Heron opened his eyes slowly, having endured that dream a thousand times it no longer shocked him awake. It was his oldest companion, cherished and hated. He laid motionless in his bed, refusing to rise until it was time to work. He closed his eyes and listened to the quiet of the night, the only sound being the soft snoring of Tibeios across the room. He must have entered sometime after Heron fell asleep. As close as he had to a friend in this green wasteland, Tibeios and he rarely spoke. Two heads taller than Heron, with a body that had been seemingly carved from granite. His face sharp and angular, something that had always brought to mind the image of a hawk. Heron had arrived two winters prior, having been sent to the country by his master as punishment. Tibeios had been here already, ten winters at least. Heron was satisfied with their relationship. Rarely would they speak, occasionally exchanging food and wine, but nothing more. Heron didn’t even know where Tibeios came from, or how he was enslaved. Tibeios worked primarily as a fieldhand, though he was often chosen to maintain the vineyard. This made him the best roommate. On rare occasions, Tibeios would manage to steal a handful of grapes, and would trade them with him and a few others for extra food. They tasted exquisite.
Heron continued his silence, staring at the spider who had made its home at the corner of the ceiling. Today would be the last day of clearing out the valley. For an entire season him and his group had been devoted entirely to felling the trees to make room for a new storehouse. He would no doubt be forced to help build that as well, as was his lot. Still, it would only be temporary. As soon as the right moment came, he would make his escape and rid himself of this country of loathsome vile creatures. Find his home and return to take his rightful place at his father’s side once more. In his head he recited the facts he knew; an island surrounded by deep blue, ten thousand men from ten thousand places, a city of a thousand colours, a great palace. Not enough, his memory too distant and coloured by the foolishness of youth. But it was a problem for later.
The spider crawled over its web, prowling towards a solitary fly that had flew into the trap. Its eight legs danced across the strands of silk as it delighted in the process. The fly beat its wings, struggling with all it could, the buzz of its will to escape deafening. Heron watched as the spider descended on the fly, wrapping it in delicate silk, practiced, skilled, efficient. The fly continued to struggle, and the low hum of buzzing could still be heard, but it grew fainter and fainter with every moment. Its death approached quickly. Heron wondered if it felt fear, a tiny creature that feasted on rotten fruit and goat shit, probably not. The buzzing stopped, and Heron watched the spider descend on its prey as he drifted back to sleep.
As dawn arrived, so did his labours. He was corralled from his room along with the others, given a piece of bread and some cereals to eat, being rushed the entire time. And then it was back to the field, back to work. Niko leading him and his group of ten back to the same place as the day before, axes in hand. The chains rattled as they walked, clanging together in a symphony of metal and shame. How much Heron longed to take the axe and drive it into Niko’s skull couldn’t be understated, and many times he had fantasized of doing just that. And yet, he made no move to do so. He knew the consequences of being so direct. The old scars on his back serving as a reminder of disloyalty. A lesson he was taught long ago. Beaten worse than a dog with the scourge by his first master during his youth for refusing him. He remembered being held down as the scourge came down on him for what felt like years. His skin split as the blood pooled around his feet, that awful noise thundering again and again.
Heron’s heart pounded in his chest; the world slowed to a crawl; the sun was suddenly blinding as his breath began to escape him. He shook his head forcefully, desperate to force the memory from his mind. Not him, don’t think about him he echoed in his mind. He slowed his pace as he wrestled with his own lungs, breathing deeply, through the nose and out the mouth. A trick he learned from the kindly woman at that awful house. “Brown eyes, dark hair, broken teeth.” He recited her appearance in his memory, something he always did when he felt himself breaking. His breathing slowed and his hands stopped trembling. He looked up, forgetting where he was for a moment and saw Niko staring into him. His eyes like that of a snake, that’s just caught sight of its prey. Expecting to be reprimanded, Heron braced his emotions. However, nothing came. Niko simply nodded and started walking again. Strange, usually his sort would be eager to punish, desperate to dominate someone to prove their own worth. Surely he was just biding his time. His punishment would come later, smaller rations, harder work, it didn’t matter.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
They arrived at the clearing, now almost entirely devoid of trees save a few dozen. They had worked faster than he had expected. Perhaps they would be rewarded for the quick progress they’ve made. Heron hoped for some meat; it had been so long since he had last tasted meat. The thought made Heron drool. A shout from Niko in his navally squeaky voice tore him from his fantasy. “Listen up! Lets get this done quick! Get it done quickly, and I’ll let you take some time off and go wash in the river! Half of you smell worse than a goat’s arsehole!” Niko laughed jovially, clearly expecting the rest of the group to laugh along with him. No one joined him. Heron just glared. It was hard to find your spirit in this situation, even if Niko had a single ounce of humour in his needle-like body. Though, Heron couldn’t deny that he would gladly accept time to himself. Weeks of poor sleep had rendered him tired, and his fantasies of violent retribution against his captors had been increasing.
The rest of the slaves seemed to agree, as it only took them a short while to be almost done. The tree’s fell one by one, with them all working overtime to make pace and claim their reward. ‘Great work Drutalos!’, ‘Almost there Attalus!” and other empty praises left the mouth of Niko as he shouted various encouragements to make them work faster. Heron noticed the elderly man with greying hair that was well past his prime was putting in great effort as well. He usually lagged behind, but today he was giving it everything he had, he even spied a grin on his face when Niko shouted his name. “Catarix, don’t push yourself too hard! Save your energy!”. For once, Heron was thankful that he didn’t have to carry his dead weight. All it did however was anger Heron. If he wanted the job done faster, he could pick up an axe and work. Eventually there was only one tree left, and Heron was halfway through it when the crowd formed around him. Cheers and shouts of encouragement came at him from all angles. He was surrounded. His heartbeat faster, his hands swung harder, until the tree fell to the ground with a mighty crash. Voices of glee and jubilation erupted from the crowd. Gone was the weariness and shame in the slaves for just a moment. They were acting as if they had all just been given palaces in the capital.
Heron stood there, frozen and overwhelmed. There were too many people; all of them staring right at him. Heron’s heart started to beat faster, his hands trembled, his breath became short, there wasn’t enough air, he was going to choke. He needed to run, to hide. The sound of celebration started to fade into the distance as his blood started to run cold, when right at that moment a hand clapped down onto his shoulder. “Great job everyone! Gather up your tools and leave them here! You’ll be carrying them back after you’re finished at the river! Move it!”
It was Niko, his voice was like a magnet for the crowd. Them suddenly remembering the prize. Like that, the group hastily tossed their tools with little care in a pile and ran to the river in the distance. Heron looked towards Niko, his mind starting to cool and his breath returning to him. “You did good Heron, nice work.”
With that, Niko smacked him on the back and walked off towards the river to monitor the others. Heron’s eyes were glued to his back as he walked away, for a moment he felt gratitude towards the shorter man. Heron preferred to stay out of the spotlight, stay away from the eyes of others. Nothing good ever came from being noticed. And right before Heron lost himself to hysteria, Niko redirected the crowd and sent them away.
Heron breathed a sigh of relief as he regained control of his nerves, steadying his breathing. “Brown eyes, dark hair, broken teeth.” He knew rationally that Niko was just hurrying them along. Likely the only reason he offered the reward was because he wanted a break himself. Heron grasped the axe in both hands before throwing it with the others, resulting in a dull thump as the wooden handles collided. With his emotions in check, he prepared to join the others. Though, not before seeing in the distance a rider on horseback storming down the road towards the villa. He could hear the bells tied into the creature’s man and tail; a messenger most likely. Not an uncommon sight, it usually signalled to them that they would have more work to do than usual. But he put it out his mind for the time being. He was going to enjoy their reward; it had been a long time since he had the chance to relax without risking punishment.
He could hear the sounds of laughter and splashing, the rest had already reached the river while he was standing idle. Heron decided he wouldn’t waste any more time, quickly pulling off his tunic and placing it under a rock. A ratty, tattered thing. But still, he didn’t want his only clothes to be stolen by the wind. He looked down at his arms, covered in filth and scars. But not for much longer. His arms swung side by side, almost skipping as he made his way to join the other slaves in the river.