Across the Midnight Sea

Chapter 2: The Canal

It burned an angry stripe down his skin and he hissed turning his head away so that the second blow would not hit his face.

The cruel chord was nothing in comparison to some of the leather whips he had been subjected to as formal punishment, but it still stung like a bitch.

Adrenaline surged through him as anger rose up from the pain and Imre struggled to rise as a third blow came. Despite his efforts and anger Imre's tired arms gave out beneath him from the heavy thud.

Is this the end? He wondered, knowing he no longer possessed the strength to rise on his own. The idea of dying seemed almost appealing: No more work...just rest...

Imre closed his eyes.

All at once strong arms were around him hauling him upright.

"What are you doing!" came a yell. "Get back to your rope!"

Imre heard the crack of the whip, and heard the grunt of the man behind him.

"Get up Emericus," a voice so quiet only he could hear spoke into his ear.

Imre's head whipped around at the use of his full name.

He looked into the eyes of the man who had hauled him to his feet and saw that he knew. The Shaynari holding him upright knew Imre's secret.

It had been months since anyone had called Imre by his true name.

How does he know my name?

Pieces snapped into place in Imre's mind.

Had Verek told him?

This man had left his rope, had taken a blow from the whip and risked punishment all because of a name.

The whip snapped again and the man grunted, his arms quivering as he held Imre upright.

Imre forced his feet beneath him.

He could not, would not, let the man take another blow for him.

"Get back now!" the slave handler's voice had grown high with worry.

Imre looked up and saw why: The slave driver was not worried about a disobedient slave helping another fallen Shaynari, he was worried because the ship which they were pulling up the canal had stopped moving forward.

They had lost almost a full third of the Shaynari who had set out on the first day and it had been a short handed lot to begin with. They needed every Shaynari slave still breathing to pull the ship in order to make it to the next lock.

With Imre and the bigger Shaynari away from their ropes the ship had begun to turn on an angle.

A fine sheen or fear washed over Imre.

If they fell behind now it would ruin the whole supply chain for the Tamerian's and put everything a day or more behind schedule. There was no other way to transport a ship from Shaynari to Tameria.

If they fell behind now...more  Shaynari would die.

The Midnight sea was a particular and angry basin of water. Its dangerous currents only allowed passage south from Tameria to Shaynari. To try and sail north was to sign away your life.

Many ships and sailors had been lost trying to fight those currents, believing that they could paddle their way north against the fury of the sea.

Gregar's canal was the only way.

The nearest slave driver came close and thrust the rope back into Imre's hands.

"Pull if you want to live," he growled.