At dawn, still weary and sore from the journey, they were pulled from the tent. Their jailer, to her surprise wasn’t a Crim, but his size was intimidating enough to keep her and Rebekah from asking too many questions. Not that he answered them anyway. He didn’t talk, mostly grunted and ushered them through the road that was slowly filling up with tired looking people. Their chains were removed, and her brief feeling of freedom was dashed away when two firm hands, shoved Osana into a hot humid tent. Rebekah stumbled inside beside her.

“Dishes is women’s work,” he grumbled and then left leaving them standing in the entrance.

The clanging of dishes and the quick short commands exploded around them. Women and girls worked in quick succession; scraping food from bowls, washing, drying, then stacking them in leaning towers on a table. Towards the back of the tent, larger women with rolled sleeves scrubbed large pots in soapy basins.

What kind of mortal torture is this?

She watched the women work, it was like a dance, perfectly in time and efficient. Except, it was a dance no one seemed to like. There was no smile on their faces or fun in their movements. One woman with a stern face and commanding tone ordered them to the group near the foul-smelling garbage. She followed whatever Rebekah did, taking the spoon they gave her and scraped the food into the bin.

It worked well enough, until she grabbed a bowl that had been in the sun too long. It took her twice as long to pry the sun-baked food from the surface. If she didn’t do a good enough job the woman who washes would send it back to her for her to scrape again. After about the third time, her neutral stance on bowls was turning into down-rate hate.

When they placed the last bowl at the top of the teetering tower the ladies breathed a sigh of relief. They stretched, wiped their brow and filed out of the tent. Osana and Rebekah stayed behind, slumping onto a rug in the corner to give their tired feet a break. Everything ached, her back, her shoulders, her knees and neck.

“That was terrible!”

“I hate dishes…” Rebekah added. “The smell from the bin is all over my clothes.”

“Is this our life now?” She whined. She was one bowl away from begging the Crims to lock her up again.

“Excuse me,” piped a voice from the tent entrance. A boy around Rebekah’s age with a brown head covering entered carrying a stack of four bowls. “I found some bowls laying around. They told me to bring them here.”

“Sam?” Rebekah asked. “Is that you?”

“No way, Rebekah, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Me? What about you. You’re always the one who seemed to enjoy life at the Citadel. You’re the last one any of us expected to look for a way out.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he smirked. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Rebekah introduced them, confirming he was the missing Helot her roommate Naomi spoke about. Sam was as tall as Rebekah, but his clothes were an inch or so too short for him. His toes stuck out from his worn sandals. Rock dust coated every inch of him. Save for his face, which he seemed to have used a quick splashed of water. Revealing his soft brown eyes and a mole under his left eye. She paused to study the faded turquoise band pinned to his sleeve and wondered what it meant. Naomi thought he ran away to start a better life, but the truth in the matter was he was there the whole time.

They walked the dusty roads, following his carefree stride. Osana noted he was always watchful of those around him, but if he was suspicious of anyone it didn’t show on his face. For the first time in a while Rebekah smiled. It was faint, barely noticeable to most, but compared to the grim look she wore recently, it was a breath of fresh air. Until Sam asked about Naomi and the others.

“How’s everyone back home?”

Home. After learning her friend's story, the word stung. And Rebekah’s mouth returned to the straight line it usually was. “Fine, I mean as fine as they can be. They’re worried about you though.”

“I wanted to leave a note, but I was afraid someone might give it to the councillors, and they’ll track me down. It’s good to see you though, it's nice to have a familiar face around here.”

Rebekah recounted the events that led them to the camp. After already living it, Osana had no interest in experiencing it a second time. She strolled behind them as they climbed a hill and stopped to overlook the area. From where they stood, Osana had a vantage point of the camp. Rows of tents cramped between uneven roads. Somewhere wide enough for wagons, others were a cow path.

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Most of the tents were the same beige shape but others had painted rocks outside the door. Some seemed to want to make that place a home and tried to decorate it with various discarded items. It looked like trash to Osana. But then she thought of her shelf of treasures she collected from her adventures. Odds and ends that alone had no meaning, but to her it was everything. It brought new meaning to the broken pieces of pottery one woman delicately placed at the edge of her tent.

Beyond the tents was an open space with a deep hole. It looked like someone cut Umara open and left the wound to fester in the sun. Wagons full of rocks travelled from the hole while empty ones travelled in the opposite direction. They navigated their paths like ants, coming and going like the nest depended on it. Poking from the dunes, was huge, sculpted heads, and broken hands. Monuments from the ancients left to drown in the sand.

Sam called her attention to the wall at the end of the road. It wasn’t constructed of bricks like she saw in the kingdom. That wall looked like the rocky centre of the world was pulled to the surface and left there. The jagged and uneven top surrounded the entire area. Guard towers grew at even intervals each with an archer on careful watch.

“I can’t believe I left one prison for another.” Rebekah sighed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What is that place?” Osana pointed to the hole.

“The mines. Its why all of us are here. The men dig, and the women...”

“Dishes...” she sighed.

“It's dangerous. Be grateful they haven't started sending the women in yet. Between collapses, infections, and sickness, we lose more men every day. That’s why the Crims keep grabbing new people to replace the injured. You should see it Rebekah, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You go down there?”

“Got no choice, once you get to the Northern Expanse, you either work or be killed.” He said it so flippantly Osana paused.

“How come no one knows you both are here? You’re Helots to the Council aren’t you. Aren’t the Councillors concerned their slaves are missing?”

“They clearly know what’s going on," Sam answered. "One thing the Council isn’t, and that’s incompetent.” Sam’s words hung in the air while Osana tried to read their faces. A conversation passed between them; she didn’t hear any words, but the pained expression told her enough.

She hated the idea of thinking of her friend like she was property. But she couldn't escape the truth. If the Council’s property was stolen, then it would be a terrible crime. No doubt after Sam’s disappearance someone would say something. The Chancellor would at least have someone investigate. But none of that happened. The only conclusion was that their property wasn't stolen. But given- willingly -or at least without contest.

“We are on our own here.” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s up to the Gods now.”

That’s it.

They might be helpless, but she wasn’t. It was up to her to save them, to right the wrongs and show them the correct path. The path Papa always wanted them to follow, the one they lost sight of. Once she stopped the mine owners then everyone would be free. Rebekah could have a new life, and everyone would go back to serving Papa again.

“Don’t be sad Rebekah, I’ll get you out of here!”

Her friend’s protest got caught in the wind as Osana sprinted to the group of Crims on patrol. She was going to fix everything. They turned to her as she reached them, with their full attention she blurted out:

“Take me to the person in charge!”

It was lightning fast, her jaw throbbed, and it sent her flying to the ground. Her head was a blur, but her eyes focused on the staff in the Crim's hand. He held it above his head, waiting to club her again.

“You don’t make demands of us!” his voice boomed. The staff came down, she recoiled but the gem on top smashed into her back.

“Osana!”

“No please!” Sam moved between her and them. Using his hands to brace for the next attack. The Crim spit at his feet then swung. She shut her eyes.

“Enough!” commanded a deep voice beside her.

She saw another Crim had joined them and used a mace to halt the attack. Both weapons crossed above her head where she had a clear view of the challenger. The tip of the mace had a gem, a brown honey like colour with black edges she had never seen. The man holding it was dressed in scarlet like the others. But his sleeves had an intricate pattern sewn in golden silk. His red hood covered his head, but long white braid poked out and reached the middle of his back.

“Sir,” the other Crims saluted. Her opponent lowered his staff and backed away. “We...”

“We are beyond your excuses. The mines take enough souls, how about you refrain from taking more in the streets. Carry on with your patrols.”

The men left, and the stranger turned to Sam, who stammered through an apology. The man’s red eyes sent chills down her spine. Never had she seen a mortal with such pale skin and eyes the colour of blood. He didn’t say a word to her, or Rebekah who had joined her side. He left without looking back. She climbed to her feet and moved to go after him.

“Osana stop. He saved us, don’t push our luck.”

“She’s right, its best to keep your distance from him.” Sam added, helping her to her feet.

“Who was he?”

“Laertes, the Commander of the Crims. He's a stranger from a faraway land. But don't let that fool you, he's as dangerous as the mines.”