Chapter 10: Slave

Zack

16 years ago

Year: 857

The day was muggy and wet. Miserable was the only way to describe it. Rain fell from the sky and fed the grass below, heavy enough to be uncomfortable but certainly no storm. The Weeping Crucible was practically no man's land. Devoid of anything except grass and rolling hills. Perfect for many bandits to set up camps. The Atlus empire never took the time to take down and dismantle these bandit camps as many factions would war against each other over resources and thus would keep their fighting to the Weeping Crucible and away from the harm of its citizens.

“Put your back into it!” The stick cracked against the soft flesh of the young boy as he hunched over and squealed in pain. “You won’t get a hut to sleep in if you keep going at this pace!” commanded the bandit as he ordered the young boy. Rain was pooling and falling from his wide-brimmed hat while his long leather jacket splashed water off as it flung in the wind. Despite the nice clothes, the bandit had an unkempt beard and a hooked nose that gave him a skeevy look. One glance and you could tell his clothes were obviously stolen, that, or bought with stolen money, though, not surprising behavior for a bandit. It was just a way of life for these people. Zack continued to haul the barrels of oats and drinks he had been ordered to move. It felt like had been doing this all day, seeing as though the weather didn't want to change. His bones shivered with chill and his muscles wanted to give out on him. Stained blood, scabs, and wounds ran down his back from the beating he had received, with the blood being washed to the soil below him by the rain. He wore what could only be described as rags. Tan in color and stained in blood and grime with a red cloth wrapped around his arm. It was hard to remember when they were still clothes. He couldn't remember how long he had been working for this group of bandits as a child slave, ten? Eleven? Probably the whole thirteen years he had been alive. Forced to work under scum like them, what did that make him? Worse than scum? Not only that, but he was forced to work alongside them as a bandit whenever they would raid other bandits or nomads. Forced to slaughter people he had no qualms with, people he didn't know, but that was the way his life was if he wanted a roof to sleep under. There was the possibility of escaping during a raid, but Zack had no knowledge of the world outside, nowhere to go, or how to survive. He would most likely die alone. What felt like days passed and Zack had finished his tasks. He returned to his shoddy hut and laid down. It wasn't sturdy and was the size of a closet but it was better than nothing. At least it kept the rain away. He looked at the oversized sword that layed in his hut. The rusted blade refused to show his reflection. Better that way so he couldn't see the sorry state he was always in. Many times he stared and looked at that blade and thought about taking his own life.

“I could it now, be rid of this pathetic life. End it all” but he never did. It wasn’t from a lack of courage - Battling bloodthirsty bandits every other day rid him of any fear he held for taking life - It's more like, he didn't know any other way of life. He had just accepted this was all he was meant for and gave up trying.

The lanky man screamed in pain as Zack’s sword tore the flesh of his thigh, bringing him down to his knees. Zack quickly brought the inertia off his sword back and thrust through the man’s abdomen. The man keeled over, Zack had to climb on the dead man to retrieve his sword. Blood gushed out from the bandit's wound and covered Zack's sword which was far too big for him. He often crippled bandits in the legs before delivering a mortal blow due to his shorter stature and age. He wielded the blade more like a giant battle axe despite it being a regular broadsword for adult soldiers. He rarely got to fight actual bandits seeing as they wielded magic. Zack was not yet at the age where his innate magic would manifest. So he was placed at a severe disadvantage. From time to time, however, he was able to get the jump on lone bandits. He was surprised he lived this long through those methods. Zack was covered in dried, crisped blood. He heard the screams around him stop which signaled the end of the raid. It was a small camp, comprised of wooden logs as walls with a few tents situated among the plaza. Zack’s crew only felt the need to bring 5 men, including Zack. He took the opportunity to scavenge the dead man. Only a bit of coin, anything he found or pillaged would go to any of the bandits who he raided for so it was an empty victory, outside of keeping the roof over his head and some food in his belly. That’s all that someone like him could ask for, all he was allowed to ask for. He often had to grow his own grain behind their back just to get by. Zack approached the raid leader, one hand dragging his sword on the ground, the other holding a purse of coin in his cut and bruised fingers.

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“Here…this is…what I found sir.” He said in a weak tired voice. The bandit turned to look down and snatched the coin purse off from him, counting the coin out. The bandit gave no word to Zack.

“That’s a wrap boys, let's go!” Zack took this as meaning he did well enough. The four of them left with Zack following behind as quickly as he could.

It was a long walk to their camp. Zack was nearly an hour behind the rest of them before reaching it. The gate was open which let Zack stumble through, exhausted and weak.

“Oi Zack” He heard his name called and turned to the left, peering through his hair that was matted with sweat. It was the bandit leader, Josh. He was huge compared to Zack and his presence was always so commanding, Especially with that humongous axe he wielded. Zack was practically terrified of him and froze like a piece of ice.

“Good job out there today,” he said with a genuine smirk. For the first time in his life, Zack had been given praise. He smiled back at Josh as best as he could with his tired expression and hauled his way back to his hut to return his sword. All his life he had been a slave to these people, beaten and pushed around to do their bidding. Today however was…slightly different.

Later that night, Zack was fast asleep. He practically collapsed when he reached his hut and the exhaustion kept him fast asleep. A loud crash woke him up and a rain of wooden planks came shortly after, collapsing all over him. Zack quickly made himself aware and stumbled out of the planks, thankfully not injured by them. As he made his way to his feet he found himself standing in nothing but broken wooden planks. The hut he once layed in and called his home was gone, with the night sky hanging overhead. Before he could question why his hut collapsed, he got his answer. Josh, was standing in front of Zack stumbling and red in the face. He’s been drinking again Zack could see wasn’t just drunk, but angry. At what? He wasn’t sure but he quickly scampered away. The large bandit was mumbling incoherently. Zack didn’t care what he was trying to say and only focused on running away. Before he could get far he suddenly felt himself lifted in the air. Josh picked him up by the back of his head and threw him to what remained of his hut. The young man landed face-first into the pile of timber and groaned in pain. Amongst the groaning were tears. Tears of pain but also sadness. As he tried to get up he was met with a swift kick to the gut. It winded him and felt like he was going to throw up right there.

“Stewpid lil runt!” he had finally understood some of what Josh was trying to say in his belligerent state. “Facking useus rat!” Josh got down and began to beat his back with his fists. Why? I thought did a good job today…why? The bandit's fists beat into his arms and back, bruising and cracking the skin. Pain…so much pain Zack began sobbing and yelping please stop…stop it. He began to feel lightheaded. Then, the pain stopped. Zack drove the sword that layed in the timber through Josh’s stomach. The sword was long enough that it went all the way through and pointed out the back where his blood pooled and dripped at the tip. In his drunken state, he was too weak to fight back and fell over to his side with a large slam. Zack stood on his knees shaking, so much anxiety ran through him. His heart was going as fast as his first fight with an enemy. He had taken lots of lives before but this was different. It felt more personal. Zack clambered to his feet, still hurt by the beating he took as his arms and back remained bruised and swelled. He wasn’t sure what to do next. The amount of anxiety left him unable to think straight but he knew he couldn’t stay here anymore. He pulled his sword from Josh’s stomach. Blood seeped from his wound and bits of flesh hung from the sword, only held by the blood that soaked into it. Zack turned to the gate and quickly made his escape into the night. Broken, weak, tired, and alone.