Marsh’s reception wasn’t as welcome in the neighboring stall. In fact, the sound of his weight hitting the floor indicated they merely threw him in there.
The footsteps moved away and quickly blended in with the outside sounds of the day. I sat quietly until I could be sure the Woodsmen had left the area. If I were to have a fighting chance, I needed to remove the hood. I slinked to the nearest wall, my hands still bound behind my back. Sweeping the straw away, I traced the protruding fibers of the room’s roughly cut wood. I had no interest in slivers, but with any luck, they would be rough enough to pull the hood off my head if done right. As I rubbed the fabric against the wall, the hem of my blind lifted above my chin.
Yes!
I repeated the action again, and the edge rested across the bridge of my nose just below my eyes.
One more time.
I positioned myself as best as I could and tried a third time. Pleased with my efforts, I shook it off the top of my head.
Ergh, this place is horrible.
They had kept prisoners in the stalls before. The Woodsmen modified the building to house people long before we arrived. Horses didn’t require such measures of mind. The lack of skill ruled out a carpenter’s hand. Whoever retrofitted my stall-turned-cell probably never held a hammer in his life.
Long ago, my family built a pigpen. I was much younger and inexperienced with woodworking tools. Father patiently let me try my hand at building the fence. Even though he started the nail, I couldn’t hit the head. I hit the area around it and, a few times, completely missed the lumber, throwing the hammer beyond the target. When I did strike it, I bent it. Like everything else, nails were a luxury we could not afford to waste. With the claw end of the hammer, he straightened it out and sank the head flush in two whacks.
“Try again,” he said, handing me a gleaming nail.
No better than before, I hit my thumb then picked through the tall grass to find the stupid nail. The fear of hitting myself made me hesitate with each attempt thereafter.
I made my father proud when the tip finally stuck into the wood. Nothing was more encouraging than my father’s smile. Not even Marsh’s heckling could dampen my sense of accomplishment. I knew what came next, and while I thought driving the nail would be easier, it wasn’t. I hit the nail just enough to make it pop out and fall into the grass again. That’s when Marsh started to clap. My father chastised him for his lack of empathy and sent him away to tend to another chore.
It took a few attempts, but I was able to get the nail stuck into the spot again. Father stopped me from making the same mistake, instructing me to hold the nail loosely with one hand while giving the head another whack with the hammer in the other. Bit by bit, it lowered into the board.
“Good, Una. Now give it a solid hit.” Father smiled.
I swung hard, so hard I closed my eyes to do it. When they opened, my smile faded from my face. I had hit the nail…and bent it clean over.
A few more ruined nails had ended my carpentry lesson. I remember the worst part had to be finding Marsh to tell him Father needed his help to finish the project. If I didn’t learn something then, it meant the lesson was intended for a different time. At least, that’s what Mother used to say.
I never knew her meaning until the Woodsmen left me there. If the people who built the stalls were inexperienced, I would surely find bent nails. Even skilled craftsmen bent a few now and again, right? If I spotted one of their errors, I could use it to rip away at the twisted cord of my rope. I searched the stall for anything broken or sharp that I might use to my advantage. The only thing I found mocked me from above my head.
I’ll find another way, then.
But the knot was too tight on my wrist to untie. My fingertips could barely touch the tails. There was no way to work at it. I kicked the wall and cursed.
How can I possibly get out of here?
I scooted over to the outside wall to look between the slats.
Trees. Dirt and trees.
Wherever we were was far enough away from the population that the largest living things I heard were birds. Feeling spent, I propped myself up in the corner and waited for whatever came next.
Marsh didn’t move for quite a while. When he woke up, he moaned a lot, obviously disoriented.
“We’re all right,” I repeated for his benefit and mine.
“Where are we?” His speech was groggy.
“We’re in the Woodsmen’s stables.”
He cursed.
“Can you see?”
“Yeah, why?” He groaned.
“They had a bag over my head. I didn’t know if they blinded you too.”
“No, but I’m pretty banged up.” He coughed painfully then spit. “Any visitors yet?”
“Nope.”
“How long have we been here?”
“I don’t know—” I paused, hearing footsteps approaching. “Someone’s coming. Pretend you’re still out.” The sound of straw moving and a painful grunt told me Marsh had readied himself just as the group of men entered the stalls.
“Which one?”
“That one’s the girl, the one over there is the big one with her.” I saw the tops of their heads over the stall walls then turned away.
“Looks like he’s still out.”
“This is her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you get a name?”
“No, we didn’t ask.”
“Did we lose any of the displays?”
“No, sir. They’re in the sheep pen.”
The senior man banged on my stall door. “Hey, you. Look up so I can see your face.”
“I would like my hands freed,” I said, refusing to move.
“This is not a negotiation, sweetheart. Look at me.”
“I’m pregnant and no match for your men in battle or in speed. Once my hands are free, I will be more apt to follow your orders and quite possibly a better conversationalist.”
“Stand!” he barked.
“That’s not possible without use of my hands, sir. I’m two seasons pregnant. It’s a little cumbersome to move easily.”
“Position your back toward me,” he said angrily. I did as he ordered, and the stall door squealed open. I felt a quick pull on the rope laced around my wrists. As soon as my bindings loosened, the door slid closed again. “There. Now tell me who you are.”
“Who’s asking?” I asked, rotating the kinks out of my shoulders.
“I cut your ties! Now, answer the question, bitch!”
I managed to stand and stretched my aching back. “If I am correct, you released my hands in exchange for seeing my face, not for an introduction.” I turned, meeting the eyes of my captors over the top of the stall door.
“Gods damn it,” the senior man growled as he stepped back from the door. “Come on.” He pulled the other man out of the stable behind him, nearly tripping him in the process. “Do you have any idea who that is?”
He knows me?
“Yeah. Jall said it was the stupid woman who fucked with our display!”
“You idiot. Where’s Jall?”
“We gave him his reward when he tossed them in there. He’s probably long gone in candy-land by now.” He laughed. “What does it matter? She messed with our shit. She got caught. Now, she’s gonna pay.”
A few beats passed.
“Sir?”
Someone landed a punch. Someone else fell with a thump.
“What the fuck?” the underclassman cried.
I smelled blood.
“That’s Reinick’s granddaughter!”
A nasally voice said, “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, and what do you want to bet that piece of meat next to her is her brother?”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah, oh shit!” the senior man confirmed. “There’s no fucking way I’m losing a hand over this.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Start by finding Jall,” he said, walking away. “First, g
et them some water. I’m going to see Kash.”
The men’s footsteps continued in different directions.
When I couldn’t hear them anymore, I gave Marsh the word.
“Who was that guy?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but he knows us.”
“How do you figure?”
“Didn’t you hear them as they left?”
“All I got was he didn’t get your name, got angry, and left,” Marsh recounted.
“Well, the higher up said he knew us and indicated Reinick, my grandfather, wouldn’t be happy about it. It scared him.”
“Wait, wouldn’t having you give them some sort of bargaining chip?” Marsh stood and looked over the side of the stall at me.
“Geez, Marsh!” I gasped. His face was split in several places and smeared in blood. His lip was hanging as if he’d had a stroke, and his left eye was swollen shut.
“What? Is there something wrong?” He smiled with the half of his face still functioning.
“It’s not funny,” I said, trying to keep my composure.
Marsh chuckled and sat back down. “I’ve suffered worse.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Fine. Maybe I haven’t. It’ll heal.” He sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not to blame.”
But I am.
“So how long do we wait?” he asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Chapter 20
Whoever Kash was, he was an important man. I couldn’t see him over the stall walls, but he didn’t come alone. Hearing the hooves of at least four horses, I assumed he had more than a few men with him. Sure he would appreciate some acknowledgement of his authority, I stood to greet him properly when we met. If my prison experience taught me anything, I learned men of power were less inclined to tolerate disrespect, especially from a prisoner. While there were no guarantees, or inklings, I felt at peace. Why would they keep me alive to kill me later?
The Priests keep people alive for the whole season in preparation for Atchem.
I swallowed hard. All I wanted was for Marsh and I to leave. If given the chance, I’d petition for the children’s lives as well.
The warnings of the Citizen echoed in my ears. “They will be killed for what you are doing.”
If only I had something of value to trade.
Everything depended on what came next. Because of Marsh’s injuries, he couldn’t greet a man like Kash with any semblance of formality. Would Marsh be excused for his handicap? We already agreed that, with his short temper and current state of suffering, my brother might not be the best person to advocate for us. Women rarely spoke on behalf of a man, but what if that man was unconscious? If Kash waited for Marsh to speak to him directly, we were doomed.
Stick to the plan, Marsh.
Kash didn’t utter a word to his men when he dismounted his horse. My palms started to sweat. It would have made me more comfortable to hear the man’s voice and get some idea of his mindset. Was he angry? Curious? Merciless?
Come on, say something.
The single set of footsteps were controlled and slow. If his boot strikes communicated anything, it was disdain. I presumed our impromptu meeting came at great inconvenience.
I stood erect, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my shirt. A black hat strode past my door. The wide brim, shadowing the details of the owner’s profile, sat low on the man’s brow. He didn’t so much as glance toward my cell. I braced myself as he opened Marsh’s stall.
The neigh of a horse outside made me jump.
Marsh played his part well and lay motionless in the hay. Kash didn’t say a word to rouse him. Slowly, the door screeched shut, dropping the locking pin in place.
Plink.
Head down, he turned.
Thud-klack. Thud-klack. Thud-klack.
His steps ended in front of my stall’s door. My heart stopped as the pin slid from its cradle and the door inched open.
The brim of the hat rose to reveal a man’s face absent of expression. His eyes drew up from my feet until they pierced mine.
If only he’d say something.
I stood motionless, afraid to breathe but determined not to let my fear be too obvious. I was sure his immunity to begging and pleading formed long ago. Besides, I didn’t beg. He already had a plan for us. Most people do when presented with a problem they had time to solve. Groveling rarely did anything other than hasten the plans of an antagonist.
Neither of us moved.
Kash dressed finer than the other men I’d seen in the Woodsmen territory. The clothes he wore were similar to the Authority uniforms, but the cut of the shirt complimented his build in a way Calish’s wouldn’t allow. It was faded into a dark gray color, and I noted the presence of sweat under his arms and along the edge of his collar. Neither had anything to do with me and everything to do with the season.
I caught a familiar trace of him through the still air, though he didn’t smell like the others. More like leather and musk than the odor of worked muscles and stress. Had I seen him before?
My eyes searched his, and he let me. A flash of joy, or maybe happiness, rose in them but vanished as soon as I caught it. He sucked his teeth.
Maybe he hasn’t decided what to do with us.
As was customary for men and women, I waited to be addressed. It was improper for a woman of lesser status to speak first. As hard as it was, I held my tongue.
“Who are you?” he asked, moving something he chewed on from one side of his mouth to the other.
“My name is Una.” I wanted to ask him if he was Kash, although I was sure I already knew the answer.
He spit out whatever he chewed on. “My men say you are Reinick’s granddaughter.”
“They would be correct. The man over there is my brother, Marsh.”
Kash lifted his head slightly to look at him. “So, Una, how is your relationship with the Lord of the Authority?” He crossed his arms across his chest.
“I guess that would depend on the day.”
Kash smirked. “What about Hawk?”
His questions made me uncomfortable. “What about him?”
“Are you two close?”
I slowly lost confidence and hoped he didn’t notice. “With all due respect, sir, I assume we’re here because of what I’ve done, not who I am.”
The man shrugged, not amused. “Good point.” He grabbed the stall door.
“No, wait!” I shouted and lunged for the door as he slammed it shut. “Damn it!” I cursed under my breath as he walked out of the stable.
That did not go as I planned.
“Take them to the processing table,” he ordered his men, “and don’t forget to bring the children.”
“What does that mean?” Marsh whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said as I slammed my back against the wall. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure we were not going to like it.
I stifled back tears as the men entered the barn. The scuffling of their feet compressed my breath. With nowhere to run, I wedged myself in the corner of the stall. When it rolled open, a few of them laughed.
“Look at the fat little mouse.”
They grabbed my arms and dragged me out. My feet had trouble keeping up. They didn’t care. The escort manhandling my left arm kicked the barn door wide, and I squinted in the sun’s full brilliance. My eyes struggled to adjust and flooded with water and fear.
My heart raced as the Woodsman pushed me around the barn’s corner, and I tripped over the proud root of a splintered tree. I landed on my hands and knees, and for a moment, the position felt natural. My back arched, and my fingers dug into the dry dirt.
The wolf stirred.
No, no, no.
My intention to control him ended when two of Kash’s men hoisted me up under my arms. As much as I wanted to fight for my freedom, I’d never abandon my brother, which is what I’d have to do. He was too large and too injured to flee.
/> They dragged me to a sturdy shackling table. Its aged wood gave warnings of the men’s intentions. Stained with blood and carved by blades and axes, the iron bonds lay open to receive me. The Woodsmen wrestled my arm flat on the surface, and with a few swift motions, they secured my wrists palm down over the darkest planks. I scratched and clawed with my free hand as they fastened a second restraint over my forearm in the crook of my elbow.
They did the same to Marsh, but his height forced him to bend at his waist. He braced himself with his free arm, appearing like a man waiting for ale.
Small feet and harsh commands rounded the corner of the barn as the children were ordered into view. Filing in, the boys and girls clung to each other, rushing to avoid their captor’s switch when he threatened to use it. With the blunt end, the man drew a line in the dirt, and requiring no instruction, the children lined up along it.
The Woodsman traded the thin limb for an iron one and stoked the coals in the fire pit to our right. The flame rose, and the wood popped, sending embers into the air. Like a butterfly, one fluttered high before its orange glow turned black and died.
Our captors took their time readying themselves. More of them wandered in to watch. If they expected to be entertained, they were wrong. I would not beg. I might cry, but they would never hear me apologize for my actions.
Marsh glanced over at me with his good eye and forced a smile. “If they were going to kill us, they would have done it by now,” he mumbled.
Not without making us ask for it first.
Generosity had limits, and these men had none. They wouldn’t own the shade of Toridia if they did.
The children wore their fear, but gods forbid any of the Woodsmen heard it. The reminders came after the smack. “Seen and not heard.”
I could face my punishment, even if it meant losing a hand, but the children’s fear was what weakened me. “I’m so sorry,” I mouthed as each pair of desperate eyes met mine.
Scavenger Girl: Season of Toridia Page 22
