Her captors had collected more prisoners while traveling through the kingdom. While the cage wasn’t cramped additional people took up the limited space. Osana shuffled closer to Rebekah, while the girl didn’t mind, she also didn’t speak. She watched the desert through the gap in the tarp that protected them from the blowing sand and sun.

The other prisoners, mainly men, had lots of questions but less answers. Any time their voices rose higher than a whisper, something made of iron banged against the bars. The vibration rumbled in her chest and made her slink further to the floor. Deep down, she knew she was strong enough to break free. And she still wanted to. Every time the idea fluttered in her head; she looked at Rebekah.

The mortal’s clench jaw and downward gaze made her feel so small. It was her fault they were there. And even if she did break them out, would it make their situation worse. After all, they were in the middle of somewhere only Jhee probably knew. With no map and no supplies. She glanced at the men around her. Dusty ripped clothes with faded patches. None of them were fighters. At best farmers. At Worse thieves and murderers.

She decided not to make a move, until she had Rebekah’s approval. The mortal seemed to know more about the dynamics of their situation better than most. But she hated the idea of sitting around and waiting for the next move. She took inventory of her person. The Crims had taken her belongings, but they missed Kelani’s gift that she hid in her pocket.

It was a blessing and a curse when the waggon stopped for the final time. They yanked her into the sun, and she stumbled to stand on wobbly feet. When her eyes adjusted, she saw rows of canvas tents. Their jailers pulled them, shackled together and led by a chain through the dusty encampment. She glanced at her companions. Their hunched shoulders, their shuffling feet, spelled defeat.

Rebekah trudged beside her, staring blankly before them. Her expression didn’t seem to register the bustling tent life around them. Hundreds of men and teen boys tramped towards the gash in the mountains to the west. Women and children cooked over hot cauldrons and fire pits. Her stomach grumbled at the smell of broth and stone bread. With a tug of the chain, they were dragged passed the kitchen tents to their destination.

They stopped in front of a round canvas tent with a pointed top. They moved her and Rebekah inside and chained them to a metal bar hammered into the ground. It was empty, to her relief, and the men continued somewhere down the way. Rebekah's silence continued. She curled herself in a corner against some wooden barrels and shut her eyes.

But Osana couldn’t sleep. The sky was a watercolour of reds and oranges casting long shadows outside the tent door. Kidnapped, shipped, and chained all because of a little gem. Glancing at the shackles around her thin wrists she spied the red sores already forming. Her ankles were beginning to bleed. Even Papa’s animals were treated better.

She sat there, hearing the mumbling from the tent next door and watched the sun finally set. The air grew cooler, and tiny bumps prickled her skin. A gruff man with a long beard popped into the open door and tossed two wool blankets and left without a word. It was then she noticed her friend shivering. She wrapped the blanket around her and rubbed her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

“No, it's not. That hag wasn’t ever going to give me enough for the ticket. Rat faced liar. She probably gets a cut of each one of us she sends here. This is why you can’t trust a Mage. We’d be better off without them.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“Looks like a work camp or something.”

She folded her hands on her covered lap, staring at the metal. She didn’t like how it felt against her skin. It wasn’t like her golden bangles she wore at home. It was heavy, ugly, and it made her feel bad. She closed her eyes, pushing against the shuffling of the camp, and opened her heart.

She felt it. The waves of sorrow emanating from each tent. The anxious fear and despair. At the outer edges she recognized a lick of determination. But it was quickly followed by another wave of sadness.

“Is this what the Mages do here?” She whispered. To her surprised Rebekah answered.

“Yeah. They take you from what you know and use you until you’re done.”

She didn’t need to touch her to sense the despair seeping from her friend. The anger was gone, washed away and replaced with her true heart. What she mistook for as rage at their first meeting, masked the complete absence of hope at her centre. Her own body felt heavy, defeated at the realisation of the weight her friend carried. There was no healing that pain.

“Is that what they did to you?”

“They did it to most of us. There’s some, native born, but most of us are brought in like me and Ma were.”

“Your mother? She must be worried sick.”

“Doubt it, buried her a few months ago. It’s just me now.”

“Where are you from? How did you end up here?”

“It's too long of a story, and I’m too tired.”

“Then show me.” She fumbled in the layer of clothes until she managed to pull Kelani’s relic free. “Think of the memory you want me to see then touch the relic. Please, I want to help you.”

“No disrespect but you’ve done enough.”

“I was stupid before. I acted without thinking. My sister calls me impulsive, and she’s right. Now I understand, to truly help you, I need to know you. Please show me.”

Rebekah stared at the item, studying the glittering flecks mixed in with the sand. Raising an eyebrow when she noticed the empty chamber. Whether she suspected she used the relic before, Osana didn’t know. But she was grateful when she placed her fingertips on it.

Her mind drifted to a far-off place, grey and white swirls spun across her vision. Voices sing at the edge of her perception but when she focused on them, they slip away. The space brightens, fills with a luminous light then fades revealing a vibrant grass field that carpeted the entire world. Across the winding river were gentle tree capped mountains. Rebekah’s voice spoke softly in her ears.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Back then I didn’t know what a Mage was. All I knew was how good it was to run bare foot in the cool grass.

A run-down shack appeared perched happily on the grassy hill. The cool breeze made the laundry hanging on the line dance. A woman with rolled up sleeves and a baby strapped to her back emerged from the door with an empty basket.

The gentleness of the sun’s warmth, the soft grass under her feet made her heart swell. As a toddler emerged from behind the shack holding a slug for her Ma to admire, Osana realised how far from home her friend truly was.

She felt herself slip deeper into the memory. Digging her toes in the dirt, running her hands over the rough boards of their home. Plucking the tiny buttercups that grew wild over the yard. If she didn’t already see Paradise, she expected it would look like Rebekah’s home.

The sick feeling in her stomach washed away. She imagined living barefoot on the hills for an eternity. Then a rolling thunder exploded, yanking her from her tranquillity.

The second thing I remember was the look of fear in Ma’s eyes on the day they took us.

It was three heartbeats for her to recognise the sound of racing horses. The dust plume followed them up the side of the hill. On the fourth Rebekah’s mother screamed. Osana saw them, ten powerful horses each carrying a rider dressed in scarlet robes.

They crashed through the pitiful fence. The horses snarled like nasty beasts; snorting and stomping the ground as they chased the family through the yard. 

The noise flooded her ears, stinging her eyes and her body fell to her knees. The wails and screams of the children. The fighting and shouting. All in time with the thundering of dangerous hooves, caused the memory to turn black. Her heart slammed against her chest; threatening to break her ribs. With each beat she became aware of the cool sand under her legs. The rough blanket against her skin. Then she heard Rebekah’s calm voice:

“Did you want to keep going. You don’t look too good."

Through her tears she saw Rebekah’s stoic face. Her chest was heavy, rising and falling as if she ran for miles. She didn’t experience fear on her own, but touching Rebekah’s was almost too much. But her hand was still on the relic, her friend hadn’t given up; only paused when she was struggling. But she couldn’t run away anymore. She needed to know, to be certain. Only with the truth would she be able to help.

“Show me what happened next.”

She slipped into the memory, as she did before. The rolling of heavy wooden wheels replaced the peaceful songbirds. She couldn’t see anything, but Rebekah’s voice guided her through the darkness.

I didn’t know how long we were in that waggon for. I watched the landscape pass by, turning from grass to mountains. Riders would leave and return with more women and children and chained them next to us. Then the nights got colder. By the time we were on the other side the baby was gone.

 Osana sat herself on top of the waggon, listening to the horses and the whimpering from under the canvas. The fertile mountains turned to grass plains, then it turned to sand. The desert heat stung her eyes. There was nowhere to hide from it. As the sun dipped, the sky turned the softest gold, then vanished behind the tall mountains of sand.

Time stretched as the sun rose and set; they crossed the dizzying sand and under the cover of night they approach a towering rock face. An ominous set of double doors stare down at her. Like heavy giants overseeing the desert wasteland.

When the clouds revealed the moon, the light illuminated the metallic symbols carved into their surface. Papa said the Mages didn’t speak the old language anymore. But what was a dead language to them, Umarian, was the language of her family, spoken at the meal table.

She read the words, and her heart sank. It was a familiar phrase that anchored both the Mortal and Celestial world together. Taken directly from the Revered Oath, a swore agreement between her kin and every Mage. ‘Our magic will ever be a beacon; A light for truth, justice, and hope. Glowing brightly against the fog of lies, injustice, and despair. Shining for eternity.’

She knew that door. The Passage of Prosperity. Her and Kelani entered it on their arrival. She read the words before, but they took on a new twisted and ugly meaning. A vile hiss escaped her throat as she passed the Crims and entered the tunnel.

The same carvings as before, depicting a loving relationship between nature and the Gods, rolled past them. With each lie her heart harden. A callous resolve grew. And she made a silent promise to herself, once she helped Rebekah, the Mages would pay for what they’ve done.

The waggon rode through the maze of the run-down neighbourhoods. Traversing the narrow streets and cramped lodgings, they travelled unseen. They took the long way around the kingdom until they reached a richly carved home in the side of the canyon.

She followed the captives as they’re led by a slave master into the basement of the home. After the dark stairwell they enter a room bathed in light from hundreds of candles. Mirrors reflected the sparkling crystals hanging from the chandeliers mounted on the ceiling.

There were no chairs, or tables just a wide empty space. Chaos erupted when Mages in black masks, wearing dark silken robes, yanked the children from the adults. Rebekah clung to her mother’s side, but they were no match to the clubs their capture’s used.

She stuck close to the child, her breathing fast and her eyes focused on the child and nothing but the child. Like a new lamb they’re the most vulnerable outside their mother’s watchful eye. They moved through a corral like cattle.

They removed their rags, then shoved in deep troughs where attendants washed off any dirt caking their skin. They brushed the tangles and dressed them in new sack like clothes.

She followed the children as they were reunited with the adults dressed in similar sack clothes. They returned to the large candlelit room. There was a central stage, she didn’t notice before. But more candles ignited, and the room fell into a frightening ominous glow. Drums and an organ played from somewhere, filling up the room making it hard to breathe or think.

Masked individuals file along the stairs, blocking the exits, and arrange themselves before them. It felt like every inch of space was taken over by a dangerous shadowy stranger. The adults held the children close as someone in a hood took center stage.

“The Gods be praised at your safe arrival. Those of you who have survived the turmoil of your old lives and the hard journey, have proved worthy of a most gracious and enlightened life. Praise be the Goddess, the Holy Mother, for her love and Praise be the Holy Father for sending you justice. Tonight is the first night of the rest of your lives.” 

Low whispering hummed around her. The holy man continued:

“You have been delivered to this Holy of Lands. We, the Protectors of the Just, the Innocent, and the Pure, will now be your most humble of Keepers. We promise to clothe you, feed you, cherish you and keep you in all your needs. Here you will find the God’s Paradise reincarnated. All we, my fellow brothers and sisters, ask in exchange is that you dedicate yourselves to us.” 

The whispering boiled into outrage; an angry protest shouted to the ceiling. The people on stage set out a loud cry, and the fire from the candles came to life. The flames twisted into a swooping dragon; licking at the crowd. Silence fell over them, forcing them to listen.

“Our graciousness comes with a price; our protection costs a large debt. Once which must be paid. You do this, by giving us your service. Work well, be obedient, work with love of the Gods in your heart then consider your payment paid in full. We all must do our part to be worthy of the Gods and their gifts. When you are worthy, the Gods will reply in kind."

“If not, the Gods can be spiteful and treacherous, and you will be cast into the desert without favour. Your skin will burn, your throat will dry, your stomachs shrink, and you will shake, collapse and the sand will become your grave. The Gods are quick in their vengeance and swift with their judgement. So, it is written, thus, it must be obeyed.”

That was my first encounter with a Mage. In that moment I became a Helot. And I was never the same again.