Come the afternoon, we were making our way through the grassy Highlands of Darfur, two men on horseback, and their slaves.
The sun was moving into the west. Grasses stretched around us, rippling in the breeze. They were broken by tall stands of cycad trees and rock formations. To the west, Lake Eibon grew as we neared it. My horse stepped carefully; the ground earth was uneven with rocks.
A chain ran from my saddle, swinging and clinking behind me. It ran to a naked slave girl’s collar, then to a second girl’s, and finally a third. Fogrim similarly led three females on a chain in this same arrangement, known as a ‘coffle.'
The first girl in my coffle was Amber. Her wrists were cuffed behind her. Slung over her back and supported by a cloth strap that ran across her forehead, was a wicker basket like a Sherpas backpack. Every girl on our expedition wore such a basket. They were filled with figs, olives, dates, and cheese.
Next on the chain was a tall Shemite girl with shining black hair that fell down her back. She looked like she had walked out of a fashion shoot in Tel Aviv or Lebanon. Green and red serpents had been tattooed along the sides of her breasts. Around her waist was a copper waist chain with smaller chains hanging from it, they swished between and around her thighs as she walked. This lovely female was Minli; a girl that had been stolen by Darfuri pirates, from a village on the coast of Shem. Shem was a land across the sea to the South West, and the oldest, human-settled land on Hyperborea (that was known of). On the small of her back, she had been branded with the Sumerian cuneiform for "foreign slave girl." Of earth's peoples transported here, only the ancient Sumerians had retained their culture, intact. Their colony here was a magnitude greater than Sumer itself would be.
Chained at the throat after Minli was a beautiful, ebony-skinned, female. She had the same sub-Saharan features that Fogrim did. Her hair was growing out, just starting to fall beyond her neck. The word "slave" had been tattooed across her elegant throat, and her shaved crotch was marked with Fogrim’s personal brand. She caught my eye and quickly looked down.
"That one," I pointed to her, "what's her name?"
"That is Shuba," said Fogrim giving her the briefest glance.
Shuba looked down at her feet, hefting the basket on her back.
"What's her story?" I asked. "Did you raid a neighboring farm for her?"
"Her father went into debt," he replied. "She was put to sale at the debtors’ court at Ebugal. I thought she would look good wearing my collar."
She did.
"Is that normal, though?" I asked. "Why are self-sufficient farmers going into debt?"
"Not everything a man needs can be grown on a farm. And not all farms are small, as mine is. There are large ones that send grain across the seas to the hungry cities of Shem and Armanea. Such farms are worked by many, many slaves. Many farmers have sought to grow their holdings to partake of the rich grain trade, borrowing from moneylenders to buy new fields and females. Shuba’s father was one such man."
"What happened?"
"The large farms lowered their prices. The new farms with debts to pay could not match them and were ruined. The moneylenders took over their lands and females. Then, the large farms bought those from the moneylenders, at cheap rates. Men like Shuba’s father, now work soil that they had once owned but now as poor tenants, never to rise again. It is almost as if the lenders and the large farms had worked together."
It was a tale that would not have been out of place in the 21st century.
Chained to Fogrim’s coffle was another Shemite, a Bharaji, and Haley. There were fresh, red, whip marks on the back of Haley's thighs and calves: some figs had dropped from her basket and Fogrim had disciplined her for it. She frowned in concentration, sweat dripping down her brow. Of all the slaves, her basket was the heaviest and most poorly loaded. I suspected this was deliberate: Fogrim was quite taken with my blonde Amazon. Hyperboreans are a cruel lot; a man is as likely to thrash a slave he fancies, as kiss her. This punishment creates fear and thereby eagerness to please; benefits to be reaped later when the slave is put on her back.
We made our way down to the lake without incident. As we rounded a large rock outcropping, we had a clear view: 300 feet away were stone ruins of a wharf built by one of Hyperborea’s long-forgotten cultures. Beehive-shaped mud huts were clustered around one of its crumbling piers. A tall banner fluttering in the wind, before it.
Hauled up on the wharf was a single-masted wooden boat with a prow carved in the shape of a giant, fanged mouth. Carpenters hammered against the sides of the boat, while others sawed fresh planks at wooden tables.
"That is not right," Fogrim frowned and halted his horse. "The boat looks as if it is being repaired."
"So, is there another boat that can take us? Or is it some sort of one-boat-port?"
"Boats come here rarely," said Fogrim, urging his horse forward again. "Let us see what this misfortune is, close up."
We reached the makeshift drydock. The men there wore kilts of red and off-white cloth, and tool belts of dark leather. They were mostly Dafuri and Shemite. Some stood guard with shields of stretched leather and long, wide-bladed spears. One nodded to us and walked over.
"What happened?" Asked Fogrim.
"There were strange lights over the water last night," said the guard. "The pilot steered to avoid them and struck some rocks instead. The damage was worse than feared."
"When will she be put to the water again?"
The guard turned and looked back at the boat.
"Not the side of the rising moon."
Fogrim cursed. The guard turned and went back to his post.
"We must head back," Fogrim turned to face me. There was a sudden heaviness to his face. "There is nothing more to be done."
"Seriously? That's ridiculous. There has to be another boat. This is a lake, isn't it? A big lake with lots of ships and traders?"
"Indeed, but it is a big lake. A ship may travel for days without seeing us waiting by the shore. And not all who ply the lakes waters are trustworthy merchants."
I looked at Amber's basket. The fruit would not keep; if they were not sold soon, they would be wasted.
"Why can't we just build a raft, like we did when we decamped from Red Water?"
"The lake has large and clever fish that have learned to tip rafts. There is also the matter of the lights they saw. I would not have us come upon such a thing in a simple, small, raft.”
“You don’t know what those lights are.”
“Indeed, and I would that I not find out.”
"Well, forget boats. Why don't we just travel overland? It's just a bit of walking, right? Better than all this going to waste. And don't you want to see your son?"
I saw a flicker of pain in his face.
"More than you understand, Gerard of House Stone. But the overland path is no longer safe. A group of bandits has been abroad of late, and farms and farmers along that way have been attacked. Some also claim to have heard the howling of a strange monster, that moves through the grass like a hunting cat, and knocks trees aside with the strength of a tyrant lizard."
"Since when were you afraid of a little danger?"
"I am not, friend. But, it is not for me to assume on your behalf."
"And likewise. I'll make my own decision, and I say let's take this other path. If anything gets in our way, let us do as Hyperboreans do, and kill it."
***
I stood up from the campfire.
It was the late hours of the night. Up above, the unpolluted night sky was a black sheet covered in uncounted diamonds. Our horses slept secured to a tree. Snoring loudly by the fire on a bedroll was Fogrim. Behind him in a neat pile was our gear and the sherpa baskets.
Across from the fire were the girls. The two coffles had been connected, forming a single, long chain. The slaves slept in a row, face down on their bellies, wrists bound behind their backs and ankles crossed and bound. None had been taken for our pleasure: we did not need distractions when crossing dangerous land.
I stepped away from the fire. We had made camp up on a short, rocky hill. The top was covered in thick trees and had been the den of a large centipede and her brood. Their giant shells lay in a pile in the dark; we had fed the slaves on their raw flesh and juices. I made my way to the edge of the tree line; as my eyes adapted to the dark, I could make out the sheer, cliff edge.
All around the small hill were unbroken fields of wild grass. It is why we had come here; if anything approached, we would see it on the open ground. The only thing that stood out was a small copse of trees to the east.
I frowned at the trees. Nothing could sneak up on us - but what if something watched us from the copse? It was the perfect place to spy on us.
As the night wore on, I could not shake the idea that someone - or something – was watching from there. By the third hour of my watch, I gave in. I found some sturdy vines on the other side of the hill and climbed down. I wanted to approach the offending trees, but I could hardly walk directly to them. Instead, I crouched down, darting between tall grasses, moving in a large semi-circle towards it.
Finally, I arrived behind the copse.
Peering between the tall grasses, I could see the flickering of a small fire.
I drew my blade and crept forward.
As I neared, I saw the campfire had been shielded, facing towards our camp. The cooked remains of a small animal lay beside it, now mostly bones.
Lying prone beside the fire and watching the hilltop, was a small-made figure dressed entirely in black, wearing a hood.
I raised my sword to strike-
-A twig broke under my boot.
The black-clad figure leaped to its feet. Steel flashed as it drew a curved short sword. I heard the grunt of a woman as she lunged forward, stabbing at my throat.
She was fast! Only reflexes saved me. She swung at me again as I jumped back, her blade slicing through my shirt.
She drew a second sword and charged. I parried two blows, but the third one nicked my arm. It was a shallow cut, but the sight of my own blood was a shock.
I roared and rushed at her, striking for the kill. She brought her swords up to parry, but I gave her no time to counter. Again I struck down, a third time, a fourth. I backed her up against a tree; she stopped abruptly as she noticed it behind her.
I pressed my attack, striking down at her head.
She went down on one knee, absorbing the blow. She tried to roll away but not before I kicked her in the gut. She cried out and doubled over. I pressed my advantage in an instant, my sword smacking hers out of her hand. Then I kicked her in the shoulder, shoving her back. She staggered and fell.
I was atop her in an instant, pinning her. She screamed as I grabbed her arm and twisted it till she dropped the second sword. She kicked and thrashed under me, but to no end. I rolled her forward onto her belly and yanked her arms behind her back. I bound them with a length of rope, she snarled as it cut into her skin. I took out another, longer rope and tied it around her waist, with about 6 feet of lead.
The bandit secured, I pulled off her hood.
Unmasked was a Caucasian girl with an oval face. She had high cheekbones and dark hair. Her features were youthful; she must have been in her early 20s. She gave me a murderous glare. I could not help but notice the warm softness of her body, through her clothes.
"What were you doing spying on us?"
She kept glaring at me.
"Where are the others? Are you a lookout?"
She spat in my face
I was stunned. I was so used to slave girls, I had forgotten how a free woman might treat me, instead.
"Very well," I wiped my face. "We can do this the hard way."
I picked up one of her swords. It was curved like an ancient Egyptian Khopesh.
"You can tell me where the others are," I put the sword against her throat. "Or I can kill you. You decide."
"You'll just kill me anyway," she said. She had the strong accent of a native-born Hyperborean.
"I might. But you don't know that. What you do know is that I will kill you if you don't tell me." I pressed the blade into her neck.
"I have a map in my pocket."
"You'll have to do better than that," I got off her, and pulled the rope around her belly, taut. "Get up. You're going to lead us straight to them."