Chapter 9

~

Oh the treasures to be found,

In dirt and dung heaps.

~

While undoubtedly monotonous, cleaning stalls wasn’t all bad. Sure, it smelt. The fact that he could now detect which type of excrement each beast had by look and texture wasn’t a skill he had ever desired. But it was a skill, nonetheless. And his position kept him active, yet still allowed some semblance of privacy. After all, very few individuals would ever desire to literally wade through kamora refuse.

And so, time passed.

Two weeks after his arrival at the plantation, the boy now called Jorin watched as another caravan arrived laden with supplies. They had a pattern he had begun to notice. A wagon train would arrive at the beginning of the week, unload its goods, and leave two days later with food and crops tightly packed to each wagon’s capacity.

He felt a few things were off about this.

Firstly, no matter how large the plantation spread or how many fields it contained, this level of production was incredible. He didn’t really know much about the specifics of farming, but he did have a vague understanding of the time required. It should take hundreds of acres and thousands of hours to harvest what had been shipped out on the wagons. How was so much produce being harvested and sold so quickly?

It took days to reach the nearest town. Or what he believed was the nearest town. And it hadn’t really been that large. No way the people there could eat all that food. Or even afford it.

Shaking his head, Jorin returned to spreading fresh hay over the floor of the stall. He had only been caught once when not working. The punishment had been no food that day, and more work added to his tasks. He was getting pretty good at understanding the scowls and whistles his boss used to communicate. Most people just shouted at him. Some thought force a better explanation.

He had already been tossed into more crap covered stalls than he thought possible.

The worst at doing such things was his other boss. Or fellow slave. It was kind of hard to tell. The man had a name that sounded like if you coughed the word “Gone”. It was a weird name for a weird man, one who seemed to take immense pleasure in tormenting him. Jorin couldn’t really understand why. Oh, it was fairly easy to tell when he was being insulted, usually because of the smirks. But he had no frame of reference for the joke, and could only guess at the meanings behind most of the man’s spittle.

The other slaves weren’t much better. They never spoke to him if they could help it. If given a chance, they usually just left him to work alone.

Like today. He had been given ten kamora stalls to clean and prep, along with two other slaves. One of them had a collar. Both had left him in the first few minutes, and so he now had over thirty stalls to clean alone. He knew the head boss was aware. Nobody ever said anything though, and he didn’t know enough words to complain.

Whatever. He didn’t really mind. He was apparently strong for his age, and while the work was smelly, grueling, and boring, it was also a perfect opportunity.

He finished prepping the stall, then took a glance around. Seeing no one nearby, Jorin laid his tools on the floor and sat on crossed legs. This was the position all people of this world took during the early morning hours, as the sun rose over the horizon. It was slightly uncomfortable, but he forced himself to endure.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on the small wisps of light that floated in the air. He had noticed the light many times now, almost always during those early hours, but it could be found anywhere. Just yesterday, he had watched a stable hand take a deep breath, then jump over 8 feet in one movement. The woman had been trying to reach the reins of a runaway yemti, and as soon as her hand caught the leather, the beast had frozen mid-stride. It was as if the animal was locked in time, half it’s skinny legs risen off the ground.

When the woman exhaled Jorin had seen the light leave her lungs... before the yemti was again moving, this time much less successfully. If it had been cold, he might have disregarded it as his active imagination. But the days were still comfortably warm, and besides, hadn’t he also witnessed the leather armored guard kill a black tiger in the forest?

There was power in this world. Real power. He just needed to figure out how to use it.

Quieting his thoughts, he tried to breathe normally. He couldn't feel anything unusual, just a sense of emptiness. He attributed that to his hungry stomach. The food he was eating here was better than slop, but it was never enough. Twice a day, he was given a loaf of hard bread, a bowl of boiled grain, and occasionally some slimy red fruit that tasted a little like kiwis.

He continued to breathe in through his nose, and out through his mouth slowly. That was what the stablemaster did. It should work.

No bright colored energy, no breath of light. Of course, how would he know even if he did breathe in the wisps? Could you taste light? Jorin didn’t think so.

Sighing with frustration, he stood up and grabbed his bucket, spade, and rake. Twelve more stalls to finish before dinner. That was one more thing a little off about this place. The days and nights were longer by several hours. Of course, he didn’t have a clock to tell the exact time, so he couldn’t be absolutely positive.

He walked across the barn floor and dumped his tools by the next section, then went back for his wooden wheelbarrow full of hay. Too busy maneuvering his way across the floor, he was startled and almost dropped the handles as a voice sounded off from right beside him.

A young man about his own age stood there. Close cropped black curls sat atop dark skin, as green eyes peered good-naturedly in Jorin's direction. Completely barefoot, he was wearing an open tan vest and loose grey trousers held up by red twine to complete his ensemble.

Standing with arms crossed, the boy grinned then gave a little wave. He shuffled back and forth while clearly waiting for Jorin's response. When he received none, a look of puzzlement came over his face. His head cocked to the right, and another string of words poured out.

Jorin sighed. It was foolish, but not for the first time and probably not for the last, he wished he had a magical translator to help him navigate this new world.

Shrugging towards the other boy, he turned back to his wheelbarrow. Only after dropping it off by the rest of his tools did he turn to see the boy had followed him.

Legs hooked over the top rail, head hanging towards the floor, the guy was watching him while chewing on a piece of wheat.

“Eh…” Now very unsure of what to say, Jorin figured the best response was to keep working. If this guy was another slave, it might be a test to catch them not working. If he wasn’t a slave, then he was clearly just trying to bother Jorin and keep him from finishing his tasks. Unusual method of hazing though. Maybe the guy just had nothing better to do than hang out in nasty smelling stalls with another kid who wouldn’t talk.

And so Jorin worked from building to building without pause, hoping for a return of his peace and quiet. It never happened. Without fail, the other guy would follow along, talking incessantly and punctuating his conversations with flailing hands. He sat on the hay bails, hung from the rafters, walked across the stable sections while balancing precariously, and leaned against the barn door soaking in the sun.

He seemed to have accepted Jorin's taciturn silence as an open invitation to listen, and so he plagued the rest of the workday with his nonstop prattle. Having worked through lunch, Jorin was both exhausted and starving by this point.

He finished the day by cleaning off his tools and wheelbarrow with water from the trough, then turned and stared at the other guy.

Finally, the dark-skinned boy seemed to get the point. He took a look at the sun, spit out his heavily chewed piece of straw, and waved goodbye while trotting away across the barnyard.

Jorin sincerely hoped that would be the last time they ever met.