The cold metal of the collar around my neck was the final confirmation. I was no longer a free boy in the alleys, but Corbin, a piece of merchandise. The chain linked me to a stake and to a row of other boys and girls.
The Skinny Man had thrown me down with a final kick, and I fell next to a small girl, whose dirty face was streaked with dry tears. She hunched her shoulders and moved away slightly, as if contact with me would give her a disease.
Pain pulsed in my side. I sat up, leaning against the central stake, and scrutinized my new companions.
There were about twelve of us. They all wore tattered clothes, but their eyes were the most disturbing part. They were empty. Some stared fixedly at the traffickers' campfires, others at the ground, but none seemed truly present. They looked like silent shadows.
Next to me, on my right, was a slightly older boy, perhaps my age, but thinner. He had greasy black hair and a deep cut on his cheek that had been stitched with thick thread, leaving a fresh scar. His gaze was the only one that wasn't dead.
I felt him watching me as I touched the collar, feeling the weight of the iron.
—Don't try to bite it —the boy next to me murmured, without moving his lips. His voice was rough, as if he hadn't used it in days.
I looked at him. —What?
—The collar. Don't bite it. If they see you trying to get rid of it, they'll cut out your tongue. Or they'll beat you with the rod until you can't stand up —he explained, his voice flat and emotionless.
I stayed silent. —You... how do you know that?
The boy gestured with his chin towards the rest of the line. —I've been here... Too long. —He paused—. What's your name?
—Corbin —I replied, feeling the name sound strange when spoken aloud.
—I am Jael.
—Where are we going? —I asked.
Jael looked back at the campfires. The traffickers were drinking and laughing loudly.
—South. The Ship. They say it's a long journey. And that in the end... well, in the end there is always a buyer. I'll teach you what you need to know to survive the caravan, Corbin.
Jael leaned his head slightly closer. His cautious eyes gleamed in the firelight.
—Never show them fear. And if you get a chance to escape, take it. Don't look back.
The night died slowly, replaced by a gray and cruel dawn. The cold of the early morning filtered into my bones, and the iron of the collar felt frozen and heavy. Sleep had been impossible; only painful lapses of wakefulness, with Jael whispering warnings about the guard schedules and how to distribute the weight of the chain.
With the first rays of light, the caravan camp woke up in an organized chaos. The traffickers, hungover, shouted orders and struck the wagons.
—Up, scum! Move it! —The voice of The Wall was the first hammer of the day.
Men approached our line, unhooking the chains from the central stake and linking the children to each other with a heavy iron shackle that ran from ankle to ankle. The movement was slow and painful.
—Quick, Corbin! —Jael hissed at me. He helped me adjust the shackle so it wouldn't rub directly against the bone.
Soon we were on the move. I was chained to Jael, and he to another child, and so on. They led us out of the camp to join the long line of adult slaves, all linked by chains that squeaked under the weight of the morning.
The sun rose, becoming a searing disc in the sky. At first, the march was slow and tedious, but soon it accelerated. The Wall and his men rode on horseback, with braided leather whips snapping in the air.
The treatment was relentless. The pace was too fast for the sick and the old.
—Keep the pace! The sun doesn't wait for the slow! —the bearded man shouted.
I saw an old man, chained in the main line, stumble and fall. His fall knocked down the three slaves behind him. Before they could get up, The Wall dismounted. The whip descended with a wet sound, hitting the old man's back.
The sound of the whip was so vivid, and the old man's cry so sharp, that sobs began to be heard in the line.
—Look, but don't watch —Jael murmured beside me, his eyes fixed on the dirt in front of his feet—. Show fear and he will use it against you.
We were denied water until noon, and when they finally gave it to us, it was a single nauseating sip from a dirty bucket. My body ached from the previous day's blows, and the midday heat made me feel like the fever was returning.
When night fell, we were only allowed a small rest and a ration of dry, hard bread. I was so exhausted that I collapsed onto the ground, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
Two days of brutal marching had passed. The sun was our enemy. The land had become dustier and more arid.
The Skinny Man walked alongside our line, randomly striking anyone who stumbled. The exhaustion wasn't just physical. Despair was a miasma that spread through the caravan.
The girl who had been next to me on the first day, named Lira, could no longer maintain the pace. Her small feet were raw, and the weight of the chains was too much for her frail body. She started to drag her feet, and her sobs became audible.
—Don't cry! Walk! —the Skinny Man yelled at her, giving her a shove with his boot.
Lira fell. The weight of the chain immobilized her. The boy she was chained to pulled her, but it was useless. Lira simply lay down in the dust, covering her face, her small shoulders shaking with uncontrollable weeping.
—Trouble with the merchandise! —the Skinny Man announced, stopping the line.
The Wall approached on horseback. He looked at the girl on the ground with total indifference, as if he were looking at a piece of rotten wood.
—If she doesn't walk, she's not sellable. Unchain her.
Two guards approached and cut Lira's chains. She was not freed; she was simply abandoned by the side of the road. They didn't hit her. They didn't punish her. They simply left her there, her small body trembling in the vastness of the road.
As the caravan started moving again, Jael elbowed me.
—It's over for her. The sun or the wolves will take care of it —Jael said, his face pale and stony—. Don't look back, Corbin. Just walk.
I looked back. Lira was shrinking. Her image, small and alone on the dusty horizon, became a new scar on my mind. The hatred I felt for my captors solidified.
By the fifth day, two adult slaves had died of exhaustion and one child had developed a cough so severe that he was removed from the line. The caravan did not stop. People walked like specters, their heads bowed.
I walked, focusing on Jael's mantra: Don't look at the whip, look only at the earth. But my body was at its limit. Constant thirst and pain were weakening me.
That night, when they finally camped near a small, turbid river, The Wall made an announcement:
—Tomorrow we will reach the port. Those who endure will be sold. Those who don't... —He pointed to a shallow pit they had dug—. They will serve as fertilizer.