Yanda woke warm for the first time since she was captured. It took her a moment to adjust to Kelton's missing arms. She smiled at how quickly she got used to his presence. Misery was easier to take when suffered with another.

Other women had begun to stir. The barracks were long with a warm fire blazing at each end. That and the number of bodies had assured the heat would be held within. Straw mattresses were in three lines, none too close to the walls.

No one spoke Sorinnian, which was fine for Yanda. She didn't want to get to know anyone. They were all slaves and full of tales of agony and misuse. Looking backward was no longer an option. Life was in front of her, tied to a strange boy who seemed oddly determined to keep her alive.

Yanda pulled the blanket aside and fought back a shiver when the new air replaced the old. She retrieved the metal cup at the head of her bed and walked toward the table near the door. It was a liberating jail after the hold of the ship. No bars and freshwater for the taking. It surprised her to find a basket next to the pitchers of water. Apples. She filled her cup and took an apple back to her bed. It was still a prison, though vastly superior to what she expected. It was if they felt guilty for owning humans.

The apple didn't last long. It was a tad mushy but still held onto a portion of its sweetness. Yanda suspected the best fruit was reserved for the normal population. The woman next to her pointed at the uneaten core in her hand with a questioning look. Yanda smiled and indicated the basket. It started a chain reaction with the other prisoners, and it wasn't long before the basket was empty. They were all civil about it, each taking one. Food didn't seem like it was going to be an issue.

The women gathered in small groups, arbitrarily choosing a bed as a place to converse. Their discussions were quiet, which allowed Yanda comfortable boredom. She suspected this would be her last day lacking labor. The boy had made another bargain. The silver collared one assured her it was the best that could be made and had insinuated that it would involve household labors and mentioned nothing of spreading her legs. Being a cook or a maid was beneath her, but a mountain higher than what she imagined. The shame would be minor, not catastrophic.

A petite girl collared in copper opened the door and called out. Yanda recognized the call. It meant a trip to the outhouse, and the timing couldn't be better. Her insides were just starting to complain.

The way to facilities was casually guarded by soldiers. Enough to keep the women on path, but less than would be intimidating. The whole process was calming. They expected cooperation and did nothing to incite revolt. It would have been easy for Yanda to bolt had she somewhere to go. And if she cared nothing for the boy. The silver told her they were promised as a pair. Kelton would not cooperate without her, and he had the higher value. They must know of his swordplay, but she couldn't reconcile that value with slavery. Handing a blade to the imprisoned would be foolish.

There were basins full of warm water waiting on a waist-high shelf running along the non-business side of the outhouse. Another copper collared woman handed each prisoner a fluffy cloth. They meant them to wash. There were no guards in the building, and the ones outside could not be seen from the inside. A touch of morality from the immoral. Yanda suspected a lot of these women were destined to pleasure men for profit, yet here they were treated with a modicum of respect.

After Yanda relieved herself, the copper woman began speaking. The expressions on some of the other women sank. Some covered their mouths and tears formed. There was no overt crying, but fear had replaced complacency. Most seemed aware of what had been said. Yanda's language barrier had become a chasm.

The women paired up at the basins. She could almost feel the apprehension in the air as the women began baring their backs and their partner washed them. Yanda looked at the collared speaker and shrugged her shoulders. She was waved outside.

A silver collared man stood down the wall, past the guards and well out of sight of the door. Yanda was led to him, and he spoke in a language she didn't understand.

"I only understand Sorinnian," Yanda said. She had never thought it a weakness before. For the first time, she desired to be multilingual.

"Ahh," the man said. "Not best. Understand more than speak. You wait." He spoke to the woman who ran off behind the outhouse and down a path.

"They are washing their backs," Yanda said, pointing toward the door. "Am I expected to do the same?"

"Best you do. Lesson...ah...come soon."

"What lesson?"

"Word I don't know." The man moved his hand, snapping his wrist and making a swooshing sound followed by snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Whip? Like for leading animals?"

"Yes, whip," the man said, his smile growing at the understanding. Yanda thought the smile out of place.

"They mean to whip me? Like an animal?"

"You wait," the man said as concern filled his eyes. "Other speak better." Yanda hoped it was nothing but a language barrier. Everything else had been cordial, and she hadn't committed any offense that required a raised voice, much less a whipping.

The copper woman returned with another copper collared woman at her heels. This one wasn't pale like the others, she was young and proudly black of skin. Another Sorinnian, if Yanda had to guess. When they came close, the dark woman's eyes widened. Yanda didn't recognize her, but she had identified Yanda. Yanda gave her a stern look, trying to forestall what was to come.

"I am to understand you speak Sorinnian," Yanda said slowly, packing the words with as much command as she could muster. The woman started to bow but halted at the slight shake of Yanda's head.

"I do," the woman said. "I am simply Sasha. My legacy is no longer worth saying."

"Might we speak alone?" Yanda asked. Sasha traded words with the silver. He nodded and moved away, out of the reach of his ears.

"I told him it was a delicate thing to explain for Sorinnian women. Something best done in private," Sasha said.

"They mean to lash me?" Yanda asked. There was no need to beat around the bush.

"They do, my lady," Sasha replied but quickly added. "But, I will tell them who you are. Your mother will pay a ransom, and you will be returned untouched." Her tone dropped to submissive. It had an accent from south Sorinnin. One of the working class, a farmer or fisherwoman.

"You will say nothing. Why do they lash these women? No one has done anything worthy of punishment."

"They call it 'the lesson, my lady." Sasha bowed her head slightly.

"Stand tall and look me in the eyes. Here, and now, we are equal," Yanda growled. Sasha raised her head and nodded. "What can this lesson possibly teach?"

"Obedience. They say it stops many problems if we intimately know the punishment beforehand. You need not suffer it. Let me speak to..."

"And weaken my mother?" Yanda interrupted. "No, there will be no ransom, not that she would pay it. Most likely she would start something that would take generations to recover from. It is best no one knows what has become of me. Besides, I have incurred a life debt that has become difficult to discharge. I will return on my own if the Goddess allows it." She lowered her voice. "You have had this lesson." Sasha nodded. "Painful?" She nodded again. Yanda sighed.

"They will use you," Sasha said. "I am no longer chaste, and I do my master's bidding. You should not follow me in this. One such as you shouldn't be ruined."

"I made my choice," Yanda smirked. "Defied my mother and wandered onto an unflagged ship thinking to see the world untarnished by rules. This is my penance for believing I am wiser than her. " The silver collared man called to Sasha.

"I am to help you to wash your back. It is best that the lash finds clean skin. Better for the healing."

"These ones in silver bands, they are masters as well?"

"No, only the most trusted of slaves. They have been offered freedom, but choose to stay on their own volition."

"Why would anyone choose such a thing?"

"They are old and have become used to it. Food on the table, warm bed, and clothes. Silver has privileges, and we of the copper collar must heed their words." Sasha pointed toward the outhouse and led Yanda that way. "They are of good temperament and do not demand unless necessary, unlike an owner."

"Do you trust them? Their word, I mean."

"Yes, my lady. At least the ones I have met. Liars aren't offered the silver. Their actions reflect on their owners by law," Sasha replied. Yanda nodded, pleased at those words. She had trusted the one tied to the judge, as did Kelton. The boy was too free with his trust, so it was good to hear another trusted the silver collar, at least in general. She hoped the judge's silver wasn't an exception to the rule.

With her back washed, Yanda was lead back to the barracks. A simple brown dress was laid out on each bunk. She needed no instruction to don it, although a copper spoke to many who didn't catch on. It was plain cloth with a full skirt and two ties over the shoulders to secure the front to the back. Untie them, and one had full access to a bare back. Yanda shivered, then regained control. She would not show fear.

The women were lead to another building, more like the slave auction. It was square, as opposed to round, and divided in two by a wall that rose to a ceiling made of wood. More permanent looking. The section they entered was filled with benches and far more soldiers than could be found outside. Segregated by language, they were seated into three groups. By herself, Yanda formed the fourth group. To each group, a silver came forward and began speaking. Tears were starting to flow along with some whimpering. It didn't seem to affect the silvers who continued with want sounded like prepared speeches. When they were done, one of the three silvers, an older woman, came to speak with Yanda.

"You are now property," the woman began in almost perfect Sorinnian. "And property has rights in Masocrate. They are as follows..." There was a list of things that Yanda had a right too. Among them food, clothing, shelter, and sleep. Adequate healing care and an owner couldn't ask for duties that would purposely disfigure or significantly harm his or her property. Yanda found the message to be humorous. Like everything else since she had arrived, it was an attempt to hide immoral acts behind a wall of morality. We can take your freedom because we treat you so well. She nodded her understanding when asked to do so and the woman continued.

"If you feel these rights have not been upheld, you may bring a complaint. Your owner is required by law to forward the complaint to a presiding judge within two days plus travel time. If the judge deems the complaint worthy, he will issue compensation. If deemed unworthy, you will return here for another lesson."

"How many bring complaints?" Yanda asked. It seemed a risky endeavor.

"Few. Very few," the silver responded.

"Are they ever compensated?"

"Fewer still."

"It is a law to make them feel better, is it not?" Yanda asked.

"Many owners abide by it. Complaining property is considered shameful, and most prefer not to have the stigma. Yes, in answer to your question, it is mostly for decoration. But valid grievous complaints are very unprofitable and therefore, rarely necessary. The law protects you."

"Feed the dog, and he won't bite you," Yanda said.

"And you won't have to put him down," the silver added. "I felt like you when I first arrived forty years ago. I have made my terms with it, and though I wished a different life, I am now content." Yanda decided arguing with the woman about her life choices was useless. At the woman's age, she had every right to make the wrong justifications. Yanda would never be content as property.

"Shortly, you will be given a lesson to ensure your understanding of the necessity of obedience. It is provided for in the law and done for everyone's benefit. It is an unpleasant requirement, but has been proven effective over many years." The woman bowed slightly. "I am here to present an apology from the Masocrate people for the necessity."

"They are apologizing before whipping me? Does that make them feel better as well?"

"Where you see cruelty, they see tempered discipline. Having researched Masocrate history, I implore you to consider their apology as it is many steps above the barbarism of the past."

"So you are saying, things could be worse," Yanda said, adding a snorted smirk. Pleasant words wouldn't lessen the pain of flogging. Nor the disgrace.

"Yes. And they were," the silver said. "Much worse."

"Is it the same for the men?" Yanda knew it was before asking. Why she was concerned for the boy, she couldn't fathom. It was his bargain, and he negotiated it with so little information.

"Yes," the collared replied. "Do you understand all I have told you?"

"Yes," Yanda replied. She fought back the desire to continue arguing the logic. It was brilliant to use a slave to instruct a slave. There was no reason to fight with someone who was complacent and had no power to change the status quo, someone who had survived the lesson and looked none the worse. They had built a robust system of compliance and Yanda was being smoothly integrated. It was intelligent immorality.

The silver bowed to Yanda again, then signaled to another. The first terrified woman was led to the door opposite from the one they entered. Yanda felt her heart drop when the woman began pleading, and soldiers had to intervene. They were gentle in their insistence, carefully holding her upright by her upper arms and helping through the door. The door closed, and Yanda waited.

The first snap was dull, muffled by the wall. The scream that followed couldn't be held back by mere wood and plaster. Yanda closed her eyes and calmed her mind. She could hear the rising panic in the waiting area. The calming tones of the silvers did little to hamper the tears and pleading of those that waited. Barbarism, no matter how politely delivered, was never welcome. She suspected hearing what was to come was part of the lesson. The first woman had no idea how lucky she had been.

In her mind, Yanda saw her mother leading her army into the building, ripping through the guards like they were wheat to a scythe. Another scream, this one tearing at the throat. A wave of Sorinnian warriors cleansing the country of its foolish ideas of superiority. The next cry was hollow, almost the silent scream of a child's first test of fire. The whipping continued without the vocal echo. Yanda soothed her soul with the hope that the woman had passed out and felt none of the last seven. It pays to be weak.

The next woman was screaming before she even made it through the door. It took three guards to maneuver her through. She howled at each strike, all ten. It didn't pay to be strong.

"It will be over soon," the old silver said. "And soon forgotten." Yanda hadn't seen her move close. The woman intended to be soothing. Yanda glanced at her, trying to decide if it was worth it to rip her eyes out.

"I thought the point was to remember the lesson," Yanda said. The words had more venom than she intended and less than she desired. The woman gracefully retreated. Yanda closed her eyes and lost count of the number of lessons that went before her. Dreams of her bow, dreams of arrows striking evil hearts, and her family's battle cries kept her sane and quiet. Breathe, she reminded herself as woman after woman was disgraced in pain.

"It is your time," the collared woman told her. Yanda opened her eyes. The old woman was well out of reach. Yanda smiled at the four guards that stood near, ready to help her through the door. She suspected they had been warned of her previous tone with the interrupter. She stood with speed, pleased at how it made them flinch.

"I am ready," Yanda told the old woman. Yanda signaled for them to lead the way. It was only a whip, nothing a warrior couldn't handle. It had a beginning and an end. It wouldn't be allowed to alter her. She smiled, thinking of the deal the boy had wrought. Another challenge, in her mind. A war of silence. How many strikes of the lash before the lungs forced out a wail. She doubted Kelton would last five. She would make it to ten. Women always dealt with pain better than men. It is why the Goddess made them bear the children.

Yanda stopped walking to the next room when one of the soldiers grasped her upper arm. She glared at him, and he released her. She would enter her lesson on her own power, not hauled like a simpering fool. It wasn't that she thought less of the ones who had gone before, it was to broadcast her disdain for the whole process. Make them believe it useless with her. Strength against stupid laws. Head high, she entered the next room as if welcoming what was to come.

The room was empty of furniture save two posts set in the center of the room, thick and buried deep into the dirt ground. Between the posts, the soil had turned to mud. Yanda wondered how much blood must have been drawn to create the muck.

Ropes were stuck through high holes in each post with leather straps dangling on the ends. Besides red-clad soldiers, there was one elderly man in a many-colored robe off to the side. Yanda walked up to the posts and stood in the mud between them. Without being instructed, she raised her hands so the soldiers could secure her wrists in the leather wraps. The leather was wide enough so not to tear at the skin when tightened. The ropes were pulled, stretching her arms between the posts and lifting her until only the balls of her feet touched the wet earth.

The strong smell of urine attacked Yanda's nose. It wasn't blood that soaked the earth. She began to breathe through her mouth, once again realizing the first woman had it best. The colorful man started to speak with the timbre of boredom in the tone.

"He is quoting the laws that allow for the lesson," the silver collared woman said from behind Yanda. "Do you wish to know them?"

"Is there a law that I must listen?" Yanda asked. It took a lot to make it sound casual. Anger was seeping into her thoughts. At that moment, fury was a useless emotion, and she wanted it gone. Better to concentrate on pride. Her mother had taught her to stand tall.

"No," the woman said, and began to undo the dress ties on Yanda's shoulders as the man continued with his monochrome speech. The woman let the back of Yanda's dress drop, exposing her from shoulder to skirt. She re-tied the strands behind Yanda's neck, maintaining modesty in the front. The woman moved around until she faced Yanda. The man finished and nodded to her.

"He believes I am restating his words. I think doing so would be more insulting to you than what is to come."

"It would," Yanda agreed.

"Then I will talk about what is needed here in this land. They desire profit and do all that they can to acquire it. We are the engine that feeds this want. The more you produce, the more comfortable your future." The woman smirked. "Sometimes, the promise of profits is more valuable than those profits themselves. Let them imagine future riches and life will be softer. The bulk of your choices are now gone, so make the most of the ones they leave you."