by C. J. Aaron
The atmosphere inside the square was choking. The mist from the waterfall felt heavier than normal. The uneasy attitude emanating from the regular guards mixed with the uncertainty of the tributes. The hatred pouring from Delsith’s men added to the mix, forming a toxic tension that permeated the area. Eyes scanning the square, Ryl made his way to the end of the scattered line.
“Tash, Palon, Ryl, where have you been?” Luan shouted as she broke from her position near the end of the line, throwing her arms around Tash, moving to Palon next.
“I've been worried about you, it's getting late,” Luan chided the trio as she moved to embrace Ryl. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed the makeshift splint on his arm.
“What happened to you?” she whispered, looking cautiously around the square at the guards.
“It’s ok, Luan. I’m ok,” Ryl said, sending out a reassuring feeling. “Just ran into the master on the road. He and his goons wanted to tell me how much they missed me, that’s all.”
Luan stared at Ryl for a painfully long moment with a look that showed how unamused she was at that statement.
“Things have been strange here.” She was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “First the riders came racing into the village, then the guards started corralling us all into the square. Next thing we know, the master shows up and sets up shop. His guards started beating any tribute within range.”
Ryl felt the blood begin to heat in his veins. Was this a byproduct of their meeting on the road? Luan interrupted his train of thought as she continued, her voice sounding more worried with every passing word.
“Sub-master Millis and a few of the guards got in between the master’s men and the tributes,” Luan continued. “Then Millis and the master start screaming at each other in the middle of the square before the pair stormed into the officer’s quarters. I can’t tell what the mender’s doing over there.”
Luan pointed toward the front of the jumbled line that ended near the black carriage. Mender Jeffers sat behind a small but organized table. On the right third of the table rested a shallow wooden box, the top of which opened on a hinge blocking the view of its contents. The left third contained a large ledger, which the mender was currently leaning over scrawling what Ryl knew to be immaculate notes.
Jeffers put down his pencil, dismissing the tribute in front of the table with a smile, while beckoning the next forward. From where Ryl stood, his voice was lost under the roar of the fall.
Ryl watched as the tribute, a man he knew by face alone stopped momentarily at several points along the disjointed line. Luan flagged him down as he approached.
“What's this all about?” she inquired.
“Testing for alexen. Again,” the tribute said, clearly growing tired of repeating the same story. “Don't know nothin’ more.”
Ryl felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach. The testing could prove to be disastrous for him. Da'agryn had warned him that he was much closer to peak saturation than the menders, guards and his sponsor believed. What would happen to him if the test proved this to be true? He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the master storm out of the officer’s quarters to his carriage. The sub-master took up position in front of the door to his quarters, arms crossed over his chest. His body language was less than pleased.
Standing behind Luan, Ryl formed the end of the line. With only a little more than thirty tributes currently staying in Tabenville, the wait had been relatively short. He’d been lost in the confines of his mind, pondering the implications of what this test could mean for him. By the time it was Luan’s turn, only a small group of tributes, Tash, Palon and a handful of others remained standing together in the middle of the square.
Mender Jeffers spoke before looking up from the notes he was taking in his ledger. His voice was more morose than normal. His nose was swollen and red, his eyes had begun turning black and blue.
“Show me your Harvest number and sponsor’s brand, please,” the mender said. Jeffers’ eyes darted to Ryl then back to brand on Luan’s neck. As the mender looked down toward his ledger, his eyes stopped abruptly on Luan's slightly distended stomach. They lingered there for a moment, growing wider as the realization dawned on him.
Ryl kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. The tiny life inside Luan was growing, she was showing more daily. He and the tributes that knew had grown accustomed to it. The subtle changes from day to day weren't as apparent to their eyes. From all he could tell, the guards were clueless to the situation. If sub-master Millis had found out through his investigations after the demise of his predecessor, he’d never mentioned a word.
The trained, ever-curious eyes of the doctor had spotted the discrepancy. He slowly looked up, making eye contact with Luan first, then Ryl. Ryl could see Luan tense up as she turned her head away again showing her Harvest number.
Jeffers broke off eye contact, hastily scribbling down the Harvest and sponsor information.
“Please give me your finger,” the mender stumbled as if forgetting the words mid-thought. “I just need to draw a drop of blood. It won't hurt.”
Luan reluctantly offered her hand to the mender. Jeffers reached into the open box withdrawing a small glass vial with a cork stopper and a tiny metal needle. He gently took hold of Luan’s hand with his left, flipping it over so it was facing palm up. With a practiced motion he quickly poked the needle into the tip of her pointer finger. A speck of crimson blood slowly welled up, growing steadily until the mender squeezed the drop out. He milked three drops of blood into the vial before releasing her hand.
“There you go, all done now,” Mender Jeffers said, replacing the cork stopper on the vial. He carefully marked a symbol on the top of the vial, making a corresponding note in his ledger before placing it gently back into the open box. Luan backed up a step nervously, eyes locked on the mender, before turning and hurrying back toward the group waiting in the middle of the square.
Ryl stepped up to the table before the mender beckoned. Jeffers looked up as he finished writing in his ledger.
“Let's see that arm of yours, then we'll get this over with,” the mender said calmly. “Lay it on the table if you please.”
Ryl held out his newly broken arm, resting it on the table while the mender leaned down and retrieved a few supplies from the small leather satchel at his feet. Jeffers removed the hastily constructed splint leaving the broken section of baton and wrap off to the side of the table.
Jeffers had the splint rewrapped quickly. Ryl sucked in air through gritted teeth as the pain shot through his arm when the mender tightened the strap. Reaching back down into his pack, he pulled out another length of fabric, rising and rounding the table to Ryl's side. Sub-master Millis began a hurried approach from the officer’s quarters.
“This will help hold the arm steady,” Jeffers said as he swung the fabric over Ryl's opposite shoulder, tying it securely behind his back. “You will need to keep this on for the better part of a moon.”
“What happened to your arm, tribute?” the booming voice of sub-master Millis demanded, looking at both the mender and Ryl in turn. Mender Jeffers avoided eye contact, scurrying back around the table.
“We passed this clumsy herd on the way to Tabenville.” Master Delsith’s voice interrupted the momentary silence. “Fell out of a tree culling the infestation you’ve allowed to destroy the orchard. You’d do well to take better care of your charges, sub-master.”
“I’d rather trust a snake with fangs barred not to strike, than believe your forked tongue,” Millis hissed with uncharacteristic animosity. “What happened to your arm, Ryl?”
Sub-master Millis added the extra emphasis on his name, knowing it would agitate the abhorrent master. He picked up the broken shaft of the baton, rolling it over in his hands, studying it knowingly
“They aren’t deserving of names,” Master Delsith screamed, his face flushed red with anger. “They are herds. They’re here to do our bidding. Nothing more.”
�
��Mender Jeffers, finish with your tests,” sub-master Millis growled, interrupting the ranting of the master.
The tension inside the square reached a fevered pitch. Mender Jeffers fumbled inside the open box as Ryl leaned over the table. The inside of the box was lined with half a dozen rows of identical glass vials, standing on end. Two small compartments nearest to the mender separated the clean from the used needles. Ryl laid his right hand on the table, palm up, eyes never leaving the mender.
“This will just take a second,” Jeffers said nervously. His hand was shaking mildly as he extended it toward Ryl.
The needle struck the skin on Ryl’s finger. He felt a small pressure, yet the needle failed to puncture the skin, instead bending at a right angle as it folded on itself. The mender looked confused as he briefly studied the needle before placing it back in the case, retrieving a new one. His second attempt at piercing Ryl’s skin resulted in an increasingly baffled Mender, yet no blood.
Jeffers lifted Ryl’s hand closer to his face, turning it back and forth examining the skin. Ryl had thankfully not had the chance to test the bounds of the passive quality the woodskin had imbued. His toughened skin rejected the attempt of the fragile needle to draw blood. He was hesitant to test it against anything stronger.
“Must have built up quite the calluses from working in the fields,” Jeffers mumbled aloud, more to himself than the surrounding spectators.
Ryl caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of his eye, yet he wasn’t prepared for the sharp tug on his right shoulder that spun his body away from the table. Master Delsith stood in front of him, the fabric of Ryl’s sleeve balled up in his hand.
“This is taking too long,” Delsith hissed.
The words that came out of the master’s mouth were accompanied by his opposite fist crashing into Ryl’s nose. His vision spun as he crashed to the ground, nearly upending the table in the process. Blood flowed freely from his nose.
“You have your blood now, Mender.” The master grinned a wolfish smile.
In an unexpected display of agility, Millis leaped over Ryl’s body, grabbing the master by both sides of his shirt. Grabbing ahold of the portly Delsith just below his collar, Millis hauled him off the ground, heaving him backwards toward his guards. The master and all his girth slammed into the ground, rolling uncontrollably in a heap, knocking over a pair of his bodyguards in the process.
The square exploded in a display of force never before witnessed in the history of The Stocks. Without exception, every member of the Tabenville guard drew their batons and, with well-practiced precision, formed a tight circle around the master and his men. The master’s bodyguards drew their weapons, tuning their heads frantically from side to side trying to keep tabs on all sides of the crowd that had gathered around them
“You’re out of line Delsith,” sub-master Millis shouted at the downed master, intentionally omitting his title. “Take your goons and get out of Tabenville. I’ll have the mender escorted back to Cadsae personally.”
“How dare you lay your hands on me?” Master Delsith foamed with rabid rage as he worked his way off the ground. “I’ll have you executed for this offense. Every last one of you will swing from the gallows for his.”
Delsith made a purposeful circle, waving his crooked finger at each of the guards surrounding him.
“You are hereby removed from your post, Millis, all of you are,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Aside from the master and the nervous motion of his guards, not a soul moved in the plaza. Millis took a slow, menacing step toward the master. Delsith shrunk back at the approach.
“You do not have the authority to do that,” the sub-master calmly replied. “I take my orders directly from the captain, as do you, I believe. If you have a grievance, I suggest you take it up with him.”
Delsith opened his mouth to retort, but Millis cut him off before he could speak.
“But, as he’s already made his stance perfectly clear on the unwarranted abuse of the tributes, I’d be interested to hear what he’d have to say about all of this.” Millis raised his voice loud enough for all to hear. “Make room for the master, he’ll be leaving. Now.”
The master and his four bodyguards hesitantly backed toward their waiting carriage as the circle of guards from Tabenville fanned out, opening a lane to the main road.
“You’ll pay for this, Millis,” Delsith growled. “You’ve thrown your lot in with the herds. You’ll all pay.”
The master spat as he clambered into the carriage, slamming the door behind him. Two guards boarded the front, while the second pair, stood on the step at the rear of the carriage. All had weapons drawn as the carriage made a slow circle before retreating down the road.
“Ready their mounts and help the mender finish his tasks,” sub-master Millis snapped out orders to his guards standing at attention around the square. “I want six accompanying him. You ride within the hour. I want you in Cadsae before the master.”
Millis looked down at Jeffers who was frozen in place following the events.
“Sorry, Mender,” Millis offered. “It’s going to be a long night for you.”
Jeffers, still in shock from all that had unfolded, snapped back to attention, nodding his head at the sub-master, before rushing to Ryl’s side.
“I want sentries posted at both ends of the Erlyn, round the clock until further notice,” Millis continued. “Show’s over men. Get to work.”
The square erupted in a flurry of activity. Guards hustled the group of tributes who’d waited in the middle of the square back toward the common house while the rest rushed to complete their tasks throughout the village.
Jeffers knelt down next to Ryl, who was lying on his side, right elbow planted on the ground propping his head up. His right hand was held protectively over his nose, trying to stanch the free flow of blood. Blood coated his hand, running down his arm forming a growing puddle around his elbow.
“Are you all right, Ryl?,” the mender asked, worried.
“Never better.” Ryl snapped out the snide reply.
“I’m sorry, I have to do this, then I’ll help clean you up,” Jeffers said. The mender reached up to the table, pulling one of the glass vials from the case. He tilted the vial, capturing an ample supply of the blood spilling from Ryl’s nose for his test. He stood, made a quick note in his ledger and on the vial before retrieving his small satchel, rummaging through it for supplies.
He balled up two small pieces of cloth, gently wedging them into Ryl’s nostrils, temporarily damming the flow of blood. He gingerly felt the sides of Ryl’s nose.
“You’ve taken quite the beating today,” Jeffers sighed before continuing with a smile. “At least your nose isn’t broken. It’ll most likely bruise terribly and hurt for a while, but it’s still straight.” The mender used a spare cloth to wipe off the majority of the blood from Ryl’s hand and arm.
A guard reported with a bucket of water, depositing it at Ryl’s feet. Sub-master Millis arrived on his heels. He took a knee in front of him, offering Ryl his hand. They clasped wrists as the sub-master pulled him to his feet. Jeffers handed the pair of them clean rags, pouring water over their bloodied hands in turn.
“Sponsors be damned,” Millis said to Ryl. “That disgrace of a man won’t rest until he sees you dead. I’d like a word with you in my quarters when you’ve cleaned up. The guard at the door will show you in.”
“Aye, sir,” was all Ryl could manage for a reply.
Sub-master Millis nodded and turned to the mender.
“I’m terribly sorry for putting you in the middle of all of this, my friend,” he said compassionately. “It will be a long ride. Let my men know if you need any assistance.”
Jeffers made a rough salute in reply. The sub-master turned, heading back toward his quarters issuing various commands to the guards he passed along the way.
Ryl and Jeffers stood in silence for a moment, taking in the scene unfolding around them.
“St
range days seem to follow you where you go, Ryl,” Jeffers said.
“Stranger days are sure to come soon,” Ryl answered cryptically.
Jeffers cocked his head slightly to the side, giving him a confused look.
“I need to gather my things before we depart,” the mender shrugged with a sigh. “Be safe, Ryl.”
“Thank you for everything,” Ryl said appreciatively. “Safe travels, my friend.”
The final statement escaped his lips before he could stop himself. In truth, the mender had gone out of his way to show Ryl respect, compassion and understanding in a world that afforded a tribute none. His friendship and trust had been earned through his actions. Ryl was appreciative beyond what words could express.
The mender’s face brightened at the comment, the corners of his mouth curling up into a warm smile. He nodded his head, clapped Ryl on his good arm and turned back to organize and pack up his supplies.
Ryl slowly made his way toward the officer’s quarters, threading his path through the bustle of activity. He waded through the commotion yet afforded it no attention, the activity flowed around him like water around a rock. His mind was focused on one thing, Mender Jeffers’ test. In his heart, he knew the magnitude of the results.
He would be leaving The Stocks early.
His Harvest was a moon away.
35
Ryl was led into the officer’s quarters by the guard stationed at the door. The contrast between the interior of the common house to the officer’s residence was startling. The hardwood floors were covered in a brightly colored rug, giving off a muted thump with every step. Despite the stone exterior, the interior walls were finished with smooth wood panels and sealed to hold out the moisture.
