Sky Raiders
Page 11
The night grew quiet again except for the pop and crackle of the campfires. Less than half an hour ago, Cole had watched the camp from a distance. Many options had been open to him. He wished he could rewind time and do it over again, but it was too late. Now he was a slave like the others.
What kind of slave would he be? Would he labor in mines, busting open rocks with a pickax? Would he row slave ships? Would he work farms? Would he fight in a gladiator arena? All of the above? None? He expected he would have answers sooner than he wanted. Cole closed his eyes and tried to relax, but sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter 5
CARAVAN
The next day got worse with every step. Chained to the rear wagon, Cole had more dust to deal with than any other member of the procession. The kids in the cages got dusty as well, but at least they could turn their backs to it. Cole found that by staying really close to his wagon, squinting his eyes, keeping his head down, and covering his nose and mouth with his unchained hand, he could avoid enough of the dust to remain on his feet. Some stretches of the way proved dustier than others.
Most of the time he had to maintain a fast walk to keep up with the wagon. The mounted guards wouldn’t let him hold the bars of the cage, but he stayed close enough to touch them. At a certain distance from the wagon, the chain would help pull him along, but it also threatened to tug him off balance. Up inclines, the wagon went slower; down slopes, a little faster. The land remained more or less level, without any major hills or valleys.
By the time they broke for lunch, Cole was hungrier and thirstier than he could remember ever feeling. His crusty mouth tasted like he had tried to eat the prairie.
The wagons formed up into a loose circle. He sat alone while the others ate, his body and legs exhausted. How was he supposed to keep going without food and water? Maybe that was the idea. Maybe he would end up getting dragged to death.
Most of the kids in the wagon avoided eye contact with him. Nobody tried to toss him any food. He couldn’t really blame them. They didn’t want to end up chained beside him. It was hard to watch them eat and drink. They only had bread and water, but to Cole it seemed like a feast.
Dalton and Jenna were in two of the farthest wagons. He told himself they would try to sneak him food if they weren’t so distant. They kept looking his way, so he did his best to act content. He even managed some smiles.
When the wagons started rolling again, Cole’s legs were stiff and cramped. Maybe resting hadn’t been a great idea. Cole began to wonder if he could last until the end of the day. He didn’t look at the guards. He didn’t watch the kids in the cage. He didn’t check the sun. Head down, he just kept trudging forward.
The afternoon grew warmer. Sweat soaked his scarecrow costume. He had gotten rid of the straw and the arrows, but he wished the sleeves were shorter. At least his hat kept the sun off his face and neck. The inside of his mouth became desiccated. His tongue felt swollen. When he tried to open his mouth, his lips stuck together.
As evening approached, he often stumbled and sometimes fell. If he didn’t get up right away, the chain towed him forward. Once, he let the chain drag him a good distance, hoping it might rest his legs. The manacle hurt his wrist terribly, and he soon realized that if he didn’t stay on his feet, the front side of his body would become one huge scab.
While the sunset faded, his head pounded painfully. His tongue felt like an old sponge that had become rigid. No strength remained in his rubbery legs, but he trudged onward, because the alternative was worse.
When the wagon came to a halt, Cole collapsed and promptly lost consciousness. He awoke with Ham trickling water into his mouth from a canteen, a little at a time. Warm and metallic, it still somehow managed to taste heavenly. A little food followed—fragments of bread, accompanied by some more water.
“Learn your lesson yet?” Ham asked when Cole met his gaze.
Not trusting his voice, Cole nodded.
“Want to join the rest of the slaves in the wagon?” Ham asked.
“Yes, please,” Cole croaked.
“Boss asked after you,” Ham said. “I told him you might not last another day on foot.”
Cole nodded. Ham was probably right.
“Boss never goes easy on thieves,” Ham said. “But you only tried. You never got away with nothing. And you’re his now. Boss likes to turn a profit when he can. Nobody buys dead slaves. I expect he’ll load you in a cage.”
“Hope so,” Cole managed. Ham gave him a little more water.
“You’ll sleep chained here tonight,” Ham said. “Get some shut-eye.”
As Ham walked away, Cole slumped down and closed his eyes. The ground was lumpy, the camp was noisy, but falling asleep was no problem.
In the cool twilight before dawn, Ham used a key to unfasten the manacle. Cole tenderly rubbed where his wrist had been scraped and bruised. He stood unsteadily, his legs stiff and sore. Following instructions, he entered the rear wagon’s cage. Breakfast consisted of a crumbly biscuit and a strip of tough dried meat. He drank gritty water from a dirty tin cup, then collected and ate all the crumbs shed by the biscuit.
After the wagon started rolling, Cole curled up and slept, heedless of the jolts and vibrations of the uneven terrain. When he woke, all horizons were a bright orange, as if multiple suns were rising in every direction.
“What’s with the sky?” he asked.
“Been that way for hours,” a girl said quietly. She wore bloody scrubs, as if she came from a horribly botched surgery.
“Where are they taking us?” Cole asked.
“Someplace to sell us,” the girl said. “I guess some of the kids are going to the king or something. They kept talking about shaping potential.”
“Shhh,” hissed a boy dressed like a commando. “We’re not supposed to talk.”
Surgeon girl looked guilty. Cole glanced around but didn’t see anyone who was likely to overhear them. A couple of the men roved up and down the caravan on horseback, however none were currently nearby. The wagon was noisy, and the driver didn’t seem to be paying attention. Still, Cole could understand commando boy not wanting to make a bad situation worse. The eight kids in this cage had all watched him stumble along behind the wagon yesterday. None would be eager to risk trying it.
Cole settled back and gazed at the sky through the bars. There had been a sun yesterday, so what was with the weird lighting? Surgeon girl must have been mistaken. The sky couldn’t have been like this for hours.
But as the wagon rumbled onward, the sky stayed the same, as if the sun were about to rise or had recently set in all directions. The other kids all kept their heads down. No one tried to whisper to anyone else.
What kind of slave would he be? Would he labor in mines, busting open rocks with a pickax? Would he row slave ships? Would he work farms? Would he fight in a gladiator arena? All of the above? None? He expected he would have answers sooner than he wanted. Cole closed his eyes and tried to relax, but sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter 5
CARAVAN
The next day got worse with every step. Chained to the rear wagon, Cole had more dust to deal with than any other member of the procession. The kids in the cages got dusty as well, but at least they could turn their backs to it. Cole found that by staying really close to his wagon, squinting his eyes, keeping his head down, and covering his nose and mouth with his unchained hand, he could avoid enough of the dust to remain on his feet. Some stretches of the way proved dustier than others.
Most of the time he had to maintain a fast walk to keep up with the wagon. The mounted guards wouldn’t let him hold the bars of the cage, but he stayed close enough to touch them. At a certain distance from the wagon, the chain would help pull him along, but it also threatened to tug him off balance. Up inclines, the wagon went slower; down slopes, a little faster. The land remained more or less level, without any major hills or valleys.
By the time they broke for lunch, Cole was hungrier and thirstier than he could remember ever feeling. His crusty mouth tasted like he had tried to eat the prairie.
The wagons formed up into a loose circle. He sat alone while the others ate, his body and legs exhausted. How was he supposed to keep going without food and water? Maybe that was the idea. Maybe he would end up getting dragged to death.
Most of the kids in the wagon avoided eye contact with him. Nobody tried to toss him any food. He couldn’t really blame them. They didn’t want to end up chained beside him. It was hard to watch them eat and drink. They only had bread and water, but to Cole it seemed like a feast.
Dalton and Jenna were in two of the farthest wagons. He told himself they would try to sneak him food if they weren’t so distant. They kept looking his way, so he did his best to act content. He even managed some smiles.
When the wagons started rolling again, Cole’s legs were stiff and cramped. Maybe resting hadn’t been a great idea. Cole began to wonder if he could last until the end of the day. He didn’t look at the guards. He didn’t watch the kids in the cage. He didn’t check the sun. Head down, he just kept trudging forward.
The afternoon grew warmer. Sweat soaked his scarecrow costume. He had gotten rid of the straw and the arrows, but he wished the sleeves were shorter. At least his hat kept the sun off his face and neck. The inside of his mouth became desiccated. His tongue felt swollen. When he tried to open his mouth, his lips stuck together.
As evening approached, he often stumbled and sometimes fell. If he didn’t get up right away, the chain towed him forward. Once, he let the chain drag him a good distance, hoping it might rest his legs. The manacle hurt his wrist terribly, and he soon realized that if he didn’t stay on his feet, the front side of his body would become one huge scab.
While the sunset faded, his head pounded painfully. His tongue felt like an old sponge that had become rigid. No strength remained in his rubbery legs, but he trudged onward, because the alternative was worse.
When the wagon came to a halt, Cole collapsed and promptly lost consciousness. He awoke with Ham trickling water into his mouth from a canteen, a little at a time. Warm and metallic, it still somehow managed to taste heavenly. A little food followed—fragments of bread, accompanied by some more water.
“Learn your lesson yet?” Ham asked when Cole met his gaze.
Not trusting his voice, Cole nodded.
“Want to join the rest of the slaves in the wagon?” Ham asked.
“Yes, please,” Cole croaked.
“Boss asked after you,” Ham said. “I told him you might not last another day on foot.”
Cole nodded. Ham was probably right.
“Boss never goes easy on thieves,” Ham said. “But you only tried. You never got away with nothing. And you’re his now. Boss likes to turn a profit when he can. Nobody buys dead slaves. I expect he’ll load you in a cage.”
“Hope so,” Cole managed. Ham gave him a little more water.
“You’ll sleep chained here tonight,” Ham said. “Get some shut-eye.”
As Ham walked away, Cole slumped down and closed his eyes. The ground was lumpy, the camp was noisy, but falling asleep was no problem.
In the cool twilight before dawn, Ham used a key to unfasten the manacle. Cole tenderly rubbed where his wrist had been scraped and bruised. He stood unsteadily, his legs stiff and sore. Following instructions, he entered the rear wagon’s cage. Breakfast consisted of a crumbly biscuit and a strip of tough dried meat. He drank gritty water from a dirty tin cup, then collected and ate all the crumbs shed by the biscuit.
After the wagon started rolling, Cole curled up and slept, heedless of the jolts and vibrations of the uneven terrain. When he woke, all horizons were a bright orange, as if multiple suns were rising in every direction.
“What’s with the sky?” he asked.
“Been that way for hours,” a girl said quietly. She wore bloody scrubs, as if she came from a horribly botched surgery.
“Where are they taking us?” Cole asked.
“Someplace to sell us,” the girl said. “I guess some of the kids are going to the king or something. They kept talking about shaping potential.”
“Shhh,” hissed a boy dressed like a commando. “We’re not supposed to talk.”
Surgeon girl looked guilty. Cole glanced around but didn’t see anyone who was likely to overhear them. A couple of the men roved up and down the caravan on horseback, however none were currently nearby. The wagon was noisy, and the driver didn’t seem to be paying attention. Still, Cole could understand commando boy not wanting to make a bad situation worse. The eight kids in this cage had all watched him stumble along behind the wagon yesterday. None would be eager to risk trying it.
Cole settled back and gazed at the sky through the bars. There had been a sun yesterday, so what was with the weird lighting? Surgeon girl must have been mistaken. The sky couldn’t have been like this for hours.
But as the wagon rumbled onward, the sky stayed the same, as if the sun were about to rise or had recently set in all directions. The other kids all kept their heads down. No one tried to whisper to anyone else.
