by Ivory Autumn
Chapter Three
Nookpot
Everything Andrew had to guide his life had been snatched away. He had no compass, no parents, no magic ball to tell him what to do, or what might happen to him next. He had no instruction manual to tell him what to do if suddenly captured by Sontars, and told that he was going to be a slave for the rest of his life.
It was so sudden, so frightening, that he was kept awake, wondering what his fate might be in the coming days and years.
The next day the Sontars forced all the prisoners into huge cargo ships where they were kept in the dark, like animals, for weeks going to some unknown destination. If it hadn't been for Freddie and Talic, trying to lift his spirits, Andrew felt he might have gone crazy.
The boats took them over the turbulent sea, to a the miserable hodgepodge village of Nookpot. Once docked, they were taken from the stuffy, dark boats, into the light of day, to a dreary slave camp. Upon entering the town, Andrew immediately wished that he could be anywhere but there. The village was a poor town, full of abnormal, revolting smells, and pieced-together houses. The streets were full of grime, and the smell of rot was everywhere.
The biggest building there in the slave camp was a dirty building with miles of fence around it. Its tall walls and fences looked menacing and vile. A foul smell drifted about it like flies floating over something dead. The only nice thing Andrew could see was a tall green tree growing beside the gate of the slave camp. As he passed it, he reached out and touched the tree. Instantly, a Sontar cracked his whip across his arm.
Andrew jumped, yelping in pain.
“Get back in line!” the Sontar barked.
Andrew cowered down, and followed the rest of the slaves through the formidable gate, shivering with fear as the heavy door slammed behind them with an echoing clang.
Inside, the camp smelled even worse than the outside. The camp was a mass of small tents and jumbled buildings. Everything was disorganized, muddy, and dirty. There were huge black pits into which the Sontars were whipping the boys and girls. The children there were covered in black coal dust. Their tear-filled eyes were dazed and pleading.
Andrew turned away from their faces and tried looking beyond the misery, at the sky. But even the sky looked dirty. It was filled with a grimy haze created from piles of burning coal that had been heaped around the camp. It was very cold, and very hot, very damp, and humid,
“That's what we're going to look like pretty soon,” Freddie said, nodding to boy whose skin was completely black from working in the coal pits. His dark skin made the whites of his eyes look even whiter. His face looked so full of misery that the boys had to look away.
Andrew and his friends were pushed to a Sontar soldier who removed their shackles, then shoved them brutally over to a strong, sweaty man with a mouthful of rotten teeth and bulging biceps. The man stood in a little booth, leaning over a fire with a hot branding iron in his hand.
“Get’em over here, quick!” the man ordered, waving the hot iron in the air. “And hold em down.”
The boys struggled against the Sontars, as a red-hot iron was placed onto the heels of their feet, searing the number 4998, into Talic's foot, and 4999 into Freddie's. The man was about to do the same thing to Andrew’s foot, but the Sontar captain stopped him.
“No. This one’s special. We need to be able to tell him from the rest of the children so we know who he is when the soldiers come to take him to The Fallen. Mark him with this.” He handed the man a different sort of iron. The iron bore no numbers, only three star shaped symbols. The Sontar grasped Andrew’s hair, and yanked his neck back, exposing his skin, as the man with the hot iron loomed over him.
Andrew cried out in pain, as iron burned into the skin under the side of his jaw, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the air. After it was finished, the burly man pushed Andrew away, into a long line of limping children, where they were handed a dry lump of moldy bread, and a small flask of dark river water to share. Freddie, Andrew and Talic were then shoved into a dumpy tent with little more to offer, than protection from the wind.
They huddled together, feeling miserable, tired, and frightened.
“Oh, my foot,” Talic moaned. “It'll never be the same again, never! What girl will ever look at a guy with a disfigured foot?”
Andrew grimaced, carefully feeling the burned skin on his neck under his right ear. “Maybe a girl who likes numbers.”
“Hah, very funny!”
“Well,” Freddie suggested, “from the looks of it, everyone our age is going to have numbers stamped into their feet.”
“Not everyone,” Andrew murmured, feeling irritated that he had been singled out again, and openly branded as DIFFERENT.
“Least you will be able walk decent,” Talic said, envying Andrew. “It’s going to take a week for me to be able to walk normal. Look at that blister!”
Andrew sighed in disgust, and tossed the moldy bread they'd been given to the ground. “Don't throw it away,” Freddie exclaimed, grabbing the discarded bread. “It may be all we'll get for a long time.” He picked up a rock and hammered the bread until it broke into small pieces, and handed bits of it to both of his friends.
“Great.” Talic puckered up his nose, glaring at the pieces of dry bread like they were rabbit droppings. “I can put the rocks in my mouth and break my teeth out.”
Freddie patted his friend on the back. “Lighten up, my friend. Put the bread in your mouth and wait for your spit to make it soft.”
“What happens when you don't have any spit?” Talic wondered. “Then what?”
“Then give it to me and I’ll spit on it.”
“What? No. Gross!”
“Sorry. I wasn’t serious.”
“Yeah, me either.” Talic turned away from Freddie. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”
Freddie laughed, and lay down on his back. “Coming from you, Talic I should take that as a compliment.”
