*CRACK*
Insurmountable burning pain. All of Mike's resolve shattered instantly with the first hit. He tried to gasp for air but could not
<
Mike could not believe the amount of pain he was going through. He desperately wanted to faint and escape this pain.
*CRACK*
It was humanly impossible to understand what he was going through; he felt his sanity slipping away.
*CRACK*
Mike's sight began to fade, slowly everything descended into blackness. The darkness was welcomed, and he wanted to embrace it, but something kept his mind from completely fading.
*CRACK*
He was on the point of breaking. The whip slashed across his back, but it sounded distant, like a whispering from afar. There was more to come, so he tried to enter an empty state of mind to somewhat mentally detach himself from his body.
*CRACK*
It was useless. He just could not find a moment to concentrate, the whips came too fast, and the pain was too unbearable. After the fifth whip, Mike just leaned there against the pole, his eyes were lifeless, and there was drool dripping down his face. Not even noticing how he slowly lost consciousness, his mind long lost its functionality.
...
*splash*
"Uaaahp" cough
<
"Wake up, boy. It's a miracle you're alive. You were out for a week. Due to current circumstances, the guards were told to let new slaves on the verge of death rest for a day, but somehow they decided by themselves that you should go work anyways. Was it just them having fun again, or did you do provoke them?"
The voice came from an old lady. She looked like the typical friendly neighborhood grandma that would spoil her grandchildren. Her hair was white, and the wrinkles on her face were many. She was wearing an olive green tunica depicting unfamiliar herbs while crushing those same herbs inside a mortar.
<>
"I... I did not do anything."
<
"You will rest for two more days. After that, you will recover your quota. Three additional carts will have to be filled every day until your quota is back on track. If you do not meet your quota, you will be whipped again, and I am a busy person. If I see you here again in less than a month, I'll just let you die by accident."
There was a slight tone of disgust in her voice. Her good-natured appearance stood in heavy contrast to her behavior.
Not that Mike cared about that. If she were one of those beautiful young nurses every man dreams about, then maybe he'd be somewhat hurt by that. He did not plan on seeing this grandma ever again. Nonetheless, she was the healer and should not be antagonized either, just in case.
<
"Chew on these herbs and then get out of my hut. If you can't walk, then crawl. Do not expect anyone to help you. You're on your own, boy."
Impatience and annoyance practically oozed out of her expression. The old wrench said she was busy, but there weren't any other patients around. Mike could see it in her eyes, pure disdain, and repulsion.
"Miss Healer, where is my tent, if I may ask?"
<
"I do not care, get out!"
"But..."
"OUT!"
Mike stumbled through the hut's entrance and into a small herbal garden. It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the bright sun on the horizon, but slowly he got accustomed to it. The small wooden hut the healer lived in had to be close to the ocean, as he could faintly hear ocean waves crashing against cliffs and taste the salt in the air.
He felt weak but even if the old wrench was not nice, she fulfilled her job. Mike could move and felt slightly better than when he had first woken up.
<
As Mike squeezed his eyes and took a look around, he saw that there were no more slaves around. They were all working in the quarry. The guards walking around ignored him after a quick glance while he tried to orientate himself.
Somehow Mike knew it was futile to ask the guards where his tent was. He had already made an acquaintance with the whip and did not feel like repeating it. Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine. No one could endure that twice.
He shook his head to clear himself of these thoughts and started walking in a random direction. Both the handcuffs around his wrists and the leg cuffs around his ankles were rubbing on some of his wounds, causing Mike to grit his teeth. On top of that, the sandy ground was hot, and the cloth on his feet only provided minimal protection, making the stroll even more taxing.
The quarry could be seen a few hundred meters away. Approaching it could give the guards the idea to force Mike into labor again. It was better to avoid it for now, even if it could give him some clues to where his tent was.
Now that he thought about it… the witch told him he could rest for two days, but how were the guards supposed to know? He stopped in the shadow of a tent and, for the first time, took a proper look at his body.
<
*Slap* His situation dawned on Mike, but on one hand he subconsciously just did not want to accept it, and on the other hand, there were priorities related to his survival that he had to take care of first.
<
"Ah, so that's how they know." Mike could not help but whisper to himself.
"But wait, that's secondary right now, what happened to my body?"
Mike felt dizzy, and his head started spinning.
<>
He had to check his appearance and especially his face.
<
Certainly, slaves would have to drink as well. There was no reason to despair yet. He had to calm down somehow. Being alive, that's the only thing that mattered. Mike stepped out of the shadow and kept walking.
A little while later, he managed to spot a well occupied by guards. The well was situated on an empty square in the middle of the tents, surrounded by a small wooden fence. Inside the fence were flat rocks serving as makeshift tables, on which some guards were playing dice, while the others were just standing around talking to each other.
This was not a good sign. If water was so heavily protected, that probably meant it was scarce. Scarceness meant the distribution would be heavily controlled.
"Calm and respectful, let's avoid antagonizing the guards."
He at least somehow managed to calm himself down.
"You there! Why aren't you at the quarry?"
A guard saw Mike approach and instantly yelled at him in a visibly bad mood. He was one of the guards playing dice, and it was not hard to guess why he was pissed.
<
"Come on, Ale, you lost fair and square no need to take it out on a kid. Can't you see he's hurt?"
An old guard with a long gray beard got up as well. The elderly sage look stood in contrast to the brand new leather armor he was wearing. Had it been a robe instead, he would look like the stereotypical Kung Fu Master.
"You old dog, where do you see a fucking kid? I only see a damn slave, an object whose only worth is mining until it dies. And look at its puny body, this useless thing probably can't even do that properly."
Ale, the furious guard, did not wear any armor nor a shirt at all. The many scars on his exposed upper body were a testimony to a life of fighting. Acting a little scared was surely appropriate here.
*CRACK*
Mike remembered the sound of despair in his head. Maybe it would not be acting…
"I… I'm sorry. Water please!" Mike's dry throat made his voice sound hoarse and pitiful.
"Ale, come on." The old man looked at Mike with pity. "He reminds me of my grandchild. I give you your armor back and you do not trouble him, what do you say?"
"Pft"
Ale did not answer him and held his hand out. The old veteran took off the armor and handed it to him. The half-naked guard equipped the armor and sat down with another group of guards playing dice.
"I bet my armor!"
Most guards shook their heads at his actions, except the new group of guards he was sitting with.
"Smart choice! Everyone knows not to gamble with the old dog; he has the luck of a dying old fart anyway!"
<
The urge to shake his head or roll his eyes was strong but fueled by fear. Mike managed to control himself. The sly smile of the gambling guards showed that they were not serious at all. Fire burned in Ales' eyes as he stared at the dice, forgetting about his surroundings.
"Right. It was a mistake to play with him in the first place. Now I will get my personal tent back and drink as much as I want for weeks!"
The old man could not help to facepalm at Ale's stupidity and took a look at Mike's arm.
"Two days of rest, huh? Did the old wrench send you?"
"N...no. I was supposed to rest in my tent, but I can't find it. I'm really thirsty and saw the well, so I came here."
"I see. You know slaves are only allowed to drink at their designated time during and after work, right? This place is only open for slaves with special permission. Slaves are generally only permitted to drink and eat during work, but since you're recovering, you're allowed to drink once a day either here or in the quarry. If you drink now, you will not be able to drink later. Make your choice."
<
"I want to drink now, Sir."
The old man laughed and handed Mike a wooden cup of water. The boy gulped it down immediately and felt a little alleviated. While Mike enjoyed the cool water going down his throat, he remembered the second reason he had wanted water. To see himself in his reflection.
<
Mike was angry at himself, but at least he got to drink water. Survival came first, and the reflection would not run away anyway. It was not like Mike did not have a hunch about his face after seeing his body. He just needed to confirm it.
"Take your shirt off and turn around, boy."
After handing him the cup back, Mike did as he was told. It was not like the rags full of holes he was wearing were covering a lot anyways.
"2047, that's your number. The slave numbers are engraved on a tile in front of each tent. That's how we know where to find certain slaves. The area of your tent is northwest of here. I'll lead you there. Also, the reason sick slaves can walk around if they want is that fleeing with leg cuffs is practically impossible and attempting to escape results in death upon capture, and trust me, it's not the liberating kind of death. It's not that they do not chain you to a pole inside the tent out of kindness, but because they cannot be bothered to oversee half-dead slaves anyways."
"Really? Thank you, mister! And I will not run, I promise." It was the first time someone showed some kindness. Mike could not help but feel truly thankful to this old man.
"Do not worry about it. Only eight guards have to guard the well at all times, and the rest just gather around to gamble and talk. I'm sure Ale will lose his armor again, and when that time comes, you should be far away. I will not be able to stop him again," the old guard warned.
Mike just nodded and followed him in the direction that apparently was northwest.