Jon
Three quick beats of the drum and Jon slumped over, exhausted. The last turn of the day finished, and the rows in front and behind him had slept through Jon's. Many would rather sleep than stay awake, waiting to satiate the hunger that was always there.
Arsehole came down and yelled at everyone, "One row of you mangy dogs, and be quick about it! If I am not drunk and asleep soon, I will take it out on you!"
Jon's final turn for the night ended as the oarmaster had left for his own cabin as Arsehole came by to each row, unlocking them one at a time to allow them up top for some food and water.
Jon was sitting at the bow of the ship, finishing his business while Cason and Harald sat there waiting for him to be done so they could finally eat. Jon eventually did and then was handed the small bowls they reused for all of the slaves. Soon Jon was eating, staring off the ship where the sun had just set. Jon saw the two sailing vessels a ways off and continued to think of what to do about them when he broke free. Jon was looking around the galley, trying to study the deck as best he could for what little time he had, while Arsehole and another pirate sat there, staring at him and waiting for him to finish.
A flash of lightning illuminated the dimming sky on the horizon, and a while later of moments later, the faint sound of thunder rumbled past them. Grey clouds were starting to form and move quickly towards them. One drop of water hit Jon on the hand, and by instinct, Jon stuffed his face with the rest of his food and drank some watered-ale, and soon, they were hurried into the rowers' cabin.
It was going to be a long night.
They were stuffed back into their rows, and the oarmaster gave the signal for all rows to begin, and Jon could already feel the fatigue settle in.
He hated storms, the two he had seen already only meant hours of rowing to try and get out of its path or to outrun it. Cason says sometimes they can't, and that is when they try to ride it out. Jon had yet to experience the joy of riding out a storm and really hoped he never would have to, but the storm had looked dark and dangerous.
The drumbeats started their rhythm faster than what their average pace usually was, and the chorus of 'pulls' started. With the long day they already had, his body was already begging to stop. Jon looked at Cason, who seemed a little pale but opened his mouth and started singing again.
It must have been an hour, maybe more, but the waves were becoming choppy, and Jon felt like the storm was overtaking them.
Cason continued to sing along, a nervous tremble threatening to undercut his steady voice as the shouts of pull became more and more ragged.
Cason finished one of his religious hymns and went straight into a song with a little more vigor, and dare he say, a little black humor.
"We'd be alright with grey at our tail,"
"Pull!" the slaves grunted in unison, though Jon gave a morbid chuckle at Cason.
"We'd be alright with grey at our tail,"
"Pull!"
"We'd be alright with grey at our tail,"
"Pull!"
" Cause we keep our oars in time."
"Pull!"
Jon lent his voice to the chorus tired as his lungs might be.
"And we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Cause we keep our oars in time!"
"Pull!"
Jon waited for the next verse, and as he felt himself lean forward, causing his oar to miss a stroke, which earned a lash with the Belt from Arsehole, who at this point was holding onto a pillar with one hand to keep himself from stumbling.
"We'd be alright if the wind tore our sails" Haro gave a nervous chuckle behind him, and Jon could see Dolath was smirking.
"Oh, we'd alright if the wind tore our sails."
"Yes, we'd be alright if the wind tore our sails,"
"Cause we keep our oars in time,"
Those two and Jon added their voices to the chorus,
"And we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Because we keep our oars in time!"
"Pull!"
Jon thought he heard Arsehole mutter "daft fucking bastards," under his breath, but he knew the man was happy to stay where he was.
Cason took a deep breath and started the next verse.
"We'd be alright if the storm breached the hull,"
"Pull!"
Somewhere to their right, a slave gave a small laugh, and a few more murmurs of laughter joined.
"Yes, we'd be alright if the storm breached the hull,"
"Pull!"
"Oh, we'd be alright if the storm breached the hull,"
"Pull!"
"Because we keep our oars in time,
"Pull!"
Now nearly ten slaves sang the chorus.
"And we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'll row the old galleass along."
"Pull!"
"Because we keep our oars in time!"
"Pull!"
Cason started the next verse a little tentatively.
"We'd be alright if the sea reached our skulls,"
"Pull!"
"Oh, we'd be alright if the sea reached our skulls,"
"Pull!"
"Yes, we'd be alright if the sea reached our skulls,"
"Pull!"
Then Cason stopped singing for a couple strokes and then continued.
"Because we'd keep our oars in time,"
Despite the fatigue and situation they found themselves in Jon could tell the mood was lighter and Jon took a breath to start the next chorus when a wave slammed into his side of the ship, and the force threw him to the right, his chains catching and pulling at his limbs like two dogs pulling a bone.
Water rushed in through the gaps of the oar. The levity and courage from the moment before evaporated and replaced by saltwater and genuine fear.
The oarmaster must have recovered faster than he did, as he was already yelling at them, "Oars in, Oars in and plug up the slits!" Just then, another wave collided with the side of the galley, and more water rushed into their cabin, and Jon felt the cold seawater splash on him, and the rest washed over his semi-prone body. Unsteadily, Jon was able to get himself back on the bench and help pull the oar back into the ship.
"We will have to ride it out, Toli, pray to your gods that we make it."
"Or I'll pray to the gods to ensure we die," Jon said.
Cason gave him a look of disappointment, which chagrined Jon. Which bothered him both for saying it and for some part of him wanting Cason's approval. "Well, Toli, if we do not make it, I will see you in the Seven Heavens."
"I think you mean the Seven Hells," Jon joked darkly, but Cason's face stayed the same.
"I do not."
Jon didn't know how to respond, so he turned to Harald and watched, unable to help as the shaggy man and the other third oarsmen were busy moving blocks of wood into the slits and getting them tightly into place.
Water continued to pound against the hull, and the violent waves tilted Jon forward and back, side to side. He and many others had to have one hand on the men in front of him, and Jon felt one of the Dothraki twins vomit on his back. For the next bit, it smelled like sick until the seawater was able to work its way in which alleviated it some, but not much. They were soon in a small pool that came up to his ankle of seawater, sick, piss, and probably shit, but Jon refused to think about it. For he only focused on keeping the contents of his stomach inside him and on making sure he didn't fall down again.
Cason was now praying next to him, and Jon closed his eyes to pray to his own gods. Jon realized many of his fellow slaves were muttering, whether in fear or prayer, or both he would never know.
"No, no, no, no," Xano said in front of him. Jon felt dread build recognizing that tone. "I-I can't die here. I can't die here!" Xano shouted.
"Oi shut your fuckin' mouth," Remylo said near the ladder than led to the deck, and Jon looked back to see the beast of a man grabbing the ladder with all oh his strength. Jon hoped he wouldn't beat one of them to death in this due to the risk of injuring himself, but Remylo the Arsehole was not a rational man.
"No! Please goddess Xthua, save me!" Xano screamed, the fear and despair getting to him. Xano was breaking, and Remylo let one arm go off the steps and pointed right at Xano.
"One more peep and I will stuff my fuckin' cudgel down your throat-" the crack of thunder drowned out his words, and violent wave threw them all to the side, and Jon could hear Remylo stumble to the deck.
Cason spoke then, "Xano, Xano listen to me, boy. Listen and hear my voice."
Xano said nothing and continued to move back and forth faster than the waves rocked the rest of them.
"Xano, can you hear me?" Cason spoke.
"I need to leave, I need to le-" Jon jumped back in shock as Cason headbutted the back of Xano and the Summer Islander lurched forward, then looked around with eyes that were starting to focus again. The skin above Cason's brow was broken, and blood was trickling down his face.
"What is your name?" Cason asked.
"Xano."
"That's right, you're Xano, yes?"
"Yes."
"Where are you-" thunder cracked again, interrupting Cason, "Where are you from?"
"Koj," Xano answered automatically.
"Koj, beautiful I have heard," Cason said agreeably, "Your family? Did you have a family?"
"Y-yes," Xano said, voice wavering.
Cason nodded, "You're scared, that's okay. I'm scared, Toli is scared, right, Toli?"
Jon nodded, "Yes, very."
Cason didn't miss a beat, "We are all scared, we are scared together, but we need to breathe, to stay calm, together." Through the beating and tossing and turning, Jon noticed many of the other slaves listening as Cason spoke. "Breathe in deep, good, now out," Cason said, leading Xano and to Jon's surprise himself in trying to calm himself.
Xano nodded, the somewhat cheerful man, now looked like a scared child, but Cason continued to speak, and the calm was returning to Xano. Cason said again, "Tell me of home. Tell me about your family." Xano did, and steadiness entered into his voice also, and Jon just listened, fearing for his life but comforted by the conversation.
He didn't know how long they were tossed in the storm as the wind howled, and the sky was rent apart by thunder and lightning, but Jon sat there, as Cason and Xano spoke. Chaos encircled them, but they sat in calm fear, riding out the storm.
Then the gods had other plans.
"Oars out! Oar out! Now! Now! Now!" The oarmaster bellowed out, and Jon could hear steps and shouts above them, cutting through the sound of the storm. Jon didn't know what was going on, as he was told anytime they were in these rough of waves they were much more likely to break an oar than steer one way or another. Yet they did, and as the third oarsmen took away blocks of wood. The wind and spray of the ocean immediately forced its way in, and but the drum started to pound regardless. "PORT HOLD!" The oarmaster bellowed like an angry merchant, and as Jon held the oar as he lurched forward, his chains and muscles straining to keep him in place.
"Suas, Toli," Harald said quietly as he got him back into place, and Jon could see him start to hold on to the rib on the hull while Cason was clutched at the beam next to him. Jon just tried to latch onto the bench the best he could.
The pace of strokes sped up for their opposites, and Jon tried to look out the slit towards the raging sea. Whatever blood was left in him drained out of his face as he saw one of the sailing ships coming towards them.
"PORT PULL!"
And Jon grabbed the oar, and the pace was twice as fast as they were used to, and Jon's fear of getting rammed by one of the sailing ships and drowning attached to the bench overcame his exhaustion, and overcame his brazen words from earlier. Jon kept rowing for how long he didn't know. Suddenly he heard the pirates up top screaming frantically. The oarmaster looked panicked as he yelled, "STARBOARD OARS I-"
The sound of oars splitting was louder than thunder as splintered wood flew through the cabin. Jon shielded his face and felt something hit his oar and his leather collar with force as the cries of pain pierced through the chaos surrounding them.
The beat of the drum continued, and Jon wondered why he wasn't underwater as he opened his eyes. Men to his right were poorly injured, and he could see a few of the oars where splintered and broken, yet the hull was intact. Jon didn't question their luck and instead grabbed the oar and pulled for his life. For the life of Cason, for Harald, Xano, and all the other slaves he was starting to care for.
Minutes or hours later, the sea started to calm, the wind's howl wasn't as fierce, and the cold seawater started to become stagnant in the cabin. There was still no light from the sun, and Jon was praying he would be able to sleep some before the next turn started. The sea became calm enough that the oarmaster roared, "OARS IN." and his row pulled in the massive oar and Jon looked to his right and saw that the oars of the starboard side were in poor shape and Jon prayed that this would mean a break for a day or two.
Something continued to hit his leg in the small pool of water at his feet, and Jon saw a splinter of wood about the length of his thumb to pinky and as thick as two fingers. Jon didn't think and grabbed the splintered wood and examined it in the now dim light, then stored it under his bench.
Cason was staring at him, and Jon just nodded. The gods of the sea may just have given them the key to their freedom, but Cason decided to ruin it, "Get rid of it, Toli."
"Don't you want to escape?" Jon asked in hushed tones.
"Yes, but you won't with that."
"I will."
"No, you won't," Cason said quietly.
Jon felt his anger flush, "Just because you are used to your chains does not mean I have to be."
Cason looked ashamed but spoke anyway, "Maybe, but I cannot see you die for something that will not work."
"You don't know that."
"Toli, you are desperate, you are scared, it's okay. Don't throw your life away because you are finally breaking."
"I am not breaking, I am not like these others."
"You are, and you will die."
"Then I will die fighting," Jon hissed.
Cason looked down, "It seems tempting, but live, and we will find another way."
"Why do you care if I live or if I die?"
"Because I have been where you are, and someone cared, even in this hell-hole about my broken soul. I will continue that on, even if I do so in chains," Cason said, and Jon scowled.
"Then help me when I am ready to escape," Jon said, and Cason looked down. Jon scowled deeper, then looked at the shard of wood, then hid it away again. Jon was going to get out of there, he was going to escape.
He needed to escape.
"Don't do it." Cason pleaded with him. It had been a week, or so Jon thought since Jon had found his gift and he had spent every moment he could trying to sharpen and smooth the piece of the oar. The first three days, the pirates had to repair their ships, so Jon received a break from rowing, but no rowing meant no food. However, Jon and the other slaves were okay with that trade-off. Jon had surmised that the pirates on the galley had lost a few crew members. On top of that, they even seemed to have lost one of the sails due to the heavy winds.
A few of the slaves had been injured, and luckily only a few were serious. This ended up changing quickly as head wounds and large splinters of oars had hit ten of them, and they progressively became worse of the following week. Most were taken and not seen again. Some because of the wounds and others because they could no longer row.
As they were out of proper slaves, the pirates had to take turns at the oar which Jon could surmise was souring the mood and stretching them thin and all the while he had spent sharpening that splinter at night when the pirates had all left the cabin for the evening.
Now, however, Jon knew they were only four days from Lys, and he knew this was the moment. Arsehole was getting lax, rarely holding the cudgel and only had the leather belt, and over the week, that splinter was turning into something that could kill. Even better, Arsehole was usually distracted as his fellow crewmates that kept him in conversation. "Toli, I beg of you do not do this, it is not your moment for liberatio-"
"Cason, enough." Jon hushed him.
Harald had said little, or more accurately, Jon understood the few he spoke, and the shaggy man only pointed to his partially cropped ear. Jon said he didn't understand the words, so Harald eventually stopped his badgering. It didn't matter, this was different, and Jon was finished being a slave. He would kill them all and pray for insufficient wind, and they would all make for Westeros. Exile or not, it was the closest land that wouldn't kill them or re-enslave them outright.
Eventually, the moment was coming as Cason had finished his last Song of The Seven. Jon waited. The signal from the drum came and went. The free pirates, exhausted and angry, immediately left their bench, and the oarmaster was not far behind. The first row behind him emptied, and Jon felt his nerves rise. Soon, Arsehole brought the first row back and Horo, Rorlo and Ollo were locked back into place, Jon stared at Arsehole as he unlocked the row across the aisle and came over to their side. Arsehole looked at Jon and bent down to open their chains. His neck was exposed, and Jon grabbed the improvised stake but felt a hand on his. Jon looked at Cason, who was shaking his head. Jon felt his chain unlock on his near his feet, he quickly hid the stave behind his back before Arsehole could see it. Arsehole paid him no mind and moved down to Harald when he dropped his keys.
Jon shook Cason's hand away, and Jon grabbed the stake, waiting for his next chance. Harald was unlocked, and Arsehole walked in front of him, Jon shot to his feet, raised the stake, aiming for the neck.
Jon didn't even see the blow to the side of the head, and he fell back down. Arsehole was smiling at him, the same smile he held while covered in blood weeks ago. "You're a dead man now," Arsehole raised the Belt rained blow, after blow, after blow as Jon dropped the stake and raised his arms to protect his head. Jon opened an eye to see Arsehole's toothy grin, then the Belt hit him across the face, and Jon was forced to close his eye again. Jon braced for another hit, but all he heard was gurgling and choking. Jon looked up to see Cason's chain wrapped around Arsehole's neck, while Cason struggled to force Arsehole to the ground.
The other slaves were in shock, as Arsehole just looked at him with bloodshot eyes as Cason looked away in self-disgust, but continued to pull. Cason kicked out Arsehole's leg, the man's knee slamming into the deck, the other slaves finally started to shake their surprise and started to make noise. "Toli, drop the stake," Cason said, "Now." Jon was close to stabbing his taskmaster, and Cason's calm demeanor stopped him cold.
"Cason," Jon said, feeling the stake ripped from his hand by Harald, as something snapped in Arsehole's neck. Cason hung his head in shame for his deed. "Cason?" Jon asked. But Non-Arsehole slammed down the steps to the rower's cabin due to the noise. Following close behind were Ryjar and five other pirates, all of which had weapons at the ready. Cason just looked at Jon, and Jon could only look back, one eye the side of his face burning where the Belt had connected. The Septon looked at Jon, "It is your tu-." Then a cudgel slammed into Cason's back, and the septon fell to his knees, crying out in pain.
Ryjar grabbed the hand before they could strike at Cason again, "Stop. Take him above deck," then Ryjar faced the rest of slaves, "Due to the actions of this man, we start a turn now. If you need to shit or piss, that is too bad." Ryjar turned to Non-arsehole, "Your cousin will be avenged, Jesmyl. Just make sure the rest are locked into place." Ryjar then spoke loudly, "No speaking from the slaves, any word other than 'pull' beat them, use the cudgel." Ryjar turned to Cason, "Now, my holy man, you will come to us, and depending on what you say will influence how fast you die."
Jon felt his heart sink, he got up, and Ryjar turned to him, "Hold your piss, or let it go, it matters not, just don't do it while I'm here." Jon opened his mouth, then saw Cason shake his head with an intense look. Ryjar noticed then nodded his head to Jesmyl, who swung the cudgel towards Jon, who on instinct caught it, but Jesmyl headed him, and Jon stumbled back down onto his bench, feeling a cut open upon his forehead. Ryjar eyed him again for a moment too long, "Send word to Ventarro that we may need the young boy to replace the holy man, and be ready to take this one up with us as well to witness what we do to disobedience."
They disappeared, and Jon felt numb as the drum began to pound.
"Pull!"
The row's in front and behind Jon started to pull, and Jon felt the glare's of them all as no songs were sung.
Jon looked over at Harald, who was just staring at him, and for the first time, Jon saw his eyes, they were dark green, and they were hard on him. "Gek," was all he said. Fool. Then Harald turned towards the wall away from him. Since the first words he had spoken to Jon, they had only a handful of conversations, all less than twenty words, half of which Jon didn't know. As Jon looked around, he knew that he was not only a slave, he was now alone.
Then he felt rough hands on him as he was dragged out of his row and up the stairs, where he was forced into Ryjar's cabin.
"Come," Ryjar said. Jon was dragged up to the top deck and to the raised deck on the prow. Jon flinched when he saw Cason, roped and chained, standing on a wooden 'X.' The Septon was naked, and there were already two dozen deep cuts all over his body. Cason's head was held low, his friend moaning something incoherent in pain.
Jon looked down to the floor, but Ryjar put a hand under his chin, "No, no, no, you will stare and see what fate awaits those that harm their masters." Jon looked up as Cason lifted his head and saw Jon, there was still defiance in the man, this septon from Westeros, this good man that killed to protect Jon from this fate for some unknown reason.
Ryjar continued to speak, "He has never had a problem, four years he has been rowing, and he has just sung, best slave I have ever had. I heard that he had kept the slaves calm with his songs during the storm. Then only a few days later, he just kills one of my men, and now quotes his holy words to me as a defense." Ryjar clucked his tongue and nodded, and the pirate next to Cason ran his blade along Cason's shoulder, making a red line down to his elbow. Cason screamed in pain.
"Now, now, Cason, do not make me inflict more pain than I have to. Just tell me why, and this will end." Cason still said nothing, and Ryjar nodded his head, and Jon, for the first time, noticed the black mark on his cheek was irregular. Jon realized it was a pair of oars. Ryjar looked at him and nodded, "Ask your question."
Jon just stared at him before he spoke, "You were a slave?"
"Of course."
"How can-" Jon started but was slapped across the face.
"I did not permit you to speak again, do so once more, and you will join the holy man," Ryjar said. Jon looked back at Cason when Ryjar spoke, "Tell me again, why did you kill poor Remylo ?" Cason stayed silent, and the pirate cut him again, but from his hip to his knee. Cason screamed out in agony.
Ryjar spoke again, "I was sold as a slave when I was a young boy, hardly ten and two. I was a galley slave for the first six years, then I was sold to another master. After ten years, he saw my talent for evaluating men and women that were brought back to Tyrosh. Soon I was so valuable he allowed me my freedom. Eventually, the man died, and that was when Ventarro found me, he had brought back many slaves once, and since then I have been his man, and I have seen many types of slaves in my lifetime." Ryjar turned to the pirate, "Again."
Another cut and another scream and Jon winced and tried to look away but was forced to see his friend marred again.
"Good slaves, bad slaves, violent slaves, docile slaves, brilliant slaves, or simple slaves. I have sold so many, and it allows me to make my own wealth by working with Ventarro." Another nod and another cut. "The issue is that new slaves are usually the hardest to control and need to be broken down before being rebuilt or sold as the servants they were always supposed to be. Again." Cason bellowed out a prayer as the knife cut through him.
"Your worth and his," Ryjar said, "Is how well you pull that oar until I can break you down into something more profitable. This is the beauty of the oar, something I know from experience. it does far better than anything else I have found aside from purposefully inflicting pain, but the latter affects the value, so I use the oar to break them instead." Ryjar took a breath and shook his head.
"But sometimes when you break a man down, they can not be remade but can only row. Again!" Another cut was made, and Cason still refused to speak, only muttered prayers. "That still is a useful skill as I know well, and we keep you well fed because the oar is hard work and a good, experienced, oarsmen are worth more to me than most men and Ventarro agrees." Then Ryjar turned to Jon then back to Cason, "I treat oarsmen well, any other galley and you would not have lasted. I cared about your health, fed you, quenched your thirst, and this is what I get for my generosity?" Ryjar's voice raised a little at the bloody ruin of the Cason. Ryjar adjusted himself and soon found its usual tone. He eventually sighed, "Alas, this does tend to happen, and what follows will be most unpleasant until respect is re-established."
Jon's blood ran cold as he looked at Cason, who was now covered in so many shallow cuts that blood covered almost every inch of his body.
"Any more cuts and he would die, but I will prolong his suffering." Ryjar grabbed Cason by the hair, it wasn't rough, almost tender. "Chain him to the prow."
Jon shot up his head and looked between Ryjar and Cason. Cason only hung his head as he muttered, "Let the father judge me and prolong my suffering to atone for whatever sins I have committed. Mother, take me into your loving embrace-" Cason was hit by one of the pirates as they unchained him from the post, but he continued to pray, "Maiden may your fair light, illuminate my path home."
He was muffled as they attached the chains slowly, but the prayer continued. Ryjar just looked at Jon. "I know it was you, You may have not killed Remylo, but you were the driving force somehow. And now you have killed my favorite slave." Ryjar walked around Jon, "You are asking yourself if I know the truth why torment my favorite? Simple, he killed a man."
Ryjar waited a moment, then continued, "Why did I not kill you?" Ryjar asked as Jon looked at him, "You are young but strong, and I will break you down until you are nothing but hands on an oar. Until you know nothing but the oar, and the rest of your life will just be one turn after another until your body breaks. Death is too easy, and your life will be nothing but pain. Turn after turn until your mind becomes numb," Ryjar waved his hands, and his men dragged Jon down below deck, where his position in the middle for the day was now taken by the merchant's youngest son, Rentarro, and Jon was chained in the aisle.
Ryjar signaled the drummer to stop, and it fell silent, then Jon heard the loud prayers of Cason as he was being hauled over the prow. Ryjar started speaking, "We are thirty-five leagues from Lys, usually two days at our normal pace," He stopped and looked at all of them but landed on Jon, "As punishment for the death of our beloved Rembryllo, you will all row until we arrive. By my best guess, that is 18 turns at the oar, and I do hope you all live, but we will see." Ryjar turned to the drummer, and Jon stared at his hands as he grabbed the oar to row. The merchant's son's hands were shaking in fear but grasped the oar as well, and Jon could already tell it was heavier without Cason.
"Pull!"
Ryjar leaned down next to Jon's ear and whispered, "Do you hear that?" Jon tried to ignore him but heard the screams of Cason.
"Pull!"
"That is your doing, boy. The saltwater on open wounds. All while the barnacles cut his back to ribbons, very painful."
"Pull!"
Cason screamed again, this time, Jon could hear the septon's words, "Warrior give me justice!"
"Pull!"
Ryjar whispered next to him, "If you pull the oar harder boy, his death will come all the quicker."
"Pull!"
"Smith, take this vessel you forged and ease my pain!"
"Pull!"
"Pull, boy, pull boy! Bring him his merciful death that you have caused!"
"Pull!"
"Stranger, accept my soul, and guide me to the afterlife!"
"Pull!"
Cason screamed, and Jon fought the tears that threatened to fall freely for his friend.
"Pull!"
His teacher.
"Pull!"
His protector.
"Pull!"
Jon felt hate burn in his chest.
"Pull!"
Jon felt grief burn in his chest.
"Pull!"
Jon stared at Ryjar, one eye swelling shut, the other blind with tears as he yelled with the rest of the slaves until only one thing could be heard.
"Pull!"
"Pull!"
"Pull!"
"Pull!"
Author's Notes:
Two Chapters in one week? What?
As I said, this isn't the happiest of arcs.
If anybody wants to bail on the story, totally understand, no hard feelings!
Thanks again everybody who has read this far, and I appreciate the kind words and even the not so kind words. All feedback is good feedback.