Wisher Beware - Chapter 2

We went at a steady but brisk pace: the merchant wanted to enter the city tonight. As I trudged along with others I couldn’t stop my emotions. I was jittery. Surprisingly most of my jitters didn’t come from anxiety anymore, but from anticipation.

We were heading to the big city. A place full of magic!

Which was kind of weird. Magic was all around us. It was in the wild forests around us, ready to eat the hapless traveller. It was in the hand of a slave master, lifting an enormous whip. In the eyes of the guards, letting them see in the dark of the night. It was everywhere! Everywhere except for us! Magic was the reason for our state. While there were plenty of wer slaves on the farm, they were also weaker. As if magic was telling them they didn’t deserve it. What a bitch.

And yet my addled brain was excited.

My cheeks aflame, I hung my head in shame. I felt stupid. I probably looked like some of the adults obsessed with someone, who didn’t return their affections. I’ve seen a fair share of idiots giving away their food or doing extra chores in the vain hope of getting something as little as a glance. Hell, I’ve seen male masters bending over for the farm Domina like worms, nearly kissing her feet. I scoffed at them in my mind, feeling myself above such idiocy. And yet here I am running like a puppy, tongue-lolling, toward something that made my life miserable.

I wonder if they have magical buildings.

Why does it even matter to me so much? What is the difference if the buildings have glowing squiggles on the walls if I still end up sleeping in a barn on the straw? What use are the enchanted swords, if just touching one will get me executed? Will my back feel happier being whipped by a magical lash too?

It does the impossible.

What it does is make my life impossible. Period. End of the discussion.

It shouldn’t exist.

Ah, finally my brain and I are on the same wavelength. This world would be much better with it gone forever. Just imagine a world without magic. Everyone is equal. No one could tell you what to do. No one to take away from you what is rightfully yours. No one to belittle you for your ancestry.

It doesn’t follow the laws, which makes it curious.

That is indeed interesting. I snickered to myself, I wonder if I can report magic somewhere to get it executed. Or at least get it to behave. Jokes aside what is magic? Perhaps my hunch was onto something and studying it closer would help me in the future. My mother always taught me to know what I am doing before attempting it. Whether that was about using a hoe or speaking to a guard or a master. Perhaps magic would be the same, and knowing it better would help me speak to it in the same language.

I sniffed the air, it smelled of the sea. Looks like we were getting closer to the shore.

Now that was an interesting thought. Interesting because I had abso-fucking-lutely no idea what sea was before. I’ve never been ‘to the shore’ nor smelled the breeze, so why the hell do I know it? How many memories did that fruit have?

I glanced around. The road was well away from the forest now but some trees remained on each side, providing blissful shade from the sun. There were few farmlands in sight, similar to the one I’ve spent all my previous years on. My eyes turned back to the trees. Some of them I could recognize on sight: oak, cypress, ash. Some I could not beyond the point of ‘it looks like a tree to me’. I frowned. This knowledge had some glaring gaps in some places and extreme detail in others. I knew that our farm had hundreds of European olive trees, but the fine specimen of plant life in front of me, with white bark and deep red pine needles, was apparently ‘tree, maybe’.

This too would require investigation… Got to keep thinking positive. At least I was aware that there are gaps in this knowledge now, rather than later. Moreover, this knowledge was very reactive. A simple glance around gave me this much insight. I can only shiver in anticipation of what a true city would bring. They said it was full of everything: people, building, knowledge.

Full of magic!

Occupied by my circular logic, I’ve missed the road passing over a hill. Stumbling a bit, with my feet trying to catch up with the descending ground, I lifted my head and gasped. The city! My entire view was filled with buildings! This far away they looked like a pile of bricks lying on the ground. There are probably at least a thousand people living here! … OK maybe more. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a river, the same one that followed the road all this time. It flowed onto a tall bridge that took it directly into the city. But engineering marvels were fine, they made sense.

On top of the city, close to the hills it was hugging, was something that made no sense at all. An array of gigantic, comparing to the buildings, marble towers. Floating in the air. Defying the gravity.

Like a magical crown. Striking a sharp contrast in the evening sky.

My mind and I were stunned speechless. My legs were smart enough to keep moving, however.

This! This is exactly what I needed to see. This is true magic! Not the one to abuse and punish, the pure one – the one used to build. To create! Whoever made these knew real magic. You didn’t need to be a genius to understand that anyone could throw a stone but to build a building out of it took skill.

If I could only get myself close to one of the mages living inside these towers! Or maybe the ones who lived inside didn’t know a lick about how to make these and were simply rich? I needed more information and very little ability to do anything at this moment.

XXX

I learnt a new thing about cities. Or, more specifically, Samat – it was loud. Roads that were wide enough were filled with people running back and forth, peddlers and barbers calling for customers, and others either laughing or swearing at each other. And each of them was competing to be the loudest and the most obnoxious. Small streets, ones not filled with jars, baskets, and other rubbish, were filled with beggars moaning from hunger and whores moaning for money.

It also stank like an outhouse.

Walking through the streets I’ve realized how different the farms were from the city. Most of the people I’ve seen wore garbs similar to mine – a set of a linen shirt and a woollen tunic tied around the waist. What differed was the quality. While many wore something like I did and tied it with a rope, others wore cleaner clothes and better fabrics and had actual belts to keep them secure. Very few actually had open robes tied with a sash instead, like our merchant. Probably to show off how wealthy they were to afford three pieces of clothing at once. Rich fucks.

The merchant dumped us at the bazaar. Judging by the conversations, which I was unfortunately too far away to eavesdrop on, the person receiving us was either his colleague or a family member. Very little haggling, no screaming, and no money changing place. When the merchant stayed at our farm he had spent the entire day cajoling better prices from the Domina.

Whatever was happening it wasn’t happening tonight. We got locked inside a spacious room with large arches covered in bars, both for ventilation and observation. Apparently, this was their slave storage room, and not for slaves like us either. The walls were filled with, thankfully, empty chains, manacles, and other fetters. I clutched my ration for the night and thought about my next plan of action.

Bars were thick and skillfully placed. Whoever built this built it for men ten times stronger than me. So that was out. I glanced around. Most of the present were part of our group with few others sticking out like sore thumbs: they were crippled, sick, or old. Looks like we won’t be sticking around for long. My mind made, I headed out to one of these old-timers.

“What do ye want, merk?” My fist clenched at his response. I’ve miscalculated – while the old coot looked like us he was a wer.

“I wanna know what will happen tomorrow” I buried whatever pride I had for now. Making a fuss will get me nowhere.

“Ye wanna know? Ye gonna get sold, idiot.”

I showed him a piece of bread, “I wanna know how I will get sold”

He squinted his eyes at my offering, and then glanced at the other half. Fat chance, I glanced at him and then at the other ‘veterans’ nearby. I am gonna pay but I won’t starve.

He grunted. “Ye talk funny, like ye one of the Manor slaves, merk. But yer tongue will get nowhere. None of them come to the low city.”

I frowned, “Who does come here to buy then?”

“Dunno, sometimes a civil to get more latrine cleaners or road builders.” He grinned with a toothless smile. “And sometimes a captain for barge pullers!”

I gulped, the message was obvious.

“Don’t look at the buyers, merk. Look at the seller and how much he grovels,” he swiped the piece from my hands and turned away, stuffing the bread into his mouth.

XXX

I woke up in a broken mess, my body screaming at me to do something. My stomach roiling inside of me, screaming for food. I tried to school myself into some shape, hoping that the food would come soon. Yesterday’s exchange had cost me dearly: the nanites inside my body were barely functioning as is on the meagre fuel I’ve given them. And yesterday I made my meal even smaller. If this trend continues my body would eat itself alive. For nutrition.

My soreness got lost, forgotten in the background. I’ve stopped myself. Nanites? To make my body stronger, healthier, better… Do I mean magic?

No.

Whatever it was within me now had nothing to do with magic. To it, the magic was unknown, a curiosity. One might say it was the opposite of magic, but it wasn’t either. Through my knowledge, I was aware that, while everything was based on understanding, it didn’t shun not knowing. It embraced it as a promise, as another possibility to understand. As something to conquer and dissect.

Warlike thoughts aside. I had another opportunity for myself to explore. If I play my cards right, the increased food intake won’t be an issue. And increased muscle growth, bone density and ligament strength would pay back original investments with incredible interest. I don’t know if I will grow strong enough to be on par with a wer or even a full wermage, but that won’t be the end of it. I decided not to dwell on that for now, one step at a time. First get food and get better, then worry about how to get titanium and nitinol.

The guards and more slaves came with the food. I was expecting a mad scramble, planning to myself how I can get a bigger chunk, but they got us organized and distributed food evenly. It was probably for the best, I was at my weakest at this moment. And they even brought porridge! Which kind of made sense: we weren’t travelling anymore, so kitchens were nearby, and they wanted us in the best shape. It would seem that there will be an auction in the afternoon.

Well. That was my plan as well, for the time being, no disagreeing there. I mean what kind of idiot would say “No, I will not eat and rest! It is below me.” Smiling contentedly I laid back on the floor, and let my body recover as much as it could. I had to be in my top shape tonight.

The bazaar was slowly picking up in volume with everyone yelling yet again, praising their goods and slandering their competitors. We were located right in the middle of the commotion as if a bazaar grew all around us. It made me wonder if we were the main event for the day with shrewd traders using it as an opportunity. This was actually worrying, it is hard to judge the crowd. Moreover, any of my actions would yield absolutely unpredictable results. This amount of attention was rather unexpected: none of the slaves from our farm were skilled in any urban trade. Maybe milling grains but even donkeys could do that.

It was hard to judge how many people walking around were actually slaves, ones with obvious chains and collars were just the tip of the iceberg. But I had a slight suspicion there still weren’t enough.

XXX

Apparently, if you are a rich fuck, you can spit on normal procedures. I mean how would you get the best product and the best price? Exactly you ignore the auction and buy in bulk ahead of time. The old slave was an asshole, but he was honest. This was the biggest show of grovelling. A merchant can sing you praises and kiss your shoes day in and day out, only to fleece you dry afterwards. It is when he lets go of a bigger profit in your favour – he means business.

The transaction was probably already done in some backroom. By the time the delegation actually reached us the monies were already counted, hands shaken, and wine drank. Unsurprising, I glanced at the slaves around us, they didn’t come here expecting skill, they were looking for hands.

Buying people in bulk aside, this was my moment.

I cleaned myself as much as I could, wondering what I could do more to increase my chances, while the merchant spent his time praising each of his new merchandise. Huh apparently Tok, that fixed a leaning fence once, was a ‘carpenter’. Well, that didn’t matter, I settled in a position that I deemed as radiating health and cast my gaze full of honesty. I think the merchant picked up on that, saying how healthy I looked and that I would definitely live to serve another fifty years at least. Well bite me, just because wers can live longer doesn’t make our lifespan short.

Besides I wasn’t planning on dying so soon anyway.

Whatever the agreement they had it definitely included a set number of murks. I was chosen, not the first, but not the last either. Surprisingly, the blond girl from the cart was picked as well. Evidently, she wasn’t a wer…

As we were walking to my new place to live, I’ve realized something interesting. The ones, who bought us, were slaves as well! I shook my head ruefully, how many slaves were in this city? Are there actually free people living, or everyone was a slave of someone else. Living without realizing that the whole system was like a giant snake biting its own tail? Slavery this expansive would kill any innovation. Who would bother trying to automate anything if you can just buy a slave to work in perpetuity? Why would you invent more efficient designs if you never have to pay artisans? This place was stagnant. It might not look like a swamp, yet. But it would be. I don’t know how soon, perhaps in a few generations…

Ah.

It made a little more sense now. Yes, this place would most likely rot from within in a few wer generations. Which in years would mean centuries, or possibly millennia, depending on how long wermages lived. And I can bet my bread on the fact that they lived at least as long as wer.

My musings were interrupted: something was off. The stench was almost gone. I looked around, the city was seemingly the same, yet the air was fresher with a tint of river wetness. My surprise was equally shared among other slaves.

“The upper city has a sewer system,” The slave, that was leading us, said in a gruff voice, “No shitting on the streets, or throwing piss out of the windows! Use the latrine when you are in the villa or a public one in the city.”

Well, that was definitely an improvement, anyone would hate smelling shit all their lives.

“Any questions – you ask the slave in charge of you, or you come to me, Sulla, I am the procurer for the estate.” He scowled at us, “As long as you won’t waste my time, you will be heard.”

I looked at him, trying to memorize his appearance, unfortunately, a generic one. An ageing man old enough to have short grey hair and a beard but young enough to still kick ass. With very pointy ears. A word elf came to me but I scoffed at that. Elves were supposed to be lithe. This one probably used his chin to make sure the bricks were square.

We crossed a rather large river and headed deeper into the city, buildings getting prettier with every block we passed. Unfortunately, instead of climbing further toward the pillars, we turned left away from the biggest crowds of people. I sighed. Well, that was a bust. In the daylight and so close the towers looked majestic. Some of them were actually standing on floating islands, while others looked like they simply decided to sprout in the middle of the sky. Most of them were floating alone, while a select few had a bunch of tiny islands orbiting around them. Like tiny satellites.

Mark my words, one day I will be there.

As we went on, the buildings changed. The Low city had tall buildings with three and sometimes even four rows of windows on each side. The central region was dominated by smaller houses that traded all their windows for a large gate in front. One of them was open when we passed by and I could see an inner courtyard within. Back then I thought these were the houses of the rich. And now I was looking at a wall. It wasn’t the city wall, these were further away and much taller, it was the fence. And it surrounded an area the size of an entire city block.

Well, I didn’t get the mage, at least I got the rich.

After ushering us inside through the servant gate, Sulla fetched few more people out to get us organized. The mysterious owner of the estate didn’t even show up! I wondered how much was actually done within this estate that never even reached Domina’s ears. Now that I think about it I don’t remember seeing my last one at the farm either. From far away yes, but never up close. Probably for the better.

From the drop off in bickering, I guessed that we got our assignments. While I understood my position, but could they not bicker closer to us next time? I wanted to be at least nominally present when my fate is being decided. Following the gestures I moved to the one, who would be in charge of me from now on, already standing with a few selected slaves beside her.

I think my luck is back with me again, apologizing for her previous blunder. My new boss was tall, on par with few adults and taller than the rest. Her tanned skin contrasted nicely with her platinum-blond hair, cut short like the rest of the slaves. Her ears were elongated, round and fuzzy with hair, which ousted her prominently as wer. But that wasn’t important because she was smiling at me with a warm and friendly smile. Years living on a farm taught me enough in the nuances of smiles. It was very common for a slave to be promoted and immediately get drunk with power over others. Not knowing their slimy smiles could be deadly.

“Hello. I am Irje, what is your name?”

I smiled back. The names were usually given to us, either from the job we did or by the whim of a master. I ignored the names I was known by on the farm in favour of a much older one, one given to me by my mother.

“It is nice to meet you. My name is Erf”