The side of Sirus’s face was forced against the ground, a cry of agony stuck in his throat as the pointed edge of a jagged rock stabbed his cheek. The odor of damp soil filled his nasal cavity before the dirt itself entered his nostril, impeding his breath. His eyes were tightly shut as they would remain for the duration of the ordeal in which he was, completely against his will, engaged. The overseer stood above him, the sole of his right boot was placed firmly and deliberately against Sirus’s exposed cheek. With each admonishment of Sirus’s worthlessness, the overseer pressed down as if to drive home his point. The force caused Sirus’s face to sink deeper into the soil while the rock was driven further into his tender flesh.
Occurrences like this were common and intended to humiliate and demoralize an individual and to control him. Sirus was not worried that the overseer would kill him; he knew he was far too valuable to meet this end. But he was familiar with how close to death the enforcers of the ruling class could take him.
In his youth, he railed against their control and suffered the consequences of his actions. After each retaliation and subsequent beating, it was several weeks before he healed, regained his strength and was able to work. After he found his life partner, and they had offspring, he knew his days of rebellion were over. With a family to feed and a household to maintain, he needed to keep working. His partner, Siobhan, as a female, was not allowed to do anything but produce and bring into the fold the next generation of workers.
Sirus felt the pressure on his face release. His eyes shot open and met the overseer’s. The contemptuous, mocking stare peering down at him fed Sirus’s aggression. Outrage boiled inside. At that moment, he imagined himself rising to his feet, his robust, muscular body dwarfing the overseer’s stout, pudgy frame. He felt a surge of desire as he envisioned his immense, powerful hands wrapped around the overseer’s fleshy neck and the ecstasy of snapping it like a dry branch. Sirus knew he would have only a moment to exact his revenge. A swarm of enforcers would move to pounce on him the instant he began to separate himself from the ground. He knew his value as a worker would not help him in this case; death would be delivered. This act of vengeance would be the last action of his life.
“Get up you dirty, worthless animal,” Sirus heard the overseer growl. His voice seemed to come from a distant place.
Pulled from his fantasy, Sirus slowly raised his body from the ground without looking again at the overseer. He allowed his breath to pass through him and the burning sensation in his heart cooled. He thought of his beloved Siobhan. Having passed the age of producing offspring and no longer of use to the ruling class, her death would quickly follow his. And he thought of the fate of his children. Without his protection, they would be subjugated into performing tasks which made him shudder to reflect upon.
# # #
A cool breeze gathered and crept up the hillside, eventually reaching Trong’s bloated body. He shivered slightly, relishing the sensational chill sweeping over him. The gusts provided a welcome relief from the day’s oppressive temperature. Lounging on a settee situated under the awning of a terrace overlooking his sprawling domain, Trong was content to while away the afternoon. Today, as most days, he feasted on a breakfast and lunch of unrestricted decadence with the span of time in between peppered by theatrical diversions, gossip, and naps. It was the second of these naps from which he had recently awakened. Parting his eyelids slightly, Trong noted the height of the guiding stars on the horizon. A satisfied sigh arose from his wet lungs and escaped the swollen slit of flesh that could have been described as a mouth had it not been mostly overtaken by his rotund cheeks. Trong estimated he had another hour before he would be roused by attendants and taken to dress and prepare to meet his court.
His evenings were routinely filled with reports from the valley. Accounts of harvests and stockpiles as well as the status of the compliance of the bound class under his proprietorship were delivered by courier. He read them with mild interest; they varied little day-to-day. Production remained stable, and his people were swollen with abundance. The bound class submitted to the unyielding force of the ruling class, of which Trong was king, and their band of sadistic overseers whose brutality knew only death as the limit to the delivery of its discipline.
But for now, Trong, savoring the refreshing afternoon wind, drifted into a semi-lucid state. Aware that he was dreaming but not fully in control of the meandering nature of his mind, he accepted the role of observer, mildly curious about what it might reveal.
Devoid of abstract thought, Trong was not an intellectual in the full definition of the word, but he inherited from his ancestors a shrewdness relative to military strategies and tactics for ensuring dominance. His people had been in power for ten generations. Once enslaved, they arose in masse. Their victory and successful demoralization and enslavement of those once in power unfolded swiftly. The retelling of the events were played out in narratives and theatrics following a spectrum from romantic to gruesome. Having witnessed the spectacles since birth, Trong was intimately aware of the overarching and subtle themes. He did not identify them himself, but once pointed out and dissected for him by an astute tutor, he grasped the meanings.
Taking a measured breath, he observed his mind traveling to the memory of a particularly compelling play. Couched in a story about a forest, one species of lofty tree held dominion over a diminutive type. Weary of being deprived of the light radiating down, the diminutive trees banded together and retaliated, causing the lofty trees to fall. Free of oppression and open to the life-giving light of the guardian star, the diminutive trees grew tall and in time filled the open sky with their branches. Reveling in their grandeur, they were unaware of the stirring of dissent rising among a short, but aggressive group of trees residing in the shadows of the forest floor. The story, as interpreted by his tutor, was a re-telling of history and put forth a premonition of which he should be mindful.
Trong shook the foreboding voice of his tutor and the unsettling interpretation from his mind. Motioning for his secretary, Trong spoke to the man’s bowed head, instructing him to draft orders commanding that the chief overseers increase the severity of their punishments and to not tolerate even the slightest transgression or show of personal strength.
# # #
After his encounter with the overseer, Sirus returned unceremoniously to tilling the soil for the next generation of crops. When the first of the two guardian stars lighting the planet began to fall behind the horizon, Sirus and his co-workers were allowed to cease their toils and return to their dwellings in the village. A somber line of listless bodies made their way along the valley floor. They were not permitted to freely converse about their lives, and they were too exhausted and demoralized for banter. Trudging towards home, each man held his thoughts to himself.
Siobhan anxiously scanned the horizon. When she saw the group tramping its way towards the village, she exhaled sharply, relieved to see Sirus. Siobhan understood the suffering and injustices he endured to ensure she and their children were safe and fed. She knew his temperament and realized the willpower required to allow him to reside in a subservient role.
Siobhan turned quickly and entered their home to finish preparing the evening meal. She and Sirus would be joined by their children. At ages five and six, they spent their days sequestered in immense storerooms. Under dull, dappled light in an atmosphere clouded with pollen and plant matter, the children of the village sorted bushel after bushel of the daily harvests, setting aside the pristine specimens for consumption by the ruling class.
Although Siobhan rarely came in contact with an overlord, the pain of her invisibility and the requirement that she birth and cultivate the next generation of workers penetrated her heart. A yearning, common to all parents to provide fruitful opportunities for their children, went unfulfilled. A future different from the present was not an option.
Lost in thought, she did not initially hear Sirus approach the doorway.
“My love,” he spoke his common greeting.
The rich baritone quality of his voice never failed to stir her. Excited, Siobhan turned to greet him. Her radiant smile evaporated as she became aware of the purple patch of flesh darkening his cheek. Comprehension quickly followed, prompting her to move swiftly towards him. Sirus looked away, ashamed. Feeling his humiliation, she stopped before reaching him and simply uttered, “Thank you.”
The words penetrated Sirus’s ego and descended into his heart. Surrendering to her, he allowed his wife to pull him against her petite but formidable frame. Waves of love gently radiated through his body, soothing and comforting him. Withdrawing slightly, Siobhan placed her lips on the physical wound on his cheek before their eyes met. Peering down at his wife, a surge of vigor coursed through him. Sirus knew he had no choice but to endure his fate…for now. Tomorrow the dawn will come, birthing another day of pain, frustration, and uncertainty. But for now, Sirus descended into a plush chair and stretched his weary legs onto the ottoman Siobhan placed under them. Bringing him a mug of robust mead, she returned her attention to the final preparations of the evening meal.
The beginning descent of the second of the guardian stars signaled the time when children would be released from their toil and allowed to return home. The daily reintroduction of their sons’ presence into the home brought immense joy to the couple. Most evenings the family entertained themselves with music and games. Tonight, Sirus felt inspired to strum the strings of the ancient instrument he inherited from his father. Songs of rebellion and freedom poured through his lips, their messages couched in parables to avoid reprisals from the ruling class.
As the second guardian star disappeared from the horizon and darkness enveloped the valley Sirus and Siobhan nestled their children in sleeping compartments before settling into their own. Under the weight of a hand-crafted quilt, Sirus pulled Siobhan against his exhausted body. Her warmth helped the day’s fatigue subside. Most nights Sirus rested more than he slept and this was especially true of late.
Although oppressed and enslaved for ten generations, the need for dignity and freedom was never bred out of Sirus or his people. Rumblings of rebellion remained in most of their hearts. The ruling class, having once been oppressed, inherently knew this fact. Betting on the assumption that keeping individuals separate from each other would prevent the organization of a revolt, gathering as a group was strictly forbidden.
Despite this restriction Sirus was privy to information about the budding uprising. Communications intended to incite revolt had been covertly distributed for several weeks. These messages of empowerment landed on the fertile soil of youthful disillusionment. Seeing no future for themselves, they were hungry for freedom and wiling to die fighting for it. But men of Sirus’s generation, though possessed of similar drive, were more hardened to the idea; some would say they were more practical.
Sirus watched Siobhan sleeping soundly by his side. He was willing to die, but what would happen to her and their children if the rebellion were lost? This thought, a constant presence in his mind, was shared by most of the grown men in the village.
As weeks transitioned into months, the idea gained a foothold in the collective consciousness of the oppressed class and was embraced by additional individuals, including Sirus. Plans were solidified through an established communication network ensuring that no more than two people were witnessed talking together. A launch date was set, and weapons were covertly constructed utilizing the crude materials available to them. An undercurrent of anxious energy ran through the village, fed by hatred and fear. In every household hung an air of anticipation. The night of the attack, Sirus held Siobhan tightly in his arms. His worry matched his fury, and the conflicting emotions left him unable to speak. Siobhan understood and remained quiet.
The men gathered silently, each struggling to calm the uneasy chatter in his mind. Once banded together, ferocity spread among them in a wordless wave. Nodding gestures between the leaders confirmed the group was cohesive and ready. Knowing the course and method of attack, they swiftly covered the ground between their village and the palatial dwellings of the ruling class. Deep in dreamless stupors from the night’s debauchery, the citizens of the ruling class did not stir as Sirus and the others padded up the inclining streets past gated villas on their way to the overseers’ estates lining the base of the hill on top of which the King’s palace sat.
Field observations made while planning the attack revealed a total of ten overseers, each with twenty enforcers under their command. The enforcers were young men, conscripted into compulsory service from the ages of seventeen to twenty. They were not allowed to marry and required to reside on the overseers’ estates during their service. Although caught by surprise, the overseers managed to alert their bands of enforcers and rally them into action. The ensuing battle roused the citizens from sleep. Having grown lethargic and feeble in mind, body, and spirit, they watched helplessly as the invaders swarmed the estates, vanquishing the overseers and their enforcers.
The din of voices shouting madly into the night seeped into Trong’s conscious mind, causing him to jolt upright. Fumbling with the sheets which had become wrapped around his pale legs, he exited the bed and moved across the room.
The story of the trees, as recounted in Trong’s mind the previous afternoon, came quickly to the forefront as he took in the horrific scene unfolding beneath his window. The banging on his door by what he surmised to be a terrifying mob with murderous intent, shook the room. With quivering legs, he stumbled towards the door and initiated a pathetic attempt to barricade it with a dressing table which was too heavy for him to move.
The mob entered the room and easily identified the king cowering in the corner, his tormented face slick with anxious sweat. They unleashed their ferocity on his body, which cracked and broke under the pummeling of fists and weapons. Once life was dispatched, the twisted corpse was tossed from the window overlooking the courtyard and the palace was ransacked. Knowing they were defeated, the demoralized overseers and their minions of enforcers surrendered. Subjugation of the general population was gained with little struggle.
The uprising was successful, shifting the power dynamic. Sirus and the rest of the formerly oppressed took control of the palaces and estates in the hills and relegated the previous ruling class to the villages in the valley at the far end of the island. They relished their freedom while savoring the sweet taste of revenge as the former ruling class was forced to toil in the fields. Sirus and his companions mercilessly drove the newly conquered people, delivering punishments with a sadistic fervor mirroring those they had endured. Unaccustomed to exertion, the workers suffered not only the indignity of having their freedom stripped, but underwent immense physical duress. Many were forced to work until exhaustion and death took them.
Ten generations passed and the descendants of Sirus and his people settled into a lifestyle of abundance and decadence. Fed by the labors of the working class, their bodies became frail and the light of their minds dimmed.
# # #
Reclining on a lounge chair set at the edge of the palatial patio located at the front of his estate, Taurus allowed his eyes to wander along the expanse of land spread out before him. The outcropping of rock on which his people and the others had lived since before recorded time was surrounded by water. The long narrow island began with the undulating hills in which his people had lived for ten generations since the successful uprising of his ancestors. These slopes gave way to an expansive plane of fertile land which provided food for his people and upon which the bound class worked. This land was hemmed in on three sides by unsurmountable walls of rock.
The wind, lightly scented with the sweetness of blooming flowers, passed under Taurus’s nose. He exhaled heavily, the rising breath catching onto the phlegm in his lungs before exiting his body. Setting his eyes on the far end of the valley, he took in the village where the workers resided. The one-story hovels of mud brick and wooden beams were similar in structure and design to those of Taurus’s ancestors when they resided in the valley. Recounting this period, historians narrated the harrowing story of his people’s oppression and their heroic rebellion. With little prompt, every child recited the tale of the uprising and the reign of tyranny that spawned it. Vignettes of exploitation and abuse justified the mercilessly applied retribution on the former ruling class.
Having been relegated to toil in the fields for ten generations, the overseers of Taurus’s regime held a common belief that the spirit of the working class was shattered and, aside from individual acts of rebellion, they lacked the will and intelligence to organize and mount a collective revolt.
“Hopefully they are correct,” Taurus whispered to himself, his eyes narrowing on the stout iron gate across the small opening to the village situated between towering cliffs at the end of the valley. Being the only point of exit and entry for the settlement, the gate was erected soon after the uprising and travel through it was monitored by the continual presence of guards.
Taurus took a measure of comfort, knowing the only way to reach the gently rolling hills where the ruling class lived was through the flat land of the valley. He was confident that the gate would serve its purpose of keeping the workers contained.
# # #
Stang choked down the burning acid rising in his throat while squelching the urge to spit in the overseer’s face. He had committed no infraction and the assault was unjust, but he acquiesced to the reprimand. Feeling his submission, the overseer removed the sword which was pressed against Stang’s throat. He volleyed a few more insults at the man crouching in front of him before striding away. As Stang rose from the soil which he had been in the process of tilling, he witnessed the overseer making celebratory gestures with his companions, his chest puffed full of pride. This pompous act prompted Stang to look away. His strength and focus were needed for another purpose.
As a means to distract himself from his rage, Stang reviewed the plan already in place to overthrow the ruling class. Although precautions had been taken to prevent an attack by way of the flat land, the ruling class discounted the physical strength and mental determination of Stang’s people, who planned to circumvent the gate by scaling the craggy peaks at the back end of their village and trekking along the spine of the ridge well out of sight of the guards.
The distance to the hills where the ruling class resided was not far, but a trail needed to be blazed before the men could successfully negotiate it. A miscalculated turn in the precarious precipices could spell death or, equally disastrous, discovery. Taking advantage of the guards’ complacency, which made them less than diligent in counting the men as they passed through the gate on their way to the fields, each day for the past year two or three men disappeared into the mountains before dawn to familiarize themselves with the route and returned in time to blend in with the workers coming back from their daily toils.
Stang had navigated the route three times; he was ready. His confidence in his ability and that of the other village men was high. The ruling class had grown ineffectual and weak. His people were strong.
Before the rising of the first guiding star, Stang and the men gathered. The village was still in a shadow of darkness as they negotiated the short distance to the rock walls and began mounting the rugged peaks. By the time the overseers realized the men were not exiting their homes and assembling for their walk to the fields, Stang and the men would be entering the estates in the undulating hills and wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting residents.
# # #
Taurus awoke with a start. A constrictive panic in his chest made breathing difficult. Stumbling to his bedroom window, which afforded him an unobstructed view of the flat land, he gasped. The workers were nowhere in sight. The sound of splintering wood as the door to his sleeping chamber gave way filled his ears. The awareness of an imminent attack passed through his brain as the knife entered the spongy flesh under the backside of his ribs. Turning to face his attacker, Taurus saw the primeval revulsion in Stang’s hardened eyes.
As his life drained away, Taurus accepted the fate of his people. Laughing sardonically, he understood. One day his descendants would rise again, and the wheel would turn once more. In his final moment of awareness, Taurus saw the endless cycle of retribution and wondered: Is there another way?
Thoughtful feedback is always welcome.
Please keep your comments constructive and respectful.
Email Lynn at: LynnCrockerCreative@gmail.com
Lynn Crocker Creative 