Orrian sits beside me, necklace hanging freely as he stoops over his knees. His alert eyes are fixed on his bare feet pulled up close before him. Blood is absent from very little of his skin, considerably too much to all be his. I notice that he has been relieved of his weapons, similarly, I realise that Edwyn’s knife has been removed from my waistband. I feel bare without it now, having had the comfort of it since we began our travels all the way back at the den. The knife had been one among dozens chucked into a pile in Edwyn’s outpost, a last-minute grab as I left, and yet I still mourn the loss of this last connection to the fallen hunter.
Several older tribespeople surround us, including Sage Malach, all with babes or young children in arms.
The raft that was under fire, it must not have made it out to sea. The sage’s clothes are clearly still damp, with no sun to warm them and the rain falling upon us it’s going to be a long night. He whispers softly to the young child in his arms, the girl is already asleep and yet he continues regardless. He tells a story, a tale of a huntress goddess at a spring deep in some lost valley. I notice that the other elders listen closely as he speaks, and several children’s eyelids flutter as they struggle to keep their attention. I listen curiously for a few seconds, thankful for the option to escape into another world if only momentarily.
The arrhythmic shuffles of many footsteps sound away from the direction in which we move, accompanied by metallic rattling. The survivors all march behind us, flanked by colony men occasionally cracking whips. They are structured into rows of three, I almost forget to breathe as I realise how shockingly few rows there are. Astera, Horas, and a lady I haven’t yet had the chance to meet lead the group, almost within touching distance of our cage. As I push myself into a more comfortable position, ignoring the stabbing pains in my ribs and hip, I notice that their hands are all bound. Not with rope as I would expect, but with thick metal ringlets connected by a worn chain. I notice several children among the crowd as I scan the ranks for familiar faces. My heart flutters with relief as I settle upon both Medea and Tharrin only a few heads back.
As Jaq’s companion I always expected Tharrin to be able to handle himself, but a part of me wouldn’t expect Medea to come out the other side of our battle when so many others had not. Her skin wraps and hangs off such disturbingly fleshless bones so limply that it wouldn’t come as a surprise if any lifting caused her to simply snap. Still, she must have fought well to avoid falling victim to the bloodshed.
The blood. Piles and piles of bodies, the floor layered in carcasses. My evil, unlocked inside of me as I slashed and killed. I fear for that slice of my soul, of my humanity, that I may have lost in that moment as I stole lives from this world that shouldn’t have been mine to take. A part of me knows that I had to, that it was kill or be killed, but that part is hidden away as I am disciplined by my conscience. The blood still stains my hands, slowly washing away under the rainfall, but flakes still stick defiantly beneath my fingernails. My fingers tremor as I slowly rinse the evidence from me, continuing meticulously until they have reclaimed their original colour. Even now that they are clean, I don’t know if they will ever look the same again, perhaps the imaginary blood I see now will remain there permanently in memory.
We have lost so many, even before the fight our numbers were few but now, they have dwindled to a few dozen. Edwyn had been only the first casualty, too many more had followed. I remember Faelyn single-handedly fending off the advancing horde and giving me time to regroup with the others. He had always wanted to be the saviour, and he had ended up being mine. Despite his and Orrian’s differences he had fought for his people to the very end, leaving this world a hero.
I look around the cage once again, it is clear why most of us are here. Apart from Orrian and myself everyone is vulnerable, either too old or too young to trail behind us. So why us?
Oh. The answer comes to me as I glance again at the young king by my side. He hasn’t moved at all, still with his head low and distant eyes. He looks defeated. They’re putting him on display, letting his people see that their king has been broken. Here he is separated, isolated on a moving pedestal whilst his people are forced to watch.
What about myself? I suppose I was unconscious but for that reason, shouldn’t I have blended in among the bodies? And even if they had found me, surely they would have killed me like they did the others. Like the voice had said, I would just slow them down. But being in this cage means that they want me to be alive specifically, which means they must know who I am.
I suppose my fears have been confirmed now. Becker must have reported back to the Colony and someone in Avlym must have told Becker, probably Rhys. I can only hope they left my mother and Alice out of this, not that I can do anything from here.
Not for the first time I wonder how exactly I managed to get here, now a caged prisoner at the mercy of our enemies. Our hunters had found Orrian, or Guy as he was then, through luck. He had been healed and brought into my home because my mother happened to be a healer. He was
