Flux

angry because it reminded him of the tattoo that Thelius had forced onto Ennek, the eight-pointed star that had bound Ennek to Thelius and allowed Thelius to use Ennek’s magic as if it were his own. The facts that he was about to be sold as chattel, that he’d just seen a man severely beaten for nothing more than voiding his bladder, that he’d been hating his own weakness—those contributed as well. He swore to himself that the moment he was able, he would run. He wouldn’t escape—he wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d make it farther than a few yards. But he could at least try; and when they caught him he would fight. Maybe even inflict some harm himself: he’d once been passable at hand-to-hand combat. He would be punished very harshly, perhaps even killed. He knew that. But at least he wouldn’t spend the remainder of his existence disgusted with himself for so meekly accepting his own degradation and servitude.
    There were eight men ahead of him, eight men displayed and sold and branded and taken away. Then it was his turn, and he braced himself to run. But perhaps the guard saw something in Miner’s eyes because he affixed a strong leather leash to Miner’s collar before he detached his ankle, and he kept a very tight hold on the end of the leash as he hauled Miner toward the stairs. He didn’t let go of the length of leather until the auctioneer came down the steps and took it into his own fist, then dragged Miner to the top.
    The auctioneer didn’t bother issuing orders to Miner. He simply poked at him with his stick and shoved him this way and that, keeping up a constant patter the entire time. He clearly made a big selling point of Miner’s height and he prodded at Miner’s stick-like arms, probably trying to convince prospective buyers that Miner would bulk up given proper feed and heavy work.
    The audience seemed interested in Miner and when it was time for bidding to begin, the competition was lively. For the first time in Miner’s presence, the auctioneer actually cracked a smile. Miner simply stood there, trying to look as docile as possible, waiting for his chance.
    But his chance didn’t come when he was sold. His new master was a large man, perhaps fifty, with a face that might have been handsome if it weren’t so severe. He was deeply tanned, as if he’d spent much of his life out of doors, and he wore dirt-caked boots instead of sandals, but there were a few ugly, unnecessary frills on his clothing, such as a heavily embroidered silk vest he wore over his plainer tunic. Miner thought he knew the type: a man who began life quite modestly but through hard work, larceny, or good luck had managed to accumulate some wealth. There were men like that in Praesidium, and some of them were dangerous and pitiless as they held tightly to their possessions and positions. What made Miner most uneasy, though, wasn’t the hardness of his owner’s eyes, but rather the way his gaze crept greedily over Miner’s naked body, lingering too long on Miner’s ass and groin.
    When the sale was complete, the leash was carefully handed over to a guard. Miner tried to resist as he was dragged to the fire, but another guard came up behind him and shoved him hard, and his new master yelled at him and batted the back of Miner’s neck with a rough and heavy hand.
    The branding hurt terribly and Miner screamed as loudly as the other slaves had, but it was almost as if he were watching a tall, pale, skinny man from above, as if he were too far removed from himself to really feel the agony. Or maybe he was already feeling so much pain that a bit more barely made a difference.
    After the guard rubbed the stinky ointment into his new mark, Miner expected to be led away. Instead, his master took the leash and dragged him into the crowd, then turned to watch the next sale. Perhaps he was in the market for more than one slave. Miner was uneasy at the close presence of so many people, some of them near enough that they could reach over and touch him without his master noticing. Unfortunately, his master still had the leash tightly wound around his hand. Even though the man wasn’t paying full attention to him, Miner doubted whether he would be able to wrench himself free. And of course even if he did, he’d be surrounded by people and caught again at once. He decided to bide his time and wait for another opportunity. Surely, sooner or later would come a time when he wasn’t bound, when his bid for escape