So he wasn’t actually trying to kill me, I realized. Just scare me. What a surprise.
“Answer me, girl!” Dagan shouted. He was that kind of man. Why talk, when you could shout?
“Yes, Chief,” I forced myself to say his title.
“Up the mountain. You know what you have to do. Where’s your carry-basket? Lost it, have you? Thrown it away?” Dagan barked at me.
I cast a glance to where the last cart was slowly being wheeled to the Loading Ground, where other Daza from various tribes were busy hauling each carry-basket and emptying them into the back of another, bigger sort of cart.
Pick up rocks. Put down rocks. Move rocks. The sheer monotony of it all would be enough to kill me alone, and that wasn’t even accounting for the injuries we sustained doing it, or the neglect and abuse we were subjected to.
“No, Chief, it’s—” I started to explain that the overseer had taken it off me.
“I don’t want to hear it!” Dagan hissed. “Get another. A good strong one. I want it full of scales by nightfall!”
“Yes, Chief,” I nodded my head. Scales. That was the other thing that Inyene wanted. And not just any scales. Not the skins of the rock snakes or lizards or even the stonedogs! No. Inyene, our powerful and mighty leader, wanted dragon scales.
“And you’re on the night shift in Western Tunnel One tonight, too,” Dagan said with a leer.
What!? I had to bite my tongue to keep from exclaiming. He must have seen my look of appalled shock, as his thin-lipped smile only grew wider in his chiseled face.
“Maybe tomorrow, after three shifts in a row, you won’t be so eager to try and run out on your debt!” he snapped at me. He meant my attempts to escape of course. The only thing was – I didn’t remember owing him or Inyene anything.
“What do you say?” He leaned a little lower to make sure that I couldn’t avoid his glaring, stupid little eyes.
“Yes, Chief, sir.” I bobbed my head. “Can I go now?”
Our Chief straightened up, satisfaction and pride pouring from every line of his ugly body. “No. One last thing.” He gave a shrill whistle, and there was the pound of booted feet coming up from the Loading Area. More of Inyene’s guards, no doubt – what were they going to do? My stomach turned over. Give me a couple of black eyes for daring to exist?
But this time there were no punches, kicks, or nasty little shoves from the burly men and women that Inyene employed. Instead, a set of shackles were clamped to my feet, and, even as I protested, they were hammered shut with a small metal bar. I had about a meter of heavy chain between my ankles – which was going to make clambering the Masaka mountain an absolute joy. My heart plummeted.
“And just in case you get any bright ideas about wandering off into the wilds alone, you won’t get very far like that now, will you?” Dagan laughed.
He’s trying to kill me. He’s actually trying to kill me, I thought with a sick sensation in my stomach. Only I’d never seen him outright kill any of the Daza slaves before. Perhaps Inyene wouldn’t let him. Probably only because she needed us carting bits of rock and finding scales.
But it was clear as the skies overhead that I would be lucky indeed if I managed to make it up the mountain and back again.
Past the outer palisade wall and a long trudge up the unforgiving rocks, the gray reach of Masaka Mountain rose into the heavens above me like some kind of giant. The skies were high and blue, and it would have almost been a nice day were it not for the fierce sun – and the heavy drag and rattle of the chains around my ankles.
Dagan is such a—I couldn’t finish the thought.
Words failed me. I hated the way he treated all of us, like his personal property. And I hated the way he made me feel, angry and resentful all the time. Just like Rebec. I shook my head, letting the fresh mountain winds tug at my long black hair. It was knotted and tangled, and I reached up to tease it through my fingers as I trudged. Mother would never think of allowing me to go out without brushing and binding my hair.
Enough. I told myself, sternly. Don’t think about it. Think about what is in front of you. Think about the dragon scales that you have to collect.
And think about where my next escape attempt was going to be.
The work camp was already just a child’s toy behind me by the time that the sun had crossed the three-quarter point. I only had a few hours of afternoon left. I was already high up on the slopes of Masaka, and I could see its larger sister mountains starting to crowd on either side of me.
The north creek had been my last attempt. I turned to survey the small runnel of water that scraped up the north face of Masaka. But that had ended in a sheer waterfall. I had been tracking around it when one of the camp scouts had spotted me and hauled me back down for my latest branding.
“So, not that way then,” I sighed.
I’d tried heading south across the front of Masaka on my first two attempts – the slopes were gentler that way – but they were also much more open for Dagan’s eagle-eyed scouts and their telescopes. I wondered if one of them was watching my progress even now, chuckling at how I had to shuffle and stumble with these heavy shackles.
Which left… I looked up the slope I was following. It ended at the face of a cliff, with tumble-down rocks and scrubby mountain trees on either side. The mountain was wilder up there, with tall spires and stacks of ancient rocks jutting from the ground, as if this place had been torn apart a very, very long time ago.
Over the top of Masaka. That way was the Middle Kingdom of Torvald, wasn’t it? It was the wrong direction to take to get back to the plains, which were due East – on the other side of Inyene’s camp itself. But there was no way to hide in that direction. The land rolled gently from foothills to the long grasslands. Dagan’s guards would pick up my movement from miles away.
“Ugh!” I kicked at the scree that scattered the slope. It was useless! My only hope had been to strike out westwards, into the wilds of the World’s Edge Mountains (as the Torvaldites called them) and then loop back around, approach the plains of my foremothers from higher up or lower down. But every time I had tried that, I had failed.
“And what about Oleer and the others?” I said aloud. That was the next complication. My plan had been to forge a way ahead, find a route through the mountains for others to follow.
“Who am I kidding?” I stopped, reached down to pull at my shackles a little to stop them chafing my ankles so much. Just like my memories of the Soussa winds, were fading fast too.
It was then that I saw it. Something large and angular that reflected the light. Something I’d uncovered with my kick.
A dragon scale.
It was a shining black on its outer curve, while its inner was a lighter, bone-like cream. It was also large, nearly the size of my entire hand. The only imperfection I could make out was a series of small nicks and notches along one of the tear-drop edges. The dragon who had plucked it must be very fastidious, I thought! Or maybe it was just an old scale, like shed hair.
The black scales were rare – I had only ever heard of one girl finding a couple more than a year ago. Much more often they found the greens or the mottled ochre ones, all of which were far smaller than this. I didn’t know if that made it more valuable, but it didn’t feel brittle – there was still some spring to it, and when I tapped its outer edge against a rock, it felt sturdy and strong.