by Brandon Mull
And he wasn’t the only person missing. All the parents had to be freaking out. That many kids disappearing without a trace would make the news for sure. Cole had never heard a story to top it.
The redheaded guard had thought their parents would forget them. Maybe people in this weird place would let their kids disappear without a fight. Obviously the guard had no idea how things worked in America.
Cole hoped the little angel girl had made it to the police. Assuming she had, there was no way even the best detective could follow their trail to another dimension. Her story would just make the disappearances more mysterious.
Looking around at the barren prairie and glancing ahead at the other kids locked up like circus animals, Cole realized he might never make it home. If he did, according to the Wayminder he wouldn’t get to stay there.
What had been his last words to his family? He clearly recalled his final remark to his sister. Chelsea was two years older and considered herself an expert on maturity. Just before he left to meet up with Dalton, she had been getting dressed up for a Halloween party. As he was leaving, she informed him how immature he was for going trick-or-treating. He told her she looked like something Halloween had thrown up.
He felt bad for it now, although it was better than having no comeback. He wondered if Chelsea would think disappearing forever was immature.
His last words to his mom were assurances he would be home by nine thirty. His dad had asked him to take out the trash, and he had promised to do it later. He hadn’t lied to them on purpose.
Maybe he would see them again. But somehow, as he rattled along a lonely prairie in a world where a stationary sunrise glowed in all directions, he had a hard time believing it.
He tried to look ahead and spot Dalton or Jenna, but with so much dust, and with the wagons in single file, he could seldom see much beyond the wagon in front of him. He wondered if they were looking for him.
Brown prairie, more or less level, stretched in all directions. Cole saw weeds and brush and some isolated trees, but not much else. He decided that if he’d wanted to be bored by nature, he had come to the right place.
Staring down at the floorboards of the cage, Cole noticed where somebody had carved a happy face into the wood. It was simple—a circle with two dots for eyes and a curved smile. The circle was imperfect, but not bad considering it had been scratched into wood.
The face struck him as odd. “Who would draw a smiley face while riding in a slave wagon?” he muttered.
“Somebody who wanted company,” the happy face answered in a friendly voice. “The miles go by faster when you have a buddy.” The mouth didn’t open when it spoke, but it quivered.
Cole jumped in surprise. He glanced over at the other kids in the wagon. Nobody was paying attention to him. He stared at the smiley face. “Did you just talk?” he whispered.
“Sure did,” the face answered, mouth trembling again. “I’m happy as a clam to meet a nice guy like you.”
The voice wasn’t very loud and sounded like a young boy.
Cole rubbed his face with both hands. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Surgeon girl was sitting closest to him. He crawled over to her and tapped her shoulder. “Check something for me.”
“What?” she asked, glancing around for guards.
Cole had already looked. One rider was way behind them, and two others roved much farther up the line of wagons. He motioned her over to the happy face. She followed uncertainly. “Say something to her,” Cole instructed.
“Today is the bestest day ever to make a new friend,” the cheerful face said.
The girl blinked, then looked at Cole in surprise. “How’d you do that? Are you a ventriloquist?”
“Yeah,” Cole said. “Cool trick, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter with you? Does this seem like a good time for jokes?” She scooted back to her former position.
Cole hunched down with his head near the happy face. He put his hand up to cover his lips. “Do you mind talking quietly?”
“Not a smidge,” the face said at a lower volume, although still chipper. “I’m just glad as can be to have a new pal.”
“What are you?” Cole asked. “How are you talking?”
“I’m a semblance, silly. I was shaped to talk.”
“A what?”
“I was made by Liam, the superdy-duperest shaper in all the land. After he was taken as a slave, he made me to keep him company. When he got sold, he left me here to cheer up anyone who talked to me. Feeling better yet?”
Cole could hardly believe he was talking to a magical happy face. It seemed even weirder to him than slave traders from another world. The little guy was so enthusiastic, Cole couldn’t help feeling a bit better. “Yeah, actually. Do you have a name?”
“Happy.”
“I’m Cole. Can you see me?”
“Sure, silly billy. I can see up your nostrils.”
Cole stifled a chuckle. He glanced at the other kids, but they all sat with their heads bowed, wrapped up in their fears.
“Does it hurt if people step on you?”
“Not a bit. You stepped on me when you came in here.”
“Sorry.”
“No harm done. You have a good sole.”
Cole smiled for Happy’s benefit. “You said the kid who made you was a shaper. Did he shape you with a knife?”
“No, silly, with his shaping.”
“What? Like magic?”
“Kind of, I guess. Life is magical.”
“He brought you to life?”
“Not really. I’m a semblance. I seem alive, don’t I?” The face gave a squeaky giggle.
“Did Liam program your words?”
“I just say what I say, Liam showed me the way, in this cage I will stay, while you’re here, we should play.”
Cole wondered whether Liam or the little face had created the rhyme. “Do you feel alive?”
“I love to talk, especially with a special new friend.”
The face seemed mostly designed to act friendly. Cole wanted to check if it could tell him anything useful. “Why is the sky like this? Why does it look like sunrise everywhere?”
“We’re lucky it’s a duskday—not too hot, not too cold. It’s nice to feel glad about the weather.”
“Are there lots of duskdays here?”
“They come and go. It depends. Are you from outside?”
“Outside of this place? I’m from Earth. These guys kidnapped my friends.”
“Don’t let greedy slavers keep you down. Whenever you fall, remember to bounce!”
“Listen, Happy. Can you help me get out of here?”
“I’d surely help if I could. I’m just a face on some wood.”
Cole glanced around to make sure nobody was noticing his conversation. No guards were near, and the other kids still ignored him. “You’ve been here a long time. Maybe you know something that could help me.”
“You bet I do,” Happy chirped. “Here’s a good one: If at first you don’t succeed, another chance is all you need!”
“I mean info about the slavers,” Cole said. “Or about this wagon. Secrets that might be useful to help me get away.”
Happy giggled nervously. “Don’t try to get away. It makes them very grumpy. You’ll get to leave when they sell you.”
“Where will they sell me?”
“The slave market at Five Roads.”
“What kind of people might buy me?”
“The kind with money, silly. The kind who need slaves.”
“What sort of work will I do?”
“You never know, but you can always hope for the best. You might get to do something really amazing!”
Happy didn’t seem like a fountain of useful information. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re saying I should never stop chasing that rainbow?”
The smile widened. “That’s the spirit! Follow a star! Keep your chin up and you’ll go far.”
“Do
the slavers know about you?”
“The Shaper does, Secha. She told Ansel. They spoke with me one night. I’m tricky to remove, so they let me be.”
“Secha is a Shaper?” Cole asked.
Happy giggled. “She marked you, didn’t she?”
Cole remembered her tracing on his wrist with her fingernail. He looked at the maroon mark. “Does it talk?”
Happy laughed hard. “Your bondmark? That isn’t even a semblance!”
“Why would it be tricky for them to remove you?”
“Liam wanted me to stick. If I get destroyed or removed, I take shape elsewhere on the wagon. They’d have to scrap the whole wagon to get rid of me.”
“Can you move on your own?” Cole wondered.
One of the eyes flattened in a wink. “Just a little.”
Cole traced the circle of the happy face with his fingertip. Happy laughed as if it tickled. How could such a thing have been created? “What else can shapers do?”
“It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On what they want to make, silly! And whether they can.”
Cole sighed. Happy was cheerful, and it was unbelievable he existed, but prying anything useful from him was exasperating.
“Do you know any secrets that will help me survive here?” Cole asked.
“They’re not secrets,” Happy said. “Enjoy the beauty of the sky and keep a twinkle in your eye.”
The wagons came to a stop.
Cole sat up, looking around. He couldn’t see the front of the procession. “What’s going on?”
“We stopped,” Happy said. “Seems early for lunch.”
When they had stopped to eat in the past, the wagons had formed a circle. This time they remained in a line. Was there an obstacle up at the front? Cole couldn’t tell.
After some time Ansel walked away with a man Cole hadn’t seen before into a field off to one side. The man was shorter than Ansel, with graying hair and bushy sideburns. He used a cane and walked with a limp. They headed out far enough to be visible from all wagons at once, then turned to face the caravan.
“We’ve met a customer by chance on the road,” Ansel announced, his parched voice even more gravelly when he raised it. “This gentleman works north of here with the Sky Raiders at the Brink. Those names won’t mean much to you newcomers, but the Raiders have a heavy need for slave labor, in part because the life expectancy for a new slave among them is around two weeks.”
This caused a stir among the caged trick-or-treaters. Ansel waited for the murmuring to die down.
“Our customer was returning from a supply run,” Ansel said, “but figured he should take advantage of our encounter by gaining an extra pair of hands. The wagons headed for the royal palace are naturally off limits. Otherwise he can have his pick. Since the slave who goes with him will probably perish shortly, I mentioned the new boy who caused a ruckus the other night. Due to my soft spot for obedience, I denied him Tracy, who pointed out the clumsy thief.”
Ansel then led the man directly to Cole’s wagon. As they approached, the other kids in the cage crowded away from Cole.
If this stranger bought him, how would he ever find Dalton, Jenna, and the others from his neighborhood? Then again, they would probably all get sold to different places anyhow. At least this guy seemed kind of old and not too quick on his feet. There might come a chance to escape.
The potential buyer stepped forward and looked up at Cole through the bars. “You’re the boy who caused the commotion?” His clearly enunciated words made him seem professorial. Or maybe it was the slightly battered top hat in his hand.
“Yeah,” Cole replied.
“Any physical handicaps? Chronic illnesses?”
“I’m healthy. A little hungry.”
“We feed them twice what most slaves get,” Ansel inserted. “They’re in prime condition, fresh from a prosperous world.”
The man nodded, eyes still on Cole. “How well do you handle heights?”
Cole wondered whether he should lie. Maybe a fear of heights would disqualify him from the dangerous work Ansel had mentioned. But the buyer looked and acted nice, which was more than Cole could say for the slavers. He decided to see where honesty would lead him. “I’m not scared of heights.”
The man shifted his stance. “How do you feel when standing near a high brink?”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Cole said. “Never has.”
The man turned to Ansel. “Easy as that. I’ll take him.”
CHAPTER
6
THE BRINK
The quick decision surprised Cole. The buyer turned away, and a tall, muscled stranger came into view, glaring at Cole distrustfully. So much for making an easy escape from the old limping guy. He should have guessed the buyer would have help.
On his way out of the cage, Cole leaned close to surgeon girl. “If you get lonely, talk to the happy face.”
She looked at him like he was crazy.
Cole hopped down to where the tall stranger awaited him. “This way,” the man said, pointing toward the front of the caravan. He had a familiar reddish mark on his wrist.
“Are you a slave too?” Cole asked.
The man cuffed Cole on the ear, hard enough to knock him to the ground. Cole stayed down for a moment, the side of his head smarting and his mind buzzing with anger.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” the man said. “Up.”
Cole got to his feet. The kids in the slave wagons watched him with wide eyes. Without an audience, he would have gone quietly. But he didn’t want all those kids to see him offering no resistance to a bully. It set a bad precedent.
So he turned and kicked at the side of the stranger’s knee as hard as he could. Crouching, the man swiveled, caught Cole’s ankle in one hand, and then swept his other foot out from under him with a brisk kick.
Cole’s back hit the ground first with a flat slap, and he found himself unable to breathe. Rolling onto his side, he shuddered as he tried to get his paralyzed lungs to kick into gear. He needed air but couldn’t inhale. Then the paralysis passed, and he was breathing again. He gratefully took several deep breaths.
“You have any fight left in you?” the tall stranger asked. “I could do this all day.”
Cole rocked into a sitting position. A glance at the wagon showed the occupants all pointedly looking elsewhere. He had taught them that defiance led to pain and failure. Not exactly the lesson he’d had in mind.
Cole got up and brushed himself off. The tall guard gestured for him to proceed. “Bye, Happy,” Cole called toward the cage.
“Bye” came a faint, high-pitched reply.
Cole noticed several heads in the cage swivel toward the floor.
Well ahead of them now, the buyer limped beside Ansel toward a group of burdened mules at the front of the caravan. “Those your mules?” Cole asked.
The man cuffed Cole on the other ear, not as hard as last time, but enough to make him stagger. “You learn slower than most dogs.”
“You didn’t hit me for saying good-bye,” Cole replied.
“I’m not that heartless,” the man said. “No more out of you.”
Cole watched the wagons as he walked. He saw Jenna, her Cleopatra costume filthy and bedraggled. Cole forced a smile and gave her a wave.
“You were brave to come for us,” Jenna called. “Tracy deserves to be run over by every wagon in the line!”
The other kids in her cage distanced themselves from her. She stood by the bars defiantly.
“They’re taking my wagon to the High King,” Jenna called. “Whatever that means.”
“This isn’t over,” Cole promised, ducking just in time to feel the man’s hand whoosh over his head. He had swung hard that time. Cole sprang to the side, barely avoiding a kick, then ran ahead toward the mules.
Something struck the back of his head and sent him tumbling. It was hard to tell whether it had been a fist, a rock, or a club, but it hurt plenty. Cole
curled up, cradling his sore skull, worried that more blows might rain down. When none came, he risked a peek. The big man stood over him, frowning, arms folded beneath his chest.
“I misspoke,” the man said. “I’m not willing to do this all day. Act up again, and we’ll have to cart you to the Brink in a wheelbarrow. On your feet.”
Head still throbbing, Cole rose to find Dalton staring at him from behind nearby bars. Heavily powdered by dust and with his frowning makeup smudged and faded, his friend looked like the saddest clown ever. Dalton cautiously shook his head, warning Cole not to speak.
Cole nodded at his friend and mouthed, I’ll find you.
Dalton waved, tears brimming in his eyes. “We’re going to the king too,” Dalton said softly, barely loud enough to hear.
Cole looked away. Would he really find them? Or was this the last time he would see anyone from his world? He had been mostly trying to give Dalton a little hope, but he found that he really meant his words. Maybe he would lead a slave revolt. Maybe he would sneak away on his own. It was hard to guess what opportunities he would find, but he silently vowed never to stop watching for a chance to escape and to find his friends.
When Cole reached the mules, the buyer already sat astride a horse. A long-haired man with a shiny burn scar on his chin rode beside him. “Come here, slave,” the professorial man invited.
Cole approached the man on the horse.
“I heard you sassing Vidal,” the man said. “Don’t speak to your betters unless we ask you a question. Is that hard to grasp?”
“I’m a quick learner,” Cole said. “All it usually takes is a concussion or two.”
The man looked beyond Cole and held up a hand to stay Vidal. “The slave was answering a question.” The man returned his gaze to Cole. “A little spirit might serve you well at the Brink. A lot will serve you ill. You’re not from here, so our treatment of slaves might seem barbaric, but you had better get used to it. Even if I don’t personally cherish certain aspects of slavery, we’re teaching you the order of things for your own good. I’m Durny, this is Ed, and we have some riding ahead of us. You’re now the property of Adam Jones, owner of the Cliffside Salvage Yard and leader of the Sky Raiders. Don’t make problems, or you’ll pay dearly. Understood?”