by A.R. Wise
* * *
“A prophet, a thief, and a thegn,” said Hammer as he stood beside the open door of the prisoner’s wagon. The other two surviving prisoners had already been let out, and told the Northland Marauders’ leader about the remaining people lingering in the back of the wagon. “What am I to do with you three?”
“Let us go?” asked Tarik, smirking as if it was a humorous possibility that the man simply hadn’t thought of yet.
Hammer ignored the scrawny man’s suggestion. “I can fetch a good price for a thegn at Sailor’s Rock, and maybe someone would be willing to buy themselves a prophet. A petty thief on the other hand,” he shook his head and grimaced. “No one wants one of those. What were you caught stealing that earned you exile?”
“I wasn’t caught stealing anything,” said Tarik. “I was caught with relics. They exiled me because I dabbled in engineering.”
“Oh,” said Hammer, nodding and raising his brow. “Are you any good?”
“Good enough to get exiled.”
“You don’t have to be good to get exiled. Why would you bother tinkering behind the walls?” asked Hammer. “There are lots of your type out here in the plains. Some of them make a good living for themselves out here.”
“I come from the plains,” said Tarik. “I didn’t fare well out here the first time. I prefer the safety of the walls.”
“A coward then?” asked Hammer.
Tarik answered, “A survivor.”
Hammer sneered and then winked before saying, “We’ll see about that.” He closed the gate and then locked it. “I’ll let the three of you live for now. I’m not going to waste any food or water on you, but I won’t kill you. We’re on our way to Sailor’s Rock, but we’re camping in the plains for a few days in case the city sends Swords chasing after us. When we get to Sailor’s Rock we’ll see if there’s anyone that’ll be willing to pay some pel for you. I hope you ate this morning, because otherwise you’re going to get mighty hungry. And here’s a tip, no matter how hungry or thirsty you get, don’t make a fuss. Most of the Marauders would just as soon slit your throat as listen to you whine.”
The Marauder left, laughing and waving back at them.
The Prophet was the first to say anything, “What an ass.”
“Agreed,” said Tarik before reaching down to pick up the length of chain that had formerly tied them to the bars. Now it was pulled almost entirely into the wagon, with the shackles attached in intervals. It had been used by a few different prisoners during the battle against one another. Now Tarik was determined to prevent being eaten by zombies should any of the corpses in the wagon reanimate. “Help me tie these guys up.”
The thegn looked confused. “Why?”
“Because they might turn, and I’d rather have them tied up if they do. I don’t like the idea of being sold as a slave, but I like the idea of getting eaten alive even less.”
“Turn?” asked the thegn, still bewildered. “You mean into a zombie? Can that really happen?”
Tarik stood and looked quizzically down at the strong young man. The thegn had blonde hair and blue eyes, and his skin was perfectly tanned. He’d probably spent his days basking in sunlight, spreading olive oil on his supple skin to help it tan. He was a near perfect physical specimen, with wide shoulders, a bulging chest, and well-defined muscles.
“Yes it can really happen,” said Tarik. “Have you been living under a rock your whole life? The disease hits everyone different. Some people keel over dead in minutes and then stand right back up, and in others it lingers for days. Your best bet is to burn the bodies, but that’s not an option for us right now. Didn’t your master ever tell you anything?”
“Leave him alone,” said the Prophet. “He saved your life, and he’s probably only stepped off his master’s land a few times in his life. He doesn’t know the way of the world.” She set her hand on the thegn’s knee and pat it as if he were an abiding dog. “Is that the case, my dear?”
The young man nodded. The innocence he displayed was a bit sickening to Tarik. He couldn’t fathom how someone could be content in life serving only as a slave to a wealthy aristocrat.
“What’s your name, dear?” asked the Prophet.
The frightened man answered, “Beynor, Thegn of Icastus.”
“Icastus?” asked the Prophet, impressed by the name. She also seemed slightly amused. “I didn’t know he kept thegns.”
“I was the family’s only one,” said Beynor. “I belonged to Icastus, but I cared for his children as well. I loved them all so much.” He seemed ready to weep.
Tarik couldn’t fathom his sadness. “Loved them? You were their slave. I’d think you’d be happy to be free.”
“Happy? To be here in this hell?” asked Beynor.
“Might be hell, but it’s better than being someone’s sex slave.”
“Don’t dismiss me,” said Beynor, glowering at Tarik. “I was proud to be his thegn. Icastus Leviathan was a good man, and I was lucky to be a part of his family.”
“It’s okay, Beynor,” said the Prophet. “I know what it’s like to feel like part of a family. It’s nice.”
“What got you kicked out of whatever aristocrat’s mansion you lived in?” asked Tarik of the Prophet, certain she’d been exiled by the order of her former employer. “It’s not often you see a Prophet on trial. You must’ve angered someone pretty bad.”
“I thought it was customary among thieves to never admit your crimes.”
Tarik smiled over at her and said, “You’re not among thieves, and there’re no Prophets in the plains. We’re just survivors now.”
“Not yet we’re not,” she said.
“You look alive to me, and so does the thegn, and I’m sure as hell not dead yet. That makes us survivors in my book. Now someone please help me tie these bodies down before one of them stands up and makes a meal of us.”
Beynor looked at the prophet for approval, and the woman nodded to him. The thegn went over and helped Tarik, although he was sickened by the sight of the dead. Tarik didn’t have keys to the shackles, so he just looped the chain around each of the dead men’s necks and then did his best to tie them together.
“That’ll have to work,” said Tarik as he moved back over to the end of the wagon where the Prophet was sitting.
Beynor stood, his hands wet with blood, and asked, “How do we wash off?”
“Get used to be dirty, pretty boy,” said Tarik. “There’s not going to be any hot baths scented with essential oils in your near future.”
The Prophet looked at Tarik and said, “You seem to have a problem with the way Beynor led his life. Tell me, what earns you the right to look down on him?”
“Don’t get preachy with me, grandma,” said Tarik. “As far as I’m concerned people can do whatever they want, whenever they want – so long as it doesn’t hurt me or mine. I’m just not a fan of the idea of thegns in general.”
“Neither am I,” she said. “But I certainly don’t look down on another person born into such a trade.” She looked over at Beynor and asked, “Have you been a thegn your whole life?”
“Yes ma’am,” said Beynor.
She looked back over at Tarik smugly and said, “See.”
“Your whole life?” asked Tarik of Beynor. “Since you were a child?” He was confounded by the implication.
Beynor nodded, “Yes. Icastus purchased me from my mother when I was three. I don’t remember my old family. As far as I’m concerned, the Leviathans were my only family.”
“But you were a thegn,” said Tarik, grasping at the underlying truth but not willing to say it outright. “Even as a child?”
“I think that’s enough,” said the Prophet, conscious of the information Tarik was digging at.
“No, no,” said Tarik. “I want to know. Were you his thegn as a child?”
“Of course,” said Beynor, uncertain why he was being questioned like this.
“Thegns are for sex,” said Tarik bluntly. “You
had sex with him when you were a child.”
“We loved one another,” said Beynor, ignorant of the fact that he’d suffered sexual abuse his entire life. As far as he knew, people who loved one another had sexual contact, and there was nothing wrong with it. “Of course we had sex.”
“And that’s the sort of thing you’re defending?” asked Tarik of the Prophet.
This angered her, and she replied bitterly, “I never said I condoned that. I’m not defending the abuser, I’m defending the abused. Watch what you accuse me of, thief. I’m not the sort of person you want as an enemy.”
Tarik laughed and then pointed at the dead bodies tied to the bars down the bench from them. “We just watched those guys get beat to death, lady. If you think you’re the one I should be scared of then you’ve got a real weird sense of priority.”
The two sat in obstinate silence until Beynor spoke up, “I don’t know why you hate my master, but I’ll tell you this, I’d give anything to be back in his arms right now.” He stared longingly back in the direction of New Carrington.
“I don’t…” Tarik started to speak, but was quickly interrupted as the Prophet set her hand on his leg and squeezed.
“He doesn’t know any different,” she said, her tone empathetic and soothing. “Leave him be. He’s going to need us to teach him a lot.”
“Us?” asked Tarik. “We’re already surviving on borrowed time. I don’t think we can teach him much before we’re sold off to someone in Soldier’s Rock.”
“I don’t think that’s the way it’s going to go for us, Tarik. That’s not the way I see things turning out. We Prophets have a way of knowing our way around the future, and I think the three of us are going to need each other more than we know. There’s a reason we were put in here together on this fateful trip.”
Tarik laughed and said, “Haven’t you been paying attention? There’re no Prophets in the plains.”
“There is now.”