Indebted (working title)

Bound (part 1)

"I've been watching you for a few days, Ekon", Shakale said, taking a pause to regain his composure after delivering his mighty blow. "You have been refusing to eat again and cargo starved is cargo wasted".

Ekon spits out a glob of blood and shakes his head in a futile attempt to relieve himself of the ringing in his ears. "I'm building up an appetite for the feast they'll have when I kill you and sail back home".

Shakale stared at Ekon for a moment his eyes making a rapid shift between disdain and something that Ekon thought was almost akin to sincerity. He pulled a piece of salted meat from his pockets; it was vastly different from any food Ekon, and the others had been served since boarding the ship.

"You think this suffering makes you noble", he said. "There is no nobility in resisting what awaits you, or choosing to die on this ship to avoid it."

"What do you know about nobility, Shakale? You do what they say to sleep at the foot of their beds. You choose to be a pet rather than a slave. Is there nobility in that - the life of a pet"?

Shakale did not immediately answer. Instead, he tightened his grip on Ekon's jaw to force his mouth open and forced in the scraps of food. He then turned and started back towards the stairs. "Pet or not Ekon, I'm alive, and freer than you'll ever be again.".

The door slams and Ekon cranes his neck to spit out Shakale's offering in a show of defiance, grinning internally at the prospect of him seeing it on the floor the next morning, but before the salty, dry, meat could depart from his lips, Ekon heard an unfamiliar voice speaking to him from the shadows. As most of Ekon's fellow prisoners were much too afraid of Shakale to speak so soon after his visit, this voice cut through the silence like a knife through soft fruit.

"Just eat it", the voice called. "Dead men neither tell tales nor slit throats, if you want to kill him you have to live long enough to do it. Just eat it."

Ekon squinted in the darkness, trying to see who was talking. The minimal light allowed him to make out the silhouette of another large man. Ekon could not see this stranger's face very clearly, but he did notice that one of his eyes was glazed over with a whitish tint. "You're small as it is kid. Just eat the food"

Ekon listened to the Stanger's advice and reluctantly chewed the food. It tasted terrible, and except for salt it was flavorless. It had the consistency of tree bark as it made its way down a sore and achy throat that had not had water in days. Ekon coughed and wretched all the while thinking that if the goal were to keep him alive, this small meal may have done more harm than good.

"Good!", the stranger exclaimed. "We will need all our strength if we are going to turn this ship around and get you to that feast you spoke of"

"We've been here for a while...", Ekan began. Pausing for a moment to be sure his meal did not make its way back up. "I've got a fairly good ear for voices. I can't say that I've heard yours till now"

"I find I benefit more from listening than speaking" The stranger replied. "I heard you counting steps, you knew he was coming to you. Tell me, what did you do to make such a friend?".

"Not sure", Said Ekon. "Just lucky I guess".

Then man's eyes panned around the hold then down at Ekon's chains before saying, "No, I don't think it's luck"

"Maybe he's just a really good judge of character", Ekon says with a smirk.

The man chuckled and said, "maybe that's it. My name is Amobi"

"Ekon", Ekon replied "but I'm sure you heard that during my last friendly conversation".

"I did and I also heard that punch", said Amobi. "I don't even know how you're still talking to me right now"

"Been through worse"

"Clearly, most here wouldn't challenge such a man".

"He's not a man", Ekon said sternly.

"Still", Amobi replied. "Of all the people aboard this ship he not only took the time to learn your name but to bring you food personally"

"Keeping me alive so he can continue his fun"

"I don't think that's the case", "I hear your name said a lot up above. I think you've left an impression on someone other than Shakale"

Confusion spread across Ekon's face. "You can hear what they're saying up there?"

Amobi nodded "Is it true you actually bit one of them when they brought you on board?".

"Yeah", Ekon said with a short breathy laugh. "That beating lasted hours, cost the chef an ear though. That's some impressive hearing you've got."

"It's a blessing and a curse", Amobi replied. "I hear their names, their shift changes, their conversations, but I also hear the screaming... the begging... and the bastards laughing as they ignore it". Amobi went silent for a moment as the screams replayed in his head, just as loudly as when he'd originally heard them. When he was alone with his thoughts, he had been able to silence these voices but the brief break from the self-imposed mental solitude had dragged them back to the surface.

"Amobi!", Ekon called, registering that the silence had gone on a bit too long.

"Yeah, I'm still here" he replied. "I think I'm going to rest for a while".

"We'll talk later?", Ekon said questioningly, but Amobi does not answer. In an instant Ekon, while surrounded by people, is alone again.

Time passed. Seconds felt like hours there, and hours like days. Hundreds of eyes began to squint as the sun's amber glow began to creep into the hold. Each new day illuminated new horrors. Ekon had gotten used to the shrieks and wails that came with prisoners awakening to find that they are chained to corpses. Darkness was a friend here, a beautiful gift that offered the ability to remain willingly ignorant to the waking nightmares of the hold. Cadavers with gaunt faces and sad eyes that would now be forever locked forward remained upright, their chains holding them steady as rigor turned them into kneeling, rotting, statues.

Those who were still alive bore the marks of their captor's cruelty. Emaciated bodies were littered with scars and open infected wounds that wept thick fluids and produced smells whose potency rivaled that of the dead. The floors were slick with blood, vomit, and waste, puddles of filth that would become visible as the brilliant puddles of moonlight faded.

Amobi slowly roused from his sleep and Ekon could now fully gaze upon him. He was strong and well-built, like Shakale but much younger. Ekon placed him to be around thirty years old, ten years older than himself. His fingers were rough and calloused his face dark and decorated with four parallel scars on both of his cheeks, tribal markings undoubtedly given to him as child. One of his eyes is a deep brown and the other, a cloudy white, something Ekon observed even in the dark. The white eye's misty gaze was so eerie that Ekon saw it as a wonder that he did not notice it sooner. EKon thought about this for a while before giving a shrug, eventually landing on the conclusion that being surrounded by the dead and dying for so long, had somewhat numbed his ability to take note of such comparatively minor ailments.

"So...", Ekan says as Amobi's gaze meets his own. "You're a fisherman".

Amobi looked shocked but impressed. He smiled, nodded, and said "At this particular moment I'm a very good-looking wall fixture but... yes, before all of this I was a fisherman".

Ekon smiled not because he thought the joke was particularly funny but because Amobi's response had restored a bit of faith in his observational skills.
"How'd you know", Amobi asked.

"Your hands.", Ekon said proudly. "They've been stained by sea salt and the sun. You've also got scars on your palms, cuts from the lines".

"Wow", Amobi said examining his hands, incredulous that someone could deduce his profession by signs he himself had never even taken note of.