Across the Midnight Sea

Chapter 2: The Canal

The sun had set hours ago and Imre's stomach growled with hunger as he pulled the heavy rope forward with the other slaves.

He could hear the creak and twist of the thick line straining each step with the weights of its load. Never mind the fact that the line was nearly as thick as Imre's wrist, sometimes they still broke from the strain of pulling the massive ships forward up Gregar's Canal. It was a six week journey, which stretched all the way from the port of hope in Shaynari to the main dock in Tameria. It was a journey which Imre had made five times already.

This was the first time that Imre had truly worried about making it to the final lock.

Imre heard the coughs and wheezes of his fellow Shaynari slaves around him, weakened from hours of pressing ever onward one step at a time. They had not rested since a few hours after mid-day when they had made the last lock.

There was no chance to rest in between lock's on the canal and they were currently so short on slaves for this trek that there was no chance for a break; to just walk and stand upright and to give your arching arms and shoulders a rest from the relentless weight of the ship.

Imre's head hung forward, his chin touching his chest. Black swirled around the edges of his vision where there should have been light. He tried to shake away the dark. He tried to push away the exhaustion.

This was the hardest leg of the trek-the longest stretch on the penultimate day of the journey. A leg which had almost killed him the first time he had been made to haul a Tamerian ship back to its home.

Try as he might Imre could barely see the ground beneath his bare feet. The lack of footwear made this harder than it would have been otherwise. His sandals had broken during the third week and he was the last slave here who would ever be handed a replacement pair. 

Why was there not more light from the handler's torches? Why did the shadows seem to grow around him? They were playing tricks with Imre's eyes.

A part of Imre knew it was the fatigue or  the dehydration, perhaps both blurring his vision. Whatever the case Imre couldn't see anything clearly. 

Imre's feet faltered beneath him when some loose dirt slipped beneath them.

He landed hard.

Pain blossomed like a red flower radiating from his knee as it tore open against a stone. The other knee which had almost healed and scabbed closed broke open once more as it slammed against the ground. Imre groaned in pain and squeezed his eyes tight. His hands which had been clutching the rope tightly, let go and the world tilted sideways.

_

The bank of the canal was cool and it felt like a soothing balm against Imre's flush cheek. He didn't remember falling or his face connecting with the ground. His cheek hurt letting him know that he had been out cold before impact. He could feel the sweat dripping off his brow and into the dirt and for a moment Imre fantasized about just laying there and enjoying the cool earth beneath him.

What was the point in fighting it? Imre closed his eyes.

He was so tired...

He just wanted to sleep.

"Get up you dog!" came the reprimand.

Just a moment longer, Imre thought, even though he knew he would not be granted that luxury.

The moments hesitation was all the provocation that was needed for the slave master and Imre felt the lash of corded rope come down hard against his bare back.