4 Temptation

Mareos Agnew, Founder of Mareovosa - I wanted to make a paradise of learning. I created a hell for lost souls instead.

I didn’t know I had fallen asleep till after I woke up. I lay on the cotton cloth I bit into earlier. With the faded wood, splintered and rough, pushing against my back. My fox cloak covers me with my mother’s harp sitting beside me. My forehead aches with a pulsing throb. The sound of conversation fills my ears as men joke with one another about the nagging of housewives or gossip about royalty.

The scent of peppered meat and grilled vegetables comes in, making me stand. A grueling hunger explodes from my stomach like a keg of gunpowder, so I hop towards the smell.

A pair of shackles pulls at my ankles before I fall forward. I say while looking around, “Is anyone here? I’m starving. Please.”

After a few moments, a set of footsteps grows louder as one of the men breaks from the congregation of laughing guards. When he reaches the wagon, Dirk lifts himself by pulling the side of the wagon and jumping off one foot with athletic ease.

As he turns towards me, he places his hands on his hips while saying, “So you made it through the rite of passage aye? Good on yah. I don’t know how you got old Rahuul to give you your things back, but if you wouldn’t mind sharing, I wouldn’t mind knowing.”

I swallow a deep hatred as I say, “Eh, I’ll show you later. I need food first.”

He leans down with the key in hand, unchaining my binds while saying, “Now somethin I learned long ago that helped me deal with tough times hardships is this grain of truth. Life ain’t as bad as you believe it is.”

He leans his arm against his right knee continuing, “Besides, Rahuul has one last treat for you before you start working tomorrow. You’d best come get it.”

While he speaks, I grow even angrier, so I say, “I would hate to keep him waiting.”

He grins as he says, “You got some fight in you. Good. You’ll need that when you start working.”

After he stands up, Dirk nudges me forward, so I pace up to the edge of the wagon. I sit on the edge before rolling off as I turn. The ground pushes against my feet as I land, and the slaves and members of the caravan all crowd around four fires that dot around.

The light of the four fires flare into the sky. Wood pops and cracks in the flames as grasshoppers and cicadas buzz in the surrounding woods. A cool breeze passes by, brushing branches and leaves. A smoky, delicious smell lingers about like a lazy cat. Guards glance around, their eyes popping with life. Even the slaves enjoy the rest, although they chat with less animation.

Dirk leads me up to Rahuul who sits on a wooden case, enjoying some seasoned meat as he laughs with several of the other merchants and guards. When we reach within fifteen feet of him, he looks upwards, beaming his golden tooth. The slight glow of the gold yellows his other teeth, though I wouldn’t say so.

With that sleazy grin, Rahuul said, “Well now. You're already up and about?”

I shrug my shoulders, saying, “More or less.”

He replies while hushing the other guards, “Good, good. Now, I have an announcement to make everybody.”

He looks at me saying, “Kindly make your way over here.”

I trot over as he as he asks, “Now what is your name son?”

“Jack Donovan.”

“Well,Jack, when we found you, we also found the wreckage of what appeared to be a carriage and two graves. It doesn’t take a sorcery to figure out what happened.”

His words stab sadness into my gut like a knife while he puts his fat hands on my shoulders. Looking at me, he says,

“I know you suffered here. You told me that you knew how to play music, so I figure that for your first performance you might want to play a melody in their memory.”

My chest constricts while a lump of coal forms in my throat, burning like swallowing lava. Rahuul looks around while saying, “I may be a slaver, but I got a heart’n’soul too. I decided to let you give them a proper funeral. You can let them go with a speech lettin us know why you loved them. Would you like that?”

As he finishes, my eyes well with water. I hate this man with white hot fury, even if he meant well. Before I reply, he finishes, “Take your time now. Nobody here is forcing you to do this. I just wanted you to have the opportunity.“

This bastard’s using me so he looks like a decent human being. I peer at the ground saying, “Thank you for this. I won’t waste your gift.”

He nods his head saying, “Of course. Give us something special.”

My mother sang for many years, and both she and my father taught me music. While I won’t say I was a prodigy, I could string quite few songs, even the more complex ones. Rahuul knew nothing of this, so I would abuse his fake gift.

With revenge on my mind, his words inspire my icy spirit. My heart races in my chest. My palms sweat as my cheeks redden from nervousness. I let the memories of my life fill me. I face the suffering of my soul as I draw from from my boundless seas of sadness. With my mother’s harp, I share my pain.

So my fingers float across the strings like a sprite dancing across water. I let the memories of lightning and fire engulf me. The melody drowns my sorrow. The primal sound blares as the madness of desolation mangles my bliss. I give away my grief with each string. I let go.

The melody soaks in my melancholy, and with the music’s end, a deafening silence remains from my harmony’s fierce finale.

The mercenaries stare, amazed at the tune’s complexity, but they can’t understand. No slave remains untouched, with many weeping. They understand the weight of my burden. They understand the collapse of a family. Even the spineless piece of garbage, Rahuul, looks with wonder.

I finish with choking words, “That was the last song of my mother. Thank you for listening.”

I let myself go, crying like a newborn baby. The heartfelt sincerity of before shifts to shame. Members squirm with discomfort while Rahuul looks around with his hand behind his head. Several guards shift their feet as they gaze at the ground.

Caric says, “Your song reminds me of me mother to. She was something like...”

I lift my head finishing his statement with a muggy, grieving voice,

“Like a warm fire during a cold night.”

Caric nods in agreement closing his eyes as he daydream of his past. There’s something about sharing pain that lessens the burden. It already helped me more than I ever imagined.

Despite my thoughts, larger concerns surface as I say with near hysteria in my voice, “I don’t want to be like this, but I may actually be starving right now. Please let me eat something. Anything.”

Rahuul stands up with unnecessary vigor as he says,

“Why of course. Your beautiful display just left us speechless is all. We got our cook to season you a couple slabs of meat with some bread and even a stew to soften your meal.”

A man garbed in a dirty apron approaches him while saying, “We never planned a stew, sir.”

Rahuul looks him in the eye while saying, “Did you not hear me? The boy done laid out his soul Mel. The least we can do is give em somethin good to eat. Now go get started.”

As Mel grumbles off, Dirk walks up, slapping my back and saying, “You told me you could play. You never said you were any good.”

A small grin grows on my lips as I reply, “My father taught me.”

“Then he’d be proud. Let’s get you something to eat.”

With my ravenous hunger helping, the meal’s sheer deliciousness almost overwhelmed me. The vast amounts of meat I consume spike my tastes with pepper and salt. The meat’s silky texture melts in my mouth as my teeth tear through the soft, juicy morsel like trying to chew water.

After the meat and wine, the hearty, potato soup tastes of garlic and cumin. As I slop through the meal with gulping swallows and full bites, they place me with several slaves next to the central campfire. Within minutes, several guards come over, asking me to string a popular tune or simple rhyme.

The gruff, gritty warriors may lack refinement, but they enjoy the simple pleasures life offers to those who appreciate them. The discussions we share offer me company, keeping my mind off heavier subjects. With all the constant action, I can avoid dwelling on all the recent tragedy. It’s bad for the spirit if you think to hard and too long by yourself.

I busied myself with simple songs until the other members of the group settle down. Dirk herds us into our wagon, giving each of us each a gray, woolen blanket for warmth. As I lay down against the wagon’s hard, solid floor, I toss and turn, unable to sleep. Calric caught wind of it and showed me a way of sleeping where I rest on my back with my arms facing outwards.

My hands line up with my head like a pitchfork as I settle myself for sleep. Laying like this lets my shoulders relax, giving me a reasonably level and warm place. Exhaustion soon takes over, so I drift into sleep thinking of how today wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined it would be.

Tomorrow, however, would be different. I will be a beast of burden. Make no mistake, I will escape this place.

Slave or not, I will live a life worth living, even if I must abandon my humanity to do so.

The sun woke me while other slaves sat and watched it rise. The yellow light lifted over the horizon, slow and steady as a wise man’s patience. There they sat silent, watching the sun rise. A few prayed with their hands clasped while others stared. Even slaves hold certain rituals sacred. This custom was one of them.

The longer I looked, the more I understood why. Hues of red streaked across the horizon with wispy clouds catching sheens of yellow. The shades change as the sun rises through the sky till it burns bright, blinding and brilliant. For those few short minutes, the scars dotting the slave’s foreheads didn’t matter.

In a second, the illusion ended. Dirk dragged a stick across the edge of the wagon as he said,

“Get up and ready for breakfast. We got a lot of ground to cover today.”

With groggy steps and tired eyes, Dirk pulls himself up onto the wagon before unlocking our shackles. Because of my playing, most of the guards ended up drinking enough for hangovers. Dirk was no exception.

As if proving my thoughts, Dirk yawned overlong before saying, “Going to be tough one today. Lot’s of hills. We just reached the Mist Mountains.”

I whisper to Caric by leaning over and cupping my mouth, “So what does he mean?”

Caric shakes his head, saying, “They ain’t got horses. The beasts are too expensive for Rahuul, so us slaves drag the carriage instead.”

Pursing my lips, I say, “Doesn’t that seem...barbaric?”

“Aye, but it be practical as well since horses are so damn expensive to maintain. I wouldn’t worry about that. You gotta build yourself up to pushing all day. The first few weeks are grueling, but you youngins usually swell up as long as the slaver feeds yah.”

Once he finishes his words, I peer around at the other slaves. His words speak for themselves. Most of the slave’s arms bulge and shift as they move while veins show from under their skin. Their far fitter and far stronger than the guards who chain them.

I say, “Why stay here when you could outrun them?”

Caric sighs before saying, “You have to think of the consequences if we do. The brands on our foreheads make us their property as long as they got the papers and seals to prove it. The only reason he was able tuh brand you was because one of his younger slaves done died on the trip here. He’s using his paperwork for you.”

Caric continued as he rubbed his ankles, “You got unlucky there. Even if you do escape from these irons without gettin arrowed in the back, you’d just be strung up in the town or village you got to. Laws against escaped slaves are mighty harsh.”

I frowned as I said, “So you don’t escape because it means death?”

Caric looks at me surprised saying, “Uh, well...yeah.”

My frown deepened as I said, “Tell me, is a life in chains better than dying as a free man?”

Caric bit his lip before turning away. Caric’s rather wordy at times, but he means well, so I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Caric nodded before saying, “It’s alright...Honestly, it’s not a bad thing to ponder. I’ve been asking myself the same question for 56 years. Don’t know if I’ll ever find an answer.”

When we reach the chef, he serves us bread and water with a pinch of salt in it. Afterwards they put me in the back of a line up of slaves in front of the wheeled wagon. At its front, two bars extend out, with wooden rails lining the center.

The slaves and I brace these rails as guards gather around our sides. Caric says beside me,

“Be ready boy. You got to force the carriage to start rollin, else it's like we’re draggin the damn thing through mud. Make sure to pace yourself too, otherwise you’ll be exhausted with miles left to push.”

I nod my head preparing for the suffering and strain, yet the overwhelming oppression I expected dulls the actual abuse I receive. Just as Dirk said, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

The work is hard and long, but my bones remain straight. My muscles never melt. I live on as the sheer difficulty of the task kills my boredom. Instead of focusing on how unfair everything is, I just numb my thoughts and concentrate on pushing.

After an hour, my shoulders tire and my forearms grow numb from the continuous vibration of the wooden rails. Once I gasp for breath, Dirk walks up while saying,

“Alright. You done what you can silvertongue. Let someone else go on from here.”

I pace along the side of the caravan for hours longer until we stop for lunch.

As I eat bread with stewed beans, the morning shift of slaves rotates with another group of fresh ones ready for work. The guards patrol ahead of the convoy as we head out, each of them weary for trouble.

The actual number of the guards surprises me after watching the caravan work. Nearly one guard patrolled for every two slaves that pushed or walked. Of course the mercenaries acted as deterrents for a slave’s escape, but there must be some other reason for such strict security.

I couldn’t decide if it was animals roaming the forest or bandits on the roads. Despite the obvious dangers, the off duty slaves enjoyed their free time without feeling fear. While I walk with them, the slaves complain about their work, but their words lack the bitterness or venom that makes mutiny. Instead, their conversations lighten as we walk. They tell stories of their past while laughing at the silly mistakes or their small victories.

Once the day dies down, the caravan camps out nearly the same as before. However, I devastate the previous segregation of slaves and guards by playing songs as others clap or sing along. After the merriment, I use the pitchfork style of sleeping so even my nightmare filled sleep becomes comfortable.

This day mirrors the many that follow providing the same simple joys and pains. Though my muscles ache, my companions commit, creating a camaraderie that bolsters my own ambitions. I cannot grow here. This place is a pit, a pool of stagnant water grown rancid.

Each day shall pass just as the previous one did. I shall never receive opportunity nor inspiration. I only gain a life with my foot attached to a chain surrounded by idle men who await their own lonely, meaningless deaths.

Fortunately, Rahuul may not be a saint, but he gives us humanity. He feeds us well with hearty meals that fill our bellies. With each passing day, my endurance increases as the crippling soreness in my muscles becomes a minor throbbing rather than an ever present dull ache.

The fibers of my mind strengthen as I push and exert my body beyond what I believed possible. Once I gained enough strength that fatigue no longer holds me hostage, I plot my escape.

This is no hell, yet this is no haven either. Each day I am reminded of my own limits by Caric. He exists without change, living like a dog who heeds his master's orders without question. Unlike him, I shall choose to die as a human instead of living as a slave. After the first week, I use a long, thin piece of quartz I found along the road to grind the steel lock that chains me at night.

Overtime, I grind grooves on the inside of the shackle. Using crushed bloodroot and sumac, I make a dark dye that I rub against the inside of the metal every morning. This covers the shine of the unweathered iron.

Since I grew thin legs and small feet, it didn’t take long before I could slip out of the collar. The other members never suspect me. I grind so slowly and so smoothly that it makes no noise at night. Adding to the deception, I learn each of their names while playing with passion for their entertainment. Each day I volunteer to push at the front of the carriage where the brunt of the burden lies despite my weak constitution.

These acts make my deception surprisingly effective. Rahuul asks for my play as well since he eventually joins the slaves along with the other guards. After several months of travel and several cities past, my feet could slide in and out of the shackles with ease, and Rahuul trusted me absolutely.

With all this knowledge and preparation, the only obstacle standing between me and my freedom is an opportunity, but this proves the most difficult problem to solve.

Our sluggish movements prove nigh unbelievable. Even though escorting several tons of cargo with men cheapens the costs of the trip, the time taken is ridiculous. Literal months pass before we near a town large enough to actually buy the luxuries that Rahuul owns.

Now we near a city large enough to disguise my escape. If my plan succeeds, I will become the slave of a noble who will give me a chance at becoming a musician. While my chances are slim at best, I would rather stake my life on something greater than accepting my slow death here. I remember the words of my father.

A man chooses. A slave obeys.