“I was only a few years old. All I remember is smoke and darkness everywhere.” He shook his head. "There have been a few raids since, but none as bad as that one,” he said solemnly.
I swallowed. He seemed to understand how I was feeling right now. I suddenly felt much closer to him.
“Are you sure you don’t mind if I come with you?” I asked as I picked up my rock and scratched the wicker.
“That’s what friends are for,” he said, resuming work as well.
I smiled to myself. I had never known anyone near my own age before. It was just me and my parents for as long as I could remember. The image of my father’s tired face appeared before me, his eyes so weary. I had known for a while that we weren’t just traveling aimlessly. We were running from something, and it wasn’t just the brutarian carrying us now. Whenever I had asked my parents questions, they had always seemed to avoid answering. Now all I wanted was to have them back.
“We’re going to be okay, Mahlia,” Breghton reassured me, placing a hand on my shoulder. He must have seen that I was about to burst into tears.
I sniffled, nodding my head. Then Breghton began to hum. He hummed the same tune my father always did when he was thinking, and I couldn’t help but smile.
After many minutes of talking and working, our tiny scratches amounted to quite a large hole. Well, big enough for us to fit through at least.
“After you,” offered Breghton as he moved out of the way.
I went to the edge of the hole and prepared to jump. I looked down at the moving ground. It appeared that the basket was designed to rest
on the small, makeshift frame of a cart. The wheels were spinning quickly below.
“Are you sure he won’t see us?” I asked my new friend.
“Look, I’ll show you how it’s done,” he said bravely. He placed his hands on the edge of the hole and hoisted himself down so that just his arms and head were showing. His smile was mischievous and intriguing. “Meet you on the other side,” he said with a wink.
He landed on his feet with a light crunch, ducking as the wheels rolled past him. I couldn’t help but notice how cute he was in the sunlight. His brown hair matched the bark on the trees that surrounded him. He sat down on a tree's root and waved his hands for me to follow.
Breghton had told me all about his home and it sounded wonderful. No more running from brutarians and whatever else my parents were worried about. Maybe one day I'd learn to love his home as my own. I held my breath as I leaned over the hole. The cart stopped abruptly and my body slammed against the wicker. I heard Mortwar grunt in disgust. I flew up in the air, hitting the top of the basket as Mortwar shook it in his hands. Then my body smacked hard into the bottom of the basket.
My hair was dancing in a fury, pulling me back into reality. I heard noises but I couldn’t make them out in my daze. Then I heard a distinct, sickening thud. The lid of the basket opened and a large gray hand grabbed my leg. Mortwar hoisted me out of the basket upside down. Dangling in midair, I wriggled and fought, but it was no use. Right before he dropped me into his satchel, I saw my new friend. He was hunched over, lifeless next to a boulder. The side of his head was covered in blood.
Chapter 3
“Who.”
My eyes opened to a bright sky. Yawning, I stretched out my arms. When I was imprisoned I would dream about Breghton all the time. Sometimes I would dream that he was miraculously still alive and that he would come to rescue me. For some reason I had always associated my freedom with him. There wasn't much hope to hold onto at the Iron Gates. And dreaming Breghton was still out there had given me a tiny shred of it. I’d never let it go.
I reached out to pet Chinook but he was no longer by my side. I sat up and rubbed the sleepy out of my eyes.
“Who,” I heard again.
I noticed Chinook’s absence before I noticed a very tall man. He was sitting on a thick, adjacent branch, with his long legs dangling over the side. I undid my braid with quick, clumsy fingers and stood up, balancing precariously on the bark. He had pale skin like me, but he was more than twice as big, maybe even three times as big. His jet black hair was sleeked back, which made it almost look slimy. He had oval flaps of skin on the sides of his head, smaller but very similar to what the brutarians called ears. He must be the other race my father had told me stories about. I tried to remember what he had called them. “Humans,” possibly.
“Who did you kill?!” yelled the man. I couldn't tell if he was terse because he had to repeat himself a few times or because he thought I was a murderer.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as I looked for an escape. My hands were clenched into fists. I backed up as far as I could until my back was against the trunk of the tree.
“The symbols of course! They're scorched right into your shirt. Don't lie to me!" As he spoke, a scowl had formed on his face.
My cloak must have fallen from my shoulder when I was asleep. Sure enough, there were black singed marks on my shirt where the symbols had once been underneath. The symbols were so hot that they must have burned right through my shirt. I lifted the fabric to look at the markings. The symbols that once glowed were replaced with clear skin that was easy to identify in contrast to the ugly marks that the whip had left around them. I slowly released my fists.
“You can read that?” I asked, not caring about how angry he was. I needed to know what the symbols meant.
“Of course,” he said. His voice was suddenly much calmer, but he still looked irritated. “You can’t, can you?”
I shook my head and inched closer to him. “Why do you think I killed someone?” I asked, my heart beating fast. I wasn’t sure I was going to like the answer, but I needed to know what the markings had said.
“The faded symbols at the top there mean: ‘One you trust will betray you.’ And that one underneath of them, well, that’s the symbol for death.”