Javen: Legacy of the Curse

CHAPTER 1

Two Carts and Some Boares

The month of Torrid Moons had passed and Cartenia sighed with relief as the milder days of Wheat Moons cooled the land. The mellower breezes gently rippled the goldenfern meadows, which were almost ready for harvest. The bows of the pomme and cherith trees bent low, heavy with fruit. High in their branches, young slaves harvested. On the ground, older slaves collected the fruit in tall baskets. When the baskets were full, they were strapped to their backs and transported to waiting wagons. Overseers kept the pace brisk.

Onto the scene, heading southwest along a small road which cut through the Lugar Forest, two slave carts rumbled. The carts, under the management of four Boares, were keenly watched by three large, very alert overseers among the trees.

The trailing cart was full, but the lead cart wasn’t. The Boares overcame the temptation to steal a slave from among those harvesting. The penalty for stealing a slave was stiff – being the loss of a limb or head.

Of the two Boares on the lead cart, one drove while the other dealt heavy blows with a whip to a slave inside -- an old man. The man curled away on his side while the six other slaves were unmoving as stones.

The aft cart wobbled drunkenly as its two Boare drivers argued the merits of frackweed as a stimulant. The argument escalated. The Boare in the lead cart turned from the old man, and heaved himself to the top of the cage. Coiling the whip behind, he swung, nailing one of the arguing Boare on the nose and the other -- who was just slightly less dim-witted -- on the back of the head.

Sodfert! Muckler! he shouted, We’ve a cart full of merchandise needs watchin'! Stop fussing!

The young but wide-awake Boare driving the forward cart called up to the leader, Zapain, there're some riders coming o’er the ridge.

What ya waitin’ for, Slag? Zapain snapped.

**

The boys reined-in at the top of a rise. Shouldn’t we head back? Yoreck asked. His saddle creaked as he turned and squinted up into the fall sky. Only a couple hours til supper.

Javen’s horse snorted impatiently next to the others, waiting for Mobsby to catch up.

Ya know Javen, if you’d left your staff with Savan Kregor like he said, I wouldn’t have so much trouble passing you. It’s sticking outta your saddle like a lance, Mobsby complained as he drew near.

Javen looked back. Till I met you, Mobsby, I’d never seen a horse crawl.

Just biding my time, he said riding up next to Ravel. He shouted, Come on, I’ll beat ya to the road and back! Spurring the horse, he shot off, determined to win. It was a dream. Even Javen beat him, and he’d only been riding solo a month.

The boys careened after Mobsby and overtook him. They galloped wildly past a wall of tall hedges. Abruptly, their necks snapped back as their heads were wrapped in short ropes with flat rocks at each end. They flew from their horses, hitting the ground hard. The horses reared and bolted.

Zapain snagged one horse, cursing as the rest evaded his grasp, taking off the way they’d come. Sodfert and Muckler started to chase, but their leader screamed, Forget em, you lose em good. Come here. The two darted to Zapain. He shoved the bridle of the captured horse into Sodfert’s empty hands and barked, You get the four! I’ll get the wrappers. An’ don’t lose the horse! One horse is worth four brats.

Javen’s senses returned when one of the Boares flung him into their cart. His elbow hit something hard, and he heard Yoreck gasp. As they came round, they rubbed their bruises and slowly sat.

Sorry, he mumbled to Yoreck, who rubbed his head where Javen clipped him.

Moving between the boys, the Boares grabbed wrists and clamped them in shackles chained to a bolt in the floor. The door crashed shut, and was locked. The boys exchanged terrified looks.

Ravel whispered, Slavers never venture this far from the main road!

Yoreck murmured, Nobody’ll know.

Javen strained against the iron shackle. It wasn’t going anywhere. Defeated, he examined the other occupants.

An old man groaned in the corner, his back facing the commotion. Nearby a woman crooned to a squalling infant and a man with a heavily bleeding leg slept beside a young boy with a tearstained face who was whimpering softly. In the back corner, a skeletal woman snapped sharply at her whiny young son.

Javen looked away and caught Yoreck’s eyes, reading in them his same fear.

**

Savan Kregor entered Labrium’s office without announcement, Labrium, four tyros took horses out this afternoon and one horse is missing. The other three returned ‘bout ten minutes back. And the four boys aren’t returned either.

Who’s missing? Labrium asked, returning his quill to the silver holder.

Those four that's always together: Mobsby and his friends.

Which way’d they go? Labrium stood and rolled the parchment he’d been examining. He stepped to the wall, placed it on a shelf and selected another parchment.

Followed the river through the pass. I sent someone to bring em back. Figure they’re loafing. Didn’t tie down the horses. Thought you’d wanna know. Gotta get back, there’re others out. Kregor said in his curt way.

Labrium placed the large parchment under his arm. I’ll send a search party beyond, in case it is more than a boyish mistake. Yoreck isn’t likely to have forgotten to tie down his horse. Nor Javen.

He followed Kregor to the door as Lopner entered, Ask Joyla, Thera, and Kand to attend me. Stress the importance.

Lopner bounced away at a faster pace than usual. Returning to his desk, Labrium unrolled the map of the region, determining the search area. Minutes later, Kand entered and approached Labrium. A pale, slim, brown-haired woman in her twenties soon followed, with a handsome dark-skinned woman in her late forties. They joined Kand beside their leader.

Labrium pointed at the map, relaying Kregor’s information. The three Seers talked briefly, and then left to search of the river and surrounding foothills.

CHAPTER 2

The Rattle of Chains

Mobsby didn’t take long to begin probing the other captives. Urel and Sage were husband and wife, and their sons were Glorn, an infant, and Krain, a four-year-old. Varna and Brund were a mother and three-year-old son. The old man ignored Mobsby.

That doesn’t look good, Mobsby whispered pointing to Urel’s cut. They do it? He nodded slightly toward the Boares.

The Boares chased us down a hill, Urel answered weakly. I lost my balance, fell, and cut my leg trying not to land on Krain. We were caught when Sage stopped to help me.

Urel shot a sad smile toward Sage to show it wasn’t an accusation. But fear still shadowed his eyes. His gaze took in his family. They lingered on his wife, whose eyes were filled with the same dread. Their kidnapping was illegal, but who would care in a land where justice was a commodity, sold or perverted at the whim of the governing? He was powerless. The thought of what they’d do to the children…Sage… It almost unmanned him. He closed his eyes and tried to push the thoughts away.

The man’s emotions were so raw—so open, Javen could almost feel them. He was thinking of the babies, so small, and with no one to take care of them, love them… As the man stroked their hair, held them tight, Javen saw the desperation and helplessness in the almost agitated movements. When the man glanced at his wife, Javen felt a stab near his heart. He felt a lump grow in his throat. Grandmere had given him that same look…at the end. Javen looked away, out of the cart. He wouldn’t cry here.

Somewhere between Empyra and the southern Tongue region of Cartenia, the atmosphere turned sticky damp and the temperature hot. Evergreens in every hue of green along with tropical flowers of bright red and yellow colored the landscape. The dirt road had become sand at some point.

The slavers made camp – sort of. The Boares inhaled their frackweed and scrutrat supper, squabbling over everything and screaming manically when one of them accidently stepped on a hidden sandspur. Scraps of raw scrutrat entrails were occasionally tossed into the first cart, for which the starving slaves scrambled and fought. The frackweed spines, thoroughly chewed, were the second carts usual portion. On the rare occasion, when chunks of the raw meat made it to the boy’s cart, Yoreck immediately confiscated it, and portioned it out equally.

After dinner, the Boares switched to the usual cabbage ale. They drank and argued, until a disagreement erupted about the best way to dispose of dead bodies, resulting in one bloody nose and two black eyes. The losers sulked and drank, while the winner gloated and drank. Finally, snores filled the air.

Javen whispered to Yoreck who had shifted to his back, Where’s your penknife?

Right pocket, he replied over his shoulder not wanting to turn and rattle the chain, but it’s on the chained side. Shackle’s too big…I can’t get it.

I know, stretch out. Quietly.

Yoreck eased into a flat position behind Javen, placing his pocket as close to Javen as possible. Then the rain came. It wasn’t a gentle, sweet, drizzly rain. It was a stinging, gusty thunderous rain. It sent the Boares under the carts, which were placed side-by-side for more cover. Slag’s eyeball could be seen through the floor slats, crushing Javen’s plans.

Not now, Javen and Yoreck mouthed over their shoulders at the same time, but neither smiled.

Not now, persisted for three nights and looked to be their companion at daybreak on the fourth day, but mid-morning the sun burst through, pushing the heavy dark clouds east.

That night Yoreck again positioned his pocket near Javen’s hand. The knife was tangled in the fabric at the bottom. Brund’s crying put everyone on edge. Every time a Boare shifted, they stilled.

Mobsby and Ravel worked at getting Ravel’s knife in the same way. There was momentary elation when the cloth ripped, and the boys thought Mobsby had succeeded, but a heavy clattering followed.

"Slukerd! Way to lose it! Ravel cursed under his breath. You lost the knife in the slats and ripped me a hole!"

I think you moved. Mobsby responded meekly.

I think you should stop thinking, Ravel snarled back.

Shhh, Yoreck said urgently.

The Boare leader restlessly rolled, snorted, and coughed himself into semi-wakefulness. The boys froze as he glanced toward the carts.

What you up to? he bellowed. Flinging off his bedding, he approached the cart at a trot. You’s sleep…now!

Who can sleep with the crying? Ravel snapped. They need food!

’They need food,’ Zapain’s voice rose in a mocking pitch. He grabbed the bars of the cart and glared at Ravel. Who’s you think you is? You ain’t in charge, so do’s yer told, Uman-rotter.

Too bad you survived the Boare Purge of Fallyn, Ravel murmured.

Ravel! Mobsby whispered while the rest of the cart looked on in horror, not understanding Ravel’s reference, but realizing the Boare wouldn’t appreciate it.

Wat you say, you seed-of-a-wormhor? Zapain rounded the corner of the cart and unlocked the door. Wat…did…you…say?!

All I said was that the kids are hungry. It’s hard to sleep with their crying, Ravel hedged as the Boare entered the cage in the grips of a towering rage.

Is that all, dregger? He slammed his fist into Ravel's face, and then again. Ravel's head snapped, hitting the bars of the cart. His body sagged.

An' I takes care o’ the cryin' too. Zapain jerked Brund by the arm and slapped him.

Brund howled.

Stop! Varna, his mother, wailed.

Doan like that? Hows bout this? Zapain flipped Brund in the air, caught him by the foot and shook.

Please! Varna croaked hoarsely.

Brund’s cries ceased abruptly. After a couple more shakes, Zapain dropped the child to the floor. Ravel’s eyes slowly opened and he shifted.

Him’s quiet now. Sleep, I say. Zapain pointed at Ravel, delivered a last brutal kick, and stomped from the cart.

Varna glared at Ravel.

He crawled to a sitting position and leaned against the bars, with his eyes closed.

Varna spat at him. Another minute passed, and Brund stirred and then wailed. Varna collapsed face first to the cart floor, sobbing soft words until the boy fell fitfully to sleep.

Later as the cart slept, Yoreck whispered, That was too close, Ravel. Ummm, what’s the Boare Purge thing?

A good idea, Mobsby mumbled sourly.

Ravel murmured, Don’t know, and returned to his study of the floorboards.

The boys traded looks, but no one dared ask anything further. Ravel’s closed face didn’t invite questions.

Yoreck resumed his position. Inch by inch Javen pulled the fabric closer, until it popped free. There was no celebration; all fell into a restless sleep.

The next day felt like forever until the Boares fell asleep.

Mobsby whispered into the darkness, I wish they’d drink themselves into a permanent blackout. He glanced at the sleeping children.

Javen snorted agreement while using his fingers to locate Yoreck’s manacle keyhole.

Ow, Yoreck grumbled when the penknife stabbed his wrist.

Sorry, Javen mumbled, trying again. Finding the opening, he began to work it.

After a while, Javen quit and lay down to sleep as Yoreck took over and the other boys looked on. Javen’s dreams returned to his grandmere’s final moments.

The routine didn’t change. For three days, they jostled and bumped west across the Amora Tongue Road. Their blank eyes stared at the palm trees outside the bars, uninterested in the chief foliage of the western Tongue region. They stirred when strangers passed, but their cries were ignored. Nights were busy hours as Yoreck’s lock was worked. Javen occasionally felt the locking mechanism jiggle under his attempts, but never high enough, or long enough to release the bolt.

Urel looked on, pitying the boys their disappointment.

Dusk on the ninth day of captivity saw the carts pass Avelry. Camp was set beyond the city. Sodfert and Muckler were sent to get fresh meat. A couple hours later, they returned with two small sheep. Zapain was unimpressed with the ‘skinny’ sheep, and even less impressed when he spied a follower peeking from behind a tree in the woods. After warning the two not to move, he slipped into the trees.

He roared into the camp when he returned, You two genus’s di’nt think ta see if there’s were someone b’hind you! Zapain punctuated each syllable with a kick. If it hadn’t been for me findin’ that spy, we’s would all be in trouble, but I taken care of him. An’ don’t even think about havin’ none o’ this sheep. Go ‘n catch yourself a scrutrat. Zapain turned his back and consumed one of the animals, almost raw.

That night, laying on his side, Javen’s stomach dropped on hearing the pen knife snap in two. He turned glumly with the rest of the cart and gaped at Yoreck’s unbound wrist. He was free. Even Urel’s eyes bugged at the sight.

Pocketing the broken sliver, Yoreck whispered, Where’s your knife? I’ll get you loose.

Ravel nodded to his knife stuck between the floorboards. "Thanks to Mobsby. And of course, his knife is absent, slukerd," He cursed under his breath.

Mobsby blushed and shifted.

Javen whispered, Right pocket. Don’t waste time trying to free us. Start working on the cart door.

By afternoon two days later, they were deep into the Wald Land, where heavy dust combined with sun and sweat to create a crispy shell on their skin. But to the captives, the scorching heat was minor, after eleven days of scant food and a lifetime of slavery hanging over their head.

Hazelmere was their destination. Neither the arid brown Wald, nor the distant craggy Meon Range, rising like battle-hardened warriors to the north, were remarkable, when compared to the large city in the west where the slave trade was brisk.

Mobsby licked his dry lips and whispered over Brund’s howls, in a pathetic attempt at optimism, Don’t worry. We'll get outta here.

Urel murmured softly to Krain as he whimpered, but didn’t discourage Mobsby. He’d have plenty of time later for that.

The old man in the corner mumbled, You won’t be smilin' when we reach Hazelmere.

Darkness fell, and the Boares began their drinking ritual until drunken sleep overtook them. Yoreck resumed his work on the door lock.

Make it happen, Yoreck, Ravel murmured. Time’s runnin’ out.

Yoreck snorted over his shoulder.

Zapain’s eyes flew open and he jumped unsteadily to his feet. Hey you! He shouted, stumbling toward the cage. The other Boares didn’t move, either too drunk or too lazy to care. I say sit. No standin’ in my cart.

Yoreck sat with his hands behind as Zapain approached, Dat’s better. Wait! The Boare pointed to Yoreck. You, stand up ‘nd show your ‘hind!

The cart was quiet, and they all looked anywhere but Yoreck’s freed hand. Zapain neared with keys in hand, inserting the brush key into the wooden locking mechanism. Inside the cart, the Boare shoved, sending Yoreck staggering sideways. Yoreck directed his fall toward his empty manacle on the floor. His shoulder hit hard without his arms to save him, and he rolled smashing his nose. With a moan, he rolled to his back, holding the manacle to his wrist.

Zapain laughed harshly.

Slowly, Yoreck got to his feet and turned to display the shackle. He stood stock still, feeling his heart pound.

Zapain tugged at the manacle, ripping it from Yoreck’s hands, understanding the situation in a moment. He twisted Yoreck’s arm behind his back, wrenching the knife free.

Yoreck groaned.

Zapain continued to twist, though Yoreck remained defiantly silent, despite the pain. All knives, now!

The boys held up their hands showing them empty. Zapain grunted. As he refastened Yoreck’s manacle, he spotted Ravel’s knife in the floor crack. Shoving Yoreck’s head into the wood, he pried the knife free and exited. No one moved; no one dared.

Sleep, when it came that night, was fretful. Brund woke several times crying, which set-off Krain, Glorn or both. Mobsby rolled restlessly; Yoreck didn’t snore; and Ravel cursed several times under his breath.

Javen lay with his eyes closed and tried to think himself somewhere else, but his imagination wasn’t that good. All he could feel was terror. So, he stared sightlessly through the bars, wishing he could kill every Malcaster.

CHAPTER 3

A Vile Kind of Clay

Three more days of dry arid travel followed. As morning broke on the seventeenth day of captivity, it began as other mornings. Sodfert and Muckler argued about breakfast, they argued about driving, they argued about snoring, they argued about arguing.

At mid-day, the Meon Range was a distant outcropping, their harsh peaks a diminishing horizon, when the Boares spied a young girl pulling a cow down the road. The area was desolate, but still they hesitated. Their sly gazes scanned the area for overseers. Getting caught would cost them body parts they didn’t want to lose. Once their solitude was certain, they shot off the carts.

The four bore down on the unsuspecting girl and her cow. Javen watched, riveted to the horror, almost forgetting to breathe. The Boares gained. The girl suddenly turned, her eyes grew wide. She dropped the rope and ran.

The animal was consigned to Slag, who kicked the cow in a fit. The cow returned the gesture, sending Slag air-born with a hoof print on his chest as a reminder of his stupidity. The Boares slowed significantly as they got bogged down in the sandy terrain. The girl’s light frame, though, seemed to skim the ground as she raced past low, jagged wrinkles of dry gray, sandy earth. Suddenly the Boares came to a standstill.

Javen gripped the bars as he stared at the scene, wondering if they were giving up or it was some kind of trick.

Zapain screamed, Where’d she go? He slapped Sodfert and Muckler. "What happen to her? She just disappears! Find her ya idjots! Find her, I says. ‘R