by C S Marks
“Don’t worry,” said Thurston. “They’re not mad—at least not in the way you’re thinking. They have been damaged, and their heads are a little…muddled. You’ll find they do some odd things, but they won’t hurt you. They don’t have an adult’s capacity to fear and blame others. Would you like to see your sister now?”
I was still too weak to walk, so Thurston brought Salina to me, along with an older woman. Salina didn’t fling herself into my waiting arms, as I had expected her to. She sat quietly down beside me, her eyes round and solemn. “I thought you had died,” she said at last. “I was so afraid…I didn’t want to leave you, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“She’s the one who led us to you,” said Thurston. “She thought you were dead, and she used the last of her strength to build a fire—it was the smoke that drew our attention.”
“You…built a fire?” I stammered, trying to imagine her struggles with the flint-and-steel.
“I know. You told me not to touch your things, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do,” she said, obviously on the edge of tears.
I turned to Thurston.“I was afraid to do that, lest it draw the attention of…you know, unfriendly folk. I didn’t know whether you would help us or burn us alive.”
“Well, I guess Salina knew you had nothing to lose,” said Thurston.
“And now someone’s feeling guilty—perhaps you should reassure her,” said the older woman, putting a comforting hand on Salina’s shoulder.
“Hulda looks after me,” said Salina, and then burst into tears. I took her in my arms and held her for several minutes, telling her over and over that she had done the right thing, that I was proud of her. But there was something down inside me that didn’t believe, and she could feel it. We were alive, and these people appeared to be taking good care of us, but I didn’t trust them.
“Please, Glennroy,” she whispered. “Please…try to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
I wanted to tell her that no one who has ever seen what I had seen—his father crucified for absolutely no reason at all, his harmless little brother burned alive, a madman who eats people and howls like a beast—could ever be happy. I wanted to warn her that happiness is a thing few people ever attain. I had known that even then, and I am doubly convinced of it now. But all I could do was try to reassure her, and she seemed to accept it, though I thought I saw a trace of doubt in her eyes.
***
We had a long journey ahead of us. I learned from the other children that the Gleaners had been gathering them—marked or unmarked—for several months. They had come from the southeast, moved northward and then westward, but now had turned south again. They were returning home.
“Home? Where’s that?” I asked.
“Somewhere over the inland sea,” said a boy named Asher, who was about my age. I had decided to like him when he shared a pouch of dried figs with Salina and me.
“What inland sea? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” I said.
“Well, neither had I. And my home was farther north than yours. The inland sea is south,” said Asher.
I had been given a new name—they called me Beltran, which means raven in some tongue or other. Apparently ravens had gathered, preparing to feast on what was left of me, when I was found. My hair is raven-black as well. I guess it was as good a name as any. My sister had been re-named Silva, meaning “inner eye.” Had someone else become aware of her abilities?
We were expected to work, and work hard. The bravest of the boys were sent into the remains of villages ravaged by the Sickness, instructed to steal whatever food and valuables they could find. Usually the settlements were deserted, but one could never be sure. We lost one of the boys to a madman, who had apparently killed all the other surviving members of his clan. He leaped out from behind a row of water-barrels, grabbed the unfortunate boy by the hair, and cut his throat, nearly taking his head off. The boy didn’t even have the chance to scream. We shot the madman down like the dog he had become.
Asher and I volunteered to replace the dead boy, and we soon discovered we made a pretty good team. I was graceful and stealthy—Asher was smart. He seemed to know where things of value could be found, and we never returned empty-handed. He was shy, though, especially about taking his clothes off. It got warmer and more humid as we continued southward, so I stripped down to a sleeveless tunic and breechclout, but Asher kept his full breeches and long sleeves. Finally, one very warm and sultry night, I convinced him. Then I saw why they had named him Asher.
Both legs and his left forearm were covered with terrible scars, only recently formed. Only one thing makes scars like that, and I knew that Asher had been tied to a tree and set aflame. The Gleaners had rescued him before he could burn to death, killing his tormentors, but he had suffered terrible disfigurement. That he was still alive was a testimony to his inherent toughness. I admired his spirit. He had kept some of his good humor in spite of everything. In fact, Asher loved a good prank and would often arrange one at someone else’s expense. He soon enlisted my aid and, though I have little use for such things, I went along. I wondered what demons tormented him at night—whether laughter made them go back into the dark for a while.
I rarely saw my sister, except at night, when she insisted on sleeping beside me. They worked her fairly hard, too—she and the other little girls learned the skills they would need in order to take care of men. Silva stitched my tunic when it came apart, showing me the small, neat stitches with pride. She learned to cook, after a fashion, as she had no aptitude for it. She received many a withering look from the other girls, and it hurt her feelings.
One night, as she lay beside me, I could hear her crying.
“What is it, Salina?” We always called one another by our real names, though it was forbidden. She stopped crying and turned her back to me.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything. You know that—I’m your brother,” I said. “Now, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” she said with a sniffle.
“Oh, sorry, my mistake. Now what’s wrong?”
“I can’t tell you. I won’t,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless. “I won’t, and you can’t make me.”
“Is it the dreams again? Have you seen something you don’t like?” I asked, though I had already told myself I really didn’t want to know. I was afraid of Salina’s dreams—rightly so.
“I…I don’t know,” she said, which meant that she really did know. She just didn’t want to say. Best just leave it alone, I thought. She’ll tell you when she’s ready. But then, she spoke again.
“Stay out of the dark, Glennroy. Stay out of the dark, or you’ll be there forever. I can’t go there with you.” She threw off her blanket, got to her feet, and moved to sit beside the dying embers of a nearby cook-fire, huddling over the red-gold light as though the darkness around me was already too deep for her liking.
***
We came to our destination at last—the inland sea. I had never seen such a vast expanse of water before, and it filled me with a sort of terrified awe, quite understandable since I didn’t yet know how to swim. “What do we do now?” I asked Asher. “Follow it around? Where is the City they have been speaking of?
“Oh, we won’t be going around,” said a young man named Ulrich. “That would take far too long. We’ll be crossing it.”
“How?” I asked, incredulous. “There are no boats!”
“They’re called ships, dunderhead. They’ll be lighting the signal fires any minute now.”
“What signal fires?”
Ulrich sighed, stroking the beginnings of his scruffy beard with a loving hand. “The ones that tell the King’s men we’ve come back. Just be quiet, watch, and learn!”
This was my first experience with signal-fires, though the technique had been around for a thousand years at least. When a message needed to be carried over great distance, huge piles of wood and pitch would be buil
t along the way. These were manned by watchmen, whose only task was to set them aflame at the right time. They had been placed in such a way that they could easily be seen by the next watcher in line—usually on a mountain or hilltop.
I saw the first one go up, sending a column of black smoke high into the air. “Look, there!” said Ulrich, pointing to the east. A second column had appeared almost as quickly as the first. Then I saw a third one in the distance. It won’t take long to get the message back, and then they’ll send the ships,” said Ulrich with a smile. “It will take a while for them to get here, of course, but we have arrived at the right time.
“What’s this place like…the one where we’re going?” I asked him.
“Like nothing you’ve ever seen before,” said Ulrich. “Assuming, of course, that it’s still the same as I left it three years ago.”
I must tell you that I have never liked traveling on a ship—I hated it when I was a boy, and I hate it now. I might have been fine had I been sailing alone, but I don’t like the smell, I don’t like the lack of freedom, and I detest being crowded in with a lot of other people, some of whom seemed to have a strange aversion to cleanliness. Fortunately, I have never been afraid of heights, as we had to scale cliffs and climb tall rocks to get to our sheep and goats sometimes. As such, I spent much of my time perched on the single mast, reveling in the feel of the wind. I was lucky—poor Asher spent much of his time heaving into a bucket.
I didn’t see my sister at all—the women and girls were kept separate throughout the voyage, lest the sailors be tempted to misbehave. Usually occupied with their tasks aboard ship, the men didn’t seem unhappy or oppressed, which I took as a good sign. I asked them how long it would take to arrive at the place they called Orovar, the Golden Shore.
“Ask the Wind. She makes the time pass, or not pass,” they said. “You’ll know when you see it.” They had, by this time, stopped scolding me for climbing the mast. If I insisted on being up there, I could at least keep a lookout.
When we finally arrived, I understood what they had meant by “you’ll know when you see it.” You couldn’t see the City at first, though the smoke told you it was there. It lay behind tall sea-cliffs of bright golden stone banded with warm pink and creamy white. The sun hit them just right, and I gasped in awe at their beauty, made especially vibrant by the contrast with the deep blue-green water that crashed against them in a flurry of white and pale-green foam. I called down to the sailors, who, naturally, were not surprised by my revelation. “Come down, little raven. The tide is rising, and things might get a little rough until we find the harbor—wouldn’t want you to learn to fly now!”
I understood what they meant as the ship was tossed about by the currents running into one another—one deep and cold, the other warm. We caught this one, riding it straight toward the cliffs on the rising tide. It carried us straight through a narrow opening which broadened out into a calm harbor. Then I saw the City.
I have since visited a few of the great realms, and, compared with them, Orovar was small and unimpressive, but it certainly impressed me as a boy. We had all crowded up on deck for a look—even Asher, though his pale face was still greenish. The City held all the promise a boy of my age could ask for. I hoped I would find adventure, excitement, maybe even prosperity here. And I could hardly wait to get off the crowded deck of the ship.
I looked around for my sister, but did not see her. She’ll be all right. They’ve been taking good care of her, I told myself. I thought I was far too involved in my own concerns to worry about it, but something nagged at me anyway. Remember your promise to her. Don’t trust them. Remember your promise…
My sister, as it happened, was still down in the hold, huddled in a corner and weeping. Unable to coax her out, they had to carry her off the ship, though she cried and begged them not to. It seemed she had already been treated to some insight as to what awaited her on the Golden Shore.
***
I flattered my way into a friendship with Ulrich, and I had learned quite a lot from him concerning Orovar. In the beginning it was merely a stop on the main southern trade route. Its people had been mostly of sutherling descent, but soon mingled with folk of other races when sailors or tradesmen would decide it was time to give up the wandering life. Several smaller communities had bloomed outside its boundaries, often founded by members of trade guilds. Resources and raw materials came either directly from the land and sea or in the form of ships laden with goods.
A King and his ministers ruled the City, which had enjoyed an orderly and peaceful, if unexciting, past. Then came the Sickness, changing everything as it always did. Orovar had been one of the first to feel the darkness of death—nearly seven years had come and gone since the first sailor spouted blood on the deck. She had lost five of every seven people, including many of the King’s ministers. The King himself was spared, but he became reclusive, locking the City down and imposing very strict laws on her citizens. Ulrich admitted that he had never seen King Darius. “He is said to be wise, but unforgiving.”
Thurston, of course, had come along on the voyage. He took it upon himself to instruct us as we prepared to disembark. “You must not question any decree or order that comes from the King or his ministers. To do so would bring severe penalty. No one will care how young or foolish you are—all are bound by the same laws here.”
“Sounds like a wonderfully friendly place,” muttered Asher.
“Indeed,” I said. “We haven’t even arrived, and they’re already warning us about severe penalties. But Ulrich says Orovar needs people to replenish itself, which is why we have been brought here. Surely, after taking all the trouble to find and retrieve us, they won’t be imposing severe penalties just yet. That’s what the Gleaners are for… to collect any and all survivors of the Sickness. Ulrich says unmarked children who have lost their families are especially prized—that’s you and me.”
I shivered as I walked down the gang-plank into my new home, though the weather was fine and warm. It didn’t take me long to realize how cold it was in Orovar. People seemed happy and prosperous on the surface, but there was a chill—a detachment—that seemed to pervade every aspect of their lives. My sister would have felt it right away, and it would have terrified her. Later I realized the source of the chill—the City cared only for itself. We were being made welcome, but I sensed I would only be as welcome or valued as the service I could provide. One oddity: I saw no beggars in the streets, and I wondered why.
At the time, I only knew that I wouldn’t have to worry about the Sickness, being hunted by madmen, or starving to death. If you have never experienced starvation, you cannot understand how important food is to someone who has. When they herded us into the holding facility, I didn’t care one bit for the loss of personal freedom. I shook off my misgivings, willingly gave up my few possessions, and didn’t care that I was dressed in the same drab attire as everyone else. All I cared about was being fed three times a day, as they had promised. I also learned that being well fed required absolute obedience and cooperation.
I was herded into a holding yard with many other children, including Salina, who would not leave my side. She would not speak to anyone, either, except at night. Then she would huddle in my arms and whisper.
“Cold…the people are cold. The place is bad, Glennroy. It’s bad. We should leave.”
“Well, we can’t leave,” I said. “I do wish you’d stop saying such things. They’re going to think you’ve gone mad. Besides, it’s not so bad…at least they feed us.”
If you followed all the rules, you were fed. If you got along with the others, you were fed. But if you shared your food with anyone else, you would find your next ration cut drastically. I tried to share with Salina, who always received less than I did. When they discovered this, I was told that I was receiving more food than I needed if I would give it away. The ration I received that day was less than half of what I was used to, and I shared no more with anyone.
I have sin
ce realized that we were being observed the entire time we were in the holding-yard. Every now and then a man would appear and call out someone’s name. That person would then leave the yard, never to return. Word had spread that you would be called out when the City had a use for you—that this was a good thing.
They called Salina in the first week, no doubt having found a use for her already. I wondered what they had in mind for her. She cried when they led her away, and I couldn’t comfort her. I had been too far away, and didn’t get to her in time.
They called Asher a week later. “Don’t worry, Beltran. They’ll call you next,” he said, clasping my hand. Then he was gone, and I had no one to be concerned for except myself. I could hardly wait until they called my name.
There were both unmarked and scarred survivors in the yard. I had learned that the scarred ones were either dull-witted, unpredictable, or downright mean, and I avoided them whenever I could. A gang of six bigger boys delighted in intimidating the rest of us, stealing our food and promising retaliation if we reported them. They could hurt you so that no one would see, and would threaten anyone who got in their way. One day, they strode up to me and snatched my food away before I could blink.
I had been eating reasonably well for several weeks, and so I didn’t react with quite as much fury as I might have. Instead I carefully unlaced the leather cord from the front of my tunic, waited until they thought I had accepted my fate, crept up behind one of them, and slipped the cord around his neck.
“If you move, I’ll kill you,” I whispered. “You won’t even make a sound. Now, if you would like to remain alive, nod once.”
He did.
“Very well. You and your friends will leave me alone in the future. You will not take my food, understand?”
Another nod.
