The Sound of Hope

The crack of a whip jolted Makas awake. Her body pitched forward as her mind snapped from its stupor. Jerking her head around, she watched nervously for the slave trader. She found him, towering above hunched shoulders, and instinctively crouched back, hiding herself among the others. She had learned quickly the importance of becoming unnoticeable. The hunter who found her 4 years ago assured the trader that she would be worth the investment. “Give it two years.” He had smiled promisingly when he collected his pay. “She’ll grow out and you’ll make 3 times the money in about half of the time.” However, her two years passed with nothing to show. Her body stubbornly stayed scrawny and weak, much to the trader’s displeasure. Wincing slightly, she hunched her shoulders. Her back bore testament to the price paid. Even with the marks etched permanently upon her body, she was still one of the lucky few. The sticky confinement of her collar settled unnaturally into her neck. She kept one eye on the trader as she attempted to shift into a less painful position. Another market day meant another day sitting in the simmering heat. Before she could move any further, a callused hand grasped her ankles. “Comfortable are we, precious?” A finger, damp with sweat, stroked her skin. Shivering, she kept her eyes on the ground and shook her head a fraction of an inch. This was the new handler the trader just hired. His hands always wandered a little too far, but never enough as to damage the goods. Makas was one of the more fortunate ones. Since she was too young for any of the night establishments to want her, she didn’t undergo the training some of the older girls did. The slave trader never personally handled the goods. Unsold slaves were profit to be made. The slaves who sold for the best prices were always trained in multiple skills. Training took effort and buyers were unhappy with incomplete results. Damaged goods were just rubbish to be tossed aside. He prided himself on his eye for quality, but refused to touch any of them. As a result he hired handlers to train the ones with the highest potential and break in some of the more troublesome ones. This particular handler had been sent from the Red Light District and quickly marked his favorites. As much as she desperately wanted to shrink away from him, she knew displaying a reaction would only cause her more problems. Not even daring to blink, she waited until he tired of her. He huffed impatiently and removed his hand. “No one’s going to want you if you don’t look alive.” Shaking his head, he laughed harshly. “Unless somebody wants a doll made of sticks.” With one last caress, he unlocked the chains around her ankles and then those around her wrists. “It’s showtime doll. Friendly word of advice, liven up a little.” As he moved on, she was unable to repress the shiver that crawled down her spine. Staring at her hands, she felt a numbness settle over her. The fear stirring inside of her was not because of the handler. Unlocking her chains meant only one thing. Today was her last day at the market. It was her last chance to be sold before the trader handed her off to the reapers. Slowly, she noticed that the slaves around her had withdrawn from her. They were hunched over, shifting their chains so as not to chafe one another. The slave that Makas had been chained to nudged her with her foot. Makas knew she should listen and go out into the marketplace. However, all she wanted was to to crawl back into the tangle of limbs and chains. Shaking her head quickly, she stumbled to her feet. The blazing sun burned against her eyelids as she stood up straight for the first time in months. Weaving into the crowd, she disappeared among the buyers. There was no chance of escape for her. The collar around her neck marked her. Allowing her to run about on her last day was the traditional way of showing mercy. If she was lucky it gave her a slim chance to find and convince someone to buy her. Otherwise, it was a parting gift of life, before being deemed subhuman. Makas shuddered at the thoughts of the reapers. Even among the slaves, stories circulated in hushed whispers. Reapers didn’t treat their slaves as humans but as livestock. They bought and bred their slaves for labour and experimentation. The kingdom didn’t promote their practice but did little to discourage it. Most slave traders wouldn’t consider a reaper as a client. However slaves that seemed unsellable through normal means could always be sold to a reaper. A morbid way to save face and profit but a way nonetheless. Makas found a shaded corner of the marketplace. In her absent-minded rushing, she had wandered far from the slavers and entered another section. Looking around at the bolts of cloth and beaded jewelry, she shuffled deeper into her corner. There wasn’t much of a chance that anyone buying from these merchants would buy a slave girl. In all honesty, it would be miracle if she could find a buyer at all. The stifling air had taken a sticky humid feeling to it. Her skin already coated in a layer of sweat. The collar stung as she tried to rotate it to a more bearable position. The marketplace emptied out as the run rose higher. Now there were few merchants promoting their wares to even fewer customers. Observing quietly, Makas’s attention fell on a strange pair. Due to the lack of other customers, the middle aged man and young boy would’ve drawn anyone’s attention. However, there was something about them that that struck her as particularly suspicious. The young boy had bright eyes but his hands were soft. His clothes seemed simple but was cut from finely made cloth The man, his guardian she assumed, wore a heavy dark cloak, inappropriate for the heat of the day. His eyes were also bright; the same way a hawk might watch its prey. She chuckled at the irony of these opposites. One was extremely naive and the other overly wary. Shrugging, she was about to close her eyes when a cloying scent filled her nostrils. She coughed, rapidly blinking her watering eyes. The nagging sensation returned. This time multiplied a hundredfold when her eyes landed on the merchant. Doubtless, the man wanted to make a sale, but there was still something intensely wrong. His smile was just a tad too stretched, his arms a little far-reaching. Makas shuddered, feeling a wave of heat roll over her. Her suspicion was confirmed when the merchant ushered the boy in when his guardian had turned away. Convincing herself that she was escaping the sun, Makas slipped inside a slit on the side of the tent. Light filtered through the cloth. Blinking through the dust, she saw the boy and merchant through the stand. The merchant was more forceful now, placing himself between the entrance and the boy. Makas could tell the merchant was getting agitated but the boy was calmly perusing the glittering crystals. Gritting her teeth, she scowled. This was a waste of her time. She should be finding a new master not following naive young children. Before she could slip back outside, Makas glimpsed a shadow and a glint of metal on the opposite side of the tent. Instinctively her body coiled defensively, before her brain realized the target wasn't her. It was him. Her mind never progressed beyond that thought. She simple reacted as the shadow moved towards the boy. She sprinted towards the bright eyed child, shoving him aside. Hot metal sliced under her rib cage, almost too easily. Makas crumpled onto the floor. Struggling to breathe as she attempted to process what she had just done. She couldn’t even register the blade she received as a result. Her focus flickered. The light began to brighten and pain her. A cool hand was pressed against her forehead and burning chest. Before her consciousness completely faded, she heard a man’s anguished shout. “Your Highness!”