The cold steel of a shackle bound my neck. I slept on hard-packed dirt. I gave my blanket away in exchange for an extra bite of rations. Figured I would pull it off his corpse when he collapsed. He held onto it when they took him, selfish bastard.
The dampness had snuffed out the torches. In the pitch black, the smell of sweat became even more pungent. I couldn't stand the way the bodies of others pressed against me within the cramped cell. Even after twelve years, it was still sickening.
When I closed my eyes, I could picture it. I saw a vast blue expanse that seemed to fuse to the horizon. I was standing at the edge of a hill, the grass was soft, the blades ran between my toes as I breathed in the salty air. I gritted my teeth, the memory served only to mock me.
I didn't know if that scene had ever been real, or if I had just dreamt it up. Yet, it had always been with me. It stretched so far back in my mind that I had cause to believe it was my earliest memory.
The first rays of the morning sun began to pierce the shadows. I didn't know if I had managed to get any sleep, not between the incessant whimpers and hushed prayers. They didn't like noise, the masters.
I sat up, my chain rustled gently against the floor. One end was unbound, the other was welded onto my shackle. I caught sight of two trembling figures. A man and a woman clung to each other. Newcomers, no doubt. They would learn soon enough, or they would be taken.
I didn't recognize anyone today. They made sure to shuffle us around; you couldn't plot if you couldn't speak. Today would be more of the same drudgery, more toil. This was just how it was, how it had always been.
A man sneezed, he muffled the sound with the inside of his elbow. Yet, the weary faces of the others twisted in disapproval. He had better not cause an outbreak. Sickness was the final nail in the coffin for most. The meager rations and barely sufficient respite they gave us were carefully managed. It was always enough to keep us going, never enough to truly allow us to recover.
We wouldn't die from hunger or overwork, if we were healthy, that is. Catch something nasty, and that balance is thrown out the window. I have seen the toughest and most enduring fall to disease. A bald-headed man, a bishop of sorts, muttered a prayer against the Lord of Blights.
Faith kept many of us going. There were rarely any priests within our number. Yet, when there were, they often tried to instil their creeds upon any soul naïve enough to listen. I remember almost giving in to the promise of deliverance one had offered.
I rebuked the idea when the following day another clergyman began to preach about a whole other pantheon. He led his sermon with no less fervour than the first, yet they contradicted each other. I could only conclude that they were both charlatans.
The cell door opened with a sharp click. Many of the newcomers shrank back in fear. The priest whispered a prayer, the steady confidence in his voice broke away as the warden stepped inside.
I stood up along with the more seasoned slaves. We bowed before it, pride long forgotten. The warden's snout curved into a grin, its narrow teeth, like needles, shone an almost pristine white. Better to keep it in a good mood.
The masters were little more than well-groomed beasts. I saw a bat once, perched within my cell, the masters looked much like them if you took away the clothing. This one was no different. It wore a leather hood, the fine craftsmanship of the material couldn't hide the inhumanity within its beady, yellow eyes.
It tilted its head when it caught the cowering forms of the newcomers. It snorted before turning away. The message was a simple one: follow or else. And, most of us did. We followed the scrape of its claws against the cave floor; they never wore any footwear. The idea seemed almost laughable to their kind. It left the faint smell of lavender behind it. The aroma was comically mismatched to its appearance. The scented oils it had fastidiously smeared against its fur did little to impress any of us.
We were held in a cave by our work site. The warden didn't spare a look at the other cells that lined the cave wall. If it wasn't its job it had no reason to bother. Our cell was near the back, so the ones before us had already been cleared. I could smell the putrid miasma of disease that leaked through some of the bars. The priest must have noticed it too because he recited another brief prayer in hopes of warding off the sickness.
I heard a sudden, shrill scream. In response, the warden's ears fell and its eyes squinted. The guards had begun to pick off the stragglers, either the ones who were too frightened to obey or those who no longer could.
I heard two voices, the couple from before by the inflection. I didn't dare look back as they were dragged away. It wasn't because the violence frightened me, I had grown past it. More so, it was to avoid drawing any suspicion.
The masters had a paranoid streak to them. If you showed concern, you showed empathy, and that meant you might try to help the victims. If you showed sympathy, you were a liability.
The warden pointed towards a gathering crowd of unwilling workers. We joined them in uneven rows. Soon enough we would be separated and given tasks. Groups who had been given more arduous labor the previous day would usually be given a simpler task. Our masters may have been bestial, but they were meticulous in all things.
The guards didn't have any set uniform. They all boasted differing outfits, some simple and others more ornate. They sieved through notebooks and counted heads. They would delegate our tasks.
As always, a guard hooked the free end of my chain and pulled me forward. I held my balance and stepped in line with the tug. In response, the guard nodded his head, perhaps pleased, before pointing to a crude wooden carriage. I held back a sigh, today would be simple. All I was to do was polish the carts.
I let some gratitude slip through my expression. The guard's high-pitched snickering grated on my nerves. Even now, the emotional side of my brain wanted nothing more than to slam my fist into that thing's jaw.
Reason held me back. There was no point. The pale grey sky and the wiry, ash-grey trees marked this as their territory. It was impossible to tell if anyone had escaped. Not when people were regularly taken away for the slightest of infractions. Most were killed; those were the lucky ones.
I picked up a rusty, water-filled bucket and got to cleaning.