The sun was halfway through its peak. The summer hadn't been kind to Aster and his skin. He already wore a large felt hat and gloves to protect area that might get exposed to direct sunlight. Maybe because the gloves were white and thin, he could feel his hand burning. He checked the red spots on the back of his hand, the spots started getting itchy, but it would be painful if he scratched it. He took one step behind to stay under the shade of his tall dad. He was against the idea of visiting the summer market, but his dad insisted, he said they would find him a birthday gift.
The bustling market flooded with people who waited for the yearly trade. Everyone stood on the side of the road like him and his dad, waiting for the wagons that'd arrive soon. Every mid-summer, wagons in various sizes would come, bringing the goods and valuable items, such valuable items appeared mostly on the shape of diamonds, exotic ingredients, rare animals, or the one that his father tried to find, slave.
"Watch the wagons, we might find it," his dad said. The wagons of slave commonly shaped like those for farm animals. However, while the farm animals were usually fat, healthy and delicious looking, the wagon for slave was overstuffed, smelt pungent, and the slaves were never delicious looking.
"Can we just buy a pet and go home, dad?"
"I told you already. You need a your own slave, you are fifteen now," said his dad firmly. Aster knew the answer already, but he never understood why would he need a personal slave. They had maids and butlers ready inside the mansion, beside, he never liked having someone followed him everywhere; he could just get a dog if he wanted it. However, they said buying a slave was the sign of early adulthood for teenager such as Aster, for those who could afford it. Since the kingdom set a high price to own a slave, those who could afford them were mostly nobles and conglomerates.
Charles, his older cousin, was once taunting him for not owning a slave. He laughed, and told him that having a slave was necessary, because slaves were useful when you were mad. Aster didn't understand why, but he came to realization when Charles demonstrated what you could do to it. He kicked his slave's back until he fell on the floor. The slave stood again after a while, completely silent as if that kick never happened.
'Is it necessary?' Aster asked himself. His dad always told him not to hurt anyone who did not or intend to hurt you. But they said slaves were not human, young Aster wondered, if they were not human, why did they act and sounded like regular people. He asked Charles' slave about his name, but he just closed his eyes, his body tensed and he clenched his fist, as if he was expecting something. He did not say anything and squeaked when Aster drew near him.
"You're not supposed to touch them, Aster. They're dirty," said Charles when Aster asked what happened to his slave. That answer didn't satiate his question, if it was because the slave was dirty, he could shower until his dirt peeled off his skin, thus, they could had the same skin color like everyone.
Aster had many questions about this, but he refrained himself from asking too many questions. Last time he asked his dad about Uncle Thomas who married a dirty-skinned woman, hadn't visited their mansion for more than two years, he was scolded for asking an adult question. Which was a shame, since Aster liked chatting with Uncle Thomas' wife. She treated Aster as a friend than a nephew, since their age gap wasn’t big after all.
"It's here!"
Aster snapped out of his daydream when someone from the crowd shouted. People turned their head to the eastern gate, bunch of wagons in various sizes, lined up with their goods to sell. It was like a parade, flashy, but the luxury went downhill after few line of wagons. Aster realized that he wagons always had been lined up on the same position every year. The expensive, luxurious items such as gemstone, exotic ingredients, rare animals and shiny apparels were always in front. They would open the parade with their flashy items inside their big, metal wagons, then following behind would be the less luxurious ones, harvested food, regular tunic and linen, farm animals and the one in the end of the tail, slave wagon with its dirty, pungent stench.
The royal guard always inspected the wagons, and then they would lead the wagons to the wide field designated for yearly market. Aster and his dad followed the parade, just like everybody on the side of the road. Aster was not a short teen, he was in fact tall enough, sporting around 170 cm at the ages of fifteen. However, his dad, who was tall enough to tower him, grabbed his arm in fear that Aster would be stomped by the crowd.
The parade ended after they reached the field. Many of those merchants set up a tent quickly, due to the summer heat. Although, Aster doubted that slave and farm animal wagons cared about setting up tent. The sun was in its peak just now, summer heat produced stench out of the farm animal and wagon slave, who was placed on the furthest end of the field.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Aster found the stench horrible, nothing in the mansion smelt like this. He always came to the market every year, but he never came to realize, how unbearable the smell in this section of the market. They'd always come to the jewels, apparel, and his dad's personal favorite, weaponry. His dad has peculiar taste of weaponry, blades and knifes and he favored those who came from eastern land. His dad had his own room, full of blades and knives, neatly hanged with its sharpness reflecting the light. Despite that, his dad didn't had skill to use it. He might appear scary, tall and scary. But, he was not by any means a violent dad, at least to Aster.
Aster thought they would go to the weaponry wagon first, but they went straight to the slave wagon. He covered his nose out of reflect, this horrible stench, he might need to throw his clothes after this. He couldn't describe the smell, but it was something he'd never touch. He followed his dad to the only slave wagon this year. He saw the slaves were lined up like a statue, and then the costumers would inspect one they might buy. He counted the amount of slaves were put to sale today; it was twenty, mostly men and a lot older than him. They were only covered with dirty rough pants from their waist below. They were dirty, bone worryingly protruding, and their body reeked. Their face were not pretty, mostly flat noses with big forehead. However,
The slave wagon was not crowded with only around twelve people surrounded the wagon, some were few familiar faces that Aster recognize as his dad's business colleagues. He noticed that most people who surrounded the slave wagon were wearing gloves, thick leather gloves. They inspected the slave's body, but often doing it with no remorse. Aster recognized Mr. Deaconn, a colleague of his dad's logging business. He saw Mr. Deaconn grabbed a slave's head as if he was grabbing a ball. He also grabbed the arm, with sour face; pushed the slave away after inspecting. Aster glanced at the merchant who did nothing but laugh at it, as if it was funny.
"Dad, Mr. Deaconn is not very nice to that slave," Aster said. He thought his dad would approve his complain, but he just laughed it off.
"They're slave, you don’t need to be nice to them."
Aster went silence after that. He looked around the slaves, who lined up, battered, tired, and probably starving. However, he must ensure himself that they were not human. They might had the same feature as him and everyone around him. But they were not human. It was what his dad and his family said.
While his dad approached his business partner for small talks, Aster was tasked to pick his own slave. Dad gave him his leather gloves, so his hand wouldn’t be dirty. Aster joined the crowd of costumers who inspected the slaves. There were five female slaves and fifteen male slaves. Aster looked at their face, but couldn’t do it after one of the slave looked back at him. Their eyes were pitiful, he might not had the heart to push them around. His plan was to pick one that wasn't old, or too young. He also didn't want a female slave, because she might die if Charles or Adder, his violent cousins kicked her.
He was not impressed, none of the slaves were good enough in his eyes. They were older than he expected, they might be on the same age as his uncles and aunts. Maybe this was the reason why Mr. Deaconn face went sour. But he still disapproved Mr. Deaconn's rudeness. Aster wanted to leave now, he couldn’t handle the unbearable stench and he wasn't keen on having a slave to begin with.
Before Aster stepped out of the crowd, he noticed a boy whose skin was lighter than the slaves who were lined up, but still a lot darker than his. The boy was heavily tanned that his skin glistened by the sun. He stood behind them, near the tent of the slave merchant. He was around his age, scrawny but not dying. He had scar in his left cheek, but the most perplexing feature he had was his look. He had short, messy black hair, thick eyebrows, deep black eyes, and nose sharper and smaller than Asther's. His thin lips calmly shut, as if he expected anything that'd be done to him. He looked calm, with two men inspecting him. But every time they touched boy with their leather gloves, he gritted his teeth and trembled.
Aster approached the boy after the two men were done inspecting. The boy, who was bowing his head down the whole time, finally raised his head up.
A sharp, but calm gaze pierced through Asther's guts. He felt weak suddenly, but not out of fear. He couldn’t not fathom what he was experiencing, he slowly drew near the boy until their gap thinned. They exchanged gaze, a minute long gaze that made Aster nervous, yet assured.
He was assured, he chose this boy without hesitation.
Two buds grew together in a garden of desire
In the duration they wished would never over
Even though the soil was dire
They promised to bloom as a lover.