Heart of Shadra

by Susan Faw

  The wagon at the gate was released. The driver brought the team around and backed the wagon into an empty spot three wagons down from them. The two men got down from the driver’s seat and walked around to the back of the tumbril. A large padlock hung from thick iron chains that were threaded through two large handles, locking the doors shut. The shorter of the two, a pudgy man with a thick beard carried a ring of skeleton keys that jangled in his meaty fist. He fished the proper key from the bunch and shoved it into the lock, turning it with a loud click. The chains were pulled away and the doors flung open.

  “Get out, you scurvy rats. Your masters are waiting.”

  He reached in and pulled a young man out of the interior. Two rings of iron bound his wrists with a chain dangling in between. His feet were similarly banded at the ankles. The rough iron cut the tops of their feet and dried blood was joined by fresh as the scabs were torn away by the sudden movement. The lad was chained to his companions and as he moved forward, they followed in a clanking line. A filthy, squalid band of humanity stumbled from the cage, blinking in the bright sunlight.

  Marsai hissed with anger. Most of the prisoners were little more than children. Some were children. Their hair was matted with sweat and grease and their clothing ripped, exposing the striping of whips and bruising. The variety of injuries was shocking. Most of the weeping cuts were infected, their edges raw and puffy. The young men were stripped to the waist and not one back had been spared the lash.

  They hurried to catch up with the longer strides of the older kids. Their muddy faces were tear-streaked and stained. The youngest appeared to be six or seven years of age. Haunted stares took in their surroundings, naked with fear. In total, Marsai counted twenty slaves in the huddling mass. Chutzpa tensed beside her, and Marsai placed a restraining hand on his bicep. It was rock hard. His body was tensed to spring.

  “Stand down, Chutzpa. Remember why we are here. They are just the latest to arrive. Remember your brother. Remember Shikoba.”

  Chutzpa growled, “I will beat those slavers to a bloody pulp when I get the chance. They are mine.” The vehemence of his words was punctuated by the quiver that shook his body. “I want blood.”

  “And you shall have it, if it is necessary. Now watch.”

  The prisoners were shuffled off the boardwalk and through the doors. The building didn’t appear to be large enough to hold them all, but they soon disappeared inside.

  Chutzpa tensed to jump up on the boardwalk, intent on following the children, but Marsai hissed, “Stay still!” She clamped an iron grip on his forearm, halting his advance. “Look,” she whispered as she pointed to a second wagon that was backing in beside the first. This one was not a tumbril. It was a plain wagon with low sides, loaded with wooden boxes all the same size. Lettering was burnt into the blond wood in a language foreign to Chutzpa.

  “That lettering is not Shadrian. It is not Tunisian, either. It belongs to the Citadel. It is a language that only the emperor understands.”

  Chutzpa’s head swiveled to stare at her. “What are you saying?”

  Marsai frowned. “I have had reason for a very long time, to believe that the emperor is not of Gaia.”

  “Not of Gaia? You mean not of Shadra.”

  “No. I mean not of Gaia.”

  “Where do you think he is from?” Chutzpa’s mind was still on the emperor. “And what,” he gestured at the new wagon, “do you think is in those wagons?”

  Marsai shrugged. “I don’t know,” she whispered, “but I think we had better find the answer to both of those questions.”

  She watched as workers came out onto the dock carrying buckets of soapy water. They entered the wagons and sloshed the water across the floor then scrubbed the human filth from them, washing it out the sides and rear of the tumbril. Once the initial flush was completed, they spread a caustic lime on the floor and covered it with straw. The lime would kill any disease elements in the wagon, which were easily swept out on reaching its destination. A stooped woman waved a hand at the crew of the second wagon as they left, indicating that they were finished with their task.

  The crew got to their feet and shuffled over to the waiting boxes, hefting them into their arms and carrying them over to the waiting wagon. It took the better part of half an hour to load it.

  Just as they were finishing the task, the door opened and a guard stuck out his head. “The master instructs that you take your break right now. There are ten more tumbrils about to arrive. He wishes them all to be loaded and on the road back to the Citadel before dark.”

  Grumbling rose from the men, but they hurried toward the door, obediently answering the summons. An odour of boiled cabbage wafted from the open portal. It abruptly cut off when the door closed behind them. Silence fell.

  Chutzpa craned his neck out to check to see what else might be transpiring on the boardwalk. The next closest wagon with activity was located ten wagons away, the workers intent on loading their cargo of woven sacs. Chutzpa was up and onto the boardwalk in a flash and with light steps ran over to the wagon. He stepped into the wagon, pulling a pocket knife as he approached the first crate. It was nailed shut. He pushed the blade under the edge of the lid, working it in as deep as he could force it and pried on the handle, moving the nails up by small increments. He was careful to not force a creak from the wood, but worked his knife with a silent swiftness until all the nails were loosened. He pulled off the top. Inside the crate was a round object wrapped in a soft cotton blanket. Rather than unwrap it within the wagon, he snatched up the object and then replaced the lid and then sat on it, allowing his weight to force the nails back down in their holes. With a quick glance, he checked to be sure the way was clear, then picked up the heavy bundle and hurried back over to the franticly waving Marsai.

  Chutzpa dropped back over the edge just in time. The door to the small room opened again and out trundled the workers. Some were wiping the remains of soup from their lips with the back of their hands, grumbling about not getting enough to live on. The two drivers were right behind the workers. They paused to close and chain the doors on the back of the tumbril, locking it with a twist and click of the iron padlock.

  “Quiet, you curs,” said the guard, who took up his position in front of the door. “Your next wagon will deliver its cargo to station nine. It is due to arrive in ten minutes. I suggest you get a move on.”

  Marsai and Chutzpa melted back into the relative safety of the space between the buildings as the echo of the men’s boots faded away. Chutzpa shifted the heavy object in his arms.

  “Why did you have to take it? You could have examined it and left it behind. How are we supposed to carry that around?” Marsai whispered, shaking her head in disbelief at his brash actions.

  “There wasn’t time. This was faster. If it was anything dangerous, they would have put guards on it.”

  Marsai raised a skeptical eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. Chutzpa could almost hear her foot tapping with annoyance. “Unless the object is too dangerous for guards. They did lock the crates in an impenetrable tumbril.” She grabbed his arm, pulling further back into the short alley. “What do you propose to do now? We can’t follow the slaves down into the mines. Especially with you carrying that.” She nodded toward the linen hugged to his chest.

  “The mines start here?” he asked, surprised. They were a long distance from the coast.

  “Of course, they do. Where do you think all those children are? Do you hear them?” Chutzpa shook his head. “This is a doorway. I am sure if we were to open the doors, we would discover a set of stairs leading down into the mines. Hallways that are well guarded.”

  “That makes sense.” Chutzpa edged to the end of the alley, his eyes searching the compound. “Well, there is a more official entrance back there,” he said, jerking his head to the left. A larger structure stood two stories tall with a great glass dome rising from the top. The dome rose another two stories into the air.

  Marsai joined him, peering past
his arm at the imposing structure. “That building is promising. Officials would be found in a heavily guarded building like that one. I think we should try to get inside.”

  Chutzpa pulled back from the edge, then knelt on the ground. “Okay, but first I want to see what this is.” He unwound the wrappings. As they slid off, a round object was revealed. Ebony black, the ball sucked in all the light in the vicinity. Chutzpa shivered as a chilly breeze drifted up from the ball. Its touch was the freezing cold of death.

  Chapter 24

  Children of Misery

  SHIKOBA WOKE TO ROUGH HANDS hauling her to her feet. Bleary-eyed, she didn’t immediately recognize the broad-shouldered dark outline of the man who dragged her to a stand as though she weighed nothing more than a child. Instinctively, she struck out at the figure, but before she could strike her attacker, her chains tangled and her fisted upper cut intended for his chin bounced harmlessly off his shoulder.

  A deep laugh filled the cell and Shikoba blinked. Casper stood in front of her, eyeing her pathetic efforts with a jaundiced eye.

  “Flail away, Shikoba. You can’t hurt me.” He leaned in closer, pushing his face into hers, a dark scowl flattening his lips. He stopped with a bare inch separating their noses. “But I can hurt you,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice. Shikoba’s eyes widened. When she remained still, he straightened. “I have been sent to bring you to the emperor. Your service is required.” His eyes took in the moccasins on her feet and then strayed to the mask. He picked it up and handed it to her. “You are to bring this, too.”

  Shikoba took the mask from him, then followed Casper out of her cell. He grabbed her elbow and shoved her out ahead of him, allowing her to lead the way along the dark corridor. He grabbed a torch from the bracket by the door. Its flickering light threw his shadow beside hers. It was much larger than her own despite being cast a longer distance. His hollow footsteps behind her caused a shiver to race up her spine. She stiffened, refusing to give in to fear, to show fear.

  When they passed the next torch, Shikoba raised her chained hands to grab it from the wall bracket, bringing it around in front of her. Casper’s head swung in her direction at the sound. He chuckled, and her mouth tightened.

  “You have not changed at all, Shikoba. I can read your every thought, just like I always did. Still afraid of the dark?” he taunted. “Rail against your fate, all you want. You have no life now but to serve our master. The emperor will accept nothing but your complete subjugation. You belong to him.”

  “Pangolin dung,” Shikoba spat, her chin lifting. “I belong to no one. I am my own woman.”

  Casper laughed. “Not even to the witches? Do you always lie to yourself, Shikoba? Does that necklace cloud your reality as well as your loyalties? You are of Shadra, of Gaia. Yet you believe the lies of snake charmers.”

  “Snake charmers?” She spat over her shoulder. “Are you not bonded to a dragon? Are you not part of a triad merger, Casper? Do you think so little of the bond?”

  “Ah, but there is a difference, isn’t there? I am not subservient as you are. I am the one in control. My dragon and my Dragonmerger Djinn are enslaved to my will. They serve me. I am their master, and I answer to my master. He is your master too now. If you have not been made to swear to the emperor yet, you will. You will swear loyalty or die. That is your reality, Shikoba, the only one that matters.”

  Shikoba walked in silence, considering his words. “Where are we going?”

  “To an area of the mines that few ever visit. My master does not allow random visitors. You are special, indeed, if he felt the need to summon you.” Casper’s voice hardened. “Do not think to usurp my position. I will kill you if you try.”

  Shikoba threw back her head and laughed. “Usurp your position? Why would I want to grovel on the ground? Don’t worry. The dirt is all yours.” A blow fisted her in the back. She stumbled to the ground, dropping her torch where it rolled away. A boot came up and caught her in the ribs. She gasped, her breath leaving in a whoosh. Shikoba folded over, wrapping her arms around her middle and clutching her arms against the pain.

  “Get up, witch.” Casper reached down and dragged her to her feet by her hair. Shikoba’s eyes watered in agony. “Leave the torch. I don’t know why I allowed you to have it in the first place. Move!” he bellowed giving her another shove.

  Shikoba stumbled down the dark hallway, clutching her tender midriff. The lack of light and the uneven floor made tripping a real possibility, so she reached out with her hands to trail them along the wall. A high-pitched tapping sound came from the darkness, growing louder with each step. The tunnel sloped up slightly then rounded a curve. The sound grew louder as the dark tunnel opened onto an enormous cavern. Funnel-shaped and several stories tall, the walls were lit with torches stuck into the walls in concentric rings.

  The wide ledges were full of people. Shikoba froze as her mind processed the images before her. She halted in mid-stride, staring at the small, slumped bodies huddled around outcroppings of rock, chained together in sets of three and four. They lifted picks, slamming them against the stone with as much force as their skinny arms could muster, but the picks were heavy and had little effect. Others gripped hammers and chisels. Those who were closest to their position at the top of the room heard the clanking of her chains. Faces turned in her direction, and Shikoba gasped in horror. The slaves below were all children. Misery was etched into their features, haunted with fear and hopelessness. Their hollow-eyed gazes made a solid lump swell in Shikoba’s throat. She tried to swallow past the painful grip, but she could not dislodge the paralysis.

  “You disgusting pig.” Shikoba spun on the spot and launched herself at Casper. Her fist connected with a satisfying thud against Casper’s throat. He choked then grabbed her by the front of her tunic and clouted her with the back of his fisted glove. Shikoba’s head snapped back, and she stumbled back a few paces. The mask tumbled out of her grip, clattering on the stone. Her lip gushed blood from a deep split. She spat on the floor, angrier than she had ever been in her life. She lifted both hands to wipe at the blood, smearing it across her cheek. “You filthy animal.” Shikoba spat at Casper. The bloody spittle fell with a splat onto the toe of his boot, sliding off the side in a wet squish. “How could you sink so low?” She pointed with both hands toward the pit. “I will kill you for what you have done to your people. You are a traitor.”

  Casper smiled a grim smile. “You think I like this? You think I am happy about this? You would be wrong, Shikoba. But our master decrees it. Neither you nor I have any choice any longer. He needs the children to reach the deepest depths of the mines. Places the adults cannot go. This is the way it is.” His face hardened. “You will do as you are asked and serve him, or he will see to it that your fate is much worse than what you see below. It will make their fate seem a pleasant stroll across the tundra.”

  Shikoba spat again. Casper moved his boot. “I will not serve the emperor.”

  “You already serve him. The only question now is, will you serve him faithfully in life or mortally in death? The choice is yours, Shikoba.” Casper clamped a steel grip onto her arm and dragged her over to the mask. “Pick it up.”

  Shikoba bent down and picked up the mask. Casper’s grip tightened, and he shoved her forward, toward a staircase that descended to the lower levels.

  Shikoba stumbled down the staircase in the murky light, trying to feel her way. The light from Casper’s torch cast shadows over the rough staircase, and the going was treacherous. She hugged the wall. There was no railing to grasp if she fell, and a fall over the side would certainly kill her. She hazarded a quick glance over the side. It was a five story drop to the cold stone floor below. She idly wondered if it would be better if she flung herself over the edge and took away the emperor’s prize, but she quickly discarded the thought.

  Not now, anyways, she thought. First I need to discover what this is all about. If there is a chance of freeing these children, I need to find it. Maybe if I had
Obsidian nearby to enhance my abilities. With that thought, she reached out to the dragon through the bond but could not get through to her. She was closer, she could feel it. T the bond was less fuzzy. Sarcee, can you hear me? Sarcee? A faint buzzing reached her mind, but she couldn’t make out if it was communication or her pounding headache.

  At the third level, Casper said, “Take the tunnel to the left.”

  Shikoba turned into the dark passageway, glad to leave the pit of children. She took one last look at it, fixing in her mind the horrible doom of their reality.

  “Where are you taking me?” she said, without any real interest or expectation of an answer.

  “To the antechamber of the ancient Naga-loka,” said Casper in a flat voice.

  “To the what?” gasped Shikoba, surprised out of her anger. She had never heard of the Naga-loka, except in legend. “Is this a joke?”

  “It is no joke. Surely you remember the legend, Shikoba? Well, the master has found it, the ancient city of Naga-loka.”

  Shikoba did remember. Naga-loka was a legendary world associated with the creation myth of the naga. One of the plays performed by the tribal dancers every spring re-enacted the birth of the first naga. The play told the story of the first tribal queen, the Phan-Shamankas, and her capture by the Naganese, an extinct coastal tribe. Legend told that she was desired by their people due to her magical abilities and forced by the Naganese to marry their chieftain.

  The outraged Shadrian gathered their fiercest warriors and brought siege and battle to the ancient coastal town. They took the town and slaughtered all who resisted within its walls. But it was too late for the tribal queen. She gave birth to a half-serpent, half-human baby. Afraid that it was a cursed child, she tossed it into the sea, along with the rest of the people of Naga-loka. Not one was left alive in the village. The queen left with the warriors and returned to her home, and a great feast was held. From that moment on, the legend of the naga was born.