by J. Thorn
My legs hit the ground and my arms flopped to my sides as I turned to face the guards, the skin on my right forearm feeling like it was on fire again. At some point, Drake had walked over—he’d been standing right behind me. One of the guards whispered into his ear, but he waved the man off before facing me.
“Weapons,” he said, speaking to and gesturing at a guard, but with his eyes fixed on mine. “Put her into a fight.”
A guard pushed another prisoner toward me and we were directed to the center of the yard. I looked from Drake to the other prisoner as the guard threw us each a wooden staff. I’d spent most of my time at the Troll with a bow, but I could use a staff if I had to.
I fixed my eyes on Drake and I shook my head. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, but I said them anyway. “I don’t want to fight.”
“He does.”
I turned away from Drake just as the other prisoner with the staff charged me. He was a fair bit taller than me, barrel chested and a little on the heavy side. The prisoner’s wild eyes flashed as he swung his staff at my head.
I ducked and spun my legs around so that I faced the man as he ran past me. My boots kicked up dust and I tightened my grip on the staff as I prepared for another attack. This time, I blocked his blow with my shaft, the hard wood clanking as I smashed my staff into the side of his head. He lurched sideways, his feet stumbling before he managed to regain his footing and turn on me again with blood running down his cheek.
My attacker faltered again as he faced me, now off-kilter. It only took one more blow to his head to knock him unconscious. As his body fell to the ground, I dropped the staff at Drake’s feet.
“Emil.”
Another prisoner had been summoned by Drake. He stood well over six feet tall, his dark skin glistening with sweat as the sun climbed higher into the sky. Emil had ripped the sleeves from his garb, displaying toned biceps covered in jagged tattoos that ran up his neck, around the side of his head, and down his back.
He held a staff in his right hand and ran at me, not breaking stride and completely in control of his motions, unlike my previous attacker. The staff whistled through the air, his strike too fast for me for to avoid it. A flash of white blinded me as the stick hit me on the side of my head. I reeled back and clenched my jaw, fighting off the ringing in my ears while trying to stay on my feet.
I swung at Emil several times, but he blocked me every time. My muscles began to ache and my mouth tasted like sand. I could smell my own blood and feel it mixing with the sweat rolling down my face.
Finally, he stood back and surveyed the yard, every guard and prisoner watching our fight. I went to one knee, letting my hair hang in my face. My body wouldn’t hold up for much longer, so I had to end this as soon as I could. I had a thought, and immediately dropped the staff in the dirt.
“Little bitch. That’s what I thought.”
Emil took a step toward me with his staff raised, hoping to knock me out with one final blow. Just before he swung at my head, I reached out with both hands and grabbed his left ankle. I torqued to the right as hard as I could, so far that I heard his tendons popping. Emil fell and grabbed his ankle, rolling in the dirt and moaning as I climbed to my feet. I looked at Drake as I picked up my staff. A female prisoner—Emil’s right hand, as I would later discover—ran to his side, trying to calm him down as she examined his ankle.
The man running the prison held up his hand and said one word. “Pass.”
6
The lunch room stank like wet plaster and sweaty feet. Prisoners jammed into rows of filthy bench-top tables while they devoured whatever had been dropped onto their trays. Drake’s guards stood in the corners and near the doorways, keeping a watchful eye on everyone.
After the steel bars and two fights, I needed to get something in my stomach or they’d be dragging me out like they had the boy who couldn’t do a pull-up. I followed the line to a long counter and waited my turn to get to the front.
An old man with dirty fingernails and black teeth slopped a ladle of lumpy, yellow liquid into a bowl and shoved it at me. I peered into the slop before glancing back at him. “What’s this?”
He growled at me before serving out another portion for the prisoner behind me. “Food.”
“Yeah, but what’s in it?”
The skin on his neck below a pasty, stubbled chin wobbled as he stopped stirring and glared at me, his lips parted. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t want to know.”
There wasn’t much fight left in me, and it wasn’t like complaining was going to get me fresh venison or garden greens. Instead of pushing it further with this cretin, I gave him a shrug and picked up my tray, the bowl, and a spoon from the cutlery box before walking away.
I saw space at a nearby table and started walking that way when a grown man crashed into me, knocking my tray to the floor. I looked down at my slop and that made my stomach growl even more.
When I looked up, expecting to be pummeled for knocking into this guy, two figures stood towering over me. The other being Julyen. He didn’t say anything, but Kora had walked up next to her friend, leaning over his shoulder to speak to the guy who had knocked me over.
“Give her yours. That was rude.”
“Who the hell do you—”
“Julyen doesn’t like rude people. Give Rayna your tray or Julyen will teach you some manners.”
My mouth dropped. Julyen didn’t strike me as the fighting type, but he stood at least a foot taller than the guy and outweighed him by 100 pounds.
Without saying another word, the guy slammed his tray down on the table near me and walked away. Kora reached down to help me up while Julyen smiled.
“I appreciate that.”
“We’re cellmates, Rayna. We got each other’s back. And Jules here has a good feeling about you.”
In such a dark place, I hadn’t expected such a bright friendship to blossom. I smiled, grabbed my new tray, and followed Kora and Julyen to their table.
As if nothing had happened, Kora launched right in with the questions. “How’d ya do?”
I scooped up some yellow glug and cautiously took a whiff.
“Pass.” I nibbled on the end of the spoon. Corn chowder—bland and with the fragrance of old socks, but it could’ve been worse.
Julyen and Kora gave each other a wide-eyed stare before Kora blew a low whistle.
“Whoa. Not many of us pass. Especially on the first assessment. We haven’t yet after five tries. Being sold is probably better than being stuck in this hellhole. At least you’ll get to see some of the world. The buyers come from all over but nothing will happen until they get here. Could be tomorrow or weeks from now. We never know.” Her eyes glossed over as she said, “You could be sold to a master in Vegas, San Fran, even Seattle.”
“Sold?” Right. Now I wasn’t really sure why I had bothered to put any effort into my assessment. I would be sent back to Seattle? As a slave? I kept shoveling the chowder into my mouth. “You know what would be even better than being sold into slavery?”
They both frowned and looked at me.
“What?” Julyen asked.
“Getting out of this prison.”
They broke into fits of laughter.
“Are you crazy? It’s impossible,” Kora said, nudging Julyen.
“Do you think you’re the first to think of escaping?” he asked, leaning closer and lowering his tone. “The ones that try it die. Like she said, it’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” I scanned the room as they chuckled.
“That’s what the new ones always say.”
As they continued to eat and mumble about my insane idea, I spotted Emil walking in with his gang. He hobbled along, two sticks and a bandage supporting his injured ankle. But the medic didn’t have a treatment for his wounded pride.
He saw me immediately from across the room. Our eyes connected and held for the barest of seconds before I broke the stare and looked in the other direction. That’
s when I saw the girl. Her round, amber eyes watching me intently, her smooth, porcelain skin unblemished and clean. She appeared to be a few years younger than me but I felt pulled into her gaze that hinted at ancient wisdom—an old soul.
“Who’s that?”
Kora scrunched her face and shrugged.
“Bah. That’s Wyllow. Keep away from her. She’s bad news—a witch, they say. Her tribe and my tribe back home have a longstanding feud. They say she conjures spells from rotting rats and herbs.”
I was about to reply when the guards hollered and began hustling everyone out of the hall. As I rose to my feet, I glanced back at Wyllow. She sat like a stone monument, staring right at me. Through me. Our eyes locked again, and I had the strangest feeling that we’d met before. She didn’t look like a witch to me, but many things in this prison were not what they seemed.
7
It was hard to imagine just how hot the desert could become. Years of crawling in the cool waters of Lake Union had spoiled me, as had the seasons near the Sound. Sure, it could rain a lot, but nothing too extreme. This, however. This was different. I felt as though I’d been working inside the coals of a funeral pyre.
They’d chained us all up, and so we kept carrying railway ties and steel rails from one location to another. One guy had said that someone even more powerful than Drake owned the rights to us and the reclaimed materials from the old railways. That they wanted an easier way to transfer slaves from one market to another because too many died in transit. And that cost them in trade value.
The guards on duty paced alongside us with a firm grip on their clubs and a permanent scowl on their faces, shouting at us as if we needed the motivation. Already, I had grown accustomed to their stares and belittling jeers.
Kora and Julyen worked alongside me. For some reason—maybe a new sense of sinking desperation—I’d been thinking about Asher again. He felt like a constant ache in my heart, my sorrow only dampened by enthusiasm for conversation.
Nobody dared to utter a word when the guards passed by, but Kora took every opportunity to talk when they were out of earshot. I had just dumped a sled load next to a stack of rails and stretched upright to wipe my brow when her high-pitched voice broke me from my daydream again.
“Argh! Don’t look now, but there’s a snake among us.”
I looked down, having heard stories about desert snakes with a deadly bite. It took me a few moments to realize she didn’t mean a real snake.
Julyen rose from his hunched position, his dark eyes looking over my shoulder and past the guards.
“She’s not talking about the animals. Look.”
I frowned as I saw Emil chatting with some guards, eliciting chuckles and a few good-natured punches to his shoulder. They’d taken pity on the guy after what I’d done to him that morning, but a tool like that wouldn’t let it rest. Being bested by a girl? You could be sure those guards were making fun of him behind his back even though they joked around with him now.
Julyen nodded at Kora. “How much you wanna bet he comes slithering over here with a threat for Rayna?”
As if on command, Emil walked toward us.
I turned around, and then felt his presence behind me. Kora and Julyen had fallen silent. Clearly, Emil had an in with the guards. The people here seemed as rotten as the mortar crumbling from the cell block walls.
“Hey, Rayna.”
Kora stepped between us. “What the hell do you want?”
He chuckled and looked over his shoulder at the guards, several of whom had a passing interest in what could be an interesting fight, should they decide to let it go that far.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
I remained silent, stealing quick glances at Emil’s crew. He’d brought four cronies in total, including a choppy-looking girl with craggy features and a snaggle tooth that raised the gooseflesh on my skin. He’d come for a pound of flesh, and these goons would keep a few ounces for themselves.
“That move,” he said, pushing past Kora and using his hand to shove her aside. “Clever. And strong.”
“Not interested.”
“In a compliment?”
The goons laughed at Emil’s question.
“Just wanted to tell you I was impressed.”
“Leave her alone, Emil.” Julyen puffed out his chest, but he didn’t strike me as a fighter and I guessed he probably wouldn’t be able to defend himself if fists started to fly.
“I’m not talking to you, Jules.”
The guards looked up, several of them now staring at the exchange.
“I’m outta here soon. Passed the test and then I’ll be off to market,” I said.
“You don’t have to be. I can keep you here, make you part of my crew.” Emil smirked. “We get privileges that others don’t.”
“I don’t plan on being here for long.”
“Right!” Emil laughed and then winced as he accidentally put too much weight on his injured ankle. He spread his arms wide. “None of us will be here for long.”
Kora leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Told ya he’s a snake.”
“Shut up the hell up. No one’s talking to you.” Emil leaned in so closely that I could smell the tobacco and onions on his breath—two luxuries nobody else in this prison had. “I have pull around here. I can protect you.”
“What about my friends?”
“Them? Damn, girl. Why do you care about these two assholes?”
Truthfully, when I look back now, I’m not really sure why I cared about them. I had just met them, and protecting myself should have been my priority. But I couldn’t throw Kora and Julyen to the wolves. They’d been willing to stand up to Emil in my defense.
“Nope. Peddle your deal elsewhere.”
Emil laughed suddenly, and now all the guards on this side of the yard were watching us.
“Listen,” he said, whispering into my ear. “What do you think is gonna happen to the apple tart and the dunce once you’ve been sold? I can tell ya, if you really want to know.”
“Leave them out of this.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, Rayna. Think about my offer, but you better think fast. The traders are coming to market, and once you’ve been sold off, I can’t be held responsible for what happens here.”
Emil’s crew laughed as he winked at me and then returned to have another conversation with the guards.
8
“Seriously, Rayna, Emil cannot be trusted. He’s one of the bad ones—Julyen, hold still!”
Kora dug her nails into the back of Julyen’s neck and he protested with low wails. Her blue eyes flared. I watched as she chatted to me and picked at his skin at the same time.
“Whatever Emil wants from you, it can’t be good. He’s always out for himself.”
Julyen yelped and looked over his shoulder at Kora. She lifted her brows, her scrawny arms flaring wide.
“What? You’d rather me leave the tick in there? Do you want to get sick?”
He pulled his pouty lips into a grimace as he turned his back to her again, lowered his head, and muttered something under his breath.
Kora turned her attention back to me.
“Listen, people that pass on the first assessment don’t get bought by bad slave owners. They always treat the most physically fit like an investment. You could end up a servant in some distant, fancy settlement.”
I folded my arms behind my head as I lay down on the thin cot’s mattress. The muscle pain lingering from working on the rails and my new brand made me wince, no matter what position I was in.
“I wasn’t born to be anyone’s servant, slave, or prisoner.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Kora shook her head and gazed at me with a warm smile. “You haven’t quite grasped the reality of your life yet, have you, hon?”
“What do you mean?”
She scrunched her nose while digging her nails deeper into Julyen’s neck. He had been taking deep breaths, but must have realized the tick had to come out or he could d
ie in this place. A sick prisoner couldn’t be sold, and letting them die was far cheaper than getting them healthy again.
“None of us were destined to end up here or head to market, but it’s what life has dealt us. We make do with what we got.”
Back in the village, I’d have called Kora a conformist. She’d have been one of the ones following Sandor’s stupid rules, or the law laid down by Corvus. I’d never have hung out with such a weak person if I’d had the choice. But it wasn’t her fault that she’d had this defeatist attitude beaten into her. I’d come to like her and Julyen, and I would do whatever I could for them, but I was not like them. At all.
“Not me. That kind of thinking will limit you, Kora. I have plans beyond these walls… beyond these cities.”
She glanced at me, her hands motionless on Julyen’s neck. He looked up at me, as well.
“Plans? What plans? And how on earth do you think you’re getting out of here? Have you seen the fence? The guards?”
I thought about the bald eagle I’d seen earlier in the yard as I stared up at the yellowed, flaky ceiling. “Yes. But sometimes, we don’t need to know how we’re going to get what we want; we just have to believe we can.”
“I don’t understand you, Rayna. If that was true, you wouldn’t have landed in this filthy hole of a prison, right?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I will get out. You can bet on that.”
“Well, for now you’ll need to decide what to do about Emil. He’s going to want an answer from you.”
I had no idea what to do about Emil’s offer. I couldn’t live with his underlying threat to hurt my new friends, yet to stay would definitely hinder my chances at escape. There was no way to know for sure whether Kora and Julyen would be safe from Emil and his gang, though, whether I stayed or not. That promise was on his word only. However, it seemed unlikely either of them would pass the assessment any time soon.
“I know, Kora. I know. Tomorrow.”
My eyelids drooped, and I couldn’t look at the ceiling anymore, couldn’t keep from sliding into a shallow and fitful sleep. The last thing I heard was Julyen complaining about the tick in his neck. Again.