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.
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.
That part of Imre that always fought wanted to tell the slaver that he would rather die than help the Tamerian's.
You need to live, the voice of his old mentor rang in his ears. Dead men can not solicit change.
Imre fisted the rope in his hands. His palms stung with the sweat and blood as he raised the line, which was thicker than his wrist and placed it on his shoulder. He hissed as the rough fibers scratched along his already raw skin.
Other slaves had shirts, and leather shoulder saddles to place between the rope and their all to fragile skin.
Imre had no such luxuries.
Verek had made sure of that.
Despite the bite of the rope against his flesh Imre pulled. Each step sent a shooting pain through each bloody knee.
He wanted to give up.
He wanted to lay back down and close his eyes and sleep forever.
There will be time for rest when you have done what you need to do, he told himself and pulled forward, anger lending strength to his tired limbs.
He would carry his weight.
He would not be a burden to his fellow Shaynari.
Imre focused on each step, making sure his feet were firmly panted before moving forward inch by inch. He knew he could not afford to fall again. Not tonight, not so close to the end. Imre knew the path. He knew the next lock would not be far off and then they could rest. Then they could sleep.
Tomorrow would be the last day, the final and hardest leg of the canal.
One more day and then the long journey would be over.
Until the next one begins, Imre thought resentfully.
There was no end.
Not really.
Once you were sent to work on the Canal you didn't come home.
But Imre had to go home.
Somehow he would find a way-He had a promise to keep.
"Pull you worthless rats!"
"Do you want to rest tonight?" a handler came close. "Huh? well then lets make it to the next lock!"
Imre glared at the man who only smiled at the hate worn and plainly as the dirt on Imre's face.
The slave driver raised his hand to strike and Imre stared him down. He knew that right now he was needed. He could see in the man's eyes that the handler knew it as well.
He hesitated and Imre fell a small triumph ring in his soul at getting away with this minor resistance.
"Lock ahead!" called one of the handlers on the other side of the boat.
The slave driver next to Imre stepped away.
"Lock ahead," the call came again.
A flood of relief sounded around Imre as men who had nothing left felt a moment's joy at the prospect of food and a night's rest.
Imre could not help feeling relieved himself. His fists tightened over the rope as the other Shaynari surged forward all of them renewed by the knowledge that the end of this leg at least, was in sight.
-
Imre sat at a distance from the other Shaynari.
It wasn't that he had anything against them, quite the opposite, he did not want to know them because it hurt him to see each one fall even without knowing their names.
He had made the mistake of making several friends on his first Trek north.
Two had died within the first three passes up Gregar's canal. The third, Jaret, had been removed and was happy to be released from the death sentence that was working along the Canal. Apparently Jaret's old master had asked for him back, hoping that he had 'learned his lesson.'
Imre still remembered Jaret taking his hand arm in a firm grip.
"If you ever get free of this place come and find me," he had said.
Imre had nodded, knowing that he chances of him ever going free were slim to none.
"Will you promise me?" Jaret had pushed.
"If you will promise me something."
"Anything," Jaret had answered earnestly.
"If you pass by the house on the coast by the old quarter there is someone I want you to give a message to," Imre had handed Jaret a small stone with a single word carved into it-a name. "Tell her I love her and that I have not forgotten my promise."
Jaret had nodded, a kind of knowing sadness in his eyes.
Being separated from those you loved was the hardest burden to bear, heavier than any ship.
Imre shook his head not sure of why he was thinking of Jaret now. Not a day went by when he did think of her.
"Can I sit with you?" a deep voice startled Imre out of this thoughts and he looked up to see the big Shaynari who had pulled Imre to his feet and taken lashing for him, standing waiting for his answer.
Imre wanted to refuse, but knew better.
This man knew his name.
Imre needed to know how.
-
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