8th of Dema

Time stopped having much meaning in the weeks following that first day in the Paradazh. I woke, choked down the half-ration I was given, and stumbled through my work detail until the kreighvalden decided she didn't like my face, after which I spent an hour in the medical hut with Karalli, icing down new welts, before returning to the barns to finish my quota while everyone else went up the hill to eat their second rations.

It was proving nearly impossible to gather information. The Red sector was clearly vital to the entire Paradazh, but I wasn't going to get closer to anyone important by working in the barns, and every day spent just trying to survive was a day I wasn't able to find a way off the farm.

Until one morning, about four weeks in.

~~~

I'm walking down the street. It is a street I know. A street I lived on once, but the buildings are toppled now. Burned. Pieces are missing. There is a fire still burning in one of the houses, amid fallen beams and the crumbling masonry of a chimney.

"Where are you?" I call. Or I try. My voice is barely more than a whisper even though I'm yelling.

Footsteps ring out ahead of me, sharp, quick, echoing along the cold stony bones of the city.

I don't know who those footsteps belong to, but they are the only sign of life here, so I go after them because I know it must be him. Somehow. There is no real proof, only knowing. But why is he running away from me? I try again, harder, panic making my chest ache. "Where are you?!"

"Don't follow me, kid."

His voice echoes like his footsteps, sharp and just out of sight. Here. There. Everywhere. The sound of that deep Altyran accent makes me whirl in a tight circle, searching the shadowed doorways and windows. I stop, but the street I'm on keeps spinning, weirdly light and airy, impossible to catch, everything drifting to a stop out of order. Nothing is familiar anymore. "I need to know where you are! I've lost you!" I shout, but it's as if my words slam into an invisible barrier right in front of me. Fear is running cold through my veins now, my heart pounding heavy in my chest. I have to find him before something bad happens to him.

That raspy brogue comes to me, plain as if he's speaking quietly into my ear, "You can't look for me anymore. You have to look after yourself."

There! He's so close! I move toward the place he must be, the place he has to be, needing to finally see him. If I could just see him, everything will make sense again —

I round the corner —

Every detail is etched crisp and clear by the golden light of a fire. The luminous grey of his eyes, the gleam of his hair, the stern set of his mouth —

There is a distant boom, like a colossal door closing. A split second later, a blast rolls through the city, driving a billow of ash and dust before it. Fire follows in a rushing, rippling wave, and he is still standing there, his silver gaze on me, as that burning air whips over him, tearing tiny pieces from him, stripping him away in flurries of embers and sparks and ash —

I jerked out of what had become a recurring nightmare, my entire body shaking, my pulse roaring through my ears like a freighter, my breath coming in great, shuddering gasps.

For a moment, that was all I could do, lie there and pull in air, while telling myself it had only been a dream. Arramy wasn't dead. He couldn't be. But there would be no letting my heart settle.

The morning klaxon started up, and the other women in hut 56 began getting out of bed.

With a muffled groan, I pushed my bruised, aching body up off my bunk, hissing under my breath when my right shoulder and hip objected. I must not have moved at all during the night.

Mouth set in a grimace, I began pulling on my clothes. They stank of sweat and barnyard, but so did everything here. There was no time for laundry when you were the scum at the bottom of the barrel. There was only working, bowing, and sleeping if you were lucky. I shoved my feet into my shoes, scrubbed my hands over the prickly stubble coming in on my scalp, and then made my stiff, creaky legs stand up and carry me toward the door.

It wasn't until we were outside, lined up in the yard, that I finally realized there was something different. The line was longer. There were more women in it. Women I didn't recognize. Women who were wearing bright red, crisp, newly issued jumpsuits, and who sported freshly shaved heads.

A new shipment must have come in. I swallowed, casting a quick glanced around the clearing. Twenty, maybe thirty new faces. Some part of me had realized it was going to happen, but knowing that hadn't quite prepared me to see physical proof that the Coventry's supply chain was still running. My stomach tightened, cramping around nothing.

The klaxon blared again, announcing roll call and the arrival of Kreighvalden Ygraine.

Everyone bent automatically, snapping into the required bow. We held it, not daring to move or shift even an inch while the kreighvalden and her mousy assistant came slowly down the line.

I ground my teeth, bracing myself for the moment those shiny black boots came to their usual stop in front of me.

Clack. Clack. Clack. She was only a few yards away, now.

But she didn't stop in front of me. There was a rustle of fabric from somewhere to my right, and the clacking of boot heels on hard-packed dirt ceased abruptly.

I stared at the toes of my canvas shoes, the tension in my shoulders ratcheting up a notch, the pause doing nothing to ease the expectation of impending pain.

Kreighvalden Ygraine let out a sigh. "Pitiful. Just pitiful. Not enough meat on it to feed a sparrow."

A harsh gasp followed, and I tensed, knowing instinctively what that other woman was feeling.

Then clack, clack, clack, clack. The kreighvalden was moving again, that freakishly regulated sound sending a jolt of panic ricocheting down my spine. She was going to stop now. I closed my eyes, willing the tremble in my hands not to show.

Clack, clack, clack.

Black boots appeared in my range of vision. Hesitated. And kept going.

It took several seconds before I let out the breath burning in my throat, and even longer for the relief to sink in. There wasn't going to be a game. I wasn't going to start the day with the sting of a lash. As the klaxon finally signaled the end of roll call and I fell in with the rest of the women, that sweet note of relief changed, tempered to a sour lump in my middle by the realization that while I had escaped the whip that morning, the kreighvalden had apparently found a new toy to break.

~~~

Over the course of the next two weeks, I discovered something about myself.

I was more like Braeton than I wanted to admit.

The kreighvalden's new toy was named Indrienne, and she was all of fifteen. She had the long, bony, angular frame of someone who had grown up hungry, and her time in the cargo bin hadn't done her any favors. Her shoulderblades stuck out like wings beneath her skin. To top it off, she was timid, fearful, and had the unfortunate habit of cringing when she was threatened. She was a starving fieldmouse slathered in catmint, and the kreighvalden stalked her like a sadistic, nip-addicted housecat.

And I stood there in line, head down, frozen in place just like the rest of the women in hut 56, watching as the kreighvalden beat that girl until she couldn't move, over and over, for any reason and at any time, grinding her into a broken, shaking mess of bruises and whip welts. It only got worse, too. Worse than it ever had been with me. Rushidi didn't even have to start anything to provoke the kreighvalden's ire. By the end of the first week, the kreighvalden started coming into the barn just to find Indrienne.

I stood there and watched, hating myself but not daring to invite the kreighvalden's attention by stepping up. I would only be beaten right along with Indrienne, possibly even bring more trouble for the girl if I tried anything. And I couldn't afford to wind up in the kreighvalden's sights again. That was Braeton's velvety voice whispering that I couldn't let myself lose sight of the goal. That I needed to focus on getting closer to a source of information. I had to find a way out of the Ag sector, a way down to that white building in the valley. There were much bigger things at play than one fifteen-year-old girl.

In reality, I could have done something. I could have offered that girl my blanket. Told her not to cower. Shown her how to avoid Rushidi. Offered to take some of her workload so she could rest. But I needed my blanket, and I needed to rest, and most disgusting of all, just like Rushidi I needed the kreighvalden looking at someone else.

And then it was too late.

~~~

24th of Dema

Once a day, the Green Sector sent a lorry up to the Red Sector with what seemed to be dispatches of some sort. There was an exchange of leather dispatch bags. Twice, I had seen the green-clad driver hop down out of his cab, hand over a big black bag, accept an empty one, and hop back into his engine to head back down the mountain. He wasn't searched either time, rolling unhindered through the gates of the Red Sector fence.

I was mulling that fact over while I slung fresh bedding straw around one of my assigned tiktik pens.

The swish of straw through half a dozen pitchforks made a soft, whispering rhythm, broken by the conversation of the women working in that section of the barn.

"Well good for you, Yri. I myself haven't had any luck with the romance yet," Panjira was saying, stomping her way up the center aisle to the flatbed wagon piled with bales of straw. She hefted an entire square bale off the bed, turned, and stomped back to the pen she was working on. "But maybe someday I will meet the right man, and he will look deep into my eyes, and he will say to me, Panji," she stabbed the bale with her pitchfork and broke the baling net with a practiced twist of the tines, "I like my women with meat on their bones and a sparkle in their eye! You are all I have ever wanted. Come! Share my rations."

There was a chorus of chuckles, and a dry, "If you meet him, ask if he has a handsome younger brother for me," and a laughing, "Forget the man, I'd just take the rations."

I grinned a little and stepped out into the aisle to get more straw for the next pen. I had just hooked my fingers through the netting on a straw bale when a horrible sound began blaring out over the valley. It wasn't the hour klaxon. This was deeper, almost growly, and loud enough to vibrate through your chest, and it didn't pause. It droned on and on and on.

Yri immediately propped her pitchfork against the wall of the pen she was in, and came out into the aisle, her pock-marked face a tight mask of fear.

Panjira had done the same, and within moments, all the other girls in our chain were filing silently toward the door at the far end of the barn. I joined them just as Panjira reached out to grasp Yri's arm. Her eyes were wide, her voice harsh as she spoke to be heard over the siren, "Who could it be? I thought we were all accounted for this morning!"

"We were! Just shut your mouth, keep your head down and pray!" Yri said, hurrying forward.

The hair prickled at the back of my neck. It seemed everyone else knew what was going on, and every last one of them, even Rushidi, was afraid.

Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be good. Dropping the bale, I started for the door, and wound up next to one of Rushidi's enforcers. She was usually one of the meaner ones, prone to using her fists to make a point, but she didn't even glance at me as we followed the rest of Rushidi's inner circle down the aisle and out into the main barnyard.

All of the barns had emptied in much the same way, and within a minute all of the women in the Red Sector were standing in neat rows down the length of the parking area.

We didn't have long to wait. A military lorry came rumbling around the end of the barn behind us. Guards with the big, black, armored hounds that patrolled the fence were keeping pace behind it, the dogs straining at their leads, excited by something in the back of the lorry.

The lorry swung in a lazy arc to about the middle of the parking yard, where it stopped with a grind of gears and a puff of steam. The driver released the tailgate and then climbed down out of the forward compartment. A moment later, Kreighvalden Ygraine appeared from the other side of the engine, her riding crop tucked beneath her arm. Her face was just as cold as ever, but there was a gleam in her eyes that I had seen dozens of times. I knew that gleam. That gleam lit her eyes when she had another human being writhing in agony at her feet.

I swallowed hard, and bent at the waist, bowing with the other slaves.

At last, the siren cut off, leaving a thick, unearthly silence.

The silence was split by the crunch of boots on gravel and the heavy breathing of muzzled dogs. The guards were jogging into position, some behind the truck, some to the perimeter of the parking area.

She must have given some sort of signal because there was more movement, centering around the truck.

I didn't dare lift my head to look, so I tried to imagine what was going on, and failed. I didn't have any reference for what I was hearing. There was a bunch of metal clanking on metal, what sounded like hammering, the jitter of a mechanical wrench, and then more crunching of gravel.

Then, abruptly, more silence.

After a moment, the kreighvalden spoke, her words ringing out in the early spring air. "Today is a sad day. Today, one of your number has rejected the chance to be a part of our great cause. Like many of you, she was lifted from the gutters of that terrible place, that place where freedom is only another name for uselessness. For laziness. For greed. She was brought here, to be given a beautiful purpose, a worthy calling, an employment that will give her food. Shelter. Security. And yet... she chose to turn her back on this great gift!" There was a pause. Then Kreighvalden Ygraine said, quietly, "Rise."

As one, we all straightened.

Next to me, Rushidi's enforcer drew in a quick breath through her nose as she got a look at the row of metal cross-poles that had been put up. Eleven of them in total, with one off to the side on its own. That one was taller, with a corrugated metal platform beneath it.

The kreighvalden surveyed us all with an impassive sweep of her gaze. "There was a traitor among you. I find it very unlikely that none of you knew about this person or their intentions. If you are that person, step forward to confess."

For several long, breathless seconds, she waited. No one moved. Then she made a small gesture with her fingers, and ten of the guards came forward, advancing on the rows of slave while the kreighvalden kept speaking. "I thought not. But this crime cannot be ignored. If no one will come forward, it is only fitting that such reluctance should have a negative result. Therefore, I must choose more of you to share the traitor's punishment."

Gasps and whimpers started up as the soldiers grabbed ten slaves at random, shoving and hauling them toward the cross-poles behind the kreighvalden.

At the same time, two soldiers came down out of the back of the lorry, dragging a long-limbed, gaunt figure between them. She had been badly beaten, and her face was a nearly unrecognizable mass of bloodied, swollen flesh, but there was no mistaking who the 'traitor' was. Indrienne couldn't even support her own weight, her bare feet leaving twin lines in the gravel as they yanked her up to the platform of that lone cross-pole. She hung limp as a ragdoll as they attached her wrists and ankles to the ends of the poles with wire, then removed the platform, leaving her suspended a meter above the ground.

"The Order of the Coventry is powerful," Kreighvalden Ygraine said, beginning to pace slowly down the line while the other ten women were tied to the shorter cross-poles with wire, arms and legs spread in a wide X. "We have the most advanced military in the history of mankind. Our soldiers are the strongest, the fastest, and the most ruthless fighting force in the world. The Order of the Coventry does not take betrayal lightly. There is only one fate awaiting those who dishonor the gift of being a part of our great cause. Let it be known that this traitor didn't even make it as far as the perimeter fence before she was brought down."

The soldiers began tearing the slaves' jumpsuits open until backs and buttocks were exposed. Indrienne wasn't afforded that much dignity. She was stripped completely naked. Still, the kreighvalden spoke, calmly turning to pace the other direction. "I strongly urge you each to consider what you see today. If you decide to betray the Order, you will be caught. And when you are caught, you will sentence ten of your sister Sectorists to be whipped alongside you. And then you will face the ultimate judgment reserved for capital crimes."

The kreighvalden stopped pacing and wheeled about on her heels to face the line of cross-poles. She gave a little nod to the eleven soldiers now standing at attention.

They saluted. They raised their arms, shortwhips uncoiling in their hands. There was a hiss of leather through the air, then the vicious crack of that leather curling over human skin. Again and again and again.

Nausea crawled up my throat, threatening to send my half-ration out my mouth.

The whipping continued for fifty lashes, until the only sounds in the parking area were the grunts of the soldiers as they swung, and the whimpers and cries of the girls being whipped.

At fifty, the ten pulled from the line were done. Hurting, some of them bleeding, they were released from the cross-poles and sent back to their places.

But it was far from over. The soldiers just began taking turns whipping Indrienne. They whipped her until her blood ran freely, and the white of bone showed through shredded skin. They whipped her until her body no longer jerked in response.

Then the kreighvalden gave another signal, and the soldiers stepped back, but they didn't cut Indrienne down. Four sections of chain fence were brought out of the lorry and put up in a square around Indrienne's broken body. Then two of the armored guard dogs were unmuzzled and released inside the fence.

No one should have had to see what happened next. It was bad enough having to listen to the brutal snarling and growling.

I didn't watch. I stared at the kreighvalden instead.

She was observing the carnage going on inside the fence, and not even her frigid face could hide the twist of pleasure on her lips or the sick flicker of excitement in her eyes. Her grip was tight on her riding crop, her fingers flexing with every gnash of teeth and fang, every splatter of blood.

Someday, I was going to use that riding crop to wipe the smug, sadistic smirk off her face.

~~~

Eventually, the spectacle was over. Indrienne's corpse had been sufficiently desecrated, the Order of the Coventry's might had been fully exhibited, and we were all deemed appropriately terrified into submission.

That was the intended point, after all.

Orrelian had talked about what to expect from this sort of warfare, once, and he hadn't been far off. Strip the prisoners of their humanity. Use heavy-handed punishments to break their will to fight. Keep them hungry, keep them busy, keep them in small groups, keep those groups from interacting. The list went on, and it was all playing out in gruesome detail right in front of me.

Kreighvalden Ygraine gave another speech that I refused to listen to, then sent us back to work.

I got as far as the door before someone took hold of my shoulder, hauling me up short.

Rushidi's husky voice rasped in my ear, "Not you, newblood. Kar wants ya. Asked for you special, so go on. Best not keep her waiting." Then she strutted on past, giving me a rough shove in the direction of a small farming lorry idling by the livestock paddock.

The ten girls who had been whipped were climbing up into the cargo bin, their movements stiff.

Karalli was leaning against the side of the engine, hands shoved in the front pockets of her jumpsuit. When she saw me coming, she gave a little jerk of her head toward the driver's compartment. Without a word, I went around to the passenger side and got in. Whatever this was about, I doubted it had to do with helping Karalli hand out chunks of ice.

A moment later we were on our way up the road toward the medical hut. Karalli kept her eyes on where she was going, but after we had rounded the first hairpin, she cleared her throat. "I have a neimstrug. A confession. I asked for you because you are good at keeping secrets, I think. Yes?"

I glanced at her. "What secrets?"

A lopsided, humorless smile tugged at her mouth. "Where I come from, there is a small, ugly brown lizard we call gaini. Gaini will go out into a field, or on a rocky hill, somewhere it can be seen by hawks, and there it will begin to wriggle all around, as if it is weak and injured. And hawks, they see gaini and they think it will make a fine meal. So they swoop. But gaini is not weak. Gaini is only pretending. Gaini is only waiting for hawks to get close. Then, surprise, gaini leaps and bites with its venomous fang, and it is hawks who becomes the fine meal." She looked at me askance, that smile growing. "You are gaini."

Huh. "I'm an ugly lizard." I turned to look out at the road. "Thank you."

With a chuckle, Karalli pulled the lorry onto the narrow dirt track that would take us past the canteen. "You want everyone to believe you are weak. You pretend you are harmless. But this is trick. You are smarter than this... and I need someone smart. I need someone who can hide things. Someone who is good at keeping secrets."

The canteen came into view ahead of us, and Karalli kept going up the hill toward the medical hut. We were nearly there. "You need someone to help you smuggle supplies in," I guessed.

Karalli dipped her head. "See? You are gaini. Rushidi brings me things. Bandages. Iodides. A cough serum now and then. But she does not get anything for blacklung or water fever. Those are too risky to move through her regular channels, and she... she is not interested in that sort of risk. I have another source... but... I am watched." She brought the lorry to a slow halt in front of the medical hut and slipped the pin into the flywheel before looking at me. "I could help more people if I could get more medicine."

I chewed my lower lip. It was risky. If I got caught for smuggling, I would just wind up like Indrienne. Still, if Karalli had a network, it could prove useful. I came to a decision. "Fine. What do I do?"

She considered me for a second. "I will let you know. For now, just be ready." Then she released the tailgate, opened the door and hopped down to the ground.

I did the same. For the first time since I was put on that cargo ship, a tiny flicker of hope flared to life. If medicine could get in, then other things could also go out.

~~~

AN: These last few chapters have been hard! Not just because of real life stuff, but because I have to take Bren to places that are dark, and hard to write. 

So. Question. Does Bren need more reaction to what is going on? I don't want to go overboard on the emotional side of things and spend way too much time in Bren's head, but I also don't want her to seem like she's a cardboard cutout. 

Anyway. As always, any thoughts or comments are very welcome. Thank you so much for reading!

Anna