Waking Olympus (The Singers of the Dark Book 1) (11 page)

"Mikel. I mean Mark, you look terrible. How about you lie down on the bed for a quarter of an hour, dear?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed without thinking. His mind started to cloud over instantly.

"Huh? Doesn't make sense. An hour is 63 minutes can't divide by four."

"The homeworld of the Ancients had a 24 hour day that had 60 minutes in an hour. On Neti they just changed the minutes in the hour to 63."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Growing weary. He heard Tei. It should be fascinating but he was having a hard time thinking. How long was a year on the Ancient's home? Did they also have a leap year every second year, except for the 72
nd
? No, that would vary from world to world. He couldn't work it out. He toppled over. Tei came to him pulled his shoes off. Vaguely he heard an angelic woman's voice.

"Sleep my prince. I'll protect you." Maybe a kiss on the forehead, that was surely a dream, perhaps.

He started to come to, then snapped wide awake as a single memory came back. He was in Lindin. He wanted to jump out of bed but his whole body ached so much he couldn't move. Slowly he swung his legs off the bed, and pushed himself up by one hand. There was pain everywhere.

"Ah. You're awake! Good. How are you feeling? Don't worry I think you only slept for about an hour."

He groaned.

"I'm sore all over. Can't move."

"Ready to go? Come on, once you get moving you'll feel better."

The sun was noticeably lower in the sky. It was a very pleasantly warm day. But the smells of the city were atrocious. There was poor sanitation, and everywhere the signs of disease in the people he saw. Many of the problems he knew were curable, even avoidable with sewers. They didn't even know about antibiotics or aspirin, much less the new vaccination. Although many diseases had returned some practices had been saved from the time of the Ancients, less so in Bethor and not at all in Lindin. This was a city that suffered, unnecessarily, its only painkillers were nationalism and jingoism. He didn't know the history of such things but guessed it would not be good. Tei told him that the Traders knew the histories and that he was mostly right, it would not end well. They would unleash a wave of terror, eventually that terror would be directed internally, first at 'traitors' then finally it would be self-justifying and perpetuating. It would consume the society that gave it birth, it would cause endless suffering for the innocent.

They walked south out of the market area into an area that looked very different, here the old city had decayed or been removed completely, it was flat, now replaced by row upon row of army tents. A lot of smoke was rising from camp fires. Men in the distance were practicing drills. It was highly suspicious and he knew they were too close already. A guard — no, an officer — approached them. He was beefy, a bit round but with the air of someone who was fit in spite of that. He was dressed in the red and black of the army, his face had a red blush, more from health than overindulgence of anything, and a great mustache that flowed off his upper lips like a curl of reddish brown smoke across and up both sides of the face. He stopped. Put both hands in his lower vest pockets, chin up, announcing confidence but betraying a complete lack of animosity or guile — not a professional soldier. He spoke in a boisterous, barely disguised friendly voice. A broad southern Canta accent. Not the picture of the Bethor war machine that he expected.

"Citizen! What is your business here?"

"Good afternoon, sir. I was merely walking with my wife to see the city. I have never been to Lindin before. Most of my business is in Bethor. Come to think of it, is there anything that our troops miss from Bethor or the Cantas?"

He smiled. "Well, yes, quite a bit. For instance … " He gave Mikel an almost shy look, embarrassed to be talking about trivial things at a time like this. "You know that salami they make in Grahamville, south of Bethor? You can get it in Bethor, at Fenth's deli on Steel Street. It always reminds me of home and my Beth. A lot of us miss things like that. I know you think that is silly, there are lots of things we need but we miss home most of all. That and such like that would be a welcome relief."

"Sure. I'll see what I can do."

"Look forward to it sir. The name is Miley, by the way, Miley Aarons, sergeant first class. At your service." He saluted.

They smiled and left, walking to the south. Mikel wanted to see the Lake close up.

After a few blocks they were out of sight of the camp. There were fewer people here.

"Tei, there were thousands of troops there. I think we know why everyone else looks hungry, all those extra mouths to feed, and guess who gets preference. Surely they don't need that many to defend Lindin?"

"Correct. They are preparing for war. But against whom?"

"We can figure that out later."

They continued to walk south towards the Lake, some of the old buildings he noticed were in reasonable condition and inhabited, others were just rubble.

The histories of the Cities and their Fall was complex and confusing with large gaps, no one understood it. A lot of the damage was done long before Bethor conquered them, but for some reason they didn't repair the damage. The sun was setting, the reddening light mellowing out the harshness, giving a false friendliness to the faces that passed him. They were not going to get to the Lake in time, and he didn't want to be on these streets in the dark.

In the middle distance to the left were the ruins of a once large old building a few walls poking out of the dirt, some blackened by an age old fire. There were soldiers guarding it and a team of people in rags working, digging, carrying loads of debris. Overseers walked among them dressed in the latest fashions with whips in hand lashing out, seemingly at random at the workers who were dressed in shredded rags. In his mind he saw blood dripping from the shreds of cloth, as if it was ragged flesh. They had leather collars.

"Slaves."
 

He was starting to remember. This whole depressing, decayed atmosphere … the death of hope and humanity. It all came back.

He was perhaps nine. There was a family that needed a few children for a special occasion. His owner had given him as a loan to the refined household, just for the event. The Lady of the House had come to his Owner's villa one afternoon. There was muffled talk, all in private in a locked room. But adults forget how well they could hear as a child, he heard it all; he understood that he was to perform a role and nothing else. The matron of the house wanted children to serve at formal parties, she thought it would be a sensation, a new trend, he should look cute.

Next day he was delivered like a package to the servants quarters of the household. He was washed and dressed in fancy clothes. Do this, do that. Don't do this, don't do that. The staff were paid servants, he was only a slave. Property. The scars from the whips hidden under the fine clothes. It was a soirée. He held an elegant plate of small bite sized pieces of food with strange, outlandish adornments, none of which he was allowed to eat of course.

There was a discussion on the tides in the bay and wave patterns. How they would affect the shipping.

He walked up to them and let them take one of his offerings. He couldn't help it. He spoke.

"Which way do the waves bend when they enter the bay? I've noticed that waves change direction when the depth changes."

They looked at him strangely. As if the teapot had just spoken.

He was whisked away by a maid who was about to scold him when a young woman in a red party dress approached. The maid addressed her as "mistress".

"So little one. You want to talk to adults as an equal? Not just as a free child. But as an adult. Most curious. Come with me."

"I only wanted to talk about what I had seen and what it means?" He said.

"
What it means?
How about you consider what your situation
means
?"

She grabbed him by the arm and led him to a room at the back of the mansion. There was a man sitting there. Big, bearded, dressed in leathers and skins as if he had just come from a hunt. Several elaborate knives were tucked into his belt, and a sword in a leather scabbard on his left side.

"Henry. Take him." She said.

The man casually walked up to him and grabbed him. Pushed him down onto the floor on his back and pinned him there.

The woman walked over to him in her so elegant dress and pulled out a dagger with a wavy blade. He had never seen such a thing but it spoke of pain and terror.

"It is called a
kris
, beautiful and deadly, remember this and remember me."

He pleaded, he didn't remember what he said he just pleaded like the child he was.

He didn't see what she did but he felt it. There was a nightmarishly sharp, blinding pain in his left kneecap. She dug the point of the dagger into his patella making sure she didn't damage the 'property'. Just piercing the bone a bit. She removed the blade, leaned close to him.

"Little one. Let this be a lesson, learn as I did, if you don't want to be stepped on then become the one who steps on others. I'm doing you a favor."

When she got up he saw that she was shaking slightly. The look on her face was strange as if she was distressed and excited at the same time. It was more frightening than the blade.

She looked at Henry. "Tell Alfonse that he isn't suitable for tonight but I will want him again. Take him back and tell him I don't want him damaged."

"Yes, m'lady."

"I've told you before, don't use that archaic feudal address around me. Address me properly."

"Certainly, Ms Markham."

Alfonse was not happy. He got out a whip and raked it across Mikel's back a few times until he saw some blood. He strode about dressed in an unseasonably thick leather coat. Perhaps it hid weapons and armor so he could deal with his 'business associates'.

"I've had another who's been giving me problems. Even more so. Can't sell him. Can't even put him on the streets, he'd bolt just as you would."

Mikel could tell he was getting angry, and he had been drinking. He couldn't do much himself, locked as he was in one of the bamboo cages, hunched down. Sometimes other children were here but the others must have been sold. Mikel hadn't been sold, maybe he didn't look compliant enough, perhaps a touch rebellious or independent.

Alfonse came back into the room dragging a boy, his hands bound behind him, his name was Paul, he was slightly older than Mikel and had blond hair and brown eyes, he was only dressed in ragged short pants. He had a tender nature or so Mikel thought based on the little he saw of him.

Then in front of Mikel, Alfonse slowly cut him into pieces as he screamed. Every time he tried to look away, Alfonse would yell, "Look! Or I'll do this to you next."

He wondered why guards, or neighbors, or any passerby who had any decency didn't burst in through the door. There was so much blood, he prayed for little Paul to die quickly or faint. But the screams just went on and on.

He watched as Paul was cut into pieces, screaming. Endless screaming. Then it did end. Then Alfonse fed Paul to his dogs, bit by bit, in front of Mikel. He was shivering in terror and numb at the same time; deep inside there was a white hot rage growing. He wanted to rip the cage apart, but he knew he couldn't, he wasn't strong enough, and if he tried he would get a dagger in the throat, or worse.

That night Mikel had shut his eyes and tried so hard to forget what he had seen and heard and felt. But it went round and round, always there.

He had been requested by the same household as last time. So he went along, dressed in smart clothes, but not too smart, he was only a slave acting as a servant.

He was met at the entrance to the ballroom by the woman he had talked to last time. She saw the hollow look in his eyes.

"I see your master has instructed you in the ways of the world. Obey and live, and maybe someday you will be the master."

It was a mindless party. He did what he had to do. Always there were flashes of Paul, screaming.

Back at the dingy slave dwelling that night Alfonse had been drinking again.

"You know, you little piece of crap, I do get favors, financial ones, from that damn Markham family. Resting on their laurels.
Almighty conquerors
— in their imagination. They do have coin but I don't get enough."

He staggered over casually picked up his favorite big stick and whacked the cage, for no apparent reason. Then he smiled, pointing the stick at him and jabbed him, through the bars and straight into his ribs. Mikel doubled up in pain.

"Damn that lot. Maybe they like toying with you but I need some cash. I'm selling you tomorrow. If you aren't sold then you'll be meeting your friend." Alfonse said.

Mikel didn't feel any fear, his emotions had hit some saturation point. That capacity was exhausted.

The next day at the slave market, horrors were still floating in front of him whenever he closed his eyes. It didn't look like he would be sold. Then a softly spoken man, hooded in a plain brown cloak came up and talked to him. Alfonse stepped up to intervene but the man flashed something at him. Alfonse's eyes went wide, there was a look of fear in his eyes. It thrilled Mikel.

He talked some more to Alfonse then to Mikel, and then took him by the hand to his new life.

He was back in the here and now. A warm night was falling, faint putrid smells, acrid smoke but a fading of activity, as if the earth was preparing for sleep. They were in great danger, he was in Lindin and this was a bad place to remember. Tei had moved him behind a half fallen, carbon scored, gray wall. He was shaking with fear and rage and pain. So much pain. For his family butchered, for other slaves casually murdered or mentally scarred. There were tears running down his face. He knew it was bad but he couldn't stop.

Tei said, "Mikel! What is it? Oh gods! What was I thinking coming here?"

He remembered now. Remembered the relaxation mantras he had been taught, the practice that had saved him after he came to Lind. The breathing exercises. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists, breathed out and relaxed his fists. He repeated the process, again and again. Repeated the mantras, again and again. Felt the wave of relaxing muscles flow from the top of his head to his toes, and finally within his mind. At last, he looked at Tei, who was starting to breathe too deeply and quickly.