CHAPTER
4
BONDMARK
Cole knew he had to get away, but for a moment the shock of discovery held him paralyzed. His only chance was to run. They were on an empty prairie at night. If he went far enough, fast enough, maybe the kidnappers would lose him.
When the crouching redhead reached under the wagon, Cole rolled the opposite way. Springing to his feet, he took off, passing other wagons and jumping a sleeping figure bundled in a worn blanket.
“Intruder!” went up the alarm from the redhead. “On your feet! Intruder! Don’t let him get away!”
The shouted words fed Cole’s panic. Men all around the encampment cast aside their covers and scrambled to their feet. Racing toward the open prairie, Cole saw two men running parallel to him and a little ahead, gradually converging. Both were faster than him. If he kept going straight, they would have him, so he abruptly doubled back, hoping to streak through the camp and shake them in the confusion.
The change in direction only revealed the redhead coming at him from behind, along with several others. Lacking better options, Cole swerved toward the nearest wagon, grabbed the bars, and climbed on top. The fingers of the redhead brushed his heel but failed to grab him.
Crouched atop the wooden roof of the wagon, Cole couldn’t see his pursuers, but he could hear them coming from all directions. Cole had never been the fastest runner, but he was a confident climber. Heights had never bothered him. There was another wagon parked not too far away. With a running start, he jumped to the next roof, barely clearing the gap.
“He’s moving!” shouted a gruff voice.
Cole ran across the wagon and leaped to the roof of another, landing in a sprawl, one cheek against the splintery wood. Rising to his knees, he realized that he had reached the end of the line. Unless he turned around, there was no other wagon within range.
“Still on the move!” a voice boomed. “He’s on this one!”
If he stayed put, they would take him. Cole ran and jumped from the roof as far as he could. As the ground rushed up to greet him, he saw men coming at him from off to one side. Cole tried to land running but flopped painfully forward into the dirt instead, the impact jarring his bones. Driven by adrenalized panic, he scrambled to his feet just in time for a large body to tackle him from behind.
All the air whooshed from his lungs as Cole was pinned beneath the bulk of a large man who stank of leather and sweat. Cole squirmed, but calloused hands held him firmly. Dirt filled his mouth, and a thorny weed prickled against his temple. Other men gathered around him.
Then the men hushed one another. A light approached, accompanied by footsteps. Craning his neck, Cole saw Ansel, a lantern in one hand. He wore his wide-brimmed hat, a long underwear shirt, pants with suspenders, and a dusty pair of boots. In his other hand he held a sickle. Cole closed his eyes, dread coiling inside.
The boots halted a pace away from Cole’s face. “What have we here?” that dry voice asked.
Cole opened his eyes and kept silent.
“Found him under a wagon,” the redhead reported. “Must’ve slipped into camp.”
Ansel crouched down, setting the lantern on the ground. The nearby brightness made it hard to see Ansel’s face. “Time to fess up, Scarecrow. Slipped into camp from where?”
“Just passing through,” Cole tried.
“One of the girls said he was planning an escape,” the redhead volunteered.
“She ratted him out?” Ansel asked.
“Sure did,” the redhead said.
Ansel nodded. “Good for her. She might make a go of it here. That little darling deserves a reward. We have any of those cookies left? The frosted ones?”
“A few,” a voice answered.
“She gets them all,” Ansel said. “Give her the royal treatment the rest of the way to Five Roads. First served, largest helpings, front wagon—whatever we can do to make her comfortable.”
Cole hoped the cookies would give her food poisoning. But he kept his mouth shut.
Ansel stood, picking up the lantern. “Let him up.”
The man let go of Cole and got off him. A rough hand grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. Ansel studied him through eyes so narrow, they almost looked closed.
“Were you planning to steal my slaves, Scarecrow?”
Cole glanced at the sickle—the wicked curve of the blade, the sharp point. He wasn’t sure what this guy wanted to hear. “You took my friends.”
“You’re from over there,” Ansel said. “From outside. You came through with us. How’d you slip away?”
Cole didn’t want to tell Ansel that he had come through after them. The Wayminder had helped him, and Cole worried the truth might get him in trouble. “In the confusion, I hid behind one of the stone trees.”
Ansel glanced at his men. “I’m less than overjoyed to hear that. We had people in place to prevent that kind of sloppiness as we welcomed you to your new home.”
“Where are we?”
Ansel grinned. Not a happy grin. It was the grin of a killer who knew the police would never find the body. “That’s the question, now, isn’t it? See, we’re not in Arizona anymore. We’re not on Earth. I’m no astronomer, but this might not even be the same universe as Earth. We’re in the Outskirts. Junction, specifically, between the five kingdoms.”
“And that means you can kidnap people?”
Ansel glanced at his men. “Scarecrow has the right questions.” The lantern swung a little, squeaking. “In Arizona, yes, I stole your friends, and in those parts they might find me guilty. Your problem is, we’re not there no more. Once we reached the Outskirts and marked those kids, they became our property according to the law of the land here. And by trying to take my property, Scarecrow, well, you made yourself a criminal.”
Cole felt sick. How could they accuse him of wrongdoing for trying to help his kidnapped friends? Everything was upside down. “I don’t know the laws here.”
Ansel chuckled, and his grin almost became sincere. “Wouldn’t that be nice, fellas, if you only had to keep the laws you knew about? I’d spend my life traveling, and I’d stay as ignorant as possible.” He eyed Cole up and down. “You working alone?”
Cole almost laughed. “You guys better watch it. My backup will be here any second.”
Ansel became expressionless in a scary way. “That wasn’t an answer. One more try. You working alone?”
Cole nodded. “Yeah. I’m alone. Nobody else got away.”
“If you lie to me . . . that’ll be it.”
“I’m not lying.” They stared at each other in silence for a moment. “What are you going to do with me?”
The grin returned, cunning this time. “You tell me, Scarecrow.”
Cole swallowed. All eyes watched him expectantly. “I become a slave?”
Ansel held his sickle higher, his eyes caressing the blade. “My vote was to take away your hands and feet as an example. Slavers can’t have people swiping their merchandise. Bad for business. But . . . Scarecrow . . . you caught me in a good mood. How often does that happen, fellas?”
All the other men found someplace else to look.
Ansel stepped closer to Cole. “Notice how they don’t answer? Well, that’s your answer. But we made a fine haul tonight, best in a long while, so I’m going to grant your wish and take you as a slave.” He raised his voice, calling over his shoulder. “Secha? Tag him! He’ll walk behind the rear wagon tomorrow. No food or water. We’ll let him keep his extremities, but that don’t mean we got to coddle the boy. Show’s over. Now let’s get settled again. We start our march in the morning.”
Ansel retreated several paces, boots crunching over the dry ground. The woman who had eaten the cockroach approached with a lantern of her own. She held it out toward Cole. “You’re the one that swung your bag at the lantern.”
Cole nodded.
She gave him a penetrating stare. Cole glanced away.
“Look me in the eye, young m
an,” Secha said.
He stared at her. She leaned in close, never breaking eye contact. Her fingers contorted into weird positions. Then she examined his hands front and back.
“Worst of the lot,” she said. “No shaping potential at all. The High King won’t pay a lead ringer for this one.”
Ansel shook his head. “Had I known that, I would have made an example of him.”
“Still could,” Secha said over her shoulder.
“Nah, I already passed judgment. Following the wagon will suffice.” Ansel walked off.
“Be glad I’m not in charge,” Secha told Cole. “I would have fed you to Carnag.”
“What’s Carnag?” Cole asked.
The men guarding him chuckled at his ignorance.
Secha frowned. “Depends who you ask. The reports are mixed. But consensus has it that Carnag is a monster like we’ve never seen anywhere in the five kingdoms. People are scared. We’re not too far from Sambria, where the monster has been prowling.”
“You’re right,” Cole said. “I’m glad you’re not in charge.”
“Let’s get the bondmark on you so I can turn in,” Secha said. “Hold out your hand.”
Cole briefly considered resistance. But two men stood right behind him. For all he knew, if he made a fuss, Ansel would return with his sickle. Cole extended his left hand.
Secha produced a drawstring bag and opened the mouth. The third finger on her left hand had an extra long nail. She dipped it into the bag.
“Hold still,” she told Cole, then turned to one of the men. “Help him.”
One of the slavers grabbed Cole’s arm just above the wrist. The other man braced himself against Cole from behind. Cole clenched his teeth. If they were holding him like this, it meant the mark was going to hurt. He tried to ready himself for the pain.
When her fingernail touched his wrist, it felt extremely hot and cold at the same time. He wanted to yank his hand away, but the brawny redhead held him tightly. Secha moved her lips as she traced a simple pattern with her fingernail. Then she backed away. The bondmark she had drawn blazed an angry red. It still felt hot and cold, though not as intensely as when her nail was in contact with his skin.
“Try not to touch it,” Secha advised. “You’ll slow the healing.” She turned and strode away.
With a viselike hand on his shoulder, the redhead marched Cole over to the rear of one of the cages and chained him to it with a tight manacle on his unmarked wrist.
“Not a sound,” the redhead threatened. “We’ll reorganize the slaves according to value in the morning. The best go up front. You’ll walk behind the last wagon. Better sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
The redhead walked away. Cole didn’t know any of the kids in this wagon. They were pretending to be asleep, but he had seen two of them peek at him.
Cole got down on the ground. He had no blanket. The earth was lumpy and hard. The chain wasn’t long enough to let his hand rest on the ground, and his wrist dangled about four inches up.
He couldn’t see Dalton or Jenna. Their wagons were lost in shadows, and he had no desire to draw more attention to himself by calling out to them.
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 tende
rly 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.
Leaning against the bars with his back to the dust, Cole thought about home. His mom and dad were probably out of their minds. Even his sister, Chelsea, was probably worried.