AKKADIAN EMPIRE

2130 BCE

Utua’s calloused hands gripped the wooden handle of his scythe. Despite how hot the day had previously been, the cold night air sent shivers down his scarred back. He coughed violently, sneaking a glance at the overseer Bou, who leaned against the trunk of a worn elm tree at the eastern edge of the rice fields, keeping a never ending gaze on the very few men who were in this field with him. Flies buzzed around the slave’s head, and he slapped at them one by one, even though the large red bumps on his muddy arms and legs were multiplying by the minute. The water around his ankles made his teeth chatter, but he only worked faster. With fifty-five moons under his belt, he knew that Matthias could never sell him—he was his most valued slave. He was faster, more diligent than the younger men around him, who tired easily.

And Bou knew it.

As he continued to hack and cut at the matured rice crops, Utua tried to remind himself that he had only a week left of this. He had taken his punishment with grace. The fresh blood on his back glistened in the moonlight, but he wore it with pride—not a single sound had escaped from his mouth, not even when the lash had struck him. He wouldn’t give Bou the satisfaction. With a grunt, he bent down to scoop up a large pile of the rice stalks from the row he had harvested when a pebble struck the back of his head. With a grunt, he turned around.

“Pssst!”

Utua squinted his eyes. A dark shadow was crouched behind a group of nearby bushes. After making sure that Bou wasn't looking in his direction, he crept through the towering rice stalks, the only sound water gently being sloshed around his bare feet. His muddy hands cleared the leaves, and he could make out Leonora’s flushed face amidst the dim light. She was breathing quite heavily, like she had been running for a while. Fast asleep in one of the crook of her arms was the boy; his curly hair pressed against her shoulder.

Something stuck Utua’s left cheek, the stinging blow leaving fire across his skin.

“Ouch!” he cried. “What was that—”

”Are numbers perhaps foreign to you?” Leonara sneered. Her eyes were bloodshot as she lowered her right palm. “You liar. You said a few days. It has been three weeks.”

A tightness settled across Utua’s chest once his eyes fell upon the sleeping boy. The Canaanite child. He gritted his teeth and rubbed at his stinging face, clenching his jaw.

“I have kept my end of the bargain,” Leonara continued. Her eyes were wide with fury. “I have done the best of what I could, after you dumped him in front of my house. Now you must keep up yours.” Before Utua could react, she had shoved the boy into his arms. “He is no longer my responsibility, you fool. You were the one who brought him here.”

“Keep your voice down,” Utua said in a hushed tone, glancing backwards. “Do you want the both of us to get into trouble?”

“You are indebted to me,” the woman snapped. “Trouble is the only thing that you are made out of. He is yours. Yours only.”

“I ask you give me a couple of days.” Utua silently cursed under his breath, although his heart was thudding. He had to come up with another plan, and fast. “I simply cannot—”

”Do you think that I care what you can and cannot do?” Leonara took a step forward and shoved her index finger deep into his chest. “I am unable to take care of the child anymore.” Her voice slightly choked. “I won’t do it again.”

“But where shall he go?” Utua asked in a low whisper, adjusting the boy in his arms. “If Matthias sees him, he’d likely be killed or sold. He won’t last a minute in the fields.”

“I don’t know what to do with him.” Leonara turned away, glaring at the fireflies appearing in the pitch darkness. “Keep him busy.” Her bottom chin trembled, but her eyes narrowed. “That is all I ask of you. He is focused and a quick learner. Give him a simple task, and he won’t turn an eye towards it. Mind him.”

”I already told you, the Canaanite cannot—”

”His name is Hirom.”

A brief moment of silence passed between the two. Utua placed a hand on the back of the boy’s curly hair, but kept his gaze on Leonara. She blinked a couple of times, before exhaling. Without another word, she disappeared in the dark, lifting up his skirts to climb over through the tall reeds. Utua gazed at her for a few moments, before shaking his head in disbelief. He placed the boy down upon a pile of soft, tall grass, picked up his scythe, and continued hacking as before. Bits and pieces of rice stalks flew out, but he did not look up, not even as the sun began to rise. His mind was spinning, his head sore.

* * * * * * * *

Hirom slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes.

His legs were itchy, and he bent down to give them a great scratch, digging his nails into his flesh. After releasing a great yawn, he blinked and realized that he was not in Leonara’s shack. This place was darker and colder. Tinier. Much uglier too, with many cobwebs that hung from the corner of the slanted ceiling. He was on top of an old mat stuffed to the brim with hay and grass. The room had two clay jars on the floor, and a similar mat on the opposite side, next to a man sitting on a broken down stool. There was a shadow on his face, and he was drinking from a cracked wooden bowl, wiping his mouth before settling it down on the table. The man’s back was bloody—thick red lacerations moving up and down his spine like a criss crossed motion. It dripped red spots upon the ground.

”Leonara?” Hirom quietly asked.

The man did not move. He was still.

Sunlight streamed through the window.

Hirom scrambled off the straw bed and got to his feet. Breathing quickly, his dark eyes searched the mostly empty, cobwebbed room. It was so small that there was barely enough space for the two of them. And it smelled very bad. But the man continued drinking out of the bowl, taking loud sips. When he finally looked up, Hirom could see that his right eye was missing. His cheeks became flushed, and he abruptly stomped his bare foot.

The man lowered his head.

“Leonara,” Hirom softly said, pointing at the door. He moved his arm. “Leonara.”

Nothing. Frustrated with the lack of a response, the boy started to head towards the door. But before he could make it past the threshold, the one-eyed man had picked him up. Immediately, he began to kick and stomp, despite how the one-eyed man winced in pain due to his torn back. To Hirom’s astonishment, he carried him outside, the thin trail of red following the both of them. He heard the one-eyed man heavily sigh as they approached the barn. There was a loud bray and snort from a worn down wooden pen.

A smile suddenly crossed Hirom’s face. “Angus.”

The animal came closer, searching for a treat. Her snout brushed against Hirom, causing him to giggle. A look of dismay suddenly crossed his face when the one-eyed man suddenly lowered him to the ground. Hirom remained very still. Although he did only have one blue eye, it looked like that was all he needed. He pointed at Angus, then at him.

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“I did not tell you my name. It is Utua.”

Hirom studied him.

”I know Leonara taught you a bit of words when you were with her. I also know that she has taught you not to hit or kick adults. Did she?” Utua slightly tilted his head to the side.

The boy folded his arms and looked away.

“The words that she taught you. You use them. You understand what I am saying?”

Hirom bit his tongue. This man was scary, even more than the first time that he saw him at the ship. His face was hard, full of wrinkles and scars like the ones on his back. His beard was scraggly, teeth long and pointed, like the bear his own father used to hunt and kill back at his homeland. There was a progressing graying upon his head, and the thick yellow callouses on his palms reminded Hirom of tree stumps. Yet his arms and legs were strong and muscular, similar to a god’s.

Such foreign speech was directly scattered in his brain, but they had to be used to form the question—the question that he had been waiting to be answered for so long. Angus bleated in the background as they finally slipped out of his tongue. Hirom blinked.

“Leonara… go?”

Utua faintly smiled. “Ah. No. You see her soon. But you must behave while with me.”

”Leonara?” he whispered again.

“No. Not now.”

Hirom took off running. Once more, he did not get very far, and despite his screams, tears were running down his face. Utua carried him. His mother had abandoned him in this strange place. Leonara had as well.

He did not understand why.

* * * * * * * *

The slave quarters consisted of a hundred men, women with each cramped, wooden shacks built into each other. Although most were either out in the fields or the gardens working, Utua was sure that they could hear Hirom’s screams. The boy always threw a nasty tantrum, when things did not go his way; but he would have to learn eventually, despite being so very young. No doubt he was homesick, and he had the memories of his own kinfolk; but that must be a hurdle each slave must pass, young or old. Each one.

Utua avoided the other slaves whenever he could. In a strange sort of way, he was greatly relieved that he was ordered to work at nights for longer hours, with a few breaks during the day; although this punishment was soon coming to an end. He’d deal with their judgmental stares, their despicable comments. He couldn’t deal with Leonara’s.

Enlil, the slave who tended to their master’s horses in the stables, had his favorite insults ready for him each time he stepped out of his decaying shack. Gula, who worked in the kitchen and prepared meals, made sure that the dogs would have the scraps before Utua could even get a piece of bread, Anat—the chief head of the bricklayers, often encouraged the men to throw whatever they pleased at him when passing by, limping in pain. Leonara would not look in his direction.

As for Utua, he was losing precious sleep. All he wanted to do was to sleep. He was losing track of time, as well as his senses. As soon as noon arrived, he was due back to the fields, and he had no choice but to bring the boy to the rice stalks for the first time after giving him his breakfast and telling him to eat quickly. But as he exited the barn after feeding Angus and circling around the quarters, panic rushed through him. He searched his shack, Leonara’s, the garden, even the cornfields. Running his hands through his hair, he leaned his torn back against a tree. He was struggling to breathe.

He could not find the boy anywhere.

* * * * * * * *

Hirom’s bare feet left prints against the mud.

Sniffing loudly, he rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. Underneath the hot sun, he crouched between the rice stalks, the water soaking the bottom of his tunic. Where had Leonara gone? Surely, she couldn’t have been so angry at him that she would disappear, leave him with a stranger so quickly. He heard the sound of slaves approaching and peered through the thick green stalks with one large dark eye, watching their bare feet slosh across the water. There was a booming voice of the overseer, the whizzing sound of a whip, a groan, which startled Hirom. Scrambling to his feet, he began to take off as far as he could, tripping and falling and splashing.

The ground eventually became dry again. He checked the garden—it was empty. He tried to remember Leonara’s door; it looked so very similar to the others. He remembered her smell, the sensation of her arms around him as she picked him up whenever he was too tired to walk. Upon reaching the twisted dirt road leading up towards the grand villa, he took up running the hill, his breaths labored as his tiny bare feet pounded against the ground, kicking up clouds of dirt and soil.

Hirom’s left heel caught against a rock, causing him to face first into the ground. Overcome with dizziness, he laid on his back and looked up at the sky, a smudge of dirt present on his forehead. He struggled to his feet, before ducking underneath a bush as a slave woman entered inside through the back across the grand courtyard, balancing two large jars of water upon her hips. Following after her shadow, Hirom crept after her and slipped behind a long silk curtain as she disappeared into the next room. There was another low female voice, and the sound of a lyre being played in the background. Where, Hirom did not know.

But he knew that Leonara must be here.

Once he was certain that the coast was clear, the young slave peeked out of the curtain. The room was full of many colors, too many to count. Quietly, he walked down the long, still hallway, before approaching a long, winded marble staircase. The air was cooler, and he stood, for a while, confused at the sight of the many rooms, which, while dressed in their splendor and seemed to belong to a king, were completely empty.

Hirom couldn’t help but gaze at the marble statues in the hallway, great and small. He paused to look up at a bust of a great man, before entering a large, luxurious bedroom. Upon finding no one inside, with great disappointment, he soon found the next one.

The music abruptly stopped.

Hirom had placed his hand on the nearest wooden door to peek in when a small noise made him abruptly turn around, pressing his back against it. His dark eyes widened.

Telal stood at the entrance at one of the rooms, holding a small stringed instrument in his hands, which he slowly set down on the floor. It was evident that he had been standing for a while. Delight was written over his face, and he stared back at Hirom, eagerly, but carefully taking a step towards him.

“Hello.” A large smile broke across his pale face.

Hirom jumped.

Telal came a bit closer. ”I remember you,” he quietly said. “Do you remember me?”

Startled at the other boy’s presence, and especially horrified that he had not heard him come up behind him, Hirom quickly ran into the room and slammed the door, looking frantically about in the room.

“No, no, no….wait!”

For a moment, Hirom froze, slowly backing away. As quickly as he could, he slipped behind the full-length mirror by the bed, curling up in a ball behind it. Hugging his knees, he held his breath as the door slowly opened up with a creak. A bead of sweat dropped down his face and landed the floor. He could see Telal’s sandals against the fine rugs as he slowly walked around in the room.

”Please, you don’t have to hide from…” the boy’s voice faltered. “From me.”

Hirom squished himself up as tightly as he could against the wall, his breathing becoming more shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for a moment that he could shrink to the size of an ant. Biting his nails, he realized there was complete silence in the room. Then there were two more footsteps.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Hirom, being very cautious, peered out from behind the wooden frame, his dirty hand wrapping around it. Telal stood still, only a few feet away. His smile had faded, but quickly returned when he saw Hirom slowly stepping out from behind the mirror. After a brief pause, Telal spoke again, more softly.

“Are you lost?”

Hirom shook his head.

“Tell me what is wrong.”

“Leonara,” Hirom replied in his best Akkadian. “I can’t find her. She has…has gone away.”

The other child looked thoughtful. “I haven’t seen her today. I thought she was outside.”

A devastated look fell upon Hirom’s face. “She is my friend.”

For a moment, a deep wave of envy washed over Telal. Hirom glanced at the door. Taking a closer step, the white haired boy looked down for a moment, as in deep thought. The sunlight spilled upon the window above, casting a yellow glow around them.

“I am your friend,” he whispered.

”My friend?” Hirom asked.

”Yes. And I would never leave you. I would make sure to stay by your side. Always.”

”But why?”

“Because that is what friends do.” Telal smiled. “Friends look out for each other.”

”And we can be friends forever?”

“Yes.” Telal held his breath. “Forever and ever.” A shadow was cast across his face. “Would you like to shake upon it? That means that it is official. The gods are our witnesses.”

”Official?” Hirom asked. He wasn’t sure what the word witnesses meant, either. But it sounded very important.

“Yes. Father always tells me that a friend makes the bad things go away.” He internally braced himself as he stretched a hand out. “You are my friend.”

Hirom studied his smooth, pale palm and expecting fingers. After a moment of brief hesitation, he slowly reached out and accepted it.