evening rounds. Maybe it was just to practice the Gevardic tongue. As he passed by me he paused and said, “Never be in too much of a hurry. Keep your head even in dangerous territory, especially in dangerous territory. It’s when you get in too much of a hurry that you make your biggest mistakes.” He spoke as if making a passing remark, but I have always remembered the importance of what he said.
Hamges was only slightly injured, but there were no more evenings spent in Stagus’s wagon. Stagus didn’t spend much time in his wagon, himself, for that matter.
With his numbers down I noticed he pulled watches like all the others. He took a turn at collecting wood as well. Apparently Stagus wasn’t above pulling his own weight and doing what needed to be done. It was something else to remember. He wasn’t just a boss man. Stagus was physical, very powerful and moved like a cat.
That is when I started to pay close attention to people, their habits, how they moved and their body language. I learned how to determine strengths and weaknesses just by watching someone’s methods and mannerisms. You never knew when you might need to know these things. You just never knew.
Chapter 11
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THE SLAVES WHO had been problematic before the fight with the brigands had by now lost any signs of resistance. Hamges made it a point to play up to Stagus and a few of the other guards whenever the chance provided itself. It became clear Hamges was one of those who chose the path of least resistance. In an attempt to make life easy on himself he had elected to become a human toilet for the wiles of those who would never respect him for it. I never cease to be amazed at those who think they are actually advancing their status in life by taking apparent moral shortcuts. In the end it never works out. What is tragic is these people never seem to get the idea.
Jared seemed to keep his spirits up and I noticed he kept reciting things to himself. It sounded as if he were speaking poetry, well rehearsed poetry at that. The rhythm of his recitation was smooth and his voice had a pleasant quality … until it squeaked a couple of times. Well, it wasn’t exactly a squeak, more like a sudden drop.
We weren’t sitting close the first time I heard it, but we weren’t far apart and he was alone. He looked over at me suddenly, apparently to see if I heard. He looked embarrassed, but after our eyes held again, he smirked with a shy chuckle. I couldn’t help but smirk, myself, but when I started to chuckle I caught myself. For a moment I had forgotten to be miserable for the rest of my life. Jared’s voice drop was funny, though.
One of the adult slaves, a broad shouldered brute without teeth called Ghyd, was all the time smiling to himself and mumbling. The guards acted as if they thought him insane, but as long as he made no loud sounds they left him alone.
When we finally reached Tremount I’ve got to admit that, although I seemed to be in for a life of hard labor, I was somewhat relieved. The camp was almost a small town made of tents. There was a saloon, a café, several bunkhouses, an open smithy and a supply tent.
The slaves were kept in thin walled, wooden shacks. One of the smaller shacks is where I was taken, along with some of the other new boys. Among them was Hamges.
Everything was smooth for the first couple of days and nights. There were ten of us in that shack, but the others left me alone, at first. We were introduced to chow time, morning and evening inspections and lights out. We got to take a bath under improvised shower barrels and were issued hard-soled boots, gloves, cloaks and bedding. Basically we were processed into the camp in a manner not unlike military recruits of some city-states and countries.
I staked out a corner of the shack and minded my own business, waiting to see what was going to happen about us slaves. Apparently we were being allowed to rest up from the trip.
/> After the evening inspection on the third night we turned in to get some sleep. I found my bedding had been filled with human waste. Turning around I saw Hamges smiling proudly with the other boys standing on either side of him. He began talking to me like some kind of tough guy and started opening the front of his pants while his comrades laughed and jeered. The other boys started to spread out a little and it was clear they were all worked up. In the years since, I’ve learned this was commonly referred to in prison camps as Initiation to Pecking Order.
Most people don’t like to acknowledge this sort of thing happens but it does; and I was being introduced to it first-hand.
I had seen human male nudity before as a slave on the plantation. My momma taught me not to make humor of someone’s physical impairments and shortcomings, but it has never made sense to me why human males enjoy standing around comparing themselves with each other. Hamges was less impressive than most human males I had seen. Furthermore, he was wasting his time telling me his intentions because I had no clue what he was saying. His intent, however, was clear.
Why do humans insist on talking up what they plan to do? Is it to build up their lack of courage? Do they think it adds intimidation to the situation? Whatever ... my actions caught them completely by surprise.
Instead of standing there and getting scared, I drove my right shoulder straight into Hamges’s midriff. I didn’t try to take him down; instead I plowed him all the way across the shack and into the front door. Those shacks weren’t built to withstand violence from within, but for shelter from the elements. The door was made of old wood and it busted as we hit it. It didn’t cave in, but it buckled outward just enough.