Ilia's hands were roughly tied to the middle post at the bottom of the mines. Only a few slaves watched the scene in silence within a barely clothed gray mob. Ilia trembled. A little further away, she saw the old woman also trembling, without taking her eyes off her.
The guard, with a sneer of contempt, proceeded to cut open the tunic covering the back of the wasted body tied tightly to the post. The victim's gender was barely distinguishable, but it was a gaunt, very young woman.
Seven months had passed since she had been found lying on the road, apparently lifeless, and against all odds, it turned out that the emaciated girl was breathing. So, with diligence, it was decided to transport her to the coal fields; there was never a surplus of workers, since mortality rates were very high due to the appalling conditions in which the enslaved masses lived. So the young girl's battered body was unceremoniously transported in a cart pulled by an old horse. Thus, before reaching the coal mines, she had to endure a painful journey during which she almost succumbed. Upon arrival, the head overseer had found that she had a severe bruise on her head, but that it was healing without complications. Besides, the girl had excellent teeth and did not appear slow-witted at all. However, after recovering, the girl did not speak. Furthermore, she seemed to be disoriented the entire time. She had surely lost her knowledge or perhaps grown like a savage, since the soft olive tone of her skin made it clear that she was a native of the desert, and that gave her no more value than a work tool.
Time slowly passed. During her entire stay in the mines, the girl had not uttered a word, yet she obeyed orders without hesitation. The other slaves called her Ilia because of the unusual color of her large eyes. With her dirty gray clothes and wasted body, Ilia seemed more like a shadow and never made much of a statement to anyone. She had neither friends nor enemies. She was like a ghost, mostly ignored. Her dirty hair seemed a soft shade of brown, a mess of gravel, dust, and lint. Her almost cadaverous face featured extravagantly prominent cheekbones due to her sunken cheeks, and her mouth was small and withered from the dryness of her chapped lips. However, the girl's eyes were a different story. They looked enormous on her gaunt face, and the light and liveliness they gave off gave her an almost demented appearance, as if she were always staring in wonder. She had undoubtedly beautiful eyes, with a pure, gleaming green hue and golden traces near the pupil and toward the contours of the iris. The color seemed to shift between golden and greenish.
Everyone in the mines knew about the guard's cruelty, and few had escaped a nasty run-in with the plump foreman. That particular day, the guard was in a sour mood, and it didn't take much provoking his temper to get a couple of beatings. Then, to her misfortune, an old woman tripped right in front of him, spilling some of the filthy water she was carrying in a canteen; the same water that would later be rationed and the slaves would drink during their break. Cursing loudly, the guard flew into a rage. And, after fiercely slapping the old slave, he kicked the jug out of her hands. The slaves would have to do without the liquid that morning.
Then, with a careless gesture, the man began to pull out the whip he wore around his waist. However, his cruel temper wasn't satisfied until he focused directly on Ilia.
Ilia always tensed at the sight of such unpleasant, brutal incidents. And, like a few others, she had stopped carrying stones to stare at the scene. With no little effort, Ilia tried to maintain a neutral face and hide the anger that was beginning to ignite her. In the end, she couldn't tell if it was her clenched fists or the chattering of her clenched teeth, but she caught the guard's attention, who marched straight toward her and then called her over with a gesture. With no other option, Ilia advanced with heavy steps, her large eyes now looking indecisive. For his part, the guard twisted his full lips into a smile and presented her with the whip.
"Do it, boy. With all your strength, five lashes."
Ilia stopped in her tracks. Until now, she had obeyed without question any request or order given to her, whether she was starving or fainting from exhaustion. The girl had resolved to remain invisible in that desolate place. However, this new command seemed inconceivable to her. She glanced at the fearful old woman lying on the ground, pleading for mercy, before giving the guard a hard look. A fleeting expression of bewilderment passed then across the foreman's face.
"Don't you understand, boy? I want you to do this," The horrible man snapped, first pointing a finger at her and then waving the whip in the air very close to the woman lying at his feet.
Ilia didn't flinch as she straightened; this was more than she could bear. Obviously, the heartless man had interpreted her lethargy as a lack of understanding, so she looked directly at the guard and slowly shook her head.
A growing murmur rose among the crowd of slaves, and now many more were paying attention to the scene. However, this seemed to be the trigger that caused the guard to go completely crazy. With a swiftness that was far from suspect given his plump build, he reached the girl and threw a powerful punch. Something rattled unpleasantly, and the corner of Ilia's mouth began to bleed slightly. However, the howl of pain had come from the foreman. The foreman clenched the fist that had hit Ilia with a pained expression on his face.
Then he looked at her with perfidious eyes and, seized by another burst of madness, he roughly grabbed her and dragged her to the post.
Ilia hadn't complained while they tied her up, nor had she tried to refuse. Now she found herself hanging by her hands from one of those horrible torture poles, breathing heavily in the nauseating air laden with sweat and filth to which she had gradually grown accustomed during that terrible summer season. She was also very familiar with the hunger gradually gnawing at her, but what she always found most unbearable was the dryness and burning in her throat. Oh! If only she could cry and swallow her tears, but even that wasn't possible for her. She had nothing. Not even tears to shed.
Then, after a few terrible minutes of silence, the whip cracked in the air, and the Ilia waited for the pain to hit her. Whoosh! Ilia gritted her teeth, but the pain didn't come. Had the overseer missed? Wondering this, Ilia opened her eyes to look at the nearby crowd, searching for signs of harm on the other slaves. Then the whip cracked again, and this time she felt something lashing her back hard, but the pain hadn't touched her yet. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! The repeated crack made her heart race, but she didn't experience any unfamiliar painful sensations. Apart from the tremors that ran through her body, the throbbing headache, the faintness from exhaustion, and the burning in her throat, there was nothing else. What was happening? She had seen people being whipped, and many, even strong men, fainted after the third lash. Whatever the case, the sixth blow didn't come.
At first, Ilia didn't dare look up, but after a certain amount of time, she finally decided to raise her head. When she finally focused, the foreman's expression made her stomach churn.
With his sweaty face contorted and his chest heaving, the despicable man's gaze seemed intent on tearing her to pieces. Then she felt his deranged desire: he was going to kill her. Oh, she was sure of it.
At this premonition, Ilia began to wave her hands frantically until finally horror overcame her: she had no strength left. At that moment, she heard the foreman curse and once again searched for the man's figure with her eyes, turning her face with great effort. By heaven, he was getting closer! She almost let out a scream when she noticed the cruel guard discreetly grasping a knife and then stealthily looking around.
There was no escape. A profusion of ideas, thoughts, and images ran through Ilia's mind, and for a few seconds, she was on the verge of losing her composure. However, she soon faced the facts. And finally, while she sought support on her feet, she began to stand up. She wouldn't let her life be taken away so easily; at least she was going to look him in the face and throw a bite or a shove at him. But again she felt herself faltering; the foreman was coming for her back. He would flay her without remedy or stab her between her lungs until he watched her drown in her blood. At the thought of this, her body trembled perceptibly. At that moment, she felt a cruel chuckle very close: he was almost upon her, and a fierce, sudden rage seized her. Heaven help her, but if she could kill him, she would be willing to do it. If only she could make him disappear. Ilia's peripheral vision caught the ugly rusty knife in the foreman's left hand. She also noticed that the man had his right hand curled up over his chest.
Meanwhile, not far from the pedestal used for punishment, near the small tent designated for the warders, Amir stirred as he looked hesitantly at his captain again. The nasty tyrant almost loomed over the skeletal slave boy, and yet Chanon remained unfazed. So again, Amir's eyes traveled from the scene near the punishment posts to Chanon's grim face. The captain remained seemingly calm and as impassive as ever.
"Chanon, I know we're not supposed to draw attention to ourselves on this mission, but just let me take the boy from the post. Then we can get out of here without causing a ruckus..."