Know not what inspires men to brave Iye – know which men Iye inspires. For it is the man – not the goal – which it seeks. – General Emmanuel, Varuun in Iye dated TUR 4826.
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Every morning, the devil comes by my cage to wake me. For him, silence is never an option as the thud of his hooves are heralded by the sounds of bells clanging, wandering whistles, and the jingling keys. In the background, the devil sings his daily tunes as he prances about from one cage to another.
Some in my position may make the proclamation “God cannot exist, for under his watchful gaze such cruelty should not exist.” I agree with them, for if he is real, then God is cruel to have allowed such an ugly bastard to have been born. Others may fear him, but I have never feared the devil. I only pity him, for ‘what is the devil but an angel who hath received no love?’
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“Up and attem, boys and girls, rise and shine. Here’s your slob, greedy little fucks! Now, be ready quick, today is the big day! Don’t wanna have to reward you little buggers for once, eh?!”
Aliso groaned, shuffling slowly in bed – unable to pull himself from its embrace. While it wasn’t exactly soft and cozy, Aliso had found that any bed with even basic cushioning was a privilege to cherish. So, it was little surprise to find that even his hard, cold, and bumpy bed still managed to ooze an inescapable charm – an innate desire to simply be, letting the world go by as you lay there, watching.
At this point, he’d spent about a few weeks in Iye – yet still hadn’t adjusted to the lack of natural light – or the constantly shifting cycles of light and dark. A difficult proposition under normal circumstances – made even more difficult by the arduous journey. Last night was particularly brutal – having had to travel almost eight and a half hours, barefoot.
All of that was to say – Aliso was a tad too slow to rouse for Portus.
“Need special attention, Silver?” A nasty voice called out – a hint of glee sparking in his eyes spoiling his poor façade of neutrality.
Bobby Portus was a fat, old Ishara whose limping gait caused his key chains to jingle maliciously. He picked up his baton—strapped by his bulging belly—and lightly pressed it to the metallic crate, administering his 'medicine', specialized to help the ill and disobedient.
Aliso screamed, writhing in pain – skin smoldering and muscles scorched as volts of electricity coursed through his body.
Portus cackled – manic pleasure evident – as he smacked his baton across the side of the crate a few more times – another small dose of medicine to help the young boy awake. “I’mma miss tis’ daily game of ours.”
Of course, his taunts were immaterial as Aliso was otherwise preoccupied with the agony of muscles that simultaneously felt burning and freezing – leaving his body convulsing and his numb mind – unable to even focus on the pain.
Portus leaned over – and spat on Aliso’s face through the holes in the crate. “Lil more won’t do ye any harm, eh?” he goaded. When Aliso elicited nary a reaction in response – the jailer grunted in satisfaction and disgust.
“I doneno what ye think yere doin’ – but yere lucky. Arriving tonight – gotta keep the product top-o'-the-line. So get up, and get moving!” He stalked away – laugh ringing, chains jingling and hooves thudding on the ground as he walked away.
With nothing else to do – Aliso finally extracted himself from the bed, although a part of him wished to jump back in and disappear between the sheets. He wiped himself down as best he could – covered in vomit, piss, and feces – but there was little in the crate other than his bed – so he mostly stewed silently – anger and helplessness building.
“Why don’t you just gettup?” Teddy asked – scooping up some Fluer between his fingers and swallowing. Shaggy orange hair, a thick beard, and a powerful frame, Teddy sat cross-legged on the cot of his cell, enduring his meal. “Every other day – the same song and dance. You’re not going to beat him, you know?”
Aliso ignored the comment as he stood, his small frame forgoing the need to crouch and slump – slightly stretching his shocked muscles.
He assumed his body would grow resistant to them eventually – as he had to physical torment. Instead, he found it more painful – only his post-shock recovery sped up, which, in an ironic twist of fate, only increased how often he was shocked.
Teddy raised his eyebrows – gobbling up another handful of Fluer as he watched Aliso stretch.
Liable to get yourself killed – You ain’t causing anything to change. Just getting yourself fucked up for no reason.”
Aliso sighed. “We both know he wouldn’t kill me – besides, it’s not like he’s ever needed a reason to hurt me. Might as well get some extra sleep while I’m at it, no?”
Teddy had tried to convince him more than once to drop the antics – this time resorting to tough love. He appreciated the effort his acquaintance, okay friend – however meaningless the effort. He didn’t want to admit Teddy was right – but Aliso
He sat – pulling through the bars his breakfast, haphazardly thrown on the floor in front of his cell door.
Aliso hated breakfast. Well, more specifically, he hated breakfast, lunch, and dinner. More specifically, he hated breakfast, lunch, and dinner here.
“Breakfast” consisted of two dead Kazhaki - small, grey ratlike creatures that are equal parts resilient and disgusting – garnished with a handful of under moss called Fluer – an unsuccessful attempt to mellow out the bitter flavour of Kazhaki meat– and a small glass of liquid… goop. Teddy had tried – on numerous occasions – to convince Aliso that it was water. His efforts fell on deaf ears, however, and often had no comeback to the retort “Please find me another pool of water which is thick and green.”
He prodded the meat carefully – shifting his nose to avoid the pungent odor. To call this a meal would be a bit of an overstatement. A meal should be used to describe an edible arrangement of food. If a chef sold this as a meal in Dii Lainus he would be charged with Grand Larceny.
Nevertheless, Aliso bit into it – unsuccessfully dusting the dirt off its skin and trying not to vomit while he ate. Over time, he found one of the benefits of being shocked was his loss of tastebuds – which came in handy to swallow the bitter and disgusting grey meat.
“Portus said something about tonight – that I was lucky? Any idea what he was talking about?” Aliso asked through mouthfuls of meat - swallowing to avoid the taste.
This time it was Teddy’s turn to shake his head. “Find out soon enough, won’t we?”
Neither had an answer to the statement – if there was even a question in it – so it hung in the air between them – constantly vying for attention. Aliso ignored it – as he did all the other questions lingering in his brain. Time in Iye had taught him one thing: better to leave the questions in the past, lest they torment you for the foreseeable future.
Silently finishing the rest of their meals – the two of them joined their (company). Released from their cells they began their barefoot trek again, fortunately, shoulders burdened only with empty crates.
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So far, their journey had been brutal – a routine of monotonous digging along the beachlines followed by hour-long treks, ferrying giant metal crates filled with unearthed stones on their backs to nearby depots, before heading back out – traveling east to who-knows-where. The entire time, no one told them where they were going. If you disobeyed, you were simply whipped until you started moving – or in Aliso’s case, stop asking.
Twice, plans had been made for escape. Twice, a thorough reminder of the cost of freedom – after which another attempt was never considered.
And so, the thousand of them continued forward, heads down in silence – ushed by two hundred or so guards, creatures like Portus.
Finally – only an hour or two since departure – their journey had come to an end.
“HALT!” Portus hollered from the front, bringing the line to a crashing halt. “Today’s yer lucky day children! We’ve finally arrived at our final destination.”
In his dreams, he hoped this day would mirror a foggy window finally clearing beneath the warmth rays of the burning suns.
Instead, it felt more like small sections of the window (cleared up) – giving way to more questions. Such as, why are there horses behind this window?
Or in this case, what?
During his travels, he expected a number of destinations – mostly endings to his life, if he was to be honest with himself.
He thought they might be gathered up and sacrificed to an ancient deity – like his village had tried to do once before. Or he expected the destination to be like Levium – simply a myth, designed to motivate them towards an end, however vague. Or maybe they’d simply be abandoned – their metal crates trapping them eternally as they starved to death among the wilds.
Not on the top of the list - not even on the list, really – was their destination: a bustling carnival.
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“No, no, no, no no, no, NOOOOO! This is simply NOT good enough! Portus. Doll, darling. Dear. I believe Pyria explicitly reminded you that they must be brought in TOP condition. Really darling – how hard can it be to follow one job? We don’t have time to fix all of… this.”
The tall, red-headed woman gestured in disgust at the silver-haired boy sitting quietly on the stool – veiny hands wildly waving in the air like leaves flittering in a storm.
“First-o’-all”.” Portus began, “Deal was simple: I bring you the product in workin’ condition, and you pay us. I brought yer garbage – ain’t nothing in the contract stipulatin’ quality control.”
Teddy and Aliso split up as their group was brought around back – far from the prying eyes of the crowds and away from the dazzling sights – forced into dozens of lines as they slowly entered one of many small rooms.
The lines were policed – baton bats at the ready to ensure no escape. Not that it stopped Aliso – who upon reaching the front of the line, tried to dash out and escape.
Watching the line disappear into the room, Aliso concluded that either the room was to be their grave – unlikely, given the lack of screams and effort taken to bring them here – or they were to be swallowed by the earth – a more logical conclusion, given that no one yet returned. Thus, whatever followed escape could not be worse than what lay beyond those doors.
Unfortunately, his fruitless attempts at escape were rewarded with a quick and painful beating, a guard dragged Aliso into the room, ensuring he didn’t escape. Portus – almost gleefully – took up the position.
Now, Aliso – firmly seated on the stool – watched Rosara – the redheaded – rip into Portus, to his barely hidden satisfaction. Serves you right.
Their small stone room was lit by a few white torches, hanging on each of the walls to provide ample lighting. Two black doors marred the perfectly smooth walls in front and behind Aliso, while a pile of books and a few dressers filled the room to both sides.
The carnival – it had turned out – was well underway by the time they arrived, a fact the redheaded lady – Rosara – continuously chided the Portus about, among his lack of delicacy, insubordination, and general stupidity.
“Ugh, I don’t have the TIME to be dealing with you.” Rosara clicked her tongues together in dismay. Taller even than Portus – frame even taller by her red hair braided into a tight, tall topknot – Rosara stood with the air of a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted – belittling those beneath her through her simple presence. Sporting square-rimmed spectacles covering green eyes, a sharp nose, and pale white skin – she wore a green bodycon dress, adorned with gold along the edges that brought her curves out – clearly meant to distract the eyes. “If you have any issues, take it up with LaRasso, okay?” She spoke in a condescending, almost mocking tone.
Portus – eyes momentarily caught on those curves – glared back at Rosara. “LaRasso better have the money. Or else.” He threatened, before stalking away – green scales glinting as his thick flattened tail swished across the floor, nearly knocking a drawer over as he exited from whence they came.
Rosara scoffed. “Or else what? Honestly, the nerve of some people, humph! Now then, boy, we really must do something about you… Yes yes, no time to waste!” She clapped her hands enthusiastically, turning and poking her head out the door behind her and shouting commands.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“MELLY! Be a darling, come here and put a touch whiter around the eyes, these bags are visible a mile away! Call Livvy. And honey, we need him spazzed UP! Get him spazzin’!” Rosara scurried out the door – followed by the entrance of a short creature with two rows of three green eyes matching her emerald skin and hair, wearing earrings and a blue and purple dress in a similar vein to Rosara,
The woman – presumably Melly – paced over, weariness evident on her face. All her eyes simultaneously locked on Aliso – who squirmed uncomfortably beneath her gaze.
“We don’t have enough people,” she complained to the air. “I can’t be cleaning up everyone who walks through.” Nevertheless, Melly got to work as the other woman, Livvy, entered shortly after.
Livvy was comparatively normal looking to her companion – aside from the steel skin and metal facemask. Brunette – hair tied in a bun – she wore the same accessories and dress as her colleague. In contrast to her appearance, however, Livvy was the far bubblier of the two, laughing moronically and cracking jokes at Aliso’s expense.
Initially, Aliso resisted fiercely as the two of them tried to strip him of his clothes – a resistance only maintained until Livvy’s blow across his jaw – steel hands leaving him stunned and defenseless (yet somehow uninjured) as the two of them tore his garments apart.
The ordeal would have been humiliating under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, his journey here had stripped him of that emotion – in fact, this was positively pleasant in comparison to some of the punishments Portus subjected him to.
The two played with their new doll – scrubbing the impurities from his body, only to mask it with another layer of impurity, all to maintain a façade of purity.
Occasionally, Aliso twitched involuntarily, erratically, as if a cold breeze ran down his shirt, but otherwise, remained still and silent, anger repressed – like the condemning gaze of a mother. Unfortunately, Aliso had to admit he enjoyed the mountain of make-up, soothing his smoldering skin – which was no longer smoldering after some ointments Melly applied. His pale complexion – marred by dirt and grime through months of digging and journey – reappeared. Unfortunately – their efforts managed to also unearth the various scars tracked across his back – a memento of whippings of the life dealt, figuratively and literally. They soon found no amount of makeup could cover the brutal lashings.
Naked – he suppressed bouts of shivers as Livvy and Melly began rifling through the books at their side.
Noticing their distraction Aliso tried again to escape – brought short immediately as Livvy’s arm extended from its socket and violently threw him back into the chair, where it held him down as Livvy and Melly began discussing options.
Aliso struggled to catch the nuances of their conversation – or what they were planning to do with him. The two tossed ideas about – Aliso only able to catch a few of them and their issues.
Lover – brought down by the ‘fire in his eyes’.
Fighter – ignored for his lack of visible muscle.
Worker – rejected for his youth.
Donor – contemplated, then rejected for reasons Aliso couldn’t make out.
Finally, Rosara interrupted their discussion and burst through the doors like a hurricane, a piercing sound escaping as her heels danced along the stone floor. She looked over at Aliso and then began to berate her employees.
“Why aren’t you finished?” Rosara complained, huffing slightly as she posed.
The stylists shrugged. “Can’t figure out how to sell him.” Melly said.
“The book is useless!” Livvy professed – tossing the book to the side, earning the back of her head a roundhouse slap, delivered by Rosara.
Rosara examined Aliso, eyes furrowing before a (scary) smile blossomed across her face. That alarmed Aliso. Whatever she saw in him – she was damn happy about it. And that made him nervous.
Turning to her bickering employees, she began to lay out instructions.
“Melly, darling, how has it that you manage to miss everything with three pairs of eyes? Really, darling...” She shook her head, pointing to Aliso as she sized him up. “Midnight tank top – as tight as you can find – and matching black pants… size three – I should think. Livvy darling, accentuate his pail skin more – I should see it glow!” She turned to leave – then spun back. “Oh – and the cloth should be thin, with holes.” With that, she waltzed out again – hips swaying.
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Well, I can’t say they don’t do a good job, because I certainly look good. Aliso thought – catching a glance of his reflection in a faraway mirror as he moved through the narrow corridors.
His hair had been combed over nicely – powdered face shining beneath lamplight bouncing off the walls. Following Rosara’s approval – Aliso was led out the stone room, through winding and narrow corridors into a small room lit by unusual red lamps – filled with at least a hundred other people sitting upon wooden benches.
Melly and Livvy dressed him in a uniquely odd ensemble: matching midnight tank tops and shorts featuring a festival of small white polka dots. A small, white tag stuck on his chest, A-026 written upon it, and some brown, leather sandals completed his apparel.
He looked silly, and looking upon the others sitting on benches, his embarrassment began to rise.
From wall-to-wall, filled with people like him: Portus’ captives. Yet for all their similarities – each looked distinctly different from what they had been before. Well dressed, groomed clean, wearing ornate jewelry, colorful flowing dresses, and slick, well-fitted suits.
Most of them had been well dressed – groomed clean, like him – but wearing ornate jewelry, dresses, and suits. He even recognized a few – although only barely, identities revolutionized through simple dress. Meanwhile, Aliso looked like what he felt – a child. And maybe he was. Is that how they see me? He wondered – followed by his mind wandering to his past; the last time he was dolled up like a toy. How long had it been since that day? Too long, or not long enough?
With few other options, he took a seat on the benches – away from some of the others – and began to examine the room.
There were three doors – behind, from which Aliso emerged, and two others at opposite ends of the room – all stationed with a pair of idly attentive guards.
Three more bored guards roamed the room – spouting rhetoric about striving to ‘maintain order and peace’ as they passed the prisoners in their gaudy chains of gold and silver. Barely hidden barbs – tactically sound, a means to inspire hate and courage so they may institute their ‘peace and order’ – but logically deficient – for those whom the courage to stand, no longer stood with them.
Ironic, Aliso pondered – as his eyes fell upon their batons, begging to be freed, that all peace begins with violence, and violence proceeded by inaction.
Condemnation of the world, whose gaze averts from the horrors plaguing the land.
Condemnation of the people, who seek a few to bear the responsibility of the many.
Condemnation for himself, for knowing the truth – and yet still longing for the lies embrace.
He sat in silence, stewing like the rest of his compatriots until he was pulled out of his reverie by a muffled voice ringing out from beyond his leftmost door – followed by the roar of a crowd, rallying behind his muted words.
At the same time, the door to his right opened letting in a pair of snake-like carnival workers – given their clothing. They slithered into the room – eyes scanning the faces of the dejected crowd before narrowing on Aliso. Blood freezing beneath their scrutinizing eyes – Aliso didn’t even have a chance to yell out in protest before the workers whipped their tails around him
His screams were stifled as his face was covered by scaly flesh worming over like slimy bandages, and his attacks rebuked – for without oxygen there was little force behind his efforts. Eventually – all sense dulled and consciousness faded – not quite disappearing into the empty void but eroded away like mountains before wind.
When next he could see – his entire world had shifted.
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“AND NOW – INTRODUCING OUR FIRST PRODUCT, A-026!”
The voice boomed – echoing off the walls of the amphitheater. In its wake; a roaring tempest of passions, twisting and colliding in a frenzy of howls, cheers, and cheers – building pressure like an ouroboros.
For the audience, this was life itself.
And it made Aliso – wrists chained to the wooden stage, stained in several places with blood – feel very. Very.
Alone.
But he wasn’t alone. In fact – he was less alone than he had ever been.
The amphitheater – he knew it to be one from his time in Dii Lainus – stood tall around him.
Basic – made of brown, old, ugly, cracked, and mishappen clay – it had none of the beautiful designs and patterns that covered the Amphitheaters in Dii Lainus. Only a glass ceiling – complex patterns shimmering light uniquely, such that the entire place seemed otherworldly. Dreamlike.
The audience sat among tiered seats, circling to the top, each wearing a small black mask with three large slits for the eyes and mouth. Thousands of eyes bore down on him – as if he was a fashionable piece of jewelry, interesting but not yet enticing.
They demanded he prove his worth to him – and a part of him longed to be worthy – the part he’d been quelling since long before the journey began.
On stage stood four guards armed with spear coves, covered head to toe in gleaming silver armor.
The pressure continued to build – infinitely Aliso felt – until several thuds blanketed the noise until there was nary a whisper left.
Aliso followed the sound of a mallet hitting gravel to a small booth on the side, where a tall figure stood. Adorned in light white robes, a belt around his waist, and a hand to his throat as he spoke.
“Lot A-026! Ain’t he a beaut?” he called – the same voice as before, edging the crowd along.
Finally – listening to him speak – it all clicked for Aliso.
An auction. He realized. This entire time I’ve been walking towards my own auction.
A part of him wanted to laugh – at the sheer audacity of it all. Thousands of leagues. Nations apart. Worlds and years between now and the shanty village he was born in – and yet his fate, inescapable. Memories of that day rising, images superimposing onto each other as an eerie sense of deja-vu filled his soul. Different circumstances, same situation.
I am to be a slave, forever a tool? He despaired, as the auctioneer began again.
“Bidding begins at twelve silver tickets. Do I have a taker?”
A few hands rose – like trees in a savannah – but most kept silent, waiting expectantly with their cold gazes.
The auctioneer shook his head in mock exasperation, ignoring the raised arms as he dramatically pranced around the stage – flowing robes trailing behind. Walking over to one of the guards, his voice began to cry out in the still air.
“Shame come to all – the faithless among you cursed! Discount, provided willingly! A show of faith – of trust. And yet, so little you trust – nary a hand up in response!? Appalling!”
His voice rang out louder and louder with each passing breath as he pried the spear free from one of the guards.
“I fear – and guide me so if my fears lay untrusting – that, perhaps, a show of truth might be of service. After all – why trust in faith what can be gleaned from reason.”
He walked over to Aliso – spear twirling in his hand as he approached, slowly, building tension with each pace. Aliso began to sweat despite the chilly air. He tried to think of a tactic – alternate solutions to the situation. Alas, he could think of little. Chained as he was – this time there was no escape.
As if activated by his thoughts, the chains on Aliso’s arms tightened – lifting him into the air as he vainly struggled against them. The auctioneer did not alter his pace, calmly walking until he stood just before Aliso – who threw a few kicks in retaliation.
“And so – my friends – truth, I offer.” A manic grin spread across his face.
And then, he stabbed Aliso.
Aliso screamed – muscles ripping as the spear was wrenched from his leg – a burning, gaping hole in its wake. He opened his eyes – tears forming – but closed them tight as he saw the other three guards approaching. Without warning,
Stab. His arm, now a gaping hole – but his screams held.
Shatter. His leg – smashed by the backside of the pole. But his screams held.
Thwack. Blood trailing across his vision, blurry from the slicing cut across his forehead. Still, his screams held.
Stab. Shatter. Thwack. Smack. Slice. Crack.
Crunch.
It was that last one – the combined effort of all three guards, simultaneously stabbing and beating him – that managed to wrench screams from his body – the sound orchestrating his torture.
Finally, after a minute or two – only when Aliso felt it would be his very last breath – did they move away, releasing his chains and letting him fall to the floor. Lying there – crumpled in a pool of his own blood – Aliso began to white out, certain death waiting for him as he slipped into the void.
Splash!
Aliso gasped – his body greedily drinking from the torrent of liquid that fell from above. Neck craned, he saw two guards – standing overhead with an overturned bucket dripping red. Immediately, he felt life cradle his soul as his body began to patch the holes, soothe his aches and bruises as his skin stitched back together – only slight scarring marring his clear skin.
Dimly, he glanced over at his clothing and realization dawned on him.
The holes. They made the holes to injure me – to clearly show where I was injured. Indeed – despite their ruthless force, the guards had made sure to only bleed him where the white polka dots were. Only now, the white cloth was replaced by slightly scarred white skin.
They wanted everyone to see my wounds – as they tore into me. And then to see, as the bucket of blood seeped into the openings and repaired my injuries. But, why?
The dread that set upon him came only moments before the words. The auctioneer took centerstage once more, basking in the tension of his long pause. His mouth split into an inhumane grin as he uttered the next words.
“A Vampyr.” The auctioneer whispered – quiet words somehow managing to reverberate throughout the gasping arena as he wiped the blood off the spear with his robes, handing it back to the unarmed guard.
“A youngblood, right at your fingertips.” He looked back to the audience – his playful tone contrasting his bloody clothes. “My fine people, what you see before you is not just any young boy. Nay, this youngster, just a hair over thirteen years since his dastardly birth, is a slab of clay waiting for ambition to mold! Tell me, does ambition fancy you?”
How did they know? Aliso frantically recalled. I was careful – never wielding or even absorbing in front of others.
He swung his head desperately but there was no hope. No avenue for escape.
And why fight? Aliso glumly concluded – letting his head fall. It doesn’t matter now. Ha. It never mattered. Every time I fight – I fail. Every time I rebel – I am punished. I try to escape my past, my heritage – only to find it haunts my future.
For a moment – before the spears fell upon him – Aliso hoped that this might be his chance. Catch the new owner by surprise, before they realize what Aliso could do. Escape.
But now, he knew the truth.
The chains on his wrists? Performative, for Aliso knew that even if his body was flesh and flesh alone – he would still be chained.
Always a slave.
Head hung and soul shattered – for the first time since his journey began, Aliso stopped fighting.
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“Now then,” the auctioneer began, a twinkle in his voice. “Bidding restarts at twenty – no make that forty silver tickets…”
No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than the room roared to life; thousands of voices screaming in unison as they clamored for opening bid.
Ha! Aliso laughed bitterly. At least I don’t come cheap, bastards. Almost a hint of pride behind that thought.
That pride was, unfortunately, extraordinarily short-lived.
The auctioneer took in the sound with an exaggerated mask of shock. “My oh my, I may have set the price a tad too low.” He laughed – cold and harsh. “Well now, we just can’t have that, can we? I say, we skip the pleasantries and get down to the real bidding, shall we?” An evil grin split across his face. “Let’s start at, oh, ONE GOLD TICKET?”
The buzzing died down – replaced by general apprehension, surprise, and shock as whispers began to circulate.
Apparently, he wasn’t worth that much – however much that was.
The auctioneer rolled his eyes – dramatically pacing around the stage. “Oh, my dear friends, it surprises me a little how nearsighted you are. Why – you could have another Ikto Klahn on your hands!”
A few heads nodded thoughtfully at this – but only a single hand went up. It belonged to a man in the front – distinct features masked by the identical gray mask they all worse.
However, the mask could not hide everything – and Aliso found terror rising as he looked into those eyes.
Those cold, dark, eyes.
“Five gold tickets.” he offered confidently, a vicious grin somehow visible behind the mask.
“Five?!” the auctioneer called out – in genuine surprise. “My, my, someone wants to get a move on.” He looked over the crowd – happiness blossoming on his face as fear blossomed in the heart of another. “Any more takers?”
A hush fell over the crowd. Where men and women alike had been bounding up and down on their feet moments before, the whole lot of them had gone stiff as stone.
But not in response to the price.
They watched – as the auctioneer’s head rolled.