6 | Reality
2404 Strilaxis 30, Kindreth
He opened his eyes to a place he didn't recognize. It was dim, with wooden walls closing in on him, and an inexplicable bounce from where he lay. Then, his recent memories came flooding in, driving him to sit up. Sharp pain speared through his temples, making him groan and rest his hand against his hand. It took him a moment to realize there was a thick twine looped around his wrists, tying them together.
"Took you long enough," a masculine voice bled into his ears. He whipped to the source to find a man with shoulder-length dark hair and sienna skin. His face was covered with a bushy beard—one signaling he was here for quite some time. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to wake up. They hit you pretty bad."
Kennen blinked, taking in his surroundings. The bounce came from the fact that he was inside one of those merchant carts he had watched with awe back in whatever city the capital spat him into. The clacks of wheels and the creaks they made against their axles dominated any other sound inside. He braced a hand against the cart's wooden walls. "Where are they taking us?" he asked. "The boy said I could hitch a ride—"
"Ya been poached, kid," another voice belonging to yet another man with a scar running down his eye interjected. "Whatever happened ta the golden rule of never talking ta strangers or going with them at all?"
"Besides, you're too young to wound up here," the bearded man said. Kennen learned to tell both men apart from the way each articulated their words. Beard Man preferred to deliver his words with elegance while the other preferred to grouch his way through life. "What's your story?"
Kennen glanced at the other people with them. Like him, they were dressed in a similar combination of tunics and trousers, with sleeves and hems of varying lengths. The only thing they have in common were the smears of black across their faces, arms, and clothes. Was that dust? Dirt? A shiver passed down his spine. Of all the things he couldn't stand, it was this?
Men and women were thrown in the mix. Most of them had their legs outstretched, almost crossing over to where Kennen was. Others hugged their knees to their chests and rested their heads against their legs, asleep. Apart from Beard Man and Grouch, there wasn't
Then, what Beard Man said registered in Kennen's mind. He turned to the man once more. "What do you mean by 'poached'?" he asked.
"It means you're taken by the poachers, stuck into smelly caves like this, and paraded around the island as they search for your forever home," Grouch said, scratching his arm with a frown in his face.
It didn't surprise Kennen that Grouch managed to confuse him even more in his attempt to simplify things. Instead, he turned to Beard Man. "Forever home?" he clarified.
Beard Man sighed—a surprisingly gentle sound against the harsh strokes of the world around Kennen. "What Sedda meant to say was that we are kidnapped from different territories so these people could sell us to other people."
"Sell?" Kennen knitted his eyebrows.
Beard Man's gaze was sad and grim at the same time. "Slavery," he said. "Unethical trades like this happen all the time around the island. Poachers actually make a lot of versallis in engaging with trafficking."
A sickened feeling erupted in Kennen's stomach. He felt like throwing up but his throat remained dry. "What...what's going to happen to me now?"
Beard Man rolled his shoulders as if that's the only consolation and reaction he could offer to their situation. Now that Kennen was studying him intently, his eyes did seem a little bit...lifeless. "Depends on what you are," he said. "Most nobles and wealthy fairies prefer ones with interesting trails or pleasing faces. Nobody would want to have a graspel for a servant."
Sedda snorted. "Or they want hired men who could move boulders and kill themselves by doing heavy, manual labor," he picked something in his teeth with a long nail in his smallest finger. Kennen winced. Wasn't that...filled with dirt? Why was he putting it anywhere near his mouth? "You don't need to be pretty when you're covered in blood or dust, sometimes both."
It sank in Kennen now. Everything he had been taught in the Ice Capital had proved to be true. Fairies haven't changed since the Human-Fairy War. They still thought it was proper to take advantage of the vulnerable and those whom they had already ascribed value to. His fists balled atop his knees. He should have listened and not gone out on his own. He shouldn't have...
But what could he do now? His eyes widened as his hand flew to his lobe where he expected the communicator to be. All he found when he pressed was soft flesh. The earring was nowhere to be found.
Tears pricked at the corner of Kennen's eyes. There wasn't anyone who knew where he was and he lost the only way to tell them. How had these poachers known his earring doubled as a tracking and communication device? Weren't ice sprites the only ones who knew of those mechanisms?
Something clicked. This wasn't their first excursion kidnapping ice sprites. Kennen's heart sank. If there was anyone who was responsible for Merko's team's disappearance, it might be poachers. The Grand Marshal's men couldn't track them efficiently because first, these trades operate in the shadows, and second, one the transaction was completed, the possibility of places one could end up in was beyond infinite.
"So, what's your story?" Beard Man asked again, leaning against the cart's wooden wall behind him. He must have noticed Kennen didn't answer it earlier.
Kennen jerked his chin at him. "You first."
Sedda slapped his knees and guffawed. "Ya learn quick, lad," he pointed a quick finger at Kennen. "Shoulda used that wit before they got ya."
Kennen didn't know if the man was insulting him or what. Beard Man cleared his throat to divert Kennen's annoyance. "I'm a half-blood," he tapped a hand to his chest.
None of the people inside the cart reacted to that. It's like they already knew. That, or they just didn't care. Kennen didn't feel like caring too even though fairies were supposed to be above half-bloods in terms of social standing. Both of them sat inside a musty cart after being poached. Kennen didn't exactly feel above anyone at the moment.
Beard Man continued, "I'm originally from Cardina but had to keep moving as unrest was starting to start from the human communities," he said. "In one of my travels, I encountered the scum and I have been here since."
Kennen pursed his lips. "How long ago was that?"
"Who keeps count?" Beard Man said. "Somewhere between one year and two?"
Kennen gritted his teeth, grounding his thoughts to the present. He didn't allow himself to think of what would happen tomorrow, one week after, or even a year later. Focus on today. He'd have to get through somehow.
"Anyway," Beard Man waved his hand in the air. "It has been taking too long for me to be sold so I, kind of, have been going along with it. At least, I was given three meals a day even though they're just putrid potions."
Kennen opened his mouth to reason that fairy potions tasted delicious but closed his mouth before the words could spill. These poachers probably didn't give a damn about what the food of their wares tasted like.
"Where would you most likely be sold?" Kennen dared to ask.
He expected Beard Man to turn red in anger and choke him to death but the man just smiled. "I'll be no good in mines or anywhere that uses manual labor," he said. "My health couldn't take that on. The poachers are aware of that, and knowing their customers could come after them if the wares turn out to be defective, they wouldn't even try."
Beard Man's voice was surprisingly soothing so Kennen listened, even though the contents turned grimmer and grimmer as the man went on. "I could be sold to the artisan shops where I would be exposed to harsh chemicals meant to produce high quality paint and other essentials in the industry," he said. "Or I could be delivered to the nobles as a performer. That's mostly because of my lineage."
Kennen bobbed his head. "I'm a water sprite," he said, answering Beard Man's question, finally. "I went out into the forest to search for my friend who disappeared more than a month ago. I was supposed to be in Flaron now, looking for the last traces he might have left."
A sympathetic look flashed across Beard Man's face. "Name's Dalan," he said, extending a hand in Kennen's direction. Kennen blinked at it for quite a few seconds, unsure of what to do. Dalan chuckled. "You're supposed to take my hand and shake it. Then, tell me your name."
Kennen took Dalan's hand as instructed. His tongue felt thick inside his mouth as he blurted, "Ken," he said. "My name is Ken."
It brought another pang in Kennen's gut, using the name Merko had given and called him all those years ago. After a few more hours of silence from Dalan, Sedda, and everyone else in the cart, the cart's wheels screeched to a stop. The animals pulling it neighed and a stringent crack of a whip rang in the air, making Kennen flinch.
The hinges screamed when the backdoor of the cart was opened, revealing a dark sky beyond the canopies covering the forest they were in. The boy who talked to Kennen was the one who greeted them. "Out," he jerked his chin to the empty clearing behind him. "Eat your portions quickly."
Kennen stared, slack-jawed, as everyone shuffled to their feet and ducked out of the cart without question. Why wasn't anyone bolting and wanting to escape? What's wrong with these people? He eyed the thick undergrowth made of dark leaves of various shapes and sizes. It would be so easy to lose these men, no matter how many they were, in this thick forest.
The sound of stones knocking together caught Kennen's attention. He turned to regard another man, this one wearing a leather-plated armor over his chest and arms, kneeling against a pile of branches, a flint in his hands. With another strike, the sparks jumped from the rocks and into the pile. It must have been doused with oil because the fire quickly spread around the branches, forming a little column of fire.
It was almost enticing, if Kennen wasn't preoccupied in escaping. He had to make it back to Penleth and warn the Generals and the Grand Marshal of this illegal trading scheme he had encountered. They could probably focus their efforts into tracking these groups' individual movements instead of blindly searching in each and every one of the island's crooks and crannies.
More armored people peeled off the huge, wooden cart and sat on upturned and decaying logs. Some took a swig from their waterskins while others flicked the same flint into pipes containing more or less oshella. Sheathed swords hung from their belts. Daggers and other small blades glinted in the moonslight. Their captors looked a tad cleaner and more presentable but smudge a little bit of dirt on their cheeks and they would've fit in with their catch.
Someone passed Kennen a vial. A clear liquid splashed inside. It resembled the potions he used to drink for lunch and dinner. He flicked the cork off the lid and sniffed. A repulsive smell of acid and rotten fruit assaulted his nose. He coughed, shoving the cork back to its place. Dear Pidmena. Not this.
He needed to get out of here, both for his people's and his sake.
So, he waited until their captors had gone docile and were just wearing the night away. He waited until their eyes turned lazy and bored from watching their prisoners. His teeth ground against each other, his fingers turning the unconsumed potion between his fingers. When a man bent down by the fire and began putting it out, the others flitted back to the cart to get ready for the evening journey.
Now.
Dalan's alarmed cry faded in Kennen's ears as he dashed forward, aiming for the thick line of trees coming up before him. Just a little more. Almost there.
His leg flared with pain, making him stumble forward. His wrists captured his fall, his knees scraping the thick mud beneath him. Thank the gods for the boots he stole. He couldn't have run with just his slippers.
He made to stand up but his calf shot sharp pain into his muscles. He looked down at it and almost lost his breath. Sticking out of his trousers was a sharp dagger. Whenever he twitched his leg, he felt the blade slotted through his flesh. Blood flowed from it, coating his boots and pant leg with the unmistakable sheen of crimson. A gag rose up to his throat.
Suddenly, his head slammed against the soil, jarring his brain inside his skull. A hand was heavy against his scalp. "I got 'im!" the voice belonging to a poacher yelled into the darkness. More footsteps joined the cacophony and ringing in Kennen's ears. Seeing his own blood had done that.
Before he could think of anything else to free himself from the poacher's grasp, another sharp pain zipped through him, this time, in his arm. Slowly, his eyes trailed down to the limb he had let dangle in the air. A wicked grin and dark, hooded eyes greeted his senses. As expected, a dagger sprouted from Kennen's skin.
"That's what ya get for tryna be a smartass," the poacher said. Then, he gripped the dagger's hilt and pulled.
Kennen was sure he screamed more than once before his vision darkened and he was plunged into a dreamless yet suffocating sleep.
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