Chaper II
Part I
Not long after Cassie is pulled off of the pedestal he's weaved through the crowd, being led by a tall dark-skinned man. Cassie figured he wasn't the owner, but one of the slaves was sent to buy others for him. This was often done in Egypt if not in other parts of the world at this time for slaves of higher status that have been around for longer than some of the newer slaves.
Slaves of this status were often treated better and with more respect. In return, they go out and execute orders that require a great level of trust. Such as going out on their own, acquiring tools, food, fabrics, etc. from shops, and handling the owner's currency.
Cassie never fully understood how the owners could trust someone so much and why the slaves never ran away. That is until recently.
Now he knows that if you run away, you'll be found. There's no escaping this life. So why try when all you will do is end up dead? Or worse. Square one.
At least with an owner such as this one, you know what you're dealing with, you're used to it, and most important of all… you're building trust. Something that takes years upon years to curate. And in return, you get a sliver of freedom and a little respect. Maybe even a little more than just a name for yourself. Now wouldn't that be nice?
Cassie is brought to a sort of tent, as there are multiple of these pitched around the auction site, holding slaves, supplies, camps, etc.
There sat three other men on the ground, tied to a post in the center of the tent, shackles keeping them planted where they sat.
Rough hands push him down to his knees with the rest of them, his chains secured to the post along with the others, now sitting beside them.
Once the man leaves, Cassie sits in silence for what he would guess is not longer than twenty minutes.
“Psst”
Cassie pulls his head up towards the noise, his sad brown eyes looking around the tent. Almost all of the men’s eyes are on him, obviously not having expected a child to be in with them.
He furrows his brows “what?”
“What's your name kid?” a thinner one asks. His complexion is lighter than his own and his hair about the same shade.
Cassie doesn’t acknowledge the question, not knowing what to say. It’s a sad thing really. Not being sure of what he should be called anymore. To the point where he couldn’t bring himself to say his own name.
“You’re no better than us boy, no point in actin' like you are,” the man grumbles. His raspy voice made his nerves shake underneath his flesh. Even in this heat, he shivers as the man leans forward, his moist, gross breath on his skin. He could smell his bad breath due to how close he was, forcing Cassie to hold in a gag.
Cassie draws in a shaky breath, not daring to look them in the eye.
“His tongue might be cut,” one of the others says to him, nudging Cassie with his elbow. He flinches hard, his lungs seeming to have stopped working. His eyes were now wide at the sudden touch, but still, on the ground, sweat dripping off his face and body.
“My tongue isn’t cut, your breath is just bad.” he blurts out, lying to mask his fear and anxiety.
“My name is Cassie” he states, looking up at the man that elbowed him now. The first thing he notices about his face is his bright blue eyes in contrast to his grimy, unclean face. His complexion is splotchy and a little tan, Cassie would guess around 40 years old.
His dark hair is cut just a bit longer than the boy-short and swiped back with the grease and sweat on his scalp. His ears seemed to have a slight point to them as if they'd been deformed or cut in such a way. Cassie doesn't pay much mind to this observation, only taking in what he notices at first glance.
He was more of a burly guy with very thick dark black facial hair and clothes that were just a little loose on him. His eyebrows are thick and slightly bushy. Cassie was almost tempted to put a comb to them to even them out. Lastly, he has a thick black ring running through the septum of his nose. Now that was something Cassie had never seen before.
The man pulls back, offended most likely. “Kid, where we’re going, your tongue jus’ might get cut off if you talk like that,” he says grumpily.
Cassie opens his mouth to say something else, but just then the same man from earlier lifts up the cloth door of the tent and enters, a large metal ring of keys in his hand and a whip in the other.
“Stand.” the man orders them. Everyone does, including Cassie.
He starts to unlock Cassie’s shackles and unhooks the chains from the post, leading him outside.
The second he steps out of the tent, he wishes to go back into it, as the heat of the sun beats down on his dark skin, making it hard to even breathe right.
They round the tent and stop in front of a carriage-like cart. Two large mules are strapped to the cart in the front. The two beasts are connected to a large covered wagon, the floors are wood so as to not burn the slaves inside.
Which he found odd. It’s not every day you see slaves being thought of when it comes to transportation and/or safety. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hope rise up in his chest. Maybe this place would treat him just a little better.
He’s ushered into the back of the wagon to sit on the floor. His eyes gape at the ceiling of the wagon, the white cloth shielding him from the sunlight as it’s strapped to the metal frame that holds it up.
He can’t help but smile at such a small thing as a cloth hanging over his head in a way he’s never seen before. But it was the small things in life he took amusement to.
Soon, the other three men are loaded into the carriage with him and the wooden tailgate of the wagon is lifted to close them in.
The burly man is sitting beside him, and the one with the bad breath in front of him, which Cassie hates but he knew he would have to deal with it. Other than the one beside him, neither of the others seemed too enthusiastic, not bothering to even look at him, let alone speak.
Cassie turns his head to look at the burly man “You asked me my name, tell me yours?” he asks him, pulling his knees up to his chest.
He looks down at him, scoffing at the kid, almost impressed by how forward he is.
“Zachariah. My friends call me Zach though” he says proudly.
“You don't look like you have any of those” Cassie states bluntly.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Can’t really have friends around here. Not with this life anyway” he says, holding out his hand “maybe you can be my first?”
Cassie takes his hand, the comparison in size was a bit extreme, his small hand so small in the grown man's hand. “That’s sad. Having a kid as your first friend” Cassie says, shaking it.
Zach shrugs “eh you seem pretty cool so I don't mind” he replies, leaning back and taking a deep breath in. The mules start to move and the wagon shakes just a little as the wheels run along the uneven ground.
Cassie gives a soft chuckle in acknowledgment before his mind jumps to a question he meant to ask.
“Hey, Zach? Do you know where we’re going?” he asks, looking back up at him.
Zach's expression hardens “yeah but it’s best you don't know” he replies. “Go to sleep kid, we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.
Cassie leaves it at that, not wanting to pry. Ignorance is bliss and he thought it’d be best to take advantage of that.
He leans against the railing inside and closes his eyes. He didn’t think he could go to sleep in this heat, but he would certainly try to.
His mind drifts to where his mother must be right now. She was most likely crying, he knew that much. Half of the time he saw his mother around she was in tears.
Cassie wasn’t about to admit it to anyone around him, as he was trying to be tough like everyone else, but he already missed his mother. She was his only friend and his only source of comfort.
Will he ever see her again?
His eyes start to water, hot tears overwhelming his eyes before spilling out onto his cheeks.
He lets the tears fall without a sound, not wanting anyone else to know. A kid crying is the last thing you want to see in a place like this and Cassie had been aware of this fact from a very young age.
Wrapping his arms around himself, not caring about the hot shackles eating at his skin, he keeps his eyes closed and his brows furrowed.
He doesn't think Eva is dead, but it sure feels like it. His heart is heavy with the burden of grief and the salty stream of tears are persistent, not giving him a break.
Zach looks down at Cassie and sighs heavily, putting an arm around him but not saying anything.
Cassie tenses up but is appreciative of the comforting touch. He looks up at him, but Zach keeps his eyes straight ahead, assuming Cassie didn’t want anyone to acknowledge his sadness.
He sniffles, leaning into the man. His skin against his is surprisingly cold for where they are. But Cassie is far too tired to think about that at the moment, but taking advantage of the cooling comfort as if it were the cold side of a pillow on a hot night.
