Chapter II - Drudgery

“Hurry up there! Pick up your feet!”

Zoe silently glowered at the slave trader who rode by and took his place beside Terrance Grant at the front of the line of slaves. It was just past mid-day. There were thirty slaves, counting Zoe, guarded by over a dozen of the traders. Yesterday evening three fresh captives had arrived, one of them a little girl who looked to be no more than seven. Zoe had longed to throw a solid punch at the cruel man who brought the tearful, pale girl in and shoved her down to the ground.

Apparently, the last three prisoners had been all the slavers needed to fill their quota: early that morning all the slaves had been prodded awake and forced to begin marching northward.

Zoe had not slept well, having been up most of the night struggling to come up with a plan of escape. Besides the difficulty of having three women attached to her, a new kink was thrown in her planning: Grace. The seven-year-old girl had been tied to their rope soon after being brought to camp the day before. Grace did not say very much, her large brown eyes wide and brimming with uncertainty and fear. Zoe felt sorry for her but helpless to do anything about the situation. And now, even if she did come up with a plan of escape, it would have to involve Grace, who was not fast nor quiet enough to suit any endeavor that required stealth and speed.

She had glimpsed one of the dreaded dogs Marissa had mentioned yesterday, a big black brute with long teeth and a perpetual growl deep in his throat. Zoe could understand why the other women didn’t want to try to escape if those dogs would be released onto their trail. But if they planned it right, she wagered they could get to safety without the dogs catching them.

By the end of the morning, the long march combined with lack of rest had put Zoe in a foul temperament. Her anger simmered, barely controlled. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice warned her to keep calm, but the longer she looked at the arrogant traders who held her captive, the more she wished she could unloose her fury.

She was usually levelheaded, if somewhat stubborn. However, the word slave was repulsive to her pride and freedom-loving nature. She had never cared for the quiet “guardian” she and her siblings had been under—Maeron Duard—and though she hated the disconnection from her siblings, Zoe was glad to be free from Duard’s influence. Now, bonds chaffed at both her wrists and the control she had briefly held over her life. She thoroughly wished she had never come down from the Cirthian Mountains. If she could not escape and was sold as a slave, she would forever be denied the freedom that she sought.

Deus, she wearily thought. I humbly beg You to help me. Sam believes in You and speaks of Your power. I think I believe too, but I’m not sure. Please, give me a way out of this situation. I need Your assistance, or I shall be lost. Her soundless prayer was tinged with desperation, a raw cry from her mind to the Lord.

Despite how sheltered she was growing up in Braedoch, she had still understood that most of the rest of the world did not commune with Deus on a personal level. Not even all her siblings did. Aiden did not, nor did Arnan. She did not think that Ilara was especially dedicated in her walk with the Unseen One either. But then others, such as Sam, Wren, and Taerith had such quiet confidence in Deus that Zoe had to believe that He listened and cared.

When traveling through the High Pass, she had come across a couple monasteries secluded in the mountains and seen monks and a group of nuns on pilgrimage. Their faith reflected most of the rest of the worlds’: Quiet awe and little communication between individual and God.

Aiden had taught Zoe and her siblings differently; while they were to maintain the sense of awe that accompanied a relationship with Deus and Christus His Son, they also were free to speak to Him openly.

This was how their parents, Isaak and Lydia, had communed with Deus and Christus. Zoe did not remember her parents. Daelia had once told her that Duard had been responsible for their deaths when Zoe and Sam were still infants, but she had never heard more.

Aiden, as the oldest, had taken it upon himself to teach the siblings the faith of their parents, but Zoe had recently discovered that Aiden did not actually believe what he taught. That threw her into confusion; she wondered if she should place her trust in the unseen Christus or not. She knew He was there; yes, she was certain of that. Nevertheless, knowing He was there and giving Him her trust that were much different things altogether. Her trust was a gift that Zoe did not bestow lightly.

She exhaled and continued marching. Her leather pouch bounced against her leg with each stride she took. Now wasn’t exactly the time to be thinking about religion. Keep thinking of how to get out of here. Don’t resign yourself to your fate, she told herself sternly. You have to be strong. If not, you’re never going to be free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They emerged from the forest early the next morning and started across the plains, which were crisscrossed with farm fields and small villages. Farmers would hardly stop their hoeing to watch them pass before returning to their toil without a second thought. Slaves from Aerilya were a common sight and had been for the last twelve years. Nothing in this batch was anything that they hadn’t seen in the one before, or the one before that. For them, life continued as normal.

Zoe continued to march steadily, though scant rests and little food caused fatigue to come quicker than she was used to. Her body was hardened with muscle after living in the mountains for so long, but she had been able to pick her pace there, too. After a six days of traveling strenuously, Grace was stumbling along, barely able to pick up her feet. Her face was marked with utter weariness and tears had left muddy tracks down her cheeks. Her brown curly hair was pulled back with a ribbon that looked wilted; her skin was fair and suffered under the still hot rays of the early autumn sun.

“Come on, Grace,” Zoe encouraged under her breath. “You can do it. It’s close to midday. We should be halting soon.”

Grace looked up at Zoe with her star-like eyes. They resembled great pools of sadness in her face. “I am so tired,” she said. “I need to rest.”

“We’re all tired,” Zoe replied. “Don’t think about how much longer we have to go until tonight; think about how far we have gotten already today, and what a short distance it will be until lunch break.”

Grace attempted to smile. “You sound like my sister Riana. She’s always happy about something, no matter how dreadful things are.”

Zoe forced a laugh. “I’m not as optimistic as you may think me to be.” She hesitated; wondering if bringing up family would be wise. “Where is your sister now?”

“In Bristol, one of the cities in Aerilya,” Grace explained. She bit her lip and concentrated on her steps for a moment. “I was traveling to see her. My parents…” her voice trailed off and ended in a small sniff. She finished in a whisper, “My parents died last month and I was going to live with Riana in Bristol. She’s been married for almost a year now. I fear she will go mad with grief when I do not come.”

I understand, Zoe thought, her throat thick with her own emotions as well as empathy for Grace. I know what it is like to feel loss.

Rebekka spoke from behind her. “Perhaps you will have a good master or mistress,” she suggested. “They might let you contact your sister and receive a reply from her. Maybe even one day they will free you and you will be able to see Riana in person once more.”

Grace brightened a little. “That is a good idea, Rebekka. Perhaps I shall be able to write her.”

Not likely. Zoe kept the thought to herself, not wishing to dampen Grace’s moment of joy. With Aerilya and Elangsia such bitter foes, it would be unusual for a slave girl to be allowed to write a letter to her sister in the next country. Zoe bit her lip.

“How old are you, Zoe?” Grace asked curiously.

“Nineteen,” Zoe replied.

“Just nineteen or nineteen and a half?” Grace persisted.

Zoe smiled faintly. “Nineteen and a half. My birthday is in January.”

Grace nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do you have an older sister, Zoe?” Her voice turned melancholic again. “If you do, they must be rather old. Still, I think that older sisters are the best. But then, I do not have a younger one to know what it is like.”

A lump formed swiftly in Zoe’s throat and seemed to expand, choking her voice. She swallowed hard and said in a low voice, “Yes. I have four sisters, all of them older.”

“Truly?” Grace exclaimed.

Marissa spoke up from beside Rebekka. “Four sisters? Didn’t you all fight terribly? I just have one and we used to struggle with each other constantly.”

A cheerless expression crept over Zoe’s face. “We did not fight overmuch,” she replied. “Perhaps that is because I did not spend a great deal of time with them. They often paired off with each other so I was more often in the company of my twin, or my oldest brother.”

She sighed. Now I wish more than ever that I never would have turned down time spent with Wren to practice tracking, or Ilara to learn more of archery. Aquila could have shown me some hidden beauty that I usually would rush past. I might have even discovered how to bake bread from Daelia, had I the patience and foresight. Now I shall never learn to do so without burning it to a cinder. She smiled wistfully as she thought of the loaves of bread that Daelia had left for Zoe and the rest of her siblings to take with them on the morning of their departure. Now, my opportunities with them are gone. Perhaps forever.

“You have a twin?” Rebekka asked, having picked up on Zoe’s reference to Sam.

“Yes. His name is Sam.”

“Where is he now?”

If only I knew. “Far from here,” she said simply.

“I had a twin,” Rebekka continued after a moment. “She died when we were seven.”

“I’m sorry,” Zoe said, surprised at the pang of sorrow she felt at the woman’s quiet words. Perhaps it was because she had now tasted the bitterness of separation from Sam. It was terrible feeling. She knew from experience that she could not dwell on it much longer or she would lose heart completely.

She looked up and glanced across the expansive wheat field in front of them. “What is that on the horizon, Tryna?” She had learned that Tryna was the most knowledgeable about the terrain, cities, and roadways of Elangsia. She attributed it to the fact that the twenty-nine-year-old had grown up as the daughter of a mapmaker. Maps of the region had surrounded her as a child.

Tryna had not spoken for some time but lifted her head and squinted into the distance without objection. Her face was suffused with fatigue. “That is our destination,” she said after a moment of study.

“Ruma?” Marissa asked, her tone fearful.

“Yes,” Tryna replied laconically. “Before we reach it we will have to go through or around a smaller city, called Nimlaem. Then we will reach the capital city of Elangsia and location of the largest commerce hub in the region.”

Meaning, the largest slave market around, Zoe thought grimly. She had worked hard throughout the last week of captivity to keep her mind sharp and alert. The dull monotony of each day was like a hatchet that kept chopping away at her resolve. Slowly, steadily, she would succumb to it if something didn’t change. She had already seen the others yielding to it. Marissa’s dull eyes and the listless expression on Rebekka’s beautiful features as they plodded on without speaking spoke more eloquently than words of their mute acceptance. For them, their fate was already laid before them; Zoe did not want to lie down and accept her enslavement. But already, weariness was seeping away her resolve.

“We have to act soon,” she murmured.

The women and Grace stared at her; all of them knew what she was referring to. “Oh, Zoe, why do you keep bringing it up?” Marissa asked mournfully. “Escape is just not possible!”

“It’s even more impossible if you’re tied to four other people who don’t want to help you,” Zoe pointed out with a frown. “I refuse to be a slave. I’m a fair shot with a throwing dagger, and can wield a sword to some extent. If we escaped tonight and brought some weapons with us, we could make it back to Aerilya, I’m sure of it.”

“If we escape tonight,” Tryna observed dryly. “And if we found some weapons.”

“Yes, if. But our chances of freedom are even less likely inside that big city we’re heading toward.”

“But, Zoe—” Rebekka stopped speaking as a slaver rode past, accompanied by two of the dogs. After they had passed to a safe distance ahead, she finished in a lower tone, “We would not make it back to Aerilya before they caught us. I would rather take my chances as a slave then throw away my life on a small hope for freedom.”

Grace asked, “You know how to use weapons, Zoe? I thought only men learned such things.”

Again, Zoe was reminded of her unorthodox upbringing. “All my sisters and I learned how to use weapons,” she replied quietly. “You should see my older sister Ilara with the bow or Wren using her dagger. I’m not nearly as good as they are, but at least I know which end of a sword to grab.”

“Do you think we could run away without being caught?” Tryna asked in a low voice, glancing around for nearby slavers.

Zoe nodded, growing more determined as she talked about it. “Yes, I do. We’d have to plan it carefully, but it could be done.” To prove her point, she held up her hands surreptitiously. “See? I have been working on my bonds for the last week, since we started across the plains. They are now loose enough to slip off.”

“Really?” Marissa looked amazed. “Mine are far to tight!”

“So were mine, before I started loosening them. If I was able to get free, I could find a knife and loose you all tonight too.”

“What about my husband?” Tryna asked quickly.

Zoe hesitated. “I don’t think we could get him too,” she finally answered slowly. “It’s going to be difficult enough with five of us, and we cannot go to the men’s side of the camp too. We would have half a dozen of them begging to come along, and I cannot risk waking Grant.”

“I won’t go without him,” Tryna said. Her eyes were shuttered and emotionless but her tone was final. “I would rather become a slave then leave him.”

Zoe didn’t want to leave Tryna at the camp. She realized that Grant would interrogate Tryna about the direction that Zoe, Marissa, Rebekka, and Grace were going when they left. Tryna would probably not talk for a while, but depending on the force they used on her, she would probably eventually tell Grant everything. It was a probability that Zoe couldn’t take a gamble on.

“Tryna, wouldn’t you be more help to him as a free woman? This slavery has been ongoing for many years now; isn’t there some way to get captives in Elangsia back to Aerilya? Are there prisoner exchanges or anything like that?”

Tryna hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, there are ways for slaves to make it back to Aerilya. But I will not leave Gavin here without me, even if there is a way that he might eventually escape.”

“How do the slaves get away?” Zoe questioned, curious.

“There is a man, often call the Hunter,” Tryna said in a low tone. “He lives in the forests of Mairbrac, where we were captured. He has a band of men who follow him, and they attack Elangsian outposts and knights and free Aerilyan slaves when they come across them.”

“He frees slaves?” Zoe asked quickly. “Does he have a name, other than the Hunter?”

“Shut yer traps,” a loud voice called to their left. One of the slave traders was glaring at them. “Now’s not the time for talkin’. I suggest you put yer thoughts on workin’ them legs of yours harder, so that we reach Ruma faster.”

Zoe resisted the urge to glare fiercely at him and silently walked on. “Did he hear what we were talking about?” She asked Rebekka under her breath.

“I don’t know. I pray not.”

They fell into silence. A few minutes later, a halt was called, and a meager meal was dispersed. Zoe ate her portion of stale bread slowly, her thoughts churning. Who was the Hunter? Why did he free the slaves? How did he do it? And what is his name?

Shaking her head, she concentrated on choking down the rest of the bread. Perhaps later she could find this “Hunter.” Until she was free, however, she would not be finding anybody. She flexed her hands thoughtfully, studying the loosened rope around her wrists. It would be so easy to slip them and dart away. She sighed. Easy, but singularly foolhardy. There isn’t any place to hide around here. Flat, freshly planted agricultural fields surrounded them; a few houses were in sight, but they would do her little good if she wished to secrete herself. And to the north, Ruma awaited.

Besides, I can’t just leave them, she thought, looking at the four others bound to her with the same rope that restrained her. Grace and Marissa both looked so helpless; Tryna looked saddened but hard; Rebekka reminded Zoe of a wilted rose—beauty that was fading more each day, crushed beneath the boot of the slavers. Zoe knew that she couldn’t abandon them, but if she remained, they would never escape.

How can I choose between my freedom and staying with them? A foul sensation roiled in Zoe’s midsection. It is too terrible of a choice. She did not know what to do or think. And with Ruma coming closer, she knew her time for decision-making was growing thin.

“Deus,” she whispered almost inaudibly. “Please…help me.”