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Chapter 2: The Slaves

CHAPTER TWO - The Slaves

The survivors were placed in metal cages where the heathens could openly leer at them, appreciating the goods before they were sold. The young warrior called Lakas looked incredibly silly with parchment and quill in his bloody hands, and his annoyed look did not escape her when he was tasked to make an inventory of the slaves.

"Name?"

While the prisoners around her sobbed and wailed for their losses, Enna merely tried to make herself small in a corner. She never spoke. She never raised her head.

Lakas snatched her chin. He was scowling. "Name?"

When she refused to answer, the bald man behind Lakas growled before backhanding her. "Stupid girl! Tell us your name so that we can be done with this sham and leave!"

Elbows shaking, she sat up, gazing at them with tired silvery eyes. Still, she did not open her mouth.

"You – "

Lakas stopped the man with a wave. "Drop it. I will simply write Silver."

The man smirked. "Yes, a name befitting a horse."

They could call her whatever they want. Why would she bother when she would escape sooner or later? Fighting them would only be a waste of time.

What mattered was that she study how these so called sons of Summer work. The rotation of guards, when do they eat, when they rest, where the keys were kept, how they reacted, as well as differentiating the fools from the cunning.

No doubt an opportunity would present itself. An opening. A mistake. She just had to be patient.

Days wore on. She watched with impassive eyes as more towns were destroyed and more women were captured. Eventually, the cage became crowded until the Southerners were forced to build more. The wails of the women around her were getting to her. She did her best to tune them out. Most of the time, it was working. On rare days such as today, she felt a flicker of anger towards the rotten bastards who enjoyed harming these innocents. These heathens robbed and raped and killed without humanity and mercy. The cruelty of these bronze-skinned people knew no bounds. She could not make herself think of them as humans.

And somehow, these thoughts kept her sane.

A grimy hand shot out and grabbed her hair, pulling her so that her cheek was pressed against the cold metal bars. One of the heathens grinned maliciously, caressing her with slimy fingers from his other hand.

"Wanna taste me, you silver shiarri?"

Enna had picked up from her observations that the heathens call the citizens of Nyebe shiarri, "pale cattle", as derogation that they had the status of less than a human slave. 

She spat on his face.

The heathen punched her. Or would have, had there been no bars separating them. As it was, he was stupid enough to react on instinct and hit the metal bars with his bare hand. She almost smiled at the brute's lack of intellect.

"I will kill you!" he roared.

"That you will not do," said a familiar drawl she recognized to belong from Lakas. Despite all odds, knowing he was around gave her a sense of security. Although fairly younger than the others, she had come to know that Lakas was no mere foot soldier; he was with title and thus authority.

He was by far the most decent among all the heathens she had met. He respected and obeyed orders of his superiors, but never did anything beyond, strictly adhering to his duties. Meaning, the prisoners could not be exploited with him on the watch.