After replacing the partially loosed board on their side of the wall, Teyla curled in on herself to try to sleep, attempting to ignore the biting cold without Ronon’s body heat. Though the night continued for several hours she merely managed to doze, keeping one ear open for any sign of alarm that Ronon had been captured or that the body had been discovered. Rising to go to work in the fields was a relief for the first time in her servitude and she focused on her work, remaining inconspicuous as each hour that passed without incident gave her hope of Ronon’s success and her rescue.
That hope was shattered that afternoon when the baying of hounds accompanied by the shouts of the slave drivers heralded ill. She kept her back bent and her head low as she harvested, mimicking the wan interest in the goings on that the other slaves displayed.
Suddenly a chorus of whistle blows rose from the mounted drivers patrolling the fields. A young man was filling in for Jenkins and he waved his arm at the slaves in Teyla’s field, hollering for them to take a water break then assemble by a large tree near the water troughs. For a moment Teyla didn’t move, apprehension and anxiety curling in her stomach. As slaves brushed past her she shook herself into action and left her sack on the pile with the others in the shade, stepping in with a group of sweating slaves as they trudged over to the water troughs.
She waited for her turn then washed off, trying to hide the shaking of her hands. After getting a drink, she milled with the rest towards the tree, her heart racing. Though she couldn’t see over the heads of those already gathered, she could hear the mustached foreman who had overseen their branding, Cartman, bellowing. “Gather round. Gather round!” His hoarse voice wheezed as he strained it to shout. “See what happens when a slave attempts to run!”
Teyla’s jaw quivered as she shouldered through the gathered crowd, praying that someone else had been caught. Her lips parted as a shudder coursed through her when she spied her teammate standing beside the tree, shackled and bruised. The raw skin around his wrists, the deepening hues of his bruises and the puckering of his skin around prod burns betrayed that he had been apprehended at least hours before. Her voice was a breath of fear as she mourned, “Oh Ronon...” then bit the inside of her lower lip.
“This man was caught early this morning, out past curfew, attempting to run. Should any of you attempt this, you will be punished as you shall witness here,” Cartman finished as he nodded to the man holding the end of the Satedan’s chains. The man gave a yank, attempting to pull Ronon over to a stump in the center of the ring of gathered slaves but Ronon narrowed his eyes and yanked back, causing the other man to stumble towards him. Cartman caught the action and smoothly withdrew his prod, zapping the taller man in the side before grabbing him by the hair and yanking his weakened frame forward. He and the other driver forced the Satedan onto his knees then slammed his cheek against the stump.
Teyla clenched her jaw at the mistreatment as the driver pinned Ronon to the stump by the back of his shoulders. Cartman unsheathed a knife and swiftly brought it up to the Satedan’s back. She closed her eyes in apprehension yet opened them when all she heard was the tear of fabric. Cartman had cut Ronon’s shirt away and flung it aside. He then placed a foot on either side of the kneeling man, his straw hat sheltering him from the sunlight in the unrelenting, still heat of the afternoon. He raised the longest lock of Ronon’s hair and sawed it off with his knife, tossing it aside.
“You have no individuality,” he shouted as he continued cutting off the knots of hair. “You have no name. You are property and belong to your master and mistress. You live and die by their will.” His cuts were erratic, leaving Ronon with a head of haphazard stumps that fell at different lengths as Cartman cut away the Satedan’s symbol of his prowess as a brave while he stood in a dominating position. Ronon’s hair soon lay at Cartman’s feet and he dug his fingers into what remained of the younger man’s mane, yanking his head up off the stump to accentuate his humiliation before the other slaves.
Ronon was panting, sweat trickling down his temples in the heat, yet his features were a stony mask that pained the Athosian for she had seen his visage steeled in such a way in the past in an attempt to ward off pain. Cartman stepped to the side and he and the driver yanked the Satedan to his feet and over to the tree, shoving him so that his back was now to Teyla. Throwing one end of his chains over a bough, the driver yanked his shackled wrists over his head and secured the metal.
Cartman circled the slave with a falsely approving smile before tapping at the strained muscles of his bare back with the tip of his inactivated prod. “You see? Even the strongest of you stands no chance of escape. And he will be shown no quarter for his value in the fields.” He stepped in front of Ronon and yanked his head towards his, bellowing. “You are a slave!” Ronon blinked as his face was speckled with the other man’s spit. “Your life is not yours to live or to lose. We own you!”
He stalked away from Ronon, striding purposefully towards the driver who was holding a whip out to him. He took it with a swipe, his movements jerky with anger as he uncoiled it. “The punishment for attempted escape is thirty lashes.”
Without hesitation he wrenched his shoulder back and hurled the end of the whip at Ronon’s back. Teyla’s stomach lurched and she closed her eyes at the sickening slap of the leather against skin. She opened her eyes at the second crack, dully registering Ronon’s silence in the face of such pain. Two large welts adorned his back and were joined by a third. She flinched and turned away, shoving back through the crowd of grim onlookers in an attempt to escape the crack of the whip, but she could still hear the snap of splitting skin and her guts grated.
She made her way around the back of the circle, arcing, moving slowly to remain unnoticed, trying to get in front of Ronon. She paused, glancing to a child who had his face burrowed into his mother’s shoulder as she rested a hand on the back of his head. The idea of a child bearing witness to such an atrocity twisted her stomach even more and she stepped away, halting when within a few steps the mother of the child began to sing in a strong, deep voice. “I was standing by window...”Several others joined in the song by the second line and Teyla could see the drivers glancing to each other as the rest of the slaves took up the chorus.
“On a cold and cloudy day
When I saw that hearse come rollin’
For to carry my mother away.”
Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by, Lord, by and by.
There’s a better home a-waitin’
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.”
She utilized the distraction of the drivers to gently shoulder through the crowd to the front where she could see Ronon’s face.
“Well I told that undertaker,
Undertaker, please drive slow
For this lady you are carryin’
Lord I hate to see her go.
Well I followed close behind her
Tried to hold up and be brave,
But I could not hide my sorrow
When they laid her in the grave.”
Sweat trickled down his temples and his eyes were shut, yet though his lips were parted, no cries of pain escaped. His body lurched as another stroke fell and she flinched at the snap in the whip as the force of the coil slammed against his ribs again. She glanced at the other slaves who continued to sing, heads bowed, then lifted her own voice to join in the repetitive chorus.
“Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by, Lord, by and by.
There’s a better home a-waitin’
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.”
Cartman’s face was red as he swung the whip with more force as they sang and a small whimper escaped the Satedan as the air was thrown from his lungs with the force of the blow. He cracked open his eyes, attempting to focus on the voices around him rather than the pain that was making him sag in his chains.
“Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by, Lord, by and by.
There’s a better home a-waitin’
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.
I went back home, my home was lonesome,
Missed my mother she was gone,
All of my brothers and sister cryin’
What a home so sad and lone.
He closed his eyes again as the next blow fell and a tear slipped over his high cheekbone, gliding down his face, screaming for him. Teyla’s heart wrenched and she slowly closed her eyes, her own silent tears escaping.
“We sang the songs of childhood,
Hymns of faith that made us strong,
Ones that our mother taught us,
Hear the angels sing along.
Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by, Lord, by and by.
There’s a better home a-waitin’
In the sky, Lord, in the sky.”
Cartman was screaming with the final blows then finally relented, red, sweating, and his chest heaving from the effort of the whipping. The slaves had fallen silent and he shakily coiled the bloodied whip then handed it to the driver beside him. He drank a ladleful of water out of a nearby bucket, turning to survey the damage he had done. Ronon’s legs were shaking as they struggled to continue to support him as he sagged in his shackles, the skin on his back flayed and shredded as blood trickled into his waistline. His arms and shoulders quivered but he did not let his head droop.
Teyla hastily wiped at her tears as Cartman hollered for them to return to their fields. Slaves brushed past her yet she lingered, unable to tear herself away as she struggled to suppress the urge to slaughter all of the drivers, to let Ronon down and tend to his wounds for the drivers were content to let him hang. She continuously reminded herself of his words, asking her to remain inconspicuous, as she turned her back on his trembling frame and stepped along with the rest of the departing slaves.
Branded Heart
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