Donkor could feel his feet swelter under the afternoon sun. His eyes stung from the sweat and sand and wind as he fought to keep his balance. He refused to let his grip falter under the palanquin’s weight as they crawled through the hard packed sand. The thought of the beatings that the others received for their futility was enough to renew his strength. They followed a sandy road which led past the guard huts and weapon forgers down to the brick makers.
It was high sun before they made it to the worker camps. Donkor saw the men and women with leathery skin stomp mud and straw in mud pits and carry it to the molder’s table. He watched a set of older women clump mud onto a table and shape them into bricks with a muddy board. Old men with fringed white beards carried those bricks back and forth to a wooden sleigh tied to young boys by a hempen rope.
His master said something to his guard who saluted and passed the command down to another.
No. It is forbidden to listen to master’s words. Donkor thought.
The guard ordered them to stop with a deep and booming voice. Then he cracked his whip twice in the air to signal for the palanquin to be lowered. All of the slaves let down the massive silken throne in perfect harmony and kneeled down afterward. Donkor could hear the whisper of slipper on sand as his master stepped out. He rested his head between his knees in fear of upsetting master and focused on relaxing his muscles.
A soft voice rose to a murmur and Donkor peeked from the corner of his eye. A healthy boy and three young girls were brought forth and forced into a bow before him. His master trailed a delicate finger over their bodies and chose two of the girls and motioned for the other two back to work. The boy let out a scream and jumped at his master.
Master. No! He thought.
Fear took over Donkor and he jumped into a dash toward his master. Only a second had passed but the assault was over before he could take two steps. The boy lay under the sun skewered to the ground by one of the guards. He had not come close to his master at all. Relief washed over Donkor until he saw that his master was looking at him with a raised brow.
The sight of master was stunning to him. Even as his master waved for a guard to grab him Donkor could not take his eyes away. All of the beatings and killings and late night secrets vanished from his mind. He really was the chosen one.
The guards tied his hands behind his back and lowered him to the ground. The sound of metal being unsheathed was only an afterthought to Donkor. They lowered his head to peer into the sand but the only image burned into his vision was the face of an angel. He heard the guard grunt as he lifted his sword.
“I love you.”
-
Joy
You just appear on my door
Habitual bliss
