Feldspar Mine, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

The night was long; the inability to tell how fast or slow time was passing was something Matthew had grown used to, but still, he was anxious, too anxious to sleep. As the minutes dragged on, he could practically feel the wounds on his back healing, the Warmth doing its work. He'd check them every once in a while, shivers running down his back every time he felt the scabs. They were already fading. By morning, they'd be all but gone. In twenty-four hours, the lashings from a whipping that should have killed him would be practically healed. There was nothing normal about that. There was something bizarrely different about Matthew Garza.

And the Overseer now knew about it.

Matthew was sitting on the edge of the board with his head in his hands when Oceania entered, holding a bundle that she set beside him. He straightened as she took a long look at his back. The expression on her face was unsettling.

"Get dressed," she said, motioning to the bundle she had brought. "Father wants you wearing the shirt."

Matthew arched an eyebrow, but she only shook her head and left. He knew that it wasn't good, the Overseer now deciding that Matthew needed to cover up his scars instead of exposing them. Maybe the man was afraid the others would figure out Matthew's secret. But why? The man's hidden, ulterior motives were what worried Matthew. He put the shirt on anyway, and the new pair of pants as well. He used the ripped fabric of his old ones to tie back his tangled mess of hair, hoping it'd keep it out of his eyes.

Once he was dressed, he gently pushed aside the curtain, looking out uncertainly. Oceania was sitting at the table in the middle of the infirmary room, her head resting on her hand and her eyes closed. There was no one else around, which he thought was unusual.

She opened her eyes and gave a start when she found him looking at her. "Come here. We have to go."

Matthew approached the table, suddenly aware of what looked like a metal cuff sitting on the table in front of her. "What's that?"

She picked it up and stood, beckoning for his arm. "It's new. Motch is trying out a more efficient way to chain slaves and prisoners."

Matthew stared at the small contraption in trepidation. "It's not going to suddenly transport me somewhere, is it?"

She shook her head. "It's no portal. It's a security cuff. The prisoner wears it and is confined to a certain area determined by the overseer or guard. If they step out of it..." She grimaced. "Don't step out of it."

The last thing Matthew wanted to do was put that thing on. There seemed to be a hum droning from it, one that screamed danger. "How do you know what the boundaries are?"

"It'll begin to sting if you're getting near them, I'm told." Oceania took a deep breath and held out the cuff. "Your wrist, Matthew."

He arched an eyebrow, stalling. "Only the one?"

Oceania reached out quickly, grabbed his wrist, and snapped the cuff on before he could stop her. The hum stopped instantly. "Yes. There's no need for both. There are ways to stop anyone who tries to put up a fight." She looked at the cuff and then dropped his hand.

Matthew held his wrist, examining the cuff with a sick feeling in his chest. It was strange, engraved with tiny little lines and with no lock to be seen. There didn't seem to be any way to get it off.

"Come on." Oceania started for the door. "Let's go."

Reluctantly, Matthew followed her. They made their way down the tunnel, through the punishing room — where the floor was still slick with blood — and back into the shipping room. They were met by a long line of people shuffling by, each of them receiving a cuff like Matthew's. The slave masters stood nearby, herding the people toward the tunnel that led outside. The hair on Matthew's arms prickled in both excitement and dread. He hadn't been outside in... oh, he had no idea how long it had been. Just the thought of the blue sky and green grass and the sights and smells... it was all enough to send a burst of adrenaline through his veins.

However, something unusual caught Matthew's eye, and he stared. The key man was clasping the cuffs on the prisoners, and as they clicked, the engraved lines on them began to glow a violet hue. He looked down at his with a frown. The engraved lines on his remained a dull grey. What did that mean? Why was his different?

"Oceania! Bring him here." The Overseer's booming voice filled the room, and Matthew saw several prisoners cower. The man stood by the entrance to the exit tunnel, holding what looked like a metal map. As Matthew came near, he saw dozens of glowing dots on the map, and more being added with every moment. Were those glowing dots the activated cuffs? They must be.

"He has one, good," the Overseer said, almost absentmindedly as he stared at the metal contraption in his hands. A frown came over his face. "I can't find his signal."

So Matthew was right. With the cuffs and the metal map, the man could see where they all were. If his wasn't glowing purple like everyone else's, that meant it wasn't working.

The Overseer pieced it together as fast as Matthew did. "Oh, it's not on." Matthew was silent as the man grabbed his wrist and fiddled with the cuff, his frown deepening with each passing second. "It's... not working."

Oceania gave a surprised look, one that Matthew couldn't help but feel was faked. "It's not?"

"Not at all." With a grunt, the Overseer unlocked the cuff, so fast that Matthew was unsure how he had done it. He tossed the cuff aside. "Oceania, get a new one."

"Yes, sir." She left and returned in but a moment, holding a new cuff. "Perhaps test it before putting it on him?"

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The Overseer gave her a pointed look, but did what she said and closed the cuff. The engravings glowed, and Matthew saw a new dot appear on the metal map.

"It works," the Overseer said, opening the cuff and taking Matthew's wrist. He clasped it shut. The lines remained a dull grey. With a muttered curse, the man took it off. "Oceania, your wrist."

Oceania gave Matthew an unreadable look and offered her wrist to her father. He closed the cuff over her wrist, and the lines immediately began to glow.

"It's not the cuff, it's him." It sounded like the words bit the man as he said them. He jerked the cuff off of Oceania's wrist and threw it to one of the other slave drivers, who barely managed to catch it. "Get him chains and hook him to one of the wagons," he barked at Umair, who happened to be walking past at the moment. "The cuffs don't work on him."

Umair gave Matthew a quizzical look as he hurried off to obey the man's order. Matthew stood still, highly conscious of everything and everyone around him; the Overseer had returned to his metal map, and Oceania had been called away by her mother. Awkwardly, Matthew waited, watching the other slaves get cuffed and herded out. Some of them stared at him. Others didn't seem to notice him. He spotted Abby as she was pushed past, and when she saw him her eyes widened and relief washed across her face. It looked like she had been crying. Why? For him? Had she thought he had been killed? She was pushed out of his sight and he was left to wonder.

Umair returned with a length of chain and a pair of regular metal cuffs. Matthew knew there was no point in fighting, so he offered the man his wrists. The metal was cold and sent shivers through him as Umair put them on, and once they were secure, he attached the chain and pulled Matthew with it, leading him into the exit tunnel. Matthew's heart jumped into his throat as they walked up the steep, winding tunnel toward the exit, toward the light that was growing ever more prominent. The more they approached it, the more the light began to burn Matthew's eyes. He squinted, blinking rapidly as his vision started to get fuzzy. He didn't get that imagined first view of the outdoors that he had dreamed of; instead, he was blinded, his sensitive eyes unable to handle the brilliant light of the morning. He stumbled into Umair, who had stopped for some reason.

"You okay, kid?" Umair asked.

Matthew knew he sounded pathetic. "It's too bright. My eyes..." He kept them shut, bringing his hands up to help block out the light. He hadn't realized how accustomed his eyes had been to the darkness of the mine — he hadn't realized how dark the mine had been until now.

Umair made a noise of agreement in his throat. "You haven't been outside much, have you?"

"Not since I was brought here."

He felt Umair take his arm. "Here, I'll lead you. Others are having the same issues, but then, they haven't been here as long as you have, eh?"

Matthew only grimaced in response, letting Umair pull him along. Beneath his feet, he felt the stone give way to stubble and dirt — a road? He wasn't sure. If he could just see...

Umair grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. "Okay, now directly behind you is the wagon. Have a sit while I hook this up and you get that sight back, eh?"

Matthew obeyed, feeling behind him and hoisting himself onto the rough wooden wagon, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Even with them closed it was too bright. His head was beginning to ache. Where was the Warmth when he needed it?

"Okay, look at me, open your eyes," Umair prodded. Slowly, Matthew cracked his eyes open, keeping them squinted. Everything seemed too bright and out of focus. He didn't realize that leaving the mines would do this to him. Umair waved his hand in front of Matthew's face. "Careful. If you grimace any harder you'll crack that handsome face."

"Shut up." Matthew batted Umair's hand away, chains clattering, and the man gave a snort border-lining laughter. "Careful," Matthew said, blinking hard. "Sound any more amused and they'll break your handsome face." Finally, finally, he could see clearly. Just in time to spot the flash of sadness that overcame Umair's face at his words.

"Right, yeah." Umair gave a cough and clapped Matthew's shoulder. "You good, kid?"

Matthew rubbed his eyes one last time. "Yeah."

Umair gave a sharp nod, letting his hand slide from Matthew's shoulder as he turned and walked away. Matthew watched him go for a moment, the man's sadness gnawing at his chest. Then, with a jolt, he began looking around.

He was outside. He didn't even realize he was shaking as he took in the whole of everything around him, things he had forgotten. The sky was blue, a pale morning blue, with wisps of clouds overhead and the occasional bird. They were in the hills; the wagon was on a dirt road, and beyond it, rolling, grassy hills painted a vibrant green — at least to Matthew's eyes. Truthfully, the grass was dead. All of it was so unfamiliar and strange. Matthew had to force himself to take deep breaths as his eyes stung from the light and the sudden waves of emotion washing over him. It had been so long.

The slaves were clustered together at the end of the road, where the entrance of the tunnel dug into the side of the steep hill began. To the untrained eye, it looked rather innocent, the whole set up. The unknowing passerby wouldn't have had any idea what occurred down below.

"Matthew!" Abby had moved away from the gathering of other slaves, wary of slave drivers as she jogged to the wagon. He watched her jump up beside him, eyeing the cuff on her wrist. It still bugged him. Why hadn't they worked on him?

"What happened?" she whispered, nearly breathless, squinting her own sensitive eyes. "We heard rumours that he killed you."

Matthew didn't know how to tell her about any of it. The very words themselves hadn't ever left his mouth. "I'm okay. I... I'll tell you later. You shouldn't be here."

"I'm scared, Matthew. Scared for you."

"Don't be. It's a waste." He eyed her cuff again, and the curiosity was too much to bear. "Can I see something?"

She looked down at her cuff as well. "Okay. Why don't you have one?" she asked as she lifted her wrist, placing it in his hand.

Matthew's heart stuttered as the glow of her cuff flickered for a second before it faded away.

She saw it too. "Matthew..."

He pushed her hand away, and the glow returned. Abby looked at him, her eyes wide with fear and realization.

"Go on," he told her sharply, his heart racing as he nudged her with his elbow.

"Matthew."

"Go on," he ordered, enunciating each word forcefully.

She obeyed without another word, still looking at him with fear. But there was something else there, too. He saw hope in her eyes. The knowledge that he was different and the hope that it meant something.

The existence of such hope terrified him.