Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The last line across the top of Set’s shoulder must have been applied with the branding iron after he lost consciousness because he couldn’t remember Old Dunford applying it. Set had fallen off the footstool in an attempt to scramble away. The scraggly woman sat on his legs. Old Dunford sat on Set’s back and wrenched his wrist behind him until it nearly touched the back of his neck. He screamed and kicked and writhed beneath the weight of Old Dunford but could not break free without dislocating his shoulder.

He looked down at the floorboards of the wagon as its wooden wheels creaked and bumped along the dirt road. Blood and dirt matted his hair and urine soaked through his trousers. His left shirt sleeve was torn at the shoulder revealing the sign that Old Dunford branded on him the night before.

A girl sat across from him who looked to be of similar age as Set. She had long black hair and brown eyes with a wide, flat nose that flared at the nostrils. Her skin was an almond brown color and her broad shoulders and thick neck gave her an appearance of one who plowed fields.

He looked down at the girl’s hands and saw that they were strong and calloused, much sturdier than his. She wore no shackles.

I suppose father was right, he thought to himself as he shifted the shackles which bound his wrists. Dried blood flaked along the skin of his forearms.

He looked back at the girl’s forearms. They were strong and muscular, the mark of someone familiar with manual labor. She had her eyes closed but he could not tell if she was asleep. The road seemed too rough for that. Maybe she was meditating. She opened her eyes and Set quickly shifted his gaze back toward the floorboards.

“What are you staring at, pervert?” she spat.

“Sorry,” Set mumbled.

“You smell like piss,” she said. “And you look like shit.”

Set dipped his head lower, his chin dug into his chest.

The girl scowled and spit in his direction before closing her eyes again.

They travelled like that in silence for what seemed like hours, the girl asleep or meditating and Set staring at the floorboards. He tried looking out the back of the covered wagon but there wasn’t much to see, nothing that captured his interest more than the floorboards.

There was the snowcapped ridgeline of the Scarpathian mountains in the distance and the foothills below. He could not make out the location of the village in daylight but somewhere tucked along the horizon was his home, House Forsyth. His mother and his younger brothers were there. There was Reginald Bigby, Ms. Lawrence and Jessenia Mallory. The place of his schooling, Kensington Academy and the girl he once thought was the pinnacle of beauty, Sarah Livewell. And there was his father, somewhere in that town, somewhere below those monumental white peaks. He wondered if he would ever see any of them again.

The wagon slowed to a stop. The girl sitting across from Set opened her eyes and Set looked down at the floor. “Pervert,” she said.

The girl stood and walked toward the rear of the wagon with her head hunched down so as not to hit the top. She was much bigger than he first realized and the wagon shook with each step that she took.

She wore the kind of boots that one donned for ranching. They came up to her calves and had pointed toes. Set knew that ranch hands preferred them because some of the help that worked his family’s country estate used them to protect against snake bites, a common nuisance in the foothills.

So, she can till the land and handle livestock, he thought.

She turned and looked back at him. “Let’s go, pervert,” she said before jumping down onto the ground.

The cool air of the Scarpathian valley smelled fresh, but he could not tell. His own stench permeated with such foul odor that he could barely stand it himself. He tried not to breathe too deeply to avoid throwing up at the thought of himself.

The girl approached him as he stood behind the wagon, shoulders slumped. She had a set of keys in her hands. “Are you going to try to run if I unchain you?”

Set shook his head.

“Speak up, pervert.”

Set thought about everything that had happened up until that point and a flood of emotion washed over him. He started to cry.

The girl cut him off abruptly and slapped him hard across the face with the back of her hand. The force of the blow nearly knocked him unconscious and he staggered backward, barely catching himself.

“This is the only warning you are ever going to get,” the girl said through clenched teeth. “I am your senior and I am responsible for you. Your town produced only one recruit over the past two months. One. You are it.”

Set continued looking down at the ground as she unlocked his shackles and tossed them into the back of the wagon.

“I need to know right now whether or not you are going to get me killed when we arrive at the frontlines.”

The girl stepped back and shifted into a ready stance, her hands up beside her face in closed fists. “Hit me.”

Set looked up at the girl, confused as to what she intended for him to do.

“Hit…me.”

Set shook his head. “I don’t want to hit you.”

She stood and dropped her guard. “Yep, you are going to get me killed,” she said as she walked back toward the wagon.

“What’s happening right now, where are we going,” he asked.

The girl stopped. “I have two rules,” she said over her shoulder. “No crying and no questions. Get back in the wagon.”

Set looked back at the mountains behind them. The dirt road wound through the valley and off into the distance.

“Do not even think about it,” she said. “I am supposed to get you to the frontlines alive, but that definition was applied loosely.”

She hopped back into the wagon and yelled to the driver up front. “Let’s go, Serrano. We need to make it to the next town by nightfall.”

The driver clicked his tongue, lightly tapping the pair of horses with a buggy whip and the cart lurched forward.

The girl sat down on the straight bench to the left. She leaned against the backrest and closed her eyes.

Set squished his bare toes into the dirt. He lost his riding boots sometime between his incarceration and departure. There was so much going on that the state of his feet was the last thing on his mind.

He hitched up his pants and tried to tuck the ragged remnants of his shirt into his waistband before trotting after the moving wagon.

“Get up pervert.”

He had fallen asleep on the floorboards at the girl’s feet. His head rested awkwardly against the wood and his neck ached. It was dark outside and he could see a full moon looming large through the opening at the rear of the wagon. They had come to a stop and he heard voices from the other side of the canvas cover.

“Get in there! Move it!”

“No, I don’t want to die! Don’t make me go!”

Set moved farther back into the wagon and sat down on the bench opposite the girl.

An older woman, possibly in her late thirties or early forties stepped inside. She had short brown hair that tapered at the sides and an eyepatch that covered a jagged scar which covered the left half of her face. She dropped down next to Set on the bench and broke down in tears. “I don’t want to die.”

“My name is Chariza . I am here to ensure you make it to the frontlines alive. What is your name?”

“Mikala,” the woman said between sobs. “They said I stole bread from the bakery but what choice did I have?” she cried.

“That one over there is pervert,” Chariza said, spitting on Set’s feet.

He hugged his arms to his body and looked away.

“They said I could loose my hand or join the Marching Platoons,” Mikala said.

The wagon began to pull away and Serrano guided the horses slowly through the town.

“Maybe I should stay,” Mikala said. “I’ll lose my hand but at least I’ll keep my life.”

“It is too late,” Chariza replied. “Once you are added to our logs there is only one way off.”

“But it’s only you here. You can say you never saw me.”

“I’m sorry. Serrano is up front driving the horses. He is a natural tracker. If you give him a reason to get up from his seat, you are going to regret it.”

Mikala started to cry.

“I thought you said no crying,” Set mumbled.

“Shut your mouth, pervert. Nobody is talking to you.”

Serrano yelled back from the driver’s seat. “We can make camp once we clear town.”

“That sounds good,” Chariza replied, still glaring at Set with disgust in her eyes.

“I didn’t go anything,” he muttered.

“Make me get up. Go ahead. Try and spout your lies again, pervert.”

Set was about to respond but then thought better of it. The brand on his left shoulder still burned as if Old Dunford had just struck the molten iron against his flesh. Perverts were usually put to death in his town, dropped from the gallows by Old Dunford himself. With the future that lay before him, he wasn’t sure if hanging wouldn’t have been the better option.

Serrano appeared highly adept at building a campfire. He seemed highly adept at everything that pertained to setting up camp as far as Set could tell.

After they had stopped the wagon outside of town Serrano immediately went to work tending the horses, collecting wood, clearing the ground of rocks and debris to set up tents for himself and Chariza . He did not acknowledge Set so he tried to simply sit by the fire and stay out of the way.

“You sleep in the back of the wagon,” Serrano said after completing all of his tasks. He stood over Set as firelight rose into the night sky above. “I’ll have you know that my interest in you is not personal.”

Set nodded.

“Chariza would see you dead. You need to make sure that you stay out of her way. I tell you this because I know what will happen to her if she kills you on the road. You belong to the Marching Platoons now. Your life isn't hers to take.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Set replied. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“That is for the gods to decide. Who do you pray to?”

“Nobody,” Set muttered. “There is no god.”

Serrano laughed. “You don't seem like a pervert. What do you call yourself?”

“My name is, Set.”