17
The Perilous Journey North Begins.
“What in the devil’s name is it?” This was spoken in Arabic, so poorly accented that Zalika could barely understand the speaker.
“It is the last of these stinking slaves I‘ll ever have to transport. It might be a jinni or just a strange animal. Either way, it’s my way out. If the market in Meroe can pay the price, I’ll enjoy a peaceful trip down the Nile. If not, I am going to Cairo and then to Alexandria anyway. You will never find a market that pays more for an exotic than the one in Cairo. This is my last trip south, and I won’t miss it at all.” This voice spoke Arabic only slightly better than the first.
“So, what is it worth?” This new voice sounded young.
“A bit less than Aladdin’s lamp, I think. Each of us will be rich as sultans from selling this dammed thing, but just in case it is a jinni, never forget the leaded shackles. No jinn can cast magic against lead.” The voice grew quieter. “And heed my words … never speak your true name or the name of any other, lest it gains power over you. It may not be safe holding a jinni, even one bound to our plane, but with the greatest risk comes the greatest reward.”
As Zalika grew more aware of her surroundings, she could hear the sounds of a camp that was too big and too quiet for her to make sense of. Like the herd, when they could smell unseen lions. There was the inevitable noise of many bodies trying not to be noticed. The smell was human, which didn't make sense either. Humans were not this quiet, and the three or four men near her didn't seem to care who heard them. Zalika decided to lie quietly for a while longer and learn what she could.
“Ah, it's awake. We can get moving now.” That was the voice of the second speaker, the one she had seen on the bluff and would come to know as Leader. Zalika heard him stand and then felt him kick her in the ass. “Get up, dameer-farow.” He used a word Zalika had heard occasionally and always thought silly, as it simply meant striped ass. The word her father used implied an untamable animal that could be captured but never tamed.
“How did you know it was awake?” This voice was the youngest yet to speak, and as Zalika opened her eyes, she saw that it went with a smooth-faced boy on the verge of manhood.
“I have done this for as long as you can count. I have seen everything a slave can do to avoid honest work. Its breathing changed.”
“Are you ever wrong, Father?”
The boy was knocked from his feet by the back of his father’s hand. “Do you wish me to be the slave of this jinni?” The older man had the boy by his shirt and was heaving him back to his feet. “If I am wrong, there are more slaves. If I am wrong about you, I will have other sons. Take it to the long chain.”
Zalika’s hands were bound with heavy, dark gray shackles. One shackle and a length of dark gray chain were locked to an ankle, and all of it was too heavy to be simple iron. Worse still, it was all she wore. She was kept much like the cattle thieves had held her … an animal on display … and she had the dreadful feeling that these men were far more skilled at this than the Maasai had been.
She was led to a line of mostly women and a few men, all shackled to a long chain. The men had wounds on one or both ankles. Many also wore the same type of ankle shackle and chain as Zalika. While none of the women wore ankle chains, their heads were covered with black veils. If Abida was in the group, Zalika couldn't spot her. Most of the men and some of the women carried packages on their backs. Zalika’s hands were locked to the long chain, but her ankle chain was left to drag on the ground.
At a signal Zalika didn't hear, the line of slaves began to move. They hadn't taken more than a few steps before the chain attached to Zalika's ankle suddenly stopped, causing her to stumble and fall. The march continued, dragging her along until she could get back on her feet. When she did, she was tripped again almost immediately.
“Jinni, this is all your fault.” The voice was unmistakably Abida’s.
At least she was alive. Zalika felt little concern for the selfish young woman who had betrayed her, but she didn’t want harm to come to Anwar or his family. “Abida, I had no part in this.” Further conversation was cut short as two men Zalika would come to think of as enforcers hurried up to them and struck the back of her thigh with a club about as long as her arm, causing her to fall again. Abida squawked and cursed them as she fell. The enforcers responded by hitting both of them again. They walked the rest of the day in silence.
Their path followed a small river. Whenever they crossed it, they were stopped while standing in the water. The enforcers moved along the line, removing the veils from the women, and pushed everyone against the bank. A few stumbled and needed help to get back on their feet. Zalika took her cue from the other slaves and knelt to drink from the water where they stood. After a few minutes, the march continued.
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As the afternoon sun's heat began to take its toll on their progress, they stopped in a sparse grove of trees that offered only scant shelter from the sun. Enforcers led a handful of horses back to the last river crossing. The leader and his son came, selected two women each, unshackled them, removed their headscarves, and led them away. Soon, Zalika could smell wood smoke and cooking.
Enforcers then began unshackling the women one at a time. Each was told, ‘Remove your clothing and dance.’ When satisfied, the men would say to them, ‘Stop, now sing.’ Only a few made any real effort to do either. Fewer still demonstrated any talent. The very few that cooperated and showed any talent at all were told to dress and help with the cooking. The rest were allowed to dress and returned to the chain.
A woman with skin paler than most refused to remove any of her clothing. For her futile gesture of defiance, the enforcers stripped her and made her stand nude in the sun. When the meal was finished, they returned her clothing and allowed her to dress before taking her to the long chain as if nothing had happened. To Zalika, this seemed out of character for men who beat women down with clubs for no more than speaking.
The meal smelled like a starchy porridge, but as one of the women brought a bowl to Zalika, the Leader stopped her. “This one will eat with the animals.” He unlocked Zalika from the chain and led her to where the horses were tied. He left her hands shackled together and locked the ankle chain to another chain fastened around a tree. “I don't know what you are, but magical jinn, I think not. You were far too easy to capture.” He reached out, took hold of Zalika's chin, studied her face for a while, and then let it go. “I am betting you are an animal of some kind, maybe a clever animal, but an animal.”
“My name is Zalika.” She did not expect to be acknowledged, but she wanted to reclaim what dignity she could, and her name was about all she had left.
Leader struck her with surprising force on the side of her mouth, between her front and back teeth, knocking her to the ground. Still shackled, Zalika could do nothing to break her fall. Once she was on the ground, Leader held her down with a foot on her neck. “Speak no more of princesses, Zebra. Speak no more at all.”
Her bleeding lip would heal by sunset without a mark, but the hurt of having her humanity refused so completely would linger.
When he took his foot off her neck, he kicked some of the horse fodder toward her and moved a bucket of water within her reach. “Do not get up. Eat it as you are dameer-farow.”
Zalika ate off the ground on her hands and knees. To her relief, the horses left her alone. She had not taken more than a few bites before the enforcers began securing the slaves who had worked on the meal back to the chain. The horses took this as a cue to grab as much as their mouths would hold. A lesson Zalika would remember. Leader's son came, collected a horse, put a harness on it, and led it to the front of the line of slaves. At nearly the same time, an enforcer unlocked the ankle chain that held Zalika and returned her to the long chain.
They traveled through the late afternoon and into the early night. When they finally stopped, there was no camp and no meal—only water from a bucket carried by the Leader’s son. Each slave was given a chance to drink from a dipper. The boy passed Zalika by when making his rounds with the dipper. When he returned, he brought only the bucket and more fodder, which he set on the ground. Zalika drank and ate, kneeling on the ground. While she ate, Leader approached and stood nearby, watching her eat. He was struggling with a decision not yet made. After a while, he walked away, shaking his head, having decided against whatever it was. Zalika had the distinct impression that when Leader decided to go forward with his thoughts, she would not like it at all.
Two of the enforcers unshackled the woman who had been made to stand naked in the sun that afternoon. When they told her to strip, she complied without hesitation, revealing the cruel effectiveness of this afternoon’s punishment. Even in the low light of early evening, Zalika could see that the woman’s skin was blistered on her shoulders, back, and chest. The slavers looked her over briefly before telling her to dress and returned her to the long chain. In two days, Zalika would notice an unpleasant change in this woman’s scent.
Every day, they walked until the heat of mid-afternoon, drinking from whatever water they crossed. Each afternoon, they stopped for a few hours, told each woman to strip, then dance, and finally sing. The more obedient and talented women were allowed privileges. Usually, this meant having only one hand shackled to the chain, allowing the other hand free to swat flies. Of course, these women were also the ones permitted to prepare the afternoon meal. Abida remained in the privileged group on the strength of her singing.
The third knight, the slavers began ‘sampling’ the product they were taking to Cairo. Zalika’s turn came on the fourth night. Leader watched her eat as always. Tonight, he was nodding as he walked off. Zalika knew what was coming and the futility of resisting. She had given up trying to use her name or even to speak for the beatings she received each time she did. Once it became clear how rapidly she healed, the severity of the beatings quickly escalated. Tonight would be bad enough. There was no point in provoking these men.
When finished with her, none of the slavers wanted to lie with her through the night the way they often did with the other women. Zalika was untied and returned to the long chain, nude and sore. Almost as soon as the moon slipped below the horizon, Abida
approached. “Why do you not turn to smoke and spirit us back to my father’s home? Why do you let them do this to me? What did you do to be punished so by the jinn? The other jinni has returned to his home. Why not you? What could you have done?”
“I choked the life out of a young woman who would not stop talking.” Zalika lunged towards Abida as she said this, but, shackled to the long chain, it was a small motion. Abida was still startled and left her alone for the rest of the night. There in the dark, Zalika would have cried for Jamaani if she could. She would have sung for him if she could, but her throat ached, and her eyes had no tears left to give for someone else, so she just lay on the ground and tried to sleep.
