Chapter 7 The Slave Market

The heat of the afternoon sun bore down on the slave market, soaking the cracked earth in golden haze. The scent of sweat, dust, and despair hung heavy in the air. It was a place carved out of cruelty-a hidden open ground behind tall iron gates, where broken souls were displayed like wares in a trader's stall.

At the center of the market stood a wooden platform, slick with the dried remnants of blood and tears. Chains clinked as a man yanked forward a trembling girl, no older than seventeen. Her knees buckled under the pressure, and the auctioneer barked her name with a twisted grin, "Strong hands, good hips! This one survived the northern mines!"

Bidders murmured, some nodding, others turning away in search of more "obedient" specimens. The girl kept her head down, not daring to meet a gaze. Behind her, another girl let out a strangled cry as the whip struck her back again and again. Her skin split open, red blooming over brown in angry welts. No one flinched. Whipping was routine.

Nearby, three girls sat by a shaded corner of the yard, watching the chaos with eyes that had seen too much. Their rags were less torn, their bodies scarred but not fresh-the kind of girls who had learned how to survive here.

"That's the third whipping this morning," muttered Zara, the oldest of the trio, brushing a lock of grimy hair from her face. Her voice carried both weariness and calculation. "She must've talked back again."

"Or tried to run," offered Muna, younger but sharper in tongue. Her eyes flicked toward the chained girl, now unconscious on the ground. "They say she bit the guard."

"Stupid," scoffed the third girl, Keira. "They always think they can escape in the beginning. The smart ones wait. Play nice. Make them trust you. Then disappear."

Zara smiled faintly. "You mean like you're doing, Keira? Waiting? You've been here a year. Still waiting?"

Keira's mouth tightened. She said nothing.

A commotion broke out at the gate. The girls turned their heads as two men walked in, one holding a scroll, the other dragging a reluctant boy by the wrist. The boy was clearly not for sale, too young, too loud. But the scroll-that was news.

"That's the merchant's seal," Zara whispered, eyes narrowing. "When they bring out the scrolls, it always means someone new is about to be brought here. I helped write my own scroll with my own hands," she said with a hint of laughter.

The man climbed the platform and raised his voice. "Attention, you animals! You are going to have another new mate today. She is not to be harmed. Her blood is unspilled. You are to treat her like the rest, and anyone who causes unnecessary commotion or fights will not be spared. You will hear of her soon enough."

Gasps followed. Whispers swelled like a tide.

"A virgin?" "Fresh blood?" "Where from?"

Muna turned back to her friends. "They said 'birthed.' Not 'brought.' You heard that, right?"

"I did," Zara said quietly. "Which means... she was bred. Or... made."

"Made?" Keira raised a brow. "What are we, dolls?"

"We are whatever they decide we are," Zara murmured, bitterness lacing her words. "And if she was made for something specific, then she won't last here. Not among these vultures."

They turned again as the guards began dragging away the whipped girl, her blood trailing behind her. The crowd was beginning to thin, and the platform now stood mostly bare.

Farther in the yard, tucked away behind the iron cages, a separate group of girls huddled together, whispering feverishly. This group was younger, fresher-most of them less than a month old in the market. They had not yet been hardened.

"Do you think she's beautiful?" "I bet she has soft skin. They always make a big fuss when they bring in the beautiful ones." "What if she's like... special? Maybe born from royalty?"

"Royalty don't end up here," snapped an older girl as she passed by. Her voice cut the fantasy like a blade. "If she's coming, she's one of us. No better, no worse."

Still, the girls couldn't help but imagine.

A few of the guards overheard them speaking, and the one who had spoken last was caught still whispering.

"Seems you really have time for gossip and discussions, huh?" one thundered.

"I think we should take this one for ourselves. We've done a lot today. We deserve a commendation too," another added.

The girl who had spoken, Beatrice, shivered in fear and moved back to hide between the other two, but it did not help matters. It only made it worse.

"Oh, she is a shy one. Not really my type but I will manage. Pull her out and bring her into the guards' quarters," the leader commanded.

Two other guards opened the iron cage as one aggressively picked her up and threw her violently over his shoulder like a bag of grain.

They all laughed hysterically as they took her away into the dark, large tent, making all other girls feel like peeing out of fear.

Not long after, they heard her screams-cries and wails-as she tried running out of the tent. Just when her head managed to pop out, she was dragged back in by one of the guards.

"You are not going anywhere, sweetheart," he laughed while making sure the other girls watched her struggle.

Inside the tent, she was tortured and raped by all the guards who were willing, her screams and cries filling the air for all to hear.

One of the girls in the cage Beatrice had been pulled from broke down in tears-not because she felt bad for Beatrice, but because she feared she could be next.

When Beatrice's screams finally died down, another one of the new girls whispered:

"What do you think they did to her? I heard they use their blades to pierce your private part till you scream loud enough to their satisfaction-and then rape you. Or cut you with knives like they did before."

"Oh, poor Beatrice. I feel so sorry for her. Do you think she will survive it?"

Back in the shaded corner, Zara leaned her head against the wooden post, watching it all.

"She is not coming out of there alive," she said simply.

"Why?" Muna asked.

"Because girls like her don't survive the red quarter," Zara replied. "And because of this, they can't outlive those experiences."

Keira smirked. "Or maybe she will surprise you. I mean, look at us-we survived, did we not?"

"Us?" Muna replied, laughing bitterly. "Only Zara and I have actually been there. You're lucky the chief commanding guard is not yet bored with you."

"That's the only reason why you've survived till now. If not, you would never have survived what we did."

Zara didn't reply. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind whistle through the iron bars.

A long time later, a guard came out of the tent with Beatrice thrown lifeless over his back-frail and pale-followed by the gasps of the new slaves. She was dead. He carried her away from the camp, out of sight.

Zara and the other old stayers remained indifferent amidst the screams and wailing of the newcomers.

The sun dipped behind the iron gates. The market returned to silence-but it was never peace. Just a pause before the next scream.