by Katy Winter
The blizzard caught men at the very edge of the trail and tossed them off, to leave them dangling over the precipice held only by chains. If one slave went, the barkashads knew they'd lose long ranks of those attached. They heard the screams and fought their way back along the trail, half-blinded by the blizzard and lashing out with their whips at anything in their way.
They struck at Luton and tried to thrust him backwards. One barkashad cut the boy across his fingers. In sudden, unexpected pain the boy dropped the horse's reins and then accidentally knocked against the animal in an effort to steady himself before he, too, slipped on the icy slope. Panicking, the horse bolted, straight over the mountain face.
Luton stood paralysed. The blood from the whiplash froze on his fingers. He was bent double against the ferocious wind and all but blinded. He crouched down against the mountain wall hoping the storm would take him, because he knew how Shek would react to the loss of his horse. His terror made him unable to think, let alone attempt an explanation.
His anticipation of Shek's reaction was correct. It was dusk by the time the blizzard blew itself out and the caravans struggled on to where there was some shelter. Shek strode back to his slave to take back his horse. He found no animal, only a slave who shook so badly his teeth chattered with both fear and cold. The warrior stood on the trail, staring at Luton with such fury in his eyes the boy half-expected to be thrown over the edge to join the horse, only Shek's recognition that Luton represented wealth saving the boy's life. Luton suspected death would be preferable. Inside the cavern, Luton was spread-eagled against a wall by two warriors. The blizzard may have passed, but Shek's temper hadn't.
When he stayed his whip, Shek said through clenched teeth, "You will pay for the loss of that horse, Karek, do you understand?" He nodded at the warriors who held Luton. "Let him go."
Luton staggered, barely able to stand. It was only the tatters of pride that kept him erect. He'd bitten through his lower lip with pain as he'd done that day in Ortok and knew he bled both there and where the whip struck from buttocks to shoulders. Teetering, Luton loosely pulled up and belted his breeches. He waited, unable to make a move until Shek threw the boy his tunic and cloak with a gesture of contempt and dismissal. Luton limped slowly and painfully from the cavern.
The cavern was under a deep, natural outcropping that overlooked the mountains away to the north from whence they'd come. In it, the caravan would have a reasonably sheltered night. Edging out from the trail opposite the cavern was a promontory of ice that looked treacherous and that Luton, off balance, stumbled away from, his tunic and cloak clutched in one hand.
Unaware of the cold, he knelt at the edge of the trail to vomit. As he heaved for a second time Luton stared down into the dark depths that seemed much more inviting than the life he was forced to endure. He climbed stiffly to his feet. He stood on the brink and considered idly which foot to move to take him to oblivion. While he thought about it with his hands up to his mouth, he felt a hand touch his lacerated shoulder and flinched, almost overbalancing. Turning, and wiping a trembling hand across his mouth, he looked into the eyes of the older warrior.
"You were going to jump, Karek, were you not?" Autchek asked in a quiet and unthreatening voice. Luton didn't answer either by a nod or a shake of his head. "You lost Shek's horse in the blizzard, did you not?" Luton nodded. His eyes were still drawn to the chasm below. "Tell me how," invited the warrior, gently edging the boy back from the precipice and gesturing to Luton that the boy put on his tunic and cloak. With difficulty Luton obeyed, his fingers frozen.
The old warrior sat on the frozen ground up against a wall of ice and pointed to beside him. His eyes wide with fright and pain, Luton managed to slide down onto the ice.
"Now," began Autchek, "tell me." Luton pointed to his side, patted an imaginary horse, then pointed to his badly cut fingers, raising his other hand as if to strike. "A barkashad whipped you?" Luton nodded. "And?"
Autchek watched the simple mime, then sat as still as the boy who bent his head. The warrior looked hard at the hunched, skeletal boy, sighed before clumsily rising, and stood staring down at Luton, aware how cruelly and unjustifiably the boy had been chastised.
"Are you still going to jump?" he asked quietly.
When Luton didn't move, the old warrior left him. The boy curled miserably in his cloak, agonisingly aware of intense pain spreading down from his shoulders to his back and buttocks. He was not yet fourteen cycles. He cried soundlessly, the tears instantly freezing on his cheeks, gave up the unequal fight to survive and yielded to the cold.
When Shek crossed the cavern after dining he looked over to the slave's mattress, expecting to see the boy lying there. The mattress was empty. Shek frowned. Autchek didn't need to tell him the boy hadn't intentionally lost the warhorse.
"It was through no fault of Karek's, Shek. His fingers were cut with a whip. The horse bolted when the boy dropped the reins and slipped. You have very nearly killed that child for no good reason, slave or no."
As soon as Shek expended his fury he knew the severity of flogging was unmerited. In irritation both with himself and with Autchek for pointing out the obvious, he searched the cavern, then went outside back down the trail in the heavily falling snow. He had to walk carefully because the ice was treacherous and it was pitch dark. He found Luton where the older warrior had left him, the boy hunched and motionless. Shek gave him a very sharp kick. Getting no perceptible response, the warrior stooped and tried to pull Luton upright. With difficulty, he did.
The boy's eyes were glazed shut, his eyelashes and eyebrows rimed with ice. Luton's lips were blue and the warrior noticed the boy's breathing was shallow and extremely faint. Shek managed to get the boy to his feet, and, swearing vilely, carried Luton up the trail and into the shelter of the cavern. Luton was pushed on to Shek's mattress, where he lay crumpled and unmoving, the boy more dead than alive. Shek studied him for a moment, then left abruptly, to return moments later with a tankard of steaming orlos that he held to the blue lips.
"Open your mouth," he said sharply.
When Luton didn't respond the warrior went to one knee, lifted the limp head and tipped the tankard so some of the hot liquid poured through the boy's mouth. Luton licked his lips. His eyes opened and he blinked rapidly because the ice on his eyelashes felt strange. He looked fearfully at Shek, but saw only vexation rather than anger.
"Can you hold this?" Shek asked curtly, nodding at the tankard. Luton took it with trembling fingers that didn't grip very well. "Drink!"
The boy took another two mouthfuls, his hands warming against the tankard and the blue fading from his lips to white. The ice on his face melted quite rapidly and his breathing became easier.
"Finish it," he was instructed. Luton obediently raised the tankard again and drained it, placing it then in the warrior's outstretched hand. Shek put a finger to the boy's head and tilted it. "Why did you not tell me the horse bolted?" he demanded. Luton licked his lips again but refused to meet Shek's eyes. The warrior waited for an answer, but when one wasn't forthcoming, he roughly shook the young chin. "You do not stay immobile outside in these conditions, do you understand?" The hand holding the boy's chin tightened and Luton winced. Shek pointed with his free hand to Luton's mattress. "Go over there and stay there, Karek. You will doubtless have to sleep on your stomach and it serves you right, you young fool."
Shek released Luton who limped painfully to the mattress. He felt another cloak thrown over him before he heard Shek move away, drew in his breath when it made contact with his back and bit hard on his lower lip.
Luton endured one of his worst nights since he'd suffered fever. Where the whip cut burned with pain yet the boy couldn't get warm. Eventually, after fruitless attempts to neutralise the pain, and in utter desperation, he sprawled out, kept as still as he could and bit his tongue when the pain became too much. Tears soaked one end of the mattress.
At an early hour he couldn't bear any more and scrambled off the mattres
s, wincing because he'd stiffened overnight. He wrapped the second cloak round the first and stood shivering. He made no move for some moments, then, looking hesitantly at Shek's motionless figure he limped quietly away and carefully edged his way past recumbent bodies until he reached the cavern entrance. Like a gaunt shadow he went outside into the snow.
It was still dark and the air was bitter. Luton managed to painfully crouch and stared into nothingness, then found himself once more drawn across the narrow trail until he stood at the edge. He felt nothing except physical pain, the agony of the cuts and the constant ache engendered by both his rapid growth and the chilling cold. He wondered if he cared about anything and was unsurprised when he realised he didn't.
He continued to stand there as light touched the mountain tips, the sun casting a goldly pinkish haze that spread from peak to peak, the colour softened by the drifting, swirling snow. It made Luton feel insignificant. The chasm yawned sleepily below him. He thought again of rest, wished only to die, to be at peace, and at last, free from pain. He took a deep breath.
"You are up early, Karek," said a voice behind him.
Still Luton made no effort to move, merely tensing when he felt a hand placed very firmly on his hurt shoulder. Shek stood to one side observing him.
"Did you not sleep?" Still staring over the precipice, slowly Luton shook his head. "It would not necessarily be a quick death, boy." Luton caught his breath, briefly raising his head to look up and across at Shek whose eyes were full of amusement. "Would you really jump, Karek?" he asked coolly. He forced Luton to look directly at him. He read the answer, as he so often did, in the boy's large eyes. "Yes," he said with a faint whistle, "you would."
The warrior quietly pulled a chain from his breeches pocket, attached it to Luton's wrist, and turning away, gave the boy a sharp tug. Back in the shelter of the cavern, Shek pushed Luton roughly against the wall immediately inside the entrance, one large hand holding the boy pinned there. Luton squirmed inside.
"We shall talk," Shek said, coldly gentle. "Do you understand me?" Luton nodded. "We shall have to accept each other's word, will we not?" Puzzled, Luton stared up at the warrior, only to read nothing more than mild amusement and indifference. "Do you wish to be put back in the caravan?" Shek felt the boy stiffen and read blind panic in the black eyes. "Well?" Luton shook his head. "How else can I keep you chained unless you are put back into it, Karek?" Shek watched the boy struggle to speak then stand still, defeated. "Do I have to keep you chained again?"
The warrior could see the conflict quite clearly. The eyes showed the struggle. The terror of the caravan vied with the boy's wish to die.
"I want an answer," Shek said, so quietly the menace in his voice made Luton tremble. The boy shook his head, then lowered it in the slave sign of complete submission.
"Do they make promises where you come from, Karek?" Surprise brought the dark head up nodding. "Do they keep them?" The boy nodded again. The deep voice went very, very quiet. "Do you?" Luton shivered and it wasn't from the cold. He showed assent. "You know what I ask of you, Karek, do you not?" The head nodded a third time. "So you promise you will not jump from the edge, do you not?"
Grim-faced, Shek grasped Luton's chin with his free hand and made the boy look up, his ice-cold eyes staring into defeated dark ones. "Well?" Luton tried to nod but couldn't move his head. Shek continued to stare down at him. "If, Karek, I see any sign you contemplate it, you will regret you were ever born. I will not damage you so you are unsaleable, but, by the gods, you will be soundly punished. I think you know what that will mean. Do we understand one another?"
Seeing fear deep in the black eyes, Shek released the boy with a stern and knowing smile of satisfaction, unlocked the chain from about Luton's wrist and stood looking at the boy for a few moments.
"Go to Autchek to have your cuts attended to. You have much to do today."
Luton was jerked forward and pushed towards the old warrior who stood a short distance away, closely watching the boy. Humiliation and despair welled in Luton. He savagely dashed tears away. He promised himself he wouldn't cry. The old warrior sighed deeply. He felt the day wasn't far distant when this boy would no longer respond to emotion at all.
They were confined to the cavern for twelve days. They were easier for Luton, even if he was busy. Autchek tended the boy's wounds morning and night and gave him something to drink that helped ease the pain. The boy woke stiff every day for quite a while. The cuts healed and all Luton was left with was sensitivity to any touch and raised scars.
Shek was kinder to him in his rough way, calling Luton over from his mattress of an evening and teaching him to gamble. He was amiably cuffed when he made a mistake, but he never noticed it. Autchek watched the intense dark eyes as they carefully scanned the cards, Luton hoping he made the right move. For a slave to be given wine was unheard of, but Shek passed Luton a cup that he absently filled when he did his own and since it made the boy light-headed, some nights Shek had to guide him across the cavern. Luton was too unsteady on his feet to reach his mattress on his own.
By day Luton was never still, grooming and feeding horses, preparing food, emptying containers of refuse and cleaning out a part of the cavern. He was left alone to get on with his work and felt less stress than for quite some time. He was always a willing worker and obedient, so the other warriors never touched him.
Though he had his gambling winnings confiscated immediately because slaves couldn't own anything, Luton became a shrewd player very quickly. Shek even smiled at him with a marked degree of approval. By the time the weather cleared, Luton was back in his master's good graces.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Winter came fully to the mountains and as the season peaked, the conditions became atrocious. Slaves died, day after day. The weeks passed as the caravan continued the tortuous climb to the summit of the pass, and Luton's life stayed the same, the boy adapting to as much of a routine as the conditions allowed. He even got used to the cold, in as much as it became part of a slave's unbearable lot. Chilblains bled and seeped and Luton's cracked lips always bled, but he'd ceased to become aware of these things, his main discomforts being feet and hunger.
Only days away from the summit, the warriors again called a halt at a much smaller cavern because the weather showed signs of closing in once more. An incipient blizzard brewed. It looked as if it would be a long halt too. Luton, looking back down the trail at the file of slaves inching their way up the mountain knew that each section of the caravan would have to shelter in whichever cavern they were nearest.
He was ordered to assist getting the chained slaves under shelter. The slope was icy and dangerously slippery. From fear of falling, Luton crawled on his stomach, putting out a hand to support any of the slaves who needed help, and many of them, seriously weakened, did. Some were in a pitiful condition. He'd been ordered to cut loose anyone too far gone and to leave him on the trail, but knew if he did this a man would die quickly and his body would be tossed off the edge by the next ascending part of the caravan.
He couldn't do it. Sweating with effort, Luton helped to pull as each man or boy came closer to him. Towards the end of the line of slaves that would be brought up for shelter, Luton struggled to support the slave closest to him. At the same instant, the man next in line and behind, suddenly grabbed at Luton's arm and pulled the boy perilously near to the precipice. Luton's instinct was to let himself go, but he found he couldn't do that either.
Swearing silently he managed to crawl closer to the wall of ice, his hands still grasping the first man who made no effort to help himself. His chest heaving and aching, Luton bent over the slave only to find sightless eyes stare back at him. Luton breathed rapidly and shallowly in the thin air, and, nearly frozen himself, set about filing the man's chains. As he worked, with his teeth clenched against biting cold, Luton thought how lucky this slave was because for him it was all over. He didn't dare linger, because already he felt ice settle on his face and hair. He pushed himse
lf on.
He was almost at the end of the queue. When he heard a barkashad bawl down to him to leave any stragglers who would later be cut loose and tossed off the trail, Luton saw desperation etched on the faces of the last slaves he had to rescue. He pretended he didn't hear because there were only two more slaves to help up and into the cavern.
Deliberately, he crawled down to them, holding out his hands for them to lean forward, stretch up, and grasp. With all his strength he pulled, squirming backwards along the icy path. As he neared the cavern he paused, then gave a final heave and dragged the two men to the entrance and to safety. As Luton lay there, panting, he felt a whip crack across his back. He knew, as it hit, he was being punished for disobeying an order. Galvanised by searing pain across newly healed cuts, Luton drew his lips back in a snarl, his teeth bared as he staggered to his feet. To avoid being hit the two slaves crawled into the cavern as fast as they could.
Luton turned on the barkashad, one long thin arm grasping the arm that was upraised to strike him again. The boy and man swayed locked together while the assembled slaves watched, their exhausted faces showing awe at Luton's foolhardiness. The overseer was a large and burly man and very strong, whereas Luton was tall, weak and very thin, but driven by such rage he no longer cared what he did.
It didn't take the barkashad long to subdue the boy though Luton continued to fight once he was down. The barkashad called for support. Two barkashads hurried across in response. Finally, they had Luton spread-eagled on the cavern floor, flat on his back, his eyes spitting fire and bitter hatred. The first barkashad rose, his nostrils flared and eyes glittering with fury.
"I'm going to enjoy this, boy," he gloated, spitting down at Luton. Luton tried to turn his head but was held rigid. The spit trickled down one white, thin cheek. "You'll beg for death, my boy," the barkashad promised.
The whip was raised, but didn't fall. Opening dazed and exhausted eyes Luton saw Shek holding the barkashad's arm.
"I flog my own slave," the warrior said in frigid tones. He looked down at Luton and his lip curled. "Not much of a match for you, Bok, was he? Did it need three to subdue him?" The barkashad glared malevolently at Luton then turned resentfully to Shek at the contempt he heard in the warrior's voice. "What exactly did he do?"