"Hik! Hik!"

Mlik was jolted awake by sudden movement. He was in a cage made of timber.

"Hik! Hik!"

The crack of a whip had him bracing for contact. When no pain came, he lifted his head. He was on the back of a cart being drawn by a mule.

A man dressed in a kaftan and wearing a fez called again. "Hik! Hik!"

Mlik sat up to discover his wrists were shackled to the cart. The chains fed through the bars of the timber cage he was in, and were bolted to the thick front board. He gripped the bars of the cage and shook. With enough force he could break it but, the chains would keep him tethered.

"There is no point."

Mlik growled, snapped his head up to look at the man who had spoken. He bellowed again and tore the run he had a hold of, from its foundations.

"I do not want to punish you. It is not my way."

Mlik yanked on the chains and thrashed against the cage. The sound of the man's gently spoken words speared his brain.

"My name is Omar Jannat. Mudarib for the Mawlay Abul-Rahman, Sultan of Morocco, trainer of his fighters. You belong to him now."

Again, Mlik pulled on the chains. He roared with the effort. Every vein expanded and filled with animus. Another timber bar broke.

"We are on our way to Rabat. When we get there..."

"Aar...." Mlik roared and slammed his body against the cage toward the man on the horse. The cart tilted, and then righted itself.

"We will begin your training." Omar remained as calm as he could, and kept his voice even. He had a lot of work to do. Gentle words and gentle touch would be the key to free this man of his torment, so he would then obey willingly. He pulled his horse around and nudged his head at the soldier walking beside the cart. "Put food and a water bladder through the bars, and then shade the cage. Don't let him grab you, or the beast inside of him will kill you."

For seven days Mlik remained locked in the cage, chained to the cart. He pissed, shit, ate and slept there. Every day the man on the horse spoke to him in quiet tones, and every day Mlik tried to tip the cart to get at him.

"Mlik, you will come back to the world one day."

Mlik cupped his ears. That name. He thundered and moaned, rocking back and forth, slamming his back and shoulders against the cage.

"Mlik, you have suffered much." Omar watched the man howl. This was different. His reaction was calmer, though full of pain. Normally he tried to break out of the cage. Though the rocking was aggressive, it was better than the pure hate and rage of previous times. Omar disliked having to leave him sit in his own excrement, but he felt he had no choice. He would not risk losing one of his men for the sake of a pile of shit.

"Mlik..."

Groaning, and rocking harder, making the bars vibrate, Mlik, clamped his hands over his ears. He could not bear the sound of his name. He squeezed his eyes shut. With each slam of his back against the slats he let out a growl to drown out the man's voice, and then he searched the darkness for Shay and drew her out of the shadows.

The instant she appeared his heart slowed. She tilted her head and gave him a mournful smile. Samuel... The sound of her voice eased his mind. You are Samuel... she whispered.

Mlik's eyes snapped opened. He lunged at the man on the horse. The cart tilted, the wheel lifted off the ground as he bellowed, "Samuel...!"

Omar's heart leapt into his throat. He jerked the horse away, and then yanked on the reins, pulling it to a stop as the cart righted itself and rolled on. Samuel. This was the first time he had heard the man speak. Samuel. His name was Samuel. Not Mlik. Omar gave the horse a light kick. It was only a crack of progress, but it was reason enough to smile.

It would seem that Omar is making headway and Samuel, with Shay's help, is resurfacing. ♥

Top picture taken from The Jaipur Dialoges White Slaves of Africa.

Middle Picture by Hexen. Who happens to be my nephew. ♥