It was gone. Kelton could sense no one. It had been leaking away day by day, and now the footsteps on the deck above were the only proof that there were others beyond the hold of the ship. He closed his eyes and forced his mind outward, trying to tease the sense out. Failure. It wasn't as disabling as he had thought it would be. Maybe it was a good thing. It had been the source of all his problems and a curse to others. Rebecca was alive, and it could be that it existed for her welfare alone and now it was done. It didn't look like he'd ever return to Aragonia again and the Brethren would have no reason to hurt others in his name. Letting it go was easier if he thought of it in terms of inflicting less pain in the world.

The ship had stopped the night before, and the motion of the sea had significantly lessened, almost to stillness. Kelton's stomach found itself wishing for the return of the undulations. It wasn't the same sickness he had felt at the beginning of the voyage, it was something different as if his insides had lost a predictable friend.

Yanda stirred in Kelton's arms and sat up, waking as he had only moments ago. She shivered in the early morning dampness and held out her hand, helping Kelton to sit up as well. Maneuvering around, she squirmed into his lap and pulled his arms around her and leaned into him. Kelton smiled and pulled her close, freely allowing her to use him as a human blanket. After all, she transferred as much heat as she took.

Yanda whispered something that Kelton had come to recognize as a thank-you. Or it could be a description of something good or an agreeable situation. He wasn't sure, but he picked thank-you because it felt better. It meant he had given her something of value that helped to offset the situation he helped to cause.

"I'm sorry," Kelton whispered back. Yanda's elbow playfully jabbed his ribs, and she leaned deeper into him. The words had become a friendly taunt, a response to her thank-you. She tilted her head back and gave him a tight-lipped grin. Half admonishment, half affectionate. They were friends, and it was more than Kelton could ask. He knew it wouldn't last, but it was enjoyable while it did. Other friends he might claim were an ocean away, or dead. This one was in his arms and maybe the last he would know.

A clamor of chains brought them to their feet. The crew, led by the Captain, approached the cells with long ropes interspersed with sets of short chains, each terminating in iron cuffs. The Captain spoke with the other cells, and their inhabitants reluctantly gathered at the back of the cage. One by one, the captured souls were cuffed to the ropes under watchful eyes and drawn swords.

"Our bargain nears its end," the Captain said to Kelton once the other cells were empty. "I have kept my word, will you keep yours?"

"Until I am sold," Kelton said, nodding in agreement. He thought of adding another threat, but it felt ridiculous even thinking of it. Intent was no longer his to sense. He was as likely to fall to an average swordsman, much less to the four competent blades that stood behind the Captain.

"And she will be peaceful as well?"

"I can no longer speak for her," Kelton said honestly. Yanda was as likely to throw herself on one of the swords as to go quietly. The Captain and Yanda traded words. It was evident that understanding was limited. In time, Yanda turned to Kelton and pulled his forehead to hers.

"Kelton Gossamer," Yanda whispered. Her butchering of Gossamer brought a smile to Kelton's face.

"Yanda Serinda Orctavia Onlain Grovicko Sabo Divarina Linbola Travici Bangala Wath Nab Fortuna Mina Mordico Yovia Aborocollo," Kelton said, surprised that he remembered the names with ease. Yanda smiled. He must have slaughtered the pronunciations as well. She turned to the Captain and said something that made the Captain's eyebrows rise.

"She says, your bargain is her bargain." The Captain shook his head and unlocked the cell. "Fools. The both of you are fools." He waved them outside. It was a few well-practiced moments before their hands were shackled to the rope and they were lead out of the hold. It was not the crews first delivery of slaves.

Kelton's eyes adjusted slowly to the sun. There were many more people than he had guessed. The sounds of the population, muffled by the hull, hit him full force once he climbed up into the open air. A jumble of shouting, ordering, selling, and talking. Much of it far past the planked wharf the ship was secured to.

The buildings were immense things of white. They looked as if they had grown from the ground without wood or rock. Molded like pots, yet squared with rounded corners. Some with windows stacked five high. Others short and open to the air, their roofs extended with fabric held taut to poles. Many more structures appeared to b growing up the hill toward the horizon.

Every color Kelton had ever seen on flowers were worn by the population. They moved like ants along the road bordering the sea. There were more carts than easily counted, some full and others empty. No rhyme or reason could be discerned from the movements, yet it all was purposeful as if some entity was orchestrating a hidden agenda known only to it. Shunneer City was inconsequential when compared to the monstrosity that flowed before him.

Yanda didn't seem as amazed. Kelton couldn't understand why anyone wouldn't be awe inspired by the vision. Men had built it. Never did he imagine that something of its magnitude could be done. Buildings made like pottery and the simple abundance of... of... stuff. So many colors in one place.

Kelton and Yanda's rope was pulled, directing them down a plank off the ship and onto the dock. With a sailor on each end, they followed the line of victims toward the end of the wharf. Unlike the lowered heads of the enslaved before him, Kelton's eyes were scanning wonders that dazzled his eyes. A man held up a strange yellow fruit, yelling out its virtues. A woman in purple skirts was arguing with another over a bolt of the orangist cloth Kelton had ever seen. A horse trotted by pulling a wagon that looked more like a tiny house, complete with windows and a door. It seemed to bounce smoothly when the wheels found divots in the road. Amazing.

The road itself was a wonder. A series of strange rock, all flat and of equal size, laid out in offsetting lines. Kelton could imagine it being functional even in intense rain. Where does someone find rock of such nature? Surely they didn't carve out each so perfectly.

The smells were more familiar. A mixture of foods, rotting fish, and the waste of humanity. In that, it had much in common with Shunneer City. It was nothing like the pureness of the open sea or the middle of a forest. It tainted the fascinating aspects.

Among the colorful denizens, there were those who wore drab cloth. Though they had different cuts in sleeve, pant, and skirt, they were similar. Most wore a light shade of brown, others a dirty white almost the shade of the Brethren's robes. At first, he thought them like the Brothers, but their actions changed his opinion. They were subservient to those in more colorful attire. Eyes down, except for the ones in white who moved with a proudness, though they too followed the more colorful. One white seemed to be directing browns who were unloading a wagon filled with large heavy bags.

As he neared, Kelton saw each of drab folk wearing a collar. It was a loop of metal as thick as his thumb. Browns wore copper, and whites were harnessed in silver. They were well integrated into the populace, ignored as if they belonged and their labors expected.

A small girl in a yellow dress ran past their manacled forms, barely giving a glance. No one was offering them a second look. Eyes would scan, but it would be no different then if they were a part of the landscape. What was happening to them, happened often. The acceptance of it was more frightening than the fact of it.

"And here we part ways," the Captain said. Kelton turned his head, his shackled arms still being forced forward with the rope. The man had surprised him by sneaking up from behind. It was strange not knowing he was there. The world was Unseen.

"You wish to taunt me more," Kelton said, raising his shackles. "I am bound and swordless in a strange land. Mayhap you can finish here what you could not at sea." The Captain smiled at him and increased his stride to walk toward the front of the enslaved line.

"The laws now protect you. I must have cause, and I fear you will not offer it today. Mayhap, tomorrow you will wish you had." There was a chuckle buried in the Captain's words. It irritated Kelton.

"Till we meet again," Kelton called at his back. It was an idle threat, and the Captain's laughter proved it. Ignorance of the future is horrible, especially when it slants away from freedom.

The rope caravan was pulled into a large enclosure. A circle of the tall white walls, the surface rougher than it had seemed from afar. A large tree-sized pole stuck up in the center and ropes traveled from it to walls. Layers of cloth, each a different color, were patched atop the lines forming a roof that flowed down, leaving a small encircling gap before they touched the walls. Inside, the dirt floor was cordoned off into many sections by knee-high fences of rock. Each section held manacled men and women who looked as defeated as Kelton felt.

The entrance was guarded by four men in matching red pants and shirts. Each wearing a copper colored metal strapped to their chest and back. Kelton thought it ingenious. A sword would likely not penetrate the metal. It left their arms and legs exposed, but the heart was well protected. They were armed with metal tipped spears, each about the length of a man.

Kelton was led with the others down a narrow path between the stone borders. One by one, the manacles were separated from the rope leaving the slave bound yet untethered. A small piece of green cloth was tied to the chain between the cuffs. The Captain was speaking to a rather heavy set man who sat at a table near the center. Next to the man, one of the whites, whose hair was as silver as his collar, held a board and scratched at it with a stick after each slave was disconnected. More of the red-suited guards escorted the separated slaves to one of the knee-high enclosures. There were other guards scattered about, some in front of exits, others near each of the divided sections.

Behind the desk sat groups of colorful men and women in a series of benches that rose upward until they met the wall. They were having private conversations, some pointing at the newcomers as if noticing exceptions between them. The nonchalant efficiency of it all was disheartening.

Kelton realized they were separating the new slaves by gender and then by other, more subjective categories. Women were mostly divided by age, old, middle, and young going to different stone marked corrals. Old men went in one corral. The other men and boys were separated by something other than age.

By the time Kelon arrived at the front, he had discerned the green cloth tied to the manacles was to mark ownership. The Captain had a similar one around his wrist. Others in the corrals had ribbons of red, black, and white. These mirrored bands worn by men sitting on the benches. Kelton was the last to receive a green marker, being the last to be removed from the rope.

"Class?" the heavyset man asked. He was balding with a close cut gray hairs that circled from ear to ear but disappeared well before they reached the top. Kelton could tell he didn't lack for food. Nor did the man seem particularly happy to be where he was. He looked bored.

"Four, Judge Tarvakian," the Captain said.

"He's barely a man," Tarvakian argued. He turned his whole body in his chair to face the Captain. "Mayhap tall, but too scrawny to be much of threat?"

"Hand him a sword, and he'll work his way through half the guard," the Captain said. His eyes focused on Kelton. Kelton glared back. "Vows to kill me and I would see him fail in that."

"You understand me boy?" Tarvakian asked Kelton, turning back in his seat. It looked as if the man had a sore neck and didn't wish to turn his head independent of his body.

"Aye," Kelton replied.

"The good Captain claims you're high risk. Is that true?"

"Only to him, and I would not claim him as good," Kelton said. The silver collared man looked up from his board and examined Kelton with interest. Unlike Judge Tarvakian, he was slim and still had a full head of hair though their ages were comparable.

"And if I were to put a sword in your hands, you would try to keep this vow he speaks of?"

"Am I sold?"

"Not yet. We are trying to determine your value and possible destination. What say you?"

"We have a bargain. I will not break it," Kelton said. Tarvakain turned his body toward the Captain with a questioning look.

"It is true, Judge Tarvakian," the Captain said. "He will cooperate until sold and I agreed to not let the crew use that woman." He pointed at Yanda, but Kelton doubted she could be singled out from the others in her corral.

"Then he violated another," Kelton yelled.

"Thus his vow," the Captain added. "I did nothing against the laws of the sea, and the woman was returned to her cell with nary an injury." He smiled at Kelton. "The boy bargained poorly."

"I don't relish sending boys to the mines, Captain," Tarvakian said. He turned back to Kelton. "Retract this vow, and I'll see you dropped in class." Kelton's eyes found the floor. Memories of the girl tied to the table returned. His shoulders slumped.

"I can not."

"So be it, class four it is," Tarvakian said. One of the guards moved toward Kelton. Tarvakain held out his hand to stop Kelton's transfer to a corral. "He is the last, and therefore the first on the block. Let's hurry this along. I desire to be home before the sun sets."

A thick table with fat legs no taller than a hand was dragged out in front of the sets of seats. Conversations stopped, and the audience's attention moved to Kelton, who was made to step up upon the table. The block, Kelton assumed. The silver collared man moved next to the block, regarding Kelton with a brief nod. He turned toward the seats.

"Male, cusp of manhood, class 4, no defects noted," the collared man announced clearly. The man continued in two other languages, likely a repetition of what was already said. It felt odd to Kelton to have his individuality discarded in such a manner. He smiled at the 'no defects.' Being Unseen was a major defect and the cause of him standing where he was. The Brethren thought it an offense to the Goddess punishable by death. Yet, here he was labeled with no defects. In some ways, slavery was a step up from his past.

"5," a man in flowing black robes yelled. He raised his hand to further his identification.

"10 is the minimum," Tarvakian announced from his desk. "You know this, Grashish."

"Class 4 with a talent in blades," Grashish argued. "It will take extra diligence from my men, and that costs coin."

"It does not change the law," Tarvakian said, waving his hand in dismissal. "5 is an invalid bid. Raise it or bow out." Kelton sighed. Even as a slave, he had little value.

"10," Grashish grumbled and sat down. A deep quiet followed his bid.

"Last?" the collared man called, raising his hand palm outward. He looked around at the silence, then dropped his arm. "Final! 10 gold to Master Grashish Filldin." He scratched something on his board and waited as Grashish descended the series of seats.

Grashish was a man of thirty winters or so. Black hair matching his robes and a cleanly shaved face. It was his nose that stood out, pointed and unfriendly. It was cocked like the beak of a hawk. Cheap and mean was Kelton's first impression. Not a good omen for the future.

Grashish deposited two stacks of coins on Tarvakian's desk and handed a strip of red cloth to a guard. Ownership change. Kelton couldn't help it, he laughed out loud. Harder when the Captain moved closer to two of the guards in fear of a manacled boy.

"Do not push them," the silver collared man said below his breath, without moving his lips.

"You do not see the humor in this?" Kelton said as if amazed. "I am stolen from life by laws I never knew, by a man who values coin above all else. Then I am sold to a thief, who steals me from him." Kelton looked about the enclosure. "And it's all done as if it's meant to be." He raised his shackled hands and pointed at the Captain. "And he calls me the fool."

"He's more trouble than he's worth. I retract my bid," Garshish said, moving toward the coins he laid on the desk.

"Silence!" Tarvakian called out. He rose from his chair and held out his hand to stall Garshish's movement. "The law rules here, at least during my judge day. The sale was called final and shall remain so."

"You all pick and choose laws that suit you," Kelton continued. The collared man shook his head in warning. Kelton ignored him. "Then you find those who have no knowledge of them and make coin on their ignorance of the unknowable." He chuckled again. "Then you cheat each other and pretend everything is as it should be. Do you not see? To me, it is all backward and upside down."

"The law is the law," Tarvakain said, his fist slamming the desk. "You will soon find its limits if I don't have your silence."

"Bah," Kelton said, disgusted with the whole process. "You say 10 gold and he pays 5 and copper. Yet you find my words as the lawbreaking." Kelton's eyes dropped to the ground, exhaustion of it all set in. "Not unlike the Brethren," he whispered to himself. Rolic was mistaken. The whole world was wrong. There never was any place to escape.

"There are two stacks of five on my desk," Tarvakain said. Kelton looked up at the calmer tone the Judge used.

"Did you not hear it?" Kelton asked rhetorically. "Gold they may look, but there are three painted coppers in the first stack, and two in the other." It was obvious to him. Years of thieving in the dark had perfected his metal hearing. He had forgotten it wasn't so for most.

Garshish looked at Kelton, then at Tarvakain. Confidence drained from his face when the Judge's eyes stiffened. Garshish ran.

"Guards," Tarvakain signaled. They were already grabbing Garshish before the command. Unlike Kelton, Garshish couldn't claim ignorance of the laws.

Tarvakain tipped the first pile of coins over and pulled out two of them. Scrapping them together, color flaked off the coppers. Calls of thievery began in the crowd. Garshish started begging, and Tarvakain started quoting laws. In the midst of the chaos, the silver collared man turned to Kelton.

"You heard the difference and counted as they fell," the collared man asked below the uproar. Kelton nodded. "Do you know numbers?" Kelton nodded again, then thought better of it and shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea if their numbers were the same as Rolic's.

The man turned his board to Kelton. It had a ridge on the bottom holding a stack of paper. Strange, it wasn't booked like Rolic's pages. Easier to look at, Kelton supposed, yet the order was no longer fixed. He was sure it made the pages more difficult to use. The man pulled one of the sheets in the back to the front. There was a series of unrecognizable glyphs on one side, and a column of recognizable numbers on the other. Not unlike the ship log Rolic had shown Kelton a many moons back.

"Can you read these?" the man asked.