Under the Ashen Banner

Chapter One: The Name (Part 1)

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The indigo moon passed through the Tzevi constellation in the eastern sky, followed by the silver and crimson moons. "Happy sixteenth," Neil muttered to himself. Slaves were not permitted to keep track of their birthdays any more than they were allowed to know their true names, but Neil had taken to tracking his by Heaven's signs. He liked to imagine that if the angels wouldn't intervene to liberate him from Master Davaa's control, they at least helped him remember who he was.

"Wretch, quit daydreaming!" came Lout's bellow from across the field.

Several of the woollies jumped, startled at the shout. Most kept grazing, their long snouts ripping out clumps of greenery, roots and all. Their long tails swished back and forth, swatting at the irksome insects who came for their blood.

Under his breath, he muttered, "My name is Neil," as he always did when someone called him by the demeaning moniker Master Davaa gave him.

Another shout from across the field from the master's chosen motivator, "Did you hear me?" Lout's bulbous face burned red with anger, and the muscles in his bare shoulders tightened. His sinewy fingers grasped a leather-wrapped baton, ready to beat the daylights out of any slave who gave him the slightest excuse.

Garbage, a slave who stood far shorter than the others, mouthed Lout's words behind his back, screwing up his face into a most unflattering expression. Further punctuating his point, he pretended to hold a baton in his hand too, and hunched forward, jutting his lower jaw outward. Neil bit down on the corners of his own mouth, fighting the smirk that threatened to make itself known in front of the Motivator.

Trash, another slave, gave Garbage a concerned look and rattled his head back and forth in warning.

All the other young men and women in the field averted their eyes, not daring to risk Lout's wrath. A cool wind blew across them, and many reached for their hoods to keep them from blowing back.

Neil met the motivator's eyes, but only for a moment before looking away. "Yes, Lout. I won't let my mind wander again."

"See that you don't," Lout grumbled.

He returned his attention from the Heavens to the herds of woollies. He grumbled at his luck, being ordered to watch over these critters again. Most cattle grazed during the day, but woollies only ever ate at night, when the most dangerous predators prowled. Whatever had possessed their ancestors to develop this bizarre instinct was beyond Neil's understanding.

Half a dozen slaves stood watch in that field, their gaze fixed on the treeline in the distance. The slightest hint of gleaming eyes would be cause for alarm. Only then would Lout decide who among the slaves had behaved well enough to receive weapons to fight off whatever beasts came to hunt their herd. Clubs, daggers, whips — these were only for the well-behaved. The rest were expected to use their fists, or offer their own flesh to satiate the predators' appetites. Bonds around the thralls' ankles ensured that if they tried to run they would not get far.

Now and then, Neil would consider sounding a false alarm just so Lout would arm him, then he'd slaughter the motivator like a fattened hog at Wintersbirth. He imagined that with that treacherous bully dead, he would next cut his bonds and those of his fellow slaves, and they would flee to freedom.

But stories of the curses that befell those foolish enough to run always gave Neil pause. Moreover, as loathsome as Lout was, Neil could not bring himself to do him harm. He was a slave too, and not much older than him. Every cruel thing that fool did was a vain attempt to please the only father figure he'd ever known; Master Davaa. That made him Neil's brother, in a way, even if he was a hateful one. Neil was in no hurry to welcome demons into his soul by spilling a brother's blood.