Sarin's beginning

The mine grew darker the farther the boy entered. The rock under his knees becoming so jagged it tore into his flesh. He did not cry out at his pain, no one would hear him. The walls so dark now began closing in around him, he was not afraid. He had been once but after five years he had grown accustomed. Dirt began to trickle from the makeshift ceiling, he knew the cave-in was imminent yet still he did not retreat. He strained his ears and noticed the sounds of digging. Other children in different tunnels were chipping away at the walls. A voice called out behind him, but he was not listening to that and he heard it as gruff and distorted. He looked up at the ceiling hoping that this would be the one to finish him. He waited and the ceiling gave way. Rocks and dirt fell hard upon him as the rain does upon the land. He did not move allowing the dirt to swallow him up. He felt the air cease to be and just as he opened his mouth to impending death he felt rough hands take hold of his ankles. He was quickly dragged out of the collapsed section. He didn't move, letting them drag him all the way to the shaft. If they thought he was dead they might discard him on the surface. He felt himself being placed on the lift and slowly transported up the shaft. His eyes remained closed. He could not see the sun when he breached the mouth of the shaft, but the warmth upon his flesh told him of the breach. The boy was kicked from the lift like an old shoe no longer useful. "Get up boy," grunted the shaft operator. The boy rose to his feet, there was no point pretending. The operator looked him up and down with distaste. He was covered from head to toe with dirt turned mud from mixing with the sweat and the blood flowing from his open wounds.
"How old are you boy?" the boy didn't respond, he had forgotten his age long ago.
"Why are you so tall? You keep collapsing the tunnels." The boy did nothing.
"Zaspel," the operator called to the half dead creature hovering nearby, Zaspel soon appeared by his side. "Zaspel, clean this boy up and take him to Istor's port to be sold."
Zaspel grabbed the boy by the hair and dragged him over the harsh terrain to a tent not far from the mines. The tent originally white was now a stained brown from years of neglect and it carried with it the stale repugnant smell of urine. The boy stiffened as he entered it.
"What's your name boy?"
"Sarin," the boy whispered.
Zaspel handed Sarin a pail of water and a sponge. "Wash yourself down with that. Make sure you do a good job, we want to get a good price."
Sarin did as he was told and when he was finished Zaspel led him out of the tent to a pair of camels hidden behind it. Sarin had never ridden a camel and after about an hour his body was suffering the pains of inexperience. He did not know how far it was to the port, those before him who had taken the journey had never returned. Perhaps death would come easy with his next master. Istor was a barren, harsh land, if not for the mines and the slave trade it would never have been inhabited. Despite the appalling stench of the camels, Sarin must have fallen asleep for when he awoke darkness had set in and in the distance he could just distinguish the torches of a settlement.
"Oh you awake are you boy," Zaspel said noticing Sarins movement. "I was decent enough to let you sleep so you'd better try extra hard for a good price or I'll sell you to the Subborts and they'll abandon you on the Cor Isles."
Sarin didn't know much of the world but even he had heard stories of the Cor Isles. Once a man goes there he never comes back, whole ships have vanished in the waters surrounding the islands. It was a tale parents told their children to get them to behave. Istor port was a bustling little community full of every type of trade Sarin could imagine and even some he couldn't. The smell of catgut permanently engulfed the town but the locals didn't seem to notice or care. Zaspel led them through the markets to a tavern filled with brutish men and skimpily clad women who would even show Sarin a good time for the right price. Zaspel engorged himself on ale and women. Sarin could easily have made his escape but he had nowhere to go. Even Fiedalwhist, the land of his people no longer existed. When Zaspel was finished they took the camels to a barn and bedded down beside them. That morning Sarin witnessed his first sunrise in five years. The roosters of the barn crowed in the new day and Sarin felt a twinge of excitement flow through his veins. He hadn't known that feeling in so long that he almost didn't recognize it. Zaspel woke with a grunt and looked around for Sarin.
"Boy where are you?" he yelled out.
Sarin instantly aware of his masters' consciousness raced back inside the barn to Zaspel.
"Oh there you are. Well come on, we haven't got all day," Zaspel yawned as he rose and walked outside, Sarin meekly followed. Sarin trailed on after Zaspel and he soon found himself in the dockyards, the air hung think with the stench of rotting sea life. The smell alone almost made Sarin sick. Zaspel took him by the hand and dragged him into the crowd of people that were beginning to gather at the far end. Sarin noticed they were heading to a wide corridor with cages lining one side and chairs lining the other. Above each cage was a number and above each chair a corresponding number. Sarin was thrust into one of the cages whilst Zaspel took his place on the corresponding chair. When a man was interested in a slave he would present his offer to the man in the analogous chair, at the end of the day the slaves were sold to the highest bidders. It was a hot day and Sarin had to stand in the cage all day without faltering, normally he would have dropped, but his fear of a future on the Cor Isles gave him strength to endure the ordeal. Many came and looked at him, some asked him to flex his muscles, some asked to see his teeth. He did as the asked knowing full well that Zaspel could see him and all too aware of what would happen to him if he refused. A rough misshapen character of a man stepped up to Sarin's cage. He wore a dyed leather coat with the shape of a cutlass clearly visible through it, bits of fish gut appeared to be stuck in his beard. His hat sat tilted, motley and stained from the salt air and quite a number of his teeth were missing. He leaned forward to get a better look at Sarin. Sarin could smell the scent of rum that emitted from his mouth and see the evil in the old mans eyes. The old man left Sarins cage and walked down the line, Sarin sighed with relief at his escape only to stiffen when the old man came back and walked up to Zaspel's chair.
"How old is the boy?" His voice crackled out, so loud that even Sarin could hear it over the hustle of the crowd.
"Fifteen sir," Zaspel sensing the buyers disinterest didn't really move.
"Can e' work?" Zaspel sat up straight, there was hope for a sale, "He's been working the mines of Istor for the past five years."
The old man pondered for a moment, "E' ain't got any Zent blood in im' has e'?"
"He was taken from Fiedalwhist when the king of Kavel wiped it off the map, I believe he was born there." The old man looked around. "Ave you got any younger?"
Zaspel slunk in his chair, "He's as young as they come sir. Will it be hard labour you want him for?"
"Not really. On my last voyage I accidentally beat the cabin boy to death, now the captain says I has to replace im'. Are yer sure you aven't got any younger?"
Zaspel smiled an evil smile as he envisioned Sarins future, "No, no younger but being older he'll be able to handle a good pounding now and then."
The old man thought for a moment, "Good point, ere's me bid," and he handed Zaspel a piece of parchment. Sarin saw the gleam in Zaspels eyes as he looked at the parchment and he knew his fate was sealed. Sure enough at the end of the day it was the old man who Released Sarin from the cage. Zaspel was nowhere to be seen.
"You belong to me now boy, you hear," the man waiting for a response but none came.
"Can yer talk boy?" Sarin looked up at the man, he had been forbidden to talk in the mines and didn’t realise it was expected of him.
"Yes sir," he said.
“"Good, I'd hate to ave bought me a dud."
Sarin followed the old man along the warf. Sarin couldn't help slowing down to admire all the tall ships in the port. He had never seen the ocean before and he marvelled with awe at the sight that lay before him.
"Keep up boy," the old man yelled back to him, "Ours is the one on the end."
Sarin scanned the row of ships to the end. The last ship was older than the rest and sat lower in the water. The years had taken its toll on the poor ship and it appeared to be suffering neglect. Sarin didn't notice his head was filled with the thought of going to sea. He was happy with the prospect.





Enjoy people, I'm going camping, I'll be back in five days.