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 wehave 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?”
“I get it,” Cole said.
Durny looked to Vidal. “Put him on Maribel. Our business here is done.”
By his sixth day of riding, Cole had grown accustomed to Maribel. In spite of her burden, she and the other eleven mules plodded tirelessly forward from daybreak to nightfall. Normal suns had crossed the sky ever since the duskday ended, and today was no exception.
Cole had found the ride lonely. The men tended to converse when he was out of earshot. They only addressed him directly with basic instructions. He had to unpack and brush the mules at night and get them ready to travel every morning.
The cold treatment wore on Cole. He had never felt like such an outcast. After having been marked, chained up, caged, and now ignored as if he was less than a person, Cole had to fight worries that his life was over. He began to doubt whether he would have another happy day.
Today they had started early, in the gray chill before sunrise. Durny had explained that the Brink was dangerous at night and that a long ride should get them to their destination before sunset.
As the day progressed, Cole tried to enjoy the scenery. At least the land had grown more interesting, with ridges, hills, and ravines. Grasses and brush grew everywhere, alongwith numerous bushes and occasional stands of tall trees. He saw rabbits and squirrels, and occasionally glimpsed deer or foxes.
Cole
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 wehave 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?”
“I get it,” Cole said.
Durny looked to Vidal. “Put him on Maribel. Our business here is done.”
By his sixth day of riding, Cole had grown accustomed to Maribel. In spite of her burden, she and the other eleven mules plodded tirelessly forward from daybreak to nightfall. Normal suns had crossed the sky ever since the duskday ended, and today was no exception.
Cole had found the ride lonely. The men tended to converse when he was out of earshot. They only addressed him directly with basic instructions. He had to unpack and brush the mules at night and get them ready to travel every morning.
The cold treatment wore on Cole. He had never felt like such an outcast. After having been marked, chained up, caged, and now ignored as if he was less than a person, Cole had to fight worries that his life was over. He began to doubt whether he would have another happy day.
Today they had started early, in the gray chill before sunrise. Durny had explained that the Brink was dangerous at night and that a long ride should get them to their destination before sunset.
As the day progressed, Cole tried to enjoy the scenery. At least the land had grown more interesting, with ridges, hills, and ravines. Grasses and brush grew everywhere, alongwith numerous bushes and occasional stands of tall trees. He saw rabbits and squirrels, and occasionally glimpsed deer or foxes.
Cole
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