Soar

Chapter 2

"Clearly they believe some of them," I muttered.

"True," he grunted. He stared at his hands. "I can't imagine what they are so frightened of. If I could do all the things they accuse us of, I certainly would not be here still."

I dared to give him a smile before turning to watch the fields roll by.

I had seen large cities before. I was not certain if all people who looked like me spent so much of their lives in the Yards – by what my companion said, I had seen more of them than he, and he was twice my age at least. While the other slaves stared at the passing buildings and murmured among themselves, I sat still with my hands folded in my lap to keep from constantly touching my ear.

The rest of it I could almost bear, but not that. All slaves were marked with earrings. The designs varied, and often great houses had a style unique to their household. They might be copper or silver or sometimes gold – I had even seen wood – and some went through the ear at one point while others went through at two points. Two things were always the same: putting one through the ear required a hole to be pounded through first, and something heavy was always attached on the back side to prevent anything but a tool from remove it.

I had heard of slaves who ripped out their marks. I had never heard if this had helped them escape, and the thought of trying it turned my stomach.

Depending on the slave trader dealing with me, my new mark might be fitted through the last hole or a new hole might be made. I twisted my hands and tried not to think of it.

My companion helped a little with his constant, quiet conversation. "I was born free," he whispered as he studied the houses lining the street. "I suppose I ought to have been more careful, but I did not appreciate my freedom very much. I wanted to travel." He glanced at me to see if I was still listening. "South is safer. People respect a free man. No hot-headed nobles sticking their noses into the way things have been for years.

"People here have a longer memory, I suppose. My father said it did not use to be this bad. Slaves were slaves, no matter their blood. Something happened, and suddenly people got it in their head that we were a threat. There are men who enjoy proving their power."

He studied me, his blue eyes sad.

"I have met them," I said softly.

He did not ask, and I was grateful. There were things I had pushed from my memory. I had to remind myself that the day before me would be difficult enough without what was behind me clouding my thoughts. It worked for most of my waking life. Sleep was another matter.

We settled into silence as we neared the market square. We could hear it before it was in view: hawkers calling out, people laughing, children playing, dogs barking, chickens squawking: the heart of any city, bursting with life. I made sure my scarf was in place on my head and rubbed my palms on my skirt.

"Perhaps someone will take a fancy to the two of us," my companion said lightly.

I smiled my thanks at him but could not speak for the lump in my throat. I would never get used to this to my dying day. In my darker moments my consolation was that such a day may not be far off.

It was just past dusk, so most of the crowd in the market were merchants closing their stalls and stragglers undecided in their purchases. They parted for the new arrivals. Across the wagon, the other slaves were getting awkwardly to their feet. They all had the same look: bowed heads, hunched shoulders, ragged clothes. And as the wagon circled around a fenced area where more slaves had already been gathered, I saw more people who were almost indistinguishable from my companions.