Hamstung was known for its cruel taste in trading slaves. It has long been their source of great income; King Oran made a fortune out of it and became the wealthiest king.
A lot of kingdoms frowned upon the idea of humans being trafficked and treated like animals. But no one was bold enough to banter words with the king.
In fact, they feared him, and to increase their loyalty, Oran made sure to secure gold for kingdoms that asked for it when their treasury ran low. This way, they won't have the courage to try and stop the trade from booming.
For years the trade business has been incorporated into the lives of Hamstung inhabitants; it became a thing of necessity, and it was no longer frowned upon.
Slavery… It was a dreadful thing, especially to Joya. She had tried to run from it multiple times; she escaped from the ship where she was locked up and then ended up in Hamstung.
She was whisked away again by camel riders and then served as a maid in the royal castle. Now here she was again, standing before the very thing she detested.
"Why have you brought me here?"
Joya asked, turning to look at the little boy; she was terribly displeased.
"You said you wanted to work and get paid. This is the perfect place." He retorted, and Joya bit her lips bitterly; the gods have decided to spit on her fortune again!
"The perfect place?" Joya repeated sarcastically, placing her hands on her waist as she gazed ahead.
Whip!
The crack split the air like a lightning bolt. A woman's cry followed, sharp and ragged as the long whip stung her flesh, leaving faint red marks behind.
"Walk faster, we do not have all day!
The man with the whip said, and the woman increased her pace, tears stinging her eyes.
Another whip! and a boy lifting a heavy block staggered and fell on his face.
The whip lashed across the shoulders of the old and the young alike.
The slaves quivered beneath their burdens, blocks of stone hanging on their shoulders. Their trembling hands lifting up stones, their legs quivering.
They were chained. The chains biting into their wrists and ankles. An old woman buckled at the knees, her frail legs trembling, yet the lash drove her upright again.
Nearby, a girl scarcely grown trotted forward, her bare feet bleeding from the stones beneath, her thighs shaking violently under the weight she carried.
The men in authority barked orders in harsh tongues, their whips flicking without pause, cutting through air, cutting through flesh.
The sun showed no mercy, beating down on bent bodies until sweat dripped like rain. Some fell. Some crawled. All were forced up again by the painful lash of the whip!
Joya didn't know when she staggered backwards. Her shoulders dropped, her face paling by the minute.
"I…I will not survive a day in this place." She muttered under her breath, dragged her feet backwards, and felt fear gripping her chest.
The little boy who was standing beside her scoffed.
"Yes, you will...if you do the right thing." He said reassuringly, and Joya glared at him, her eyes red with anger.
"You do not know what you are saying! Can you not see for yourself how they are treating those people?" She snapped. They were standing a short distance away from the main arena, out of earshot.
"Look…" The little boy started off tiredly.
"I have done my part. It is left to you to decide your fate. If you would rather be a beggar or be condemned on the streets, that is your choice to make."
His words were rash, reminding Joya of the harsh reality she was faced with.
"Is there not another way? How…how did you even find this place?"
She couldn't help but ask.
"Do you see that man over there?"
The little boy said, pointing his index finger towards the direction of one of the men in charge of the slaves. He was lashing a young man mercilessly.
"That is Judab, my elder brother. I visit him once in a while to take his wages back home; his pay is enough to keep my mother and me alive." The little boy then placed his hand on his chest.
"I am Ryka. Although my name is not important, it is only appropriate I tell you." He added.
All this time he was talking, Joya's eyes were lowered, fixed on the dusty ground beneath her feet.
The slaver's bay rang with the clamor of suffering: groans, shouts, the clash of iron links, and the hollow laughter of the men in authority pierced the air. The atmosphere was suffocating, a mix of sweat and blood baked into the dust.
"How much is the pay to warrant such misery?" Joya asked, raising her gaze.
"Enough to see you throughout the month. But the price to pay in return is not for the weak."
"Yet you brought me here." Joya swallowed hard, mourning her fate.
"It is what it is." The boy said, turning around to leave.
"Are you leaving?"
Joya's heart suddenly skipped a beat. She was yet to make her decision, and he was already on his way.
"I told you… My mother awaits my return. The sun is high up in the sky; I have spent a lot of my time trying to help you."
He retorted, not sparing her a glare.
Joya slowly shifted her gaze ahead. Fate has left her no choice; it was either this or back to the streets.
"The gods bless you for your kindness."
Her voice trailed from behind; this was the only thing she had to say, and the little boy heard her.
"I will be back in a few weeks…to collect my share of your wages."
He said, then paused.
"One more thing: once you are a slave, there is no going back."
He reported… Tilting his head slightly, he then took his leave.
Joya stood watching Ryka slipping out of sight, leaving her to face the cruel heart of her reality.
She slowly began to make her way towards the slavers' arena. From a distance she could only see the outer part of the arena, but she soon realized there were huge walls ahead.
The wall served as a barrier; it stood tall and unyielding, cutting them off from the world beyond, keeping them caged like beasts.
On the inside of the wall, men and women strained under crushing loads of stone and timber. Whips cracked without mercy, driving them forward in endless circuits across the yard.
Guards patrolled the walls, their spears and whips dangling over the edge. From time to time they shouted orders down or lashed out at anyone who faltered.
Beyond the wall, the salty breath of the sea teased the air, but to the slaves it was unreachable, mocking.
Within the high walls stretched a grim little city. Its streets were narrow and unpaved, the ground dusty and littered with scraps.
Rows of low huts, hastily built from timber and mud, huddled together like prisoners themselves. Smoke curled weakly from cooking pits, but the air was heavy with sweat and despair.
Every nook and cranny had slaves moving, with burdens on their shoulders.
Children with chains on their ankles scurried to keep up with their mothers, while the old limped along, leaning on sticks yet still forced to labor.
The city had no market, no laughter, no freedom, only labor and the sting of whips.
At night, the gates clanged shut, sealing the slaves inside. It was a cage dressed as a city.
Joya wove her way through the crooked lanes, her steps hesitant but determined.
She ignored the cruel and merciless scenes in front of her, pressing forward in hurried steps.
At the center of the settlement rose a platform of stone. Upon it stood a man in authority, broad-shouldered, his armor of polished bronze, a golden ring marking his rank.
The handle of his whip was made of silver, unlike the rest of the men in authority.
Around him, lesser overseers clustered, awaiting his command. Their eyes were hard, their arms scarred from long years of discipline.
From time to time, one would bow his head and hurry off at the man's gesture, carrying orders deeper into the city.
Joya's throat tightened, but she stepped forward. Her bare feet left prints in the dust as she approached the man, whose name was Prator.
Prator's gaze shifted, heavy and sharp, falling on her like a weight.
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them, broken only by the muffled cries of the chained.
"Umm…I."
Words suddenly eluded her lips, making her look foolish.
"Speak words that I can understand, woman!
He said, lifting his whip in the air; it lashed on the ground, and dust rose in the air. Joya staggered backwards frantically; she was scared to death.
"I…I am here to work."
The words found their way to her lips.
"Are you aware of the rules?"
His deep voice was intimidating.
"Yes…I am. Once I am in there is no going back." Joya quoted.
Prator turned to one of his men, giving him a signal.
Joya was led inside the walls of the small city. She was taken to the corner of a yard, blackened with soot.
There, a fire pit burned, its coals glowing red beneath the midday sun.
Long-handled irons rested in the fire; the tips of the irons were shaped into cruel symbols…hooks.
Slaves were herded into a straight line, their shoulders bare, their faces gripped with fear.
"What is happening here?"
Joya was confused.
"Keep quiet and stay in line."
The man said, pushing her forward.
"You have come to the right slavers bay. Here we brand our slaves by inserting marks on their shoulders. This way they could be identified if they try to escape.
A man in the line, standing in front of her, explained.
Joya's stomach twisted as she watched. Horror was scripted all over her face, agonizing screams piercing the air. She wanted to turn back… just run away, but it was too late.
When her turn came, she was seized by two guards and forced to her knees.
The iron was lifted from the flames, glowing red, smoke curling from its edge.
The man holding the iron tore the arm of Joya's dress, exposing her right shoulder. With no remorse, the hot iron was pressed against her flesh.
The hiss of searing skin filled the air, followed by a scream that clawed Joya's lungs. She gritted her teeth in pain, shutting her eyes, as the hot iron burned against her skin.
By the time the iron was removed, the black symbol of a hook was evident on Joya's shoulders…she was now a branded slave. The mark will never fade. It was a brand of ownership, a scar of belonging.
She was dragged aside to make room for the next person and was led to a vast open land, where other slaves carried the heavy stones that were used to build a pyramidal structure, as commanded by King Oran.
Without a breathing space, Joya was commanded to start lifting heavy stones. At first she would fall or stumble, trying to adjust to the system; the men in authority pardoned her because she was a newcomer.
"Lift the stone on your legs first, before raising it on your shoulders." A voice said from behind Joya, who was struggling to lift a block in front of her.
Without hesitating, Joya did as she said, and it worked! It was indeed easier; Joya placed the block on her shoulders, then turned around to thank the person.
She was met with a familiar face.
She peered at the pretty woman in front of her, scarred by the burden of a slave. The block on her shoulder was beginning to feel heavy, but she stood still, gazing at the lady in front of her.
"I…I know you."
The lady broke the silence.
"You are Joya; we met on a ship, where we were caged in the middle of the sea. We escaped and were separated when we got to Hamstung."
The lady said, wiping the sweat off her face. Suddenly it clicked! Joya was able to recognize her face.
"Merlin!