The Feral Sentence- Complete Box Set

by Shade Owens

  “Did you hear me?” Hammer pressed. “Get up and look busy.”

  “What?” I said again. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Murk,” Tegan suddenly spat out, and everyone’s attention turned to her. She rocked back and forth like she did every day, her knees pressed to her chest and her matted hair barely moving as she swayed.

  “What’d she say?” Coin asked.

  “Don’t bother,” I said, “you know she doesn’t make any sense.”

  Had Tegan seen Murk, too? Had she been locked in one of those cages, tormented day in, day out, forced to watch her leader suffer? Why hadn’t Zsasz locked me up? My stomach sank because I knew that whatever she had in store for me would be worse than physical torture.

  Maybe this was my torture—not knowing what was coming to me.

  “Must be something big,” Hammer continued. “I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that someone said Rainer’s coming out here today.”

  Was she coming out to make an example of me? Or, maybe she came out on special occasions, such as celebrations. And if that was the case, what were they celebrating? Their victory against our people? Burning our Village to the ground? I hadn’t realized I was staring into nothingness until Hammer poked me in the shoulder.

  “Brone, you okay?”

  I was far from okay. How were they all acting so goddamn normal? I stared at Hammer’s flabby-skinned face, the small curls on her head, and the long eyebrow hairs that were combed downward, giving off the appearance of multiple bald spots.

  Stripes.

  Striped eyebrows.

  I thought of Zsasz, and my throat swelled. I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. I wanted to hurt someone. Anyone. I glared at Hammer, feeling nothing but hatred. How had she let this happen? Why had she let me go after Holland like that? This was all her fault.

  “Jesus, Brone,” Hammer let out. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

  I couldn’t stop. I breathed in and out, imagining how long it would take for her throat to collapse if I jumped on her again.

  “Yo!” Coin shouted, and my shoulders jerked forward. She held a balled fist in the air and stared at me with lips so tight they looked like a butthole. “Snap the fuck out of it!”

  I was completely taken aback. Where was this coming from?

  “I see that rage and shit,” Coin went on. “Ain’t none of us responsible for what happened to you. You decided to go after that Holland bitch. Don’t you be placin’ blame where it don’t belong!”

  She’d never been so stern with me before. I blinked once, then twice, trying to understand what was going on. Hammer looked terrified, but Coin appeared ready to break my other hand if I so much as thought of raising it to any of them.

  “I ain’t stupid,” Coin continued. “I’m sure they hurt you in lots of messed-up ways. And it’s cool if you don’t wanna talk about it. Maybe you can’t talk about it. Maybe they threatened you. Man, I don’t know. Alls I know is Trim’s blood is on your hands, so you’d better grow a goddamn ballsack, get over what happened, and be the leader Trim would’ve wanted you to be.”

  Everything came into focus.

  Coin was absolutely right. I was letting them win. I was allowing myself to become a victim.

  “Ballsack? Really?” Arenas cut in. “Chica, why you gotta reference male genitals for strength? I mean, think about it. Balls are weak. You kick a man’s balls, and he’s down, you know? If you ask me—”

  “Well I ain’t askin’ you, chica,” Coin said.

  Arenas rolled her eyes and pouted her thick lips.

  “You know,” Hammer said, “she has a point—”

  “Yo, Ham, whose side are you on?” Coin said, revealing her gold tooth.

  “I’m not taking sides,” Hammer said. “I’m agreeing with a statement. Besides, women need to stop using men as a symbol of strength and power. You don’t see men giving birth to children. You don’t see men lifting cars off—”

  “What’re you, a feminist?” Coin spat.

  “What?” Hammer said. “No, it’s not about—”

  “Damn, girl.” Coin’s face stretched into a playful grin. “I get it, I get it. You play for that team. That’s why you’s a man hater.”

  Hammer pulled her face back, forming multiple rolls under her chin. “What does my being a lesbian have to do with this?”

  Coin snapped her fingers in the air and let out a laugh. “Man, I knew it! I smelt your dykeness first time I laid eyes on you.”

  “Because I’m not feminine?” Hammer asked. “You’re exactly what’s wrong with this world.”

  “Oh, am I missing something here?” Arenas pointed a small finger back and forth between Hammer and Coin. “I thought you two were a thing.”

  “’Scuse me?” Coin said. “You sayin’ I’m queer?”

  Arenas shrugged and looked away.

  “Bitch, just ’cause I got short hair and used to have muscles, don’t mean—” But she cut herself short when she caught Hammer’s glare. “All right, I get it.”

  “What’s your problem with lesbians, anyway?” Arenas asked. “We’re on an island full of women. What do you think that sound was last night? Man, love is love. You think those two women were only moaning in pain together?” She flicked her wrist in the air. “Chica, sounds to me like you’re in the armario.”

  “Arma—what?” Coin asked.

  “Think that means closet,” Hammer said.

  Coin raised a solid fist and her eyes nearly popped out of her head, but the second I parted my lips, everyone turned to me.

  “Murk’s alive,” I said.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was like watching something out of a movie.

  The elephant’s handler waved a spear in the air, gesturing all the Peasants to make way. She wore a suede crop top that revealed a chiseled set of abs. She looked young—early twenties maybe—and that’s when I realized she wasn’t one of the Orphans or Originals. There were no identifiable tattoos on her wrists, and she was too young to be an Original. But one sign told me she wasn’t one of them—the long gashes and scars across her chest, shoulders, and face. Was this Zsasz’s doing? Because Franklin had had the same cuts. Was this a breaking technique? Did torturing and disfiguring them make them complacent? This woman, her face contorted in wild anger, had probably been brainwashed to become an elephant handler.

  “How’s she doing?” Hammer asked, leaning in.

  What was she talking about? And why was she bothering me when I was trying to see Rainer, the abominable excuse for a human being responsible for the deaths of hundreds?

  Hammer leaned in and placed a stiff hand over her lips the way one does when they’re making it obvious that whatever’s coming out of their mouth is a secret. “Murk.”

  I nudged her on the shoulder and gave her the stink eye. I’d already told her—told all of them—to keep their mouths shut about that. She must have sensed my irritation because she pulled back, straightened her posture, and focused her attention on the approaching platform.

  Attached to the elephant was a harness built of wood, and attached to this, ropes made of vine that pulled the platform. Underneath the platform were four big wooden wheels that rolled slowly, pushing dirt out of the way as they moved.

  At first, I couldn’t see her because four Northers stood holding swords at each corner of the platform. Bows were fastened to their backs, but by the way the crowd cowered in fear at Rainer’s very presence, it was evident they wouldn’t need them.

  The woman atop the elephant led the platform, or the carriage, out of the wooden gates and to the front of the market space, where two women had fought to the death a few days ago. There were still patches of bloody soil where the battle had occurred.

  The wheels came to a stop, and the four Northers at each corner of the platform knelt on one knee, their postures hunched and their heads bowed. They were geared up from head to toe, every inch of their skin covered. It was hard to see them with
all the people in front of me blocking my view, so I stood on my tiptoes to get a better look. If only Biggie were here, I thought. She could have raised me up on her shoulders.

  I didn’t dwell on that too long. Every time I thought of the Hunters, of my friends, I fell into a deeper depression. Coin was right—I needed to stay strong.

  Whispers erupted all around me. It was like standing in the middle of an atrium, or a hall, waiting for the president of the United States to give some big, fancy speech… with one difference: the energy around me was filled with both admiration and fear.

  “Haven’t seen Rainer in months,” someone beside me whispered.

  “Yeah,” a tall blonde responded. “What does she do all day in there?”

  “In there,” I assumed, meant the mountain. As Murk had done, Rainer probably set herself up some sort of living quarters inside a cave.

  After taking off, at the very least she could have been original, I thought, glaring toward the platform.

  She stood up, and my heart nearly stopped. I remembered her. She’d been walking through the fiery Village with two stone battle-axes in hand, stepping over dead bodies, her head swaying from side to side as if on a hunt. And that was precisely what she’d been doing—hunting. Hunting for Murk.

  She’d obviously found her.

  I’d seen her for a moment during the attack, but now, I saw her clearly. She had deep brown hair, almost black, pulled back into a high and tight ponytail that reached almost all the way down her back. It looked wet underneath the bright early afternoon sun, the top glistening. A thick streak of white hair originated from her left sideburn, all the way up to the back of her head. It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen. Her skin was a golden brown with an olive tint, and her eyes were jade green and outlined in black. She wore the same fur padding she’d sported during the attack—thick gray and onyx hair that stuck out in every direction imaginable, giving off the appearance of strong, broad shoulders. She was clad in a lot of leather—a padded chest piece, tight beige pants, and knee-high boots with suede lace and strange holes that I assumed were for ventilation. Behind her back hung a black cape-like material.

  I remembered that cape and how it had dragged behind her in the Village.

  God, I hated her.

  I’d never hated anyone so much in my life.

  “Good morning to all of you,” she shouted, her voice carrying across the entire city.

  It was a stern voice—not too deep, but not feminine, either. A uniquely neutral voice that could be distinguished from a distance with ease.

  Everyone went completely quiet, staring at her as if she were a Greek goddess capable of magic beyond our understanding. But she wasn’t a goddess—she was human. An awful, cruel human who didn’t deserve to breathe the air around us.

  “It has come to my attention that an attack took place yesterday within my city,” she continued. She had an unusual accent, though I couldn’t determine where it was from.

  But there was one thing I did know—this was definitely about me.

  I swallowed hard, my feet shifting in the dirt beneath me. Rainer’s eyes scanned the crowd, and I turned my head to the side, my heart beating so hard I thought I might stop breathing. Then, several women stepped away from me, opening up the crowd and making me visible to Rainer.

  What were they doing? Helping her? Or were they afraid to get caught in the crossfire? Was Rainer going to kill me herself?

  “You,” she shouted, her gaze fixated on me. “Step forward.”

  Holding my bruised and broken hand against my chest, I moved forward as colors around me began to blend, as everyone’s faces became distorted pixels and I felt myself trying to escape my own body.

  Rainer walked past two of her kneeling Northers and hopped off the chariot, her feet making a soft thud in the dirt. With her chin raised high, she moved toward me, arms swinging back and forth with such confidence I feared she might kill me with her bare hands.

  As she walked, everyone in the crowd knelt on one knee, but when she approached me, I remained standing. Was I supposed to kneel? Although terrified, I’d have been dishonoring Trim by kneeling. I was going to die anyway. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  She reached behind her back where a shiny, leather-wrapped handle stuck out. She clasped her fingers around it and pulled upward with a swoosh, revealing a medieval-style sword with a long blade constructed entirely of metal. It glistened underneath the beaming sun, and I swallowed hard.

  “You killed one of my women,” she said quietly, rubbing her thumb along the sword’s handle. “One of my little girls.”

  “I defended myself,” I said quickly.

  Why was I talking? What was I doing? I was standing face-to-face with Rainer, the leader of the Northers, and I was running my mouth again. As if a mask were pulled off her face to reveal her true self, her brows came together, and she bared her yellow teeth in anger.

  With her free hand, she swung a closed-handed fist at my face, and I nearly fell to the ground. Everyone inched farther and farther away from us, and Rainer stood tall, looking like the monster she was.

  Without warning, she kicked me in the leg, right above my knee. I yelped out in pain before falling to the ground with one knee in the dirt.

  She had me exactly where she wanted me—at her feet.

  I slowly raised my chin, trying to salvage the bit of dignity I had left. My ears rang, and an electric pain shot up my jaw. I’d been hit so many times in the last twenty-four hours, I must have looked like a rotten apple.

  Then, something cold pressed against the skin of my neck. I followed its source, realizing it was her sword. She held its handle with both hands and rested the blade on my left shoulder, against the skin of my neck.

  There was a sick satisfaction in her eyes—a malevolent look that I thought only fairy-tale villains were capable of giving—and all I could think about was my mom.

  I wanted to tell her I was sorry—sorry for everything I’d done. In fact, I wanted to apologize to everyone for all of the trouble I’d created. The Hunters, Trim, Ellie… all of them. There were so many thoughts and vivid memories flashing through my mind, it was like watching a digital slideshow in my head.

  I closed my eyes, watching the memories flicker, and inhaled a deep breath.

  I was ready.

  CHAPTER 11

  There was no pain.

  In fact, I felt nothing.

  Was this what death felt like?

  I flinched at the sound of her voice.

  “Remember this day the next time you doubt my leadership,” she shouted.

  I looked up to find her standing in front of me with her sword jabbed into the dirt. Her chin was so high that her ponytail now hung all the way down her lower back.

  “I am a merciful leader,” she continued. “The rules I set in place are there to protect you, not harm you. Today, this woman receives my forgiveness.”

  She gazed down at me from behind her Egyptian eyes, and the last thing I felt was forgiveness.

  “But if I hear of another attack on one of my women, you will all pay for the crime of one.”

  No one spoke, but instead, kept their faces aimed at the ground.

  “Do I make myself clear?” she shouted, jabbing her sword into the air.

  Everyone’s shoulders jerked forward, but then and all at once, they closed their fists with their thumbs tucked in and pressed them hard against their chests, a loud thrum resonating in unison.

  Was this their way of submitting to an authority figure? To leadership?

  Rainer, instead of closing her fist, spread her fingers apart to form a star and raised her arm straight into the air. I assumed this was her way of acknowledging the wordless symbolism—her way of accepting everyone’s loyalty.

  Then, without any effort whatsoever, she threw her sword behind her back, its metallic blade slipping with ease into its leather sheath.

  She didn’t even bother looking at me again. Instead, sh
e turned away, her heavy footsteps creating a flat path in the dirt as she returned to her wheeled platform. Two of the Northers kneeling on it each extended an arm, which she gripped to prop herself up as if they were handlebars.

  “You okay?”

  The voice took me aback because I hadn’t heard it in a few days. I turned to my side where Sumi stood, her hood pulled far over her head and face.

  I almost responded, “Do I look okay?” but didn’t.

  “Mashi can help with that,” she said.

  I slowly got up, a loud pop coming out of my hip. Everything hurt, and everything made noise—as though I had the body of an eighty-year-old.

  “What’s Mashi?” I asked.

  Although I couldn’t see her very well, it almost looked like she smiled underneath her hood.

  “Not what—who.”

  I grunted when someone bumped into my back and my broken hand jerked forward.

  “She’s a friend,” Sumi continued. “She has a way of getting certain… things… to alleviate pain.”

  “You mean drugs?” I said.

  “Don’t make that face,” Sumi hissed, and for a moment, it seemed like I was back in the Village—back to when she would dump half a spoonful of egg into my bowl and say, “That’s all you get.”

  I hadn’t realized I was making a face, but it was to be expected. Having dealt with Gary’s drunk ass for over five years, I’d grown to hate substances with a passion. I’d seen how alcohol would change him—how it turned him into a shell, capable of atrocities without guilt or remorse.

  When he was sober, it was easy to tell. I’d find him on his knees in front of my mom, pathetically wrapping his arms around her legs and pleading with her to give him one more chance. In the five years I knew him, that happened about five or six times.