Prologue

Jem slammed her paws together, working the mud, or clay, or whatever this putrid, brown substance was, into bricks. The sun beat down on her head mercilessly, mocking her as her parched throat screamed for water. On the edges of her vision, waves of heat rolled over the landscape. Tired, both mentally and physically, she let her eyes stray from her work, her paws slackening in their labor. A cracking sound, followed by a sharp pain in her back brought her back to her task. Ducking her head over, she finished the brick she had been working on and then hefted it up. As she turned around with it, she shot a glance at the rat who had whipped her. Yes, just as she had thought. It was Trute. Jem began to walk slowly toward the hand-off point where she would give up her brick to another slave who would carry it out to the dirt field where the sun baked them. As she walked, she thought of how much she would love to kill Trute. There were many slave drivers all about this place, but Trute seemed to her the worst. He especially liked bearing down on the young and the old. Jem always tried to remain full of spirit and help those around her who were weaker than her, but in truth, she wasn't so strong herself. She was quite young. She hadn't been a slave all of her life, but she couldn't remember ever being free.

"Here little missy, let me take that off your paws." Jem blinked in surprise. She hadn't realized that she had been coming up to the hand-off point, so consumed in her own thoughts. With a half-smile on her face, she handed the brick to the otter in front of her, watching with awe at how easily he lifted it. These bricks were being made to finish off a fort for the wealthy searat Vil who owned this place and all of their lives. He demanded that the bricks be six by six by eight paw lengths and that they be solid, without any air bubbles. Sometimes she found the weight of them unbearable by days end, but there was nothing she could do about it. "Best run along now missy," the otter said with a nod before turning from her. Taking his advice, Jem turned quickly around and headed back to where the bricks were made. Halfway there, she realized with a shock that the otter had been talking to her. The slaves weren't allowed to talk to each other while they worked and she was amazed that he hadn't been caught and given a whipping. With a sigh, she silently thanked her ancestors that he had gotten away with speaking such kind words to her, and set about making another brick.

The day dragged on at an unearthly slow pace, each brick feeling heavier than the last, and the faces of the slaves and slave drivers around Jem started to blur into unrecognizable smears. Hours after the strong otter had taken that first brick off of her paws, she had nearly forgotten about him, thinking only of her need for a water break and maybe a bite of food. Struggling with a brick which she would almost swear weighed twice as much as all of the others she had made and carried that day, she heard a cracking sound behind her. She fell to her knees, dropping the brick into the dirt. She saw it land on one of its edges, becoming squashed out of shape, and her tired mind could think of nothing but how unfortunate it was that she must now reshape it. She reached down to the brick, but she never touched it. The cracking sound which had caused her to drop the brick in the first place hadn't let up, and she finally realized that she was being whipped. She had been so tired, and her back and shoulders so strained from carrying bricks that she hadn't felt the pain of the whip at first. She slumped over on her side, curling up into a ball as the whip came down on her again and again. She would have cried out, but her throat was too dry to support anything over a whisper. Just as the pain seemed as if it were killing her, her body gave in, and she passed into darkness.


"The poor thing! Only her second day making bricks?"

"Yes, she's been packing the mud together for seasons, and they just changed her job."

"Tsh, tsh. It's harder work, carrying those bricks. Can't they see she's too young?"

"Of course not. They don't care about us. What's it to them if they overwork a slave or two to death?"

"But she's such a little thing. Couldn't we hide her? Keep her from the work for a few days?"

Sigh. "I wish we could, but where'd we hide her? Under the blankets? She'd be found, and then we'd all be in trouble."

Jem blinked her eyes and tried lifting her head. She thought she might recognize the voices talking, but she wasn't sure. She lay on her stomach, on the cold, packed earth. Her entire body ached from the strain of labor it had been put through and then the beating that she had received for working too slow. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She licked her lips, but they began bleeding, only compounding her problem of not being able to speak. She felt a paw come to rest on the back of her head, gently pushing it back down.

"Rest now honey. Don't overextend yourself."

Jem set the side of her face on the ground and continued licking her lips, determined to say something. "Carla?" she finally managed to croak.

"Yes, I'm here."

"Wha hap...?"

"Shhh, don't talk. You passed out. If it wasn't for this young sir here, you might be dead. He saved your life."

Jem forced her eyes open, trying to focus her blurred vision on the two beasts with her. The one closer to her was Carla, a kindly squirrel who had taken charge of her when her own mother had died, trying to help her stay alive in this cruel place. The other, she thought she might have seen before, but all she could make out at the moment was that he was an otter.

"Hey little missy! How are you holding up?"

Carla elbowed the otter. "Don't ask her any questions or else she'll feel compelled to answer. She needs rest now."

"Oh, right," he said, a blush coming to his face. "I'll see you later then Jem." With that, he turned around and left them alone. Jem's eyes were starting to focus better, and she noticed dark red scars on his back. Immediately, she felt horrible. He must have gotten between her and the whip, taking the brunt of the attack. Tears came to her eyes. Why wasn't she stronger? Her first day of making bricks had been hard, but she hadn't slowed down so much or passed out. What was wrong with her? She tried to get up again, needing to show herself that she wasn't weak, but she felt Carla's paws on her again.

"Now what do you think you're doing? That whip touched more than just your back. Don't unsettle the bandages, Jem, please."

Jem tilted her head slightly, trying to get a look at herself. Bandages covered not only her back, but her arms and legs as well. As she saw just how many bandages she was wrapped in and that red was showing through some of them, she realized how much pain she was in. How could she have not felt it all before? With a soft whimper, she lowered herself back onto the ground, letting Carla rub the back of her head until she fell asleep.

"One day," Carla whispered to the sleeping Jem. "One day, this will all be over."