THE DELIVERER'S DESTINY

Chapter 3, Part 4 - Matthew

Feldspar Mine, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

It felt like a mere moment between falling asleep and being dragged out of it by the shouting of the slave masters. Matthew was used to the rude awakening, but still, it was a struggle to get to his feet. He blinked against the overseer's torchlight, stretching his aching joints. The dull pain faded as familiar Warmth spread through him. He took a deep breath.

"Get up!" a slave master yelled, "Or nothing to eat for you!"

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew muttered under his breath, offering Abby a hand. She was sitting up, shakily rubbing her eyes, and she accepted his hand without a word. It took minimal effort pulling her up. She was wasting away, as frail as a leaf in autumn, and it pained him knowing she wouldn't last long. He'd seen her kind before, unused to hard labour and small food portions. They became malnourished and weak quickly, but the slave masters didn't care. Slaves were easily replaceable. It created a fiery ache in Matthew's chest, one that urged him to unleash his anger on something, someone. He couldn't, though. It had happened once, just over a year ago, if his calculations were correct, and he had paid for it dearly. Everyone knew what the symbol on his collarbone meant. It was the Death Omen, a warning for others to stay away from him unless they fancied death. Having lost the supposed 'privilege' of a shirt, Matthew's branding scar was exposed for all to see. He knew it was purposeful. Most of the other slaves stayed away from him because of it.

And yet, he still seemed to be outliving them all regardless.

Abby caught him rubbing the scar, and she gently touched his arm. "You okay?" He knew she had figured out it was something he did when he was trying to suppress the urge to lose his temper.

"I'm fine." He dropped his hand quickly.

It took a while for them to make their way through the crowd into the eating room, where they accepted their small portions of breakfast and huddled together in a corner to eat it. Matthew watched the slave masters eyeing the crowd of prisoners — a feeling in his gut told him that something was wrong. The air seemed much more tense than usual. A pit dug itself deep in his chest, and swallowing his food — which looked a lot like mashed potatoes and rotten beets — felt like trying to swallow a rock. He knew this feeling. He had had it before. It always came before something horrible was about to happen, and never once had it failed him. As selfish as the thought was, he hoped whatever was about to happen didn't involve him.

Naturally, luck failed him. He knew he was in trouble when he spotted the head overseer, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and beady eyes, step into the room and scan it. The man's name was Terminus Aarden — though he was known among the slaves as the Overseer. One learned quickly that gaining the Overseer's attention was a mistake, for he was a cruel and heartless man, so much so that Matthew wondered if he suffered from some psychological ailment that rendered him conscienceless. It was the Overseer who had branded Matthew with the Death Omen, and also he who had done away with Daniel all those years ago. Many slaves had met their end at the hand of the cruel man, and in the sickest ways imaginable.

So when the man's gaze locked with Matthew's, Matthew fought not to choke as he quickly looked down. His insides seemed to freeze as the Overseer started across the room toward him. Matthew managed to swallow down his food; it seemed to clog the pit in his chest as he heard the other slaves shuffling back, trying to stay as far away from the Overseer as possible as the man came near.

"Matthew," Abby murmured fearfully, suddenly aware of the approaching danger.

Matthew didn't respond. He stared at the feet of the man as the Overseer came to a stop in front of where they sat. Matthew was beginning to regret eating. It wanted to come back up. A frantic thought darted through his mind: What did I do?