Go For Stories

V’esen came to in the back of a cart. He lifted his shackled hands and rubbed his eye where he had been struck. It was tender to touch; he wouldn’t be surprised if the socket was broken. Crusted blood flaked off his face as he probed the wound. He rolled to the side, finding more painful spots. Whoever had taken him must have enjoyed the beating even after he was unconscious.

Using his elbows, he propped himself up. The cart was pulled by two oxen in the midst of hundreds of marching soldiers. Three more carts were ahead of him, but these held wounded soldiers, not prisoners. He wondered what made him special enough to be taken in the middle of the night. He followed the chain that shackled his wrists together to find it bolted to the back of the cart. They didn’t want him going anywhere, it would seem. He wore his leather trousers and vest, though he had gone to bed as bare as the day he was born. It seemed his nudity had offended his captors.

The dawn’s light cast a yellow glow over the valley in which he now found himself. He had been out for hours. Little wonder why, given the fires of pain burning in his head and ribs. Two soldiers walked either side of his cart. One looked his way as he marched.

“You,” said V’esen, his voice was hoarse and dry, opposing the authority he had tried to muster. “Why have I been taken?”

“Shut your mouth, slave.”

“Slave? I am no slave.”

The soldier laughed without mirth. “You are now. Better get used to it.”

“Why didn’t you just kill me?”

The soldier lashed out, slapping V’esen across the cheek. It rocked his head to the side and caused a fresh trickle of blood down his face. “I would if I could.” He gave an evil grin and pointed his sword at V’esen’s face. “We have plans for you. Now, shut it before I take a part of you for a trophy.”

V’esen kept quiet. If they had plans for him, he knew he would arrive in one piece, but they wouldn’t refrain from beating him half to death. They had already proved that. At this stage, he had been forced into a waiting game. He could try to blend into the cart, but what would that do for him? He was shackled and injured. Even if he got out of the cart, he would be caught within moments and his punishment would be less than pleasant. Not only that, his face had been seen. He was a wanted man and there was no hiding with markings like his. They burned on his face with a shame that he could no longer hide.

He decided to stay quiet and see where they were headed. Maybe an opportunity would present itself. For now, he would lie down and conserve his energy.

The cart bumped along the track, rattling V’esen’s already sore head. He felt drowsy. Despite all effort to keep his eyes open, he was soon fast asleep.

A call rang out and his eyes snapped open. It felt as though he had only just drifted off, but the sun sitting atop the apex of the sky suggested otherwise. The cart came to a rolling stop and he sat upright. Different men now flanked his cart. One looked his way, but averted his gaze when V’esen looked at him.

V’esen’s stomach growled and twisted inside him. He had no idea how long it had been since he had eaten. Days.

“Can I eat?” he asked whoever would listen.

“No,” came the reply beside him.

He didn’t press the issue, knowing what it would earn him. The emptiness in his stomach was nothing compared to the sun on his unprotected skin. He could feel his face burning already. Twisting around, he lay on his stomach, but his shackles pressed into his bruised ribs. He rolled back over and stared at the blue sky, wondering how long they would leave him to starve. It wouldn’t need to be long anyway. In this heat, he would dehydrate soon enough.

As he thought this, a cascade of water splashed over him. He coughed and fought to breathe, but tried to swallow what he could as well. When the torrent ended, he looked over the edge of the cart. A woman in chains held the bucket and looked at him with an apologetic smile. She had long hair and a sharp face. Before he had a chance to speak to her, she was called away.

V’esen watched her go. Seeing her reminded him of Caral. Perhaps she had also been made a slave. V’esen didn’t know how to feel about that thought. Knowing she was alive would make him happy, but Caral was such an independent spirit that slavery would crush her. She would fight at first, but they would beat her down and make her do their bidding. If not, she would be killed. There is no need for a slave who won’t do as they’re told.

The water cooled his skin, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He enjoyed it as much as possible before the sun evaporated it from his body. By the time the march continued, he was dry and his thirst had returned. What little he managed to swallow did nothing for his hunger either.

“Tough day?”

V’esen started at the voice and looked for the source of the question. One of the soldiers that guarded his cart looked down at him. He was thin and his hair stuck out from his helmet in a brown mess. The sword at his hip had a grey snake as a hilt.

“No, I’m having a great time,” V’esen responded. “These shackles are so comfortable; they’re like silk on my wrists.”

He glared at the man walking beside him.

“Listen, I’m trying to be nice here,” said the soldier. “How about you cut the jokes and play along?”

V’esen didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him, but decided to let him talk. He figured he may find out where he was headed and what they had planned for him.

“Yes,” he said, “it has been a tough day. Are you enjoying your walk?”

“It’s a bit hot.” He gave a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry for everything that has happened. Did you lose someone?”

V’esen growled. “I lost everyone.”

The soldier stared at V’esen.

“You know we were just following our orders?”

V’esen fell silent. While he knew that these soldiers had been led to believe they were on the right side of things, they needn’t have killed anyone. He found it difficult to think that they all followed blindly without so much as suspecting what they did was wrong.

“I’m sure you hated it.”

His captor lowered his eyes. “No. It felt good. I felt good; powerful.” He held out a hand to V’esen. “My name is Morgalin.”

V’esen hesitated, then took Morgalin’s wrist in his shackled hands. The honesty was refreshing and unexpected from one of the Earl’s soldiers. “V’esen.”

“It is good to meet you, V’esen.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

Morgalin frowned. “Say, where did you get those marks on your face?”

Instinctively, V’esen reached up to cover his cheek. He could feel the warmth of the curved lines. “I was born with them.”

“Never seen anything like them,” said Morgalin. “Although I did hear of one of us who had them, nobody I knew had ever met him.”

“He was my brother.”

Morgalin stopped for a moment in shock. The man marching behind him bumped into his back.

“Watch it, Morg.”

“Sorry,” Morgalin replied as he quickened his pace to catch back up. “Your brother?” he asked.

“Yes. I cut off his head.” Morgalin took the cue and fell silent again. V’esen was happy for the quiet, but now he felt sorry for killing his own brother. The despair settled on him again and he lay face down on the wooden cart. His ribs groaned at him, but he ignored their plaintive cries. He pushed the pain aside and forced his emotions as far down as they could go. He stayed like this for hours.