Indebted (working title)

Bound (part 1)

There were few things more powerful, more visceral than the smell. When the darkness robbed him of sight, and when the numbness and chains robbed him of touch... the smell remained... it always remained... the stench of rot and death. There were times when he could tune out the sounds of sobbing and suffering, times when he could send his mind where his body could not go, his only peace coming from self-imposed delusions and forced reveries that saw him enjoying simple rights that had now become distant luxuries. He'd imagine the feeling of the fresh untainted breeze on his face, the sun's warmth on his skin... the earth beneath his feet, but of course... even here, in this paradise of bare minimums, the smell remained. It was the horror he could not ignore, the tether that both bound him to the ship, and reminded him that he was cargo.

Ekon stared at the slithers of moonlight that shone through the floorboards overhead and pooled on the floor in front of him. Beyond these small pale glowing puddles there was only darkness. There were 137 people who found themselves chained in this hold but for the last three weeks, Ekon's world consisted of only what he could see, the gaunt faces that surrounded him, the rotted floor and ceiling that had become his earth and sky.

He'd taken to counting footsteps. He knew there were thirty paces between him and the door, and he knew from the variety of muffled voices overhead that he'd need to fight a small army if he ever managed to take those thirty paces. Hopeless as things seemed there was one thing that kept Ekon from succumbing to despair, one persistent nagging emotion, rage. One man had become the focal point of all of Ekon's ire, and his name was Shakale.

Shadows formed on the moonlight puddles as a beast of a man traverses the upper deck. "He's coming", a man says. "It's him", says another.

His approach is telegraphed by loud heavy footsteps and creaking wooden planks. People chattered amongst themselves but when he entered, the room they fell silent. The door opened with a bang and squeaked as it rocked on its weak hinges. For a while he just stood there, a massive shadow half-illuminated by the moon above. The door shut behind him as he descended into the hold. Ekan turned away, he did not need to look, for he knew where the monster was headed.

"Twenty more steps", Ekan whispered to himself. He bit his lip and tried to slow his rapid breathing. He felt his heart racing and heard the chains on his wrist rattle as his hands shook uncontrollably. "Fourteen more steps".

By now Ekon could hear him breathing, when he turned his head, he was greeted with the sneer of something he considered less than human, a black slaver, Shakale.

"I know that look Ekon", he said as he grabbed Ekon's face and lifted it to meet his gaze. His voice was gravelly and deep like a boulder being dragged across the stony earth. "You don't know how many times I've seen that look down here. I know what it means. I know what it is to look into the eyes of a man and see he wants you dead"

"That's no secret", Ekon said, his words barely escaping his dry throat. "Every man, woman, and child in this hold wants you dead.".

Shakale smiled revealing bright yellow teeth that stood out against his dark skin and scraggly black beard "that may be true...", he said with a soft laugh "But they don't want me dead like you want me dead".

Ekon scoffed and looked away before saying, "You flatter yourself Shakale. I save my anger for the man who sics his dog on me, not the dog itself."

What happened next was sudden, almost instant. Shakale's fist slammed into Ekon's face with so much force that it nearly knocked him unconscious. The pain comes in a wave that travels from his jaw to every nerve in his body. A tiny instance of numbness followed by a full body experience that shocks parts of his body that had grown so numb that Ekon had feared they might be dead. This punch was not something that comes from a normal human, it was beyond that. The power, this man... no, this creature possessed felt primal, it felt savage. Ekon's eyes started to roll backward behind closing lids and his head started to hang but before his consciousness could fully leave him, Shakale's massive hand gripped his face once again.