Hamstung - Slavers Bay
Joya sneezed out, obviously irritated by the dust clinging to her nostrils. She slowly dropped the heavy block on her shoulder before squatting down, inhaling sharply.
Using her dusty hand, she wiped away the bead of sweat on her forehead. The sun was blazing from above, so she squinted her gaze as she tried to catch a glimpse of Merlin, who was making her way towards her direction.
Merlin dropped the block on her shoulder on the ground, then sat on it.
"You know, sometimes I wished we never escaped from that ship; maybe we would have been better off as their slaves."
Merlin muttered under heavy breath, her chest rising and falling.
Joya licked her dry lips before exhaling.
"No, you are wrong. We would have still ended up here anyways."
She said, sighing between.
"This is our destiny…my destiny." Her eyes seemed distant; she was trying to hide her pain, but it was reflected in her blue eyeballs.
"For more than a year, I have been drawn to the same fate. Over and over again I have tried to escape this calling, but it keeps getting to me."
She turned to look at Merlin, the southern breeze swaying her hair.
"This is just the universe toying with us."
Merlin said before coughing dryly.
"You blame the universe; I call it destiny. Every time I try to run from slavery, I always end up there anyway.
"I have come to accept my fate. The gods have definitely made it clear; I was born to be a slave."
Joya didn't know when she started getting emotional. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"Then the gods are nothing but savage beasts." Merlin concluded before cupping Joya's face.
"We will get through this…together."
She said, a dry smile appearing on Joya's lips.
"Take a break!
The loud voice of one of Prator's men pierced the air.
Joya and Merlin both glanced at each other before dragging their feet on the hot ground, rushing to where the food was going to be served.
They were a little bit late. There was already a long line formed, slaves standing in a single file, waiting until it got to their turn to be served some food.
The fire crackled under the weight of the iron pot, its belly swollen with a bubbling, murky stew. Grease and steam hissed into the air, carrying with it the sharp smell of onions, stale grain, and bones boiled bare.
In front of it stood a broad-shouldered woman, her face hard as stone, her eyes narrowed with scorn. Her arms were bare and muscled, streaked with sweat and soot. She gripped a long wooden ladle like a weapon, plunging it deep into the soup before serving the heavy mixture into battered wooden bowls.
The slaves shuffled forward in a ragged line, their eyes lowered, their hunger plain. Each step brought them closer to the steaming pot and her glare. She scoffed at their gaunt faces, slamming portions down with a splash.
She passed it to each of them rudely; some gave her pleading eyes to add to their soup, but she scared them off with her dreadful glare.
One of the slaves, a woman with children, who wanted the woman to add more soup, pleaded earnestly.
"Move," she barked, her voice sharp.
"There are plenty waiting."
"But my children."
The woman was in tears, her hand was entwined with that of a little boy, and the little boy's hand was entwined with his little sister's.
The woman didn't listen.
"If you know you are next, move forward."
She said, and the man behind the lady with children pushed the crying woman aside before staggering forward, his hand already stretched out to receive his own portion of food.
After the steaming bowls of thin soup were handed out, the line of slaves shuffled onward.
Ahead there was a rough wooden table where a second line had formed. Upon it lay baskets of coarse, dark loaves, their crusts hard and dry.
A gaunt man stood guard over them, his jaw clenched, breaking each loaf into uneven chunks. He tossed the pieces down into waiting hands, never meeting a single pair of eyes.
The slaves stepped forward one by one, clutching their bowls tightly, as if fearing the soup would be taken from them. Each outstretched hand received a chunk of bread, stale and hard enough to scrape the skin, but still food.
Some pressed the bread quickly to their chest; others dipped it straight into the soup, too hungry to wait.
With their bowls and bread in hand, the slaves shuffled away toward the far side of the yard. There, against the crumbling stone walls, they sank down heavily, one after another, until a long, uneven row had formed.
They sat shoulder to shoulder, bodies pressed close out of necessity, their legs stretched out before them.
Some dipped the hard bread into the thin soup at once, softening it enough to chew. Others clutched their bowls protectively, their hawk eyes guarding them.
After Joya and Merlin had received their portion, they sat next to each other, and without wasting time, they began to eat.
They ate like starving beasts, lips pressed to the rim, eating greedily. The soup dribbled down their chins, dripping onto the worn fabric of their dresses, leaving dark stains.
They didn't seem to care; hunger stripped away all thought of dignity.
Their jaws worked furiously, teeth grinding on the hard crust of the bread.
When the last drop of soup was gone and the bottom of the bowls lay bare, they dragged their tongues along the bowl, licking away every trace of grease.
Only then did they lower the bowls, panting softly, their eyes glazed with the dull relief of momentary fullness.
Around them, others ate in the same silence. Merlin's eyes inadvertently darted ahead, and her gaze caught something.
"Joya, forgive me for being too plain, but there is a possible chance the high-ranking officer, Prator, has taken a liking to you."
Merlin said before slowly retreating her gaze to meet Joya's.
Joya creased her brows before slowly laughing mockingly out of interest.
"Can you hear yourself, Merlin?
She questioned, but Merlin was in no mood to joke around.
"I am serious, Joya; laughing at it won't change a thing." She said before slowly rising to her feet.
Joya was amazed by her harsh words; she quickly rose to her feet, dusting the grains of sand clinging to her dress.
"Why would you think that?"
She asked as they both began to make their way to the only water source available to slaves.
"The way he looks at you—maybe you haven't taken notice. But none of his men lashed you with a whip today."
"I simply didn't do anything to upset them." Joya retorted.
Merlin halted, then turned to look at her.
"I am not saying it is a bad thing; I actually think it is good if you have found favor in his eyes."
Merlin then lowered her voice, but not before scanning around to see if anyone was hearing their conversation.
"You have to understand one thing, Joya: life is all about survival. If Prator has taken a liking to you, then it is a big opportunity to relieve us from our burden.
Joya didn't know what to say.
"Do you see me that way? As someone who can be easily swooped on by a man all because he has the power to make my life a little less devastating?"
She placed both her hands on her waist, waiting for Merlin to answer her question, but the latter turned away and then shrugged lightly.
"Fine, we will both rot here."
She snapped.
Joya couldn't help it; she trailed her eyes to where all the officers usually gather around drinking and eating wild meat. She allowed her gaze to move from one face to another until she found the person she was looking for.
Prator.
Of course, she found him gazing deeply at her. While the rest of his men were discussing and laughing at a high pitch, his focus was fixed on her.
She didn't know whether to be happy or deeply afraid that he had singled her out of the many women in the slavers' bay.
She focused her gaze ahead and realized Merlin was already some distance away from her. She buckled up, hastening her steps to catch up with her.
It was as if Merlin tripled her pace because why was she seemingly getting further? Joya groaned, annoyed, before screaming.
"Merlin, wait for me."