A Strange Song of Madness (Part 1), Page 2

  Chapter 2

  The colossal shape of Tarlnath loomed ahead of the caravan not a tower and not a mountain but something in between. The towers of the fortress soared high into the orange sky, casting a long shadow across the lifeless kingdom the city stood to protect.

  Shaol had studied the five trees on the way back, out of habit. Friend always asked after the trees and Shaol enjoyed the task of relaying the slight differences, somehow the slow change of the trees brought him a comfort as the rest of his world remained frozen.

  The large, iron gate that blocked the entrance to the city rose and the caravan moved underneath and down the main road to the water station. A dozen Unders flocked from the brick building and started to set up their ladders.

  “To the barracks,” shouted Master.

  The large sledmen lumbered, tired and weary, to one set of barracks, the smaller water bearers headed to another.

  Once inside the barracks, the younger water bearers snatched up scraps of fur from the ground, collapsed onto the dirt floor by a wall and put the skins over their heads. The Old Ones gathered in small groups and stared at the floor, some started to draw lazy spirals in the dirt. The kids gathered at the back of the long building, away from the others.

  Some Unders hurried into the barracks with charred vermin on metal skewers, they handed them out to those that would take them, gathered the discard skewers from the night before and vanished out the main door.

  The leather bladder of spoilt milk sloshed in Shaol’s grip, he had carried it from the lake and some of the Old Ones had started to eye it with interest. He had to get rid of it before the meat gave them the strength to fight. The milk was spoilt and undrinkable but that did not matter to them.

  Shaol went to the back of the barracks and out the door into the alley.

  “What are you doing?” barked the voice of the Master posted to guard the door.

  “I have to clean out the milk,” replied Shaol presenting the bladder.

  “Over there, I don’t want it near me,” said the guard pointing at the back of the tanners.

  The milk splattered onto the already muddy ground, Shaol smelt nothing as the tubs of skins and green water in the yard had already taken his sense of smell. He knelt down and found the chain in the mud and curds.

  “Find a place,” whispered Friend from the roof.

  Shaol looked up and saw the yellow eyes of Friend looking down from the roof, then they were gone. Shaol tucked the chain as best he could between his hip and leather pants. The chain dug into his bone as he limped back to barracks, careful to keep the chain in place.

  “You don’t look healthy,” said the guard simply as Shaol shuffled past him.

  Shaol entered the barracks. It was nothing but a long room with four brick walls. There was no other room where he could talk to Friend without being seen. Shaol knew he only had tonight to try to escape but there was little he could do inside the barracks. He found a place by from the young Unders that slept with the skins across their faces and watched the room, quiet except for the lower mutters from the groups that had formed.

  Shaol looked up at the oil lanterns that burnt on the walls. Knocking a lantern onto the floor would make a distraction, giving him a chance to run, but if that happened every Under in the barracks would receive the whip for it. Worse would happen if he escaped, the others always paid when one was allowed to be disobedience. The others would hold him to the ground if they saw him try to run, they would save themselves from the pain, as they should. This was how the Masters kept control of their city and they had kept control as long as Shaol had known.

  But there was a way Shaol could leave the barracks and no one would be hurt. The butcher was not near the barracks and between the butcher’s hut and the barracks he could try to escape and if he did not find a way to escape he would find himself with a knife to his neck, an end he had always been prepared for.

  Shaol lifted himself up and crossed the room to the main door and opened it.

  “What?” asked the guard at the door.

  “I’m hurt,” said Shaol.

  “Did someone hit you?”

  “No.”

  The guard looked at him for a moment and nodded.

  “Go back in.”

  Shaol closed the door and turned back into the barracks. He did not know how Master would respond, it was not for him to know.

  The Old Ones started to laugh in the corner, the broken laughter always came before the rage. Shaol walked through the barracks to the back where Cutter, Rag and the others kids sat in a circle. On the way he found Tac amongst the sleeping bodies and nudge him with his foot.

  “Rest by the kids,” said Shaol quietly.

  Tac lifted his head from the ground, nodded and pushed himself from the ground. He walked with Shaol to the back of the dorm where the kids spoke quietly about their new jobs.

  “You’re still limping,” said Cutter looking up from the group.

  “Tac’ll watch you,” said Shaol with a simple nod.

  Tac dropped himself down next to the group

  “You’ll watch them right?” said Shaol urging Tac to speak to the kids.

  “Uhm,” said Tac with no energy, laid his head down and dropped the scrap of fur on his face.

  “Do you remember where you’re from?” asked Shaol.

  “Yeah,” said Cutter.

  “Do you want to go back?”

  Cutter just shrugged, it was more than Shaol would have given.

  “Is there a way to get back to kennels?” asked Rag, “I don’t want to be on the caravan.”

  “The Masters tell us what we do and we must do as they say,” replied Shaol.

  “The kennels are better,” grumbled Rag.

  Shaol knew the life on the caravan was harder than the other tasks in the city but there was nothing to be gain in letting the boys think on it.

  “You work the caravan now and it’s as good as any,” said Shaol forcefully.

  Rag looked down at the ground and muttered something to himself.

  “Have any of you seen the fortress?” asked Shaol to the group.

  “I’ve been up to the gate,” said a boy, “I had to deliver a batch of skins to the fortress gate.”

  “What do they call you?”

  “Redhands,” the boy replied.

  The boys were all given nicknames when they were brought to the city. Shaol had one once, but when as he became older he had out grown the name and so returned to the one he had been given by his family, though by then it had lost all of its original meaning.

  “I grabbed a hot tub,” said the boy with a laugh presenting his scarred hands.

  Shaol look at the boy’s hands, the boy would be under the knife faster with scars like that.

  “What did you see through the gate?”

  “You don’t see nothing,” said Redhands, “there’s a tunnel. It goes so far you can’t see the other end.”

  “Did you ever go in?” asked another boy.

  “Nah, the guards won’t even let you near the gate and the Unders from the fortress take the skins into the place.”

  “The black wall is the near the kennels,” said Rag, “its huge. Someone fell from it, once, there wasn’t anything left of him.”

  “Have any of you been inside?” asked Shaol.

  The kids shook their heads as Shaol expected. Shaol nodded and went quiet. The kids started to talk quietly about the day, then about the others who had threatened them, then about the things they had done before they worked on the water caravan.

  The kids started to grow tired and one by one they fell asleep. Shaol watched the room, he did not need to sleep. Across, near the main doors, a pair of Old Ones started to push each other. Suddenly, a guard appeared at the door and walked towards Shaol, the Old Ones sat and fell quiet.

  “Come.”

  Shaol pulled himself from the wall, he felt the chain start to slip from his hip. He grabbed it and moved it back into place.

 
“You do look bad,” grunted the guard.

  Shaol kicked Tac as he passed, Tac rolled over and grumbled. Shaol followed the guard and from their corners, the Old Ones watched him leave.

  The guard led Shaol from the barracks and up the main road, passing the plain, brick buildings of the outer city. For a moment, Shaol saw Friend’s yellow eyes watching from the shadows of the alleys between the buildings and then the eyes vanished.

  The inner wall was brightly lit by large braziers at the end of the road. For all his years in the city, Shaol had never passed through the gate into the city where the Masters slept. He was led under the arch, away from the brown and orange of his world and into the cold, grey of another.

  The stone households crowded the street, iron beams held up tiled roofs. Lanterns sat on tall poles and lit the way up the large streets. The streets were not made of dirt like the ones Shaol knew but were instead sealed by smooth, grey stone.

  The guard stopped at an iron door and knocked. An Under open the door without a word.

  “I have brought him,” said the guard, “where?”

  “Around the back,” replied the Under.

  “Around the back,” repeated the guard to Shaol.

  Shaol obeyed and took a narrow alley to a small yard made of the space where four buildings came together. A small amount of light came through the windows that looked down on the space, making soft shadows in the corners.

  The yellow eyes of Friend opened in one of the corners. In the shadow Shaol could make out the outline of the large wings that grew from her back.

  “You are dead if you do not fight,” she whispered.

  Shaol shook his head, he would not let the windows see him speak.

  A door open and light spilled into the yard. Master was in the doorway dressed only in his leather pants having left his boots and shirt inside the house. Friend was gone as Master stepped into the yard.

  “Where does it hurt?” Master asked.

  “The back and hip,” replied Shaol.

  “How long have you had it?”

  “A month.”

  “Touch your feet.”

  Shaol bent to touch his feet, as he reached his knees his muscles screamed and he jumped from the pain. The chain came lose from his hip and it slipped down his leg. He felt the cold, metal hit his foot and then heard it hit the stone floor.

  The yellow eyes burnt in the shadows behind Master.

  “What is this?” asked Master an anger rising in voice.

  “A chain and stone,” replied Shaol.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It was in the rock pile at the lake.”

  “Were you hiding this?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was good to you,” said Master angrily with a his voice low, “and now you are hiding things from me. Why?”

  “I wanted you to have it, the other Masters would have taken it. It’s was not for them,” Shaol said and he meant ever word.

  Friend would have her treasure, but Shaol knew he would not be the one to find it.

  “You don’t give me anything,” spat Master.

  Master walked forward and towered in front Shaol. He bent down and snatched the chain from the ground.

  “I take what I want,” said Master simply and turned his back to Shaol.

  Friend was no longer in the shadows as Master inspect the stone and chain.

  “Stay,” said Master and return to the house.

  “This will not work,” whispered Friend from the shadows, “you must take me back.”

  Shaol shook his head.

  “You don’t understand, Shaol,” said Friend her voice becoming urgent, “only you can bring me what I need.”

  Shaol looked at Friend and shook his head.

  “The boys will stay where they are, if you don’t. No one can leave the city unless you bring me what I need.”

  Shaol looked away from his friend and at the ground.

  “I’ll miss you,” muttered Shaol, “when you hold your treasure, you will take them.”

  “I will wait for you, Shaol. The boys will also wait. Do not give up on us.”

  Friend was gone.

  Master reappeared at the door now dressed in his leather shirt and boots.

  “Come,” he commanded and Shaol followed.

  The pair wound their way through the twisted alleys of the city, these streets were not lit by street lanterns like the larger streets.

  After a while, the pair came out onto a lit street and Master led the way down it to an iron door and knocked. The building in front of them went much higher than the ones that sat next to it, the windows on all of its floors where lit, from the inside, by strong lanterns, the light was made red, blue and green by the coloured glass of the panes that scattered the light onto the street and surrounding buildings.

  The metal door thudded as a lock was turned and an Under opened the door.

  “Get your Master, tell him Ragon’s here for a trade,” said Master.

  The Under vanished leaving the door open. A short, tight corridor led away from the entrance. At the end of the hall was another door, a small staircase sat to the left which the Under was now climbing.

  A Master appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Ragon,” he said with no emotion as he approached, “what is it?”

  “I heard your request for an extra hand denied,” replied Master.

  “Yea,” said the Master now leaning against the door frame, “so?”

  “I got four extra but I’ll take three and you can have this one.”

  The Master at the door laughed and then shrugged.

  “How old?” he asked.

  “Not sure, the Sowan age slow. Looks around twenty to me.”

  The Master stepped out of the doorway and took Shaol’s head in his large hands, held open his eye lids and stared into his eyes. Shaol felt the Master’s foul breath on his face as he was examined.

  “Late twenties by the eyes,” he said releasing Shaol’s head.

  “You’d know better.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Shaol remained silent.

  “Answer,” said Master.

  “The back hurts and the hip,” replied Shaol.

  “How long?”

  Shaol remained silent.

  “Answer,” commanded Master.

  “A month,” said Shaol.

  The Master then grabbed Shaol between the legs, there was nothing there. The Master nodded and released his grip.

  “This ones got a good temperament, should make a good servant. Still strong, just not strong enough for the caravan. It’d be a waste sending him to the butcher, now.”

  “I’ll give you one for one.”

  “I need one for the water and two for the sled.”

  “I’ve already given mine, I might be able to find you one for this. You can get the others from Yulran.”

  “Yulran doesn’t have your eye. I can give you an extra barrel a week as well, if you can get me your three.”

  The Master scratched his head.

  “I got a Kaborn runt, should be good for the water. Two Sowan for the sled, but they’re going to Darak.”

  “Two barrels,” said Master, “but I want an Uln for the sled, a young one, not cut. I’ll take a Sowan and the runt. Can you do that?”

  “Done,” said the Master quickly with a nod, “they’ll be in barracks when you get back tomorrow.”

  “This is your new master, now,” said Master as he turned to Shaol, “do as he says.”

  Shaol nodded.

  “You know I’ve been good to you?” said his old Master.

  “Yes,” Shaol said simply and noticed his old Master was wearing the chain and stone, he wanted to smile but he knew not too.

  And with that his old Master and his old life was gone.

  “Get in,” barked his new Master as he walked into the house.

  Shaol followed quickly.

  “Pysuun,” yelled the Master
at the door at the end of hall.

  “We will wait for you,” Friend whisper from behind.