“Pssst,” the young man whispered, interrupting her thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Maren remembered how she had squeezed through the bars of her cage in Ahmcathare. It was difficult, but not impossible. She looked around and knew that she could do the same thing here if not for the guards that regularly passed by. It frustrated her, but she still held onto a fragment of hope. “You’re welcome,” she finally replied to the man, and went back to her contemplations until she slipped into a deep sleep.
It was nearly pitch-dark in the town square of Redbramble. Son, Dulnear, and Faymia had ridden all the way from Dorcadas without stopping, and the horses needed a brief respite. There was a trough outside of the village pub and the animals drank heartily as the three travelers stood together and discussed their plan to liberate Maren.
“Do you think they’re following us?” Son whispered. With the exception of a small number of people inside the tavern, the entire town had turned in for the night, and he didn’t want to rouse anyone.
“I do not know,” the man from the north answered in a hushed tone.
“What if they are?” the boy asked. He was exhausted, anxious, and shaken from the events of the day. The fear of being captured by Ocmallum’s mercenaries was nearly suffocating. “I don’t want to end up like Tcharron,” he added.
“We are few, and traveling light,” Faymia tried to assure him. “If they did decide to pursue us, it’s likely that they’re still trying to organize themselves.”
“There is a chance that the slaver would not waste his resources,” Dulnear added. “He deals in fear and intimidation masterfully. When I faced his guards, he went as far as to employ a strange incense that caused a terrible sense of dread to come over me. I have never experienced anything like it.”
Faymia leaned in to examine her husband. The dried blood on his neck and coat appeared as black stains in the dim light. “I despise them,” she declared. “They lure people in with delights they don’t need, have them believing that they can’t live without them, then oppress them to keep their loyalty.”
“I agree,” the man from the north concurred. “However, our sole focus should be on retrieving Maren. When she is returned to us, then we shall worry about pursuers and slaver injustices.”
Son breathed deeply of the damp midnight air. He fought off thoughts of Gale Hill Farm ruined, slaver ambushes, and violence. He imagined finally arriving back at his home just to collect his things and leave. The peace he felt from sharing life with his companions there was evaporating and insecurity was nagging at his heart. “Well then,” he said. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer. Let’s go get her.”
“Go free!” Maren shouted with a voice that echoed liked thunder through the forest.
In her dream, she was out of her cage and there was fire all around. Though the flames were approaching the circle of pens, the people inside of them sat passively and refused to get out.
“What’s wrong with you?!” she pleaded. “Death is upon you, and all you can do is sit there!”
As she stood in the center of the camp, she gazed into the faces of the slaves. Some she knew from Laor, yet others were unfamiliar and difficult to make out. Though there was not a single pen locked, they insisted upon remaining caged like animals.
“You were made for more!” she continued. “Have you forgotten who you are? You are mothers and fathers! You are daughters and sons!”
As she continued to cry out, the stubbornness on the faces of some of the slaves began to melt, and Maren could see tears forming in their eyes.
“You were meant to hold your heads high! You were meant to carry dignity and reflect glory!” she boomed, with tears now flowing down her own face. “Why would you give that away for pie and shows?!”
Now, the flames were burning higher, and the slavers appeared around her. Their appearance was larger, more menacing, and distorted somehow. They startled her for a moment but, when she noticed some of the slaves pushing against the doors of their pens, she was filled with a fresh boldness.
“Remember who you are!” she urged, and some of them started out into the circle to join her. “Remember what you once dreamed!”
Soon, the mangled-looking slavers were surrounding her more closely. They were contorted and angry, and they were ready to pour their wrath upon her for encouraging their source of gold to go free. “You will die for this!” one of the monstrous-looking men raged before reaching out for the girl with his gangly arms.
Maren ducked and rolled out of harm’s way, then ran past each cage shouting, “Be free! Remember! Live fully!” As she did, she could see that some of the slaves were now weeping in remorse. They sobbed and covered their faces in shame, but remained prisoners.
“We deserve to burn!” one woman yelled as the girl ran by.
“No!” Maren cried as her face burned red with sweat and tears, and she pleaded all the louder.
A hideous cackle filled the air as the gnarled slavers laughed gloatingly at the penitent woman’s statement. “That’s right! No one would want you now, anyway!”
The young girl’s desperation turned to indignation upon hearing the laughter of the slavers. Running to the woman, she called through the bars, “That’s what they want you to believe! The door is unlocked. You can have your beauty back! Come out!”
A warm, clammy hand wrapped around Maren’s shoulder and spun her around. The slavers were now too closely upon her for her to run away. “You will all burn,” they said in unison through twisted, blackened mouths.
Fear
