Adon couldn't tell you how long he's been a slave in the quarries. The masters don't keep calendars where slaves like him can keep track of time, nor do those who work beneath the lash celebrate the holidays with the passing of seasons. Adon could tell you he was fourteen when an army in service to the Eternal Empress Erotysia descended on the village where he lived with his parents. Some band of fools from his village--Adon was too young to know whom--rose in defiance of the Empress, so her empire's might put every adult there to the sword. The children--a cut-off Adon barely qualified for at the time--were taken as slaves, to be sold off or assigned as the needs of the empire dictated. So Adon arrived in chain to the quarries, where he has quite literally slaved under the burning sun and drowning rain for... how long? He has no idea. Every day is the same: work, eat, piss, sleep, hope you don't earn the lash. All Adon knows is that it has been long enough for the boy to become a man, and to know his continued survival depends daily on going unnoticed, on being unremarkable, on doing as he's told. Though defiance still burns in his heart, deep inside, reality is as heavy as the irons round his ankles. Hope for freedom, like time, has lost all meaning.
Then comes a day when the masters tell the slaves to put aside their tools and gather in the open space before the wooden ramps leading up to the free city. Rumor has already spread among the slaves that two men tried to escape last night and are to be crucified before the rest as a reminder of what disobedience brings. This is hardly the first time Adon has seen such spectacle, but part of him hopes it's not anyone he knew. Not that you really
know
much of anyone down here in the quarries. People lock themselves away, abandon their old selves and become--meat. Slaves. Inside as well as out. All these years Adon has resisted that final fate, but he can feel his mind slipping more and more as he matures and the optimism of youth leaves him. He hopes he won't recognize the men to go up on the poles today, yet hope is something that makes him cautious nowadays.
Hundreds of men already kneel in neat lines by the time Adon's group arrives at the gathering. The masters instruct him and the rest of his group to take a spot near the end of the front line, and Adon complies without a word. This is one mark of defiance he has managed all these years--he stays silent, no "Yes, master," no begging, so that most the masters probably think him mute or stupid. When they beat him he takes it stoically, occasionally crying out, but never pleading. Not that the masters seem to particularly care whether the slaves speak, so long as they obey. The most broken men, those with grey in their beards who have been here longer than Adon has been alive, rarely say anything at all.
If he has other thoughts, other fantasies, that run counter to this defiance--well, this is something Adon finds confusing, and does his best to repress. And certainly such fancies tend to disappear once he spills their consequences onto his belly in the night. Sometimes he wonders if the silent men all had such fantasies, if this is a step to accepting his fate.
It turns out they have not been gathered to watch a crucifixion. Horns sound from above, and a quad of bare-chested, well-oiled men bears a royal purple litter down the ramps into the quarry. Soldiers in clinking red armor not unlike those who crushed the resistance in Adon's village however many years ago that was both proceed and follow the litter, tips shining on their spears as they arrange themselves in disciplined lines before the kneeling slaves. Murmurs rise among the bolder of the workers, earning immediate lashes from the masters standing over them.
Are they here to kill us?
Adon wonders, not sure why the thought doesn't worry him more.
Are we all to be made an example of? But then who would be left to learn the lesson?
The violet curtains of the litter part, and Adon immediately casts his eyes down upon realizing who's riding within. A hush goes over the quarry, not just among the slaves, but among the masters as well. They are in the presence of the Eternal Empress herself, whom rumors claim forged her empire in the wake of the Sky Fires and has ruled for over a thousand years since. For a slave to look upon the Empress is death, and not a quick one. Even Adon dares not defy the Empress to her face, lest he be days in the dying, so he keeps his head bowed, his eyes on the gravel before him, and waits.
But his ears still work, and he can hear the crunch of stone beneath the Empress' sharp heels as she strides down the line of gathered slaves. No one speaks a word, and Adon never risks so much as a glance up, yet he is intimately aware of Empress Erotysia as she works her way down the line, stopping before this man, sneering at another in disgust. "This man plans mutiny," her sultry voice declares, and Adon hears--hears, but does not see, for his curiosity is kept in check by his terror--as the soldiers lift a man from his knees and haul him away. The man cries for mercy, but there is no indication this is an emotion the Empress feels anymore.
Adon's heart skips as he hears the Empress approach, and he prays that she will walk on by him. Please, don't let her see the defiance written on his soul. He swallows as he hears her stop, the outline of her shadow falling across the gravel he's been staring at till now. Shockingly, he hears her voice--not from her lips, but from within his mind, as if they her words were his own thoughts:
My, what a filthy mind
you
have buried deep within you. Such fantasies are wasted in these pits. Look up at Me, slut. Let Me have a look at you.
Though it is death to look upon the Empress, Adon's eyes rise as if of their own accord. He is surprised to see her smiling down at him, though not kindly. Cold fire burns in the violet eyes above upturned midnight lips that look fit to devour him. The Empress wears a red and black cape of silk that sweeps about her like a guardian wind, an onyx headdress decorated with rubies set within the waves of chocolaty hair that cascade past her waist. Not that Adon has seen many women since he was brought to the quarries, but even so, Empress Erotysia is easily the most beautiful he was ever seen--ever
imagined.
Mmm, yes, flattery can only help your cause,
coos the voice in Adon's head.
You'll do nicely, My slut.
"This one," Adon hears the Empress say aloud. At her command, soldiers take Adon by his arms and lift him to his feet. Not gently, yet not so roughly as they handled their earlier charge. With force, but care not to damage him, Adon will realize later. The Empress steps up to Adon as the soldiers hold him helpless and lays a black-gloved hand against his cheek.
Sleep, My new toy,
her voice commands in his head.
Sleep, so I might have you prepared for My use. Your life of purpose begins this evening.
When Adon awakens, his first thought is that he doesn't remember falling asleep. That thought quickly gives way to greater awareness of his current situation. Darkness surrounds him, the room so black he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, if he could move his hands. His arms are bound in what feels like a leather sheathe behind his back. A cold steel collar loops round his neck, and soon as he tries to move he realizes a chain runs from the collar to a nearby wall. Despite being unable to see himself, he is intimately aware that his body has been scrubbed clean, his beard--and a great deal of other body hair--shaved off, and his hair still long but trimmed. Somehow he knows all these things have been done to him, as if he saw them happen in a dream the memory of which lies just beyond his waking mind. Adon is helpless, and alone, and confused. For the first time in years of slavery, he wonders what horrors await him. Horrors are no surprise to a slave in the quarries, but they tend to be
familiar
horrors, after all.
