Amara and the Giant's Ring: The Blue Mist

By John Repplinger

Power of the Blue Mist

Amara wanted nothing more than to escape her horrible life of slavery. In her bid for freedom, an eclectic group of orphans, known as the Band of Brothers, take her in and help hide her identity. She discovers her father's bracelet which he died protecting, mysteriously tied to her belt. Instead of

• Language: English
• Publisher: IngramSpark
• Release date: Jun 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987858301

Book preview

John Repplinger

Amara and the Giant’s Ring: The Blue Mist (Ebook)

First published by IngramSpark 2023

Copyright © 2023 by John Repplinger

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

ISBN: 979-8-9878583-0-1

Illustration by John Repplinger

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

To my wonderful readers, who bring my book

to life with the power of imagination.

For Connie, Mehayla, Timothy, and Caleb.

Contents

Acknowledgement

1. Taken for Dead

2. Freedom

3. Not a Myth

4. On the Run

5. By Another Name

6. Band of Brothers

7. Hunter’s Shadow

8. The Tenth Orphan

9. Blood Brothers

10. Appearances

11. The Blue Mist

12. Alone

13. Roof Walking

14. Stone and Leather

15. Lebac, Legacy, and Cinder

16. Ropes of the Trade

17. Grand Plans

18. The Long Way Home

19. The Test

20. Bad News

21. Focused

22. Nighttime Story

23. Defending

24. White and Gold

25. Unexpected Gift

26. A Rush of Boys

27. Old Stomping Ground

28. Spy Revealed

29. A Helping Hand

30. An Apology

31. Land of Mist and Wind

32. Cooperation

33. Holes in the Net

34. Choosing Sides

35. A Magician’s Secret

36. New Recruits

37. Procession of Prisoners

38. Gatecrashers

39. The Lion’s Den

40. Unforgivable

41. Faster Than Fast

42. Haboob

43. Good News

44. Top of the World

Sneak Peak at Book Two

About the Author

Acknowledgement

Thank you, my readers, for adventuring along with Amara. You bring this wonderful world to life through your imagination. I am grateful and humbled that you have chosen this book.

Thank you, my national and international critical partners (CPs), whom I met through Google Groups: Stephanie Skilling, Laura Miller, Christie Ligh, and Neil Hart. You were the first ones to have read my book cover to cover and provided incredible feedback to improve this story as well as my writing skills. May your own novels be read by the thousands.

Thank you to my beta readers: McKenzie Landon, Sarah M, Rachel H, Jaymie P, Kim C, Cathie L, Cassie G, Jennifer W, Jan (TechyLibrarianJ), Ann Wald, Dianna H, Jennifer H, Jane Monroe & Kasey, Steve Harter, Miles G, Salome & Victoria B, Linda R, the Widing family, and those humble who chose to remain unnamed. Thank you Jennifer Hoops who read the book out loud to her 5th-grade class at Myers Elementary (2021-22). Wow! I hope this inspires your students to become future authors themselves.

A big shout-out goes to my Willamette Bearcats who previewed my book and gave me their honest opinion: Kyera Lutton, Alena Langford, Isabelle Knorr, Ellen Lovre, Paulina Konev, Tara Kroft, Michael Seraphin, and Maggie Froelich. I also couldn’t have made it past that last writing hurdle without Sophia Valva who helped kick off my incredible editing crew: Noah Bolls, Lee Loftin, Lilly Thies, Emma Rhode, and Natalie Brauch. Very few authors get to work with more than one editor—I got to work with five!

I tip my hat to my sister, Linda Repplinger, who inspired me to learn graphic design years ago. With those skills, I was able to create my lovely cover and illustrations for this book.

My biggest thank you is reserved for Connie, my awesome wife. She gave me time to work on my novel and endured countless ramblings about the plot, character development, flow and timing, IBSNs, graphics, etc. She also put in hours of work as the final proof editor of this novel. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you also to my three kids, Mehayla, Timothy, and Caleb who listened to the author read the story for bedtime. You all illuminate my life and bring me joy. I’ve written this book for you all and future generations to come. Remember when something seems overwhelming, break it into smaller parts. The impossible becomes I M possible. I also thank the Lord without whom all this would not be possible.

Finally, thank you, my readers, for adventuring along with Amara. You bring this wonderful world to life through your imagination each time you read this book. I am grateful and humbled that you have chosen this book.

1

Taken for Dead

Amara’s heart burned for freedom, aching to be anywhere but the dirt tunnels of the Grand Vizier’s research grounds. She longed for it so much that she imagined a lush meadow springing up about her. It was like the one she and her father had once visited before his murder. Tall grass tickled her fingertips, and acrobatic swallows filled the sky. They snapped at bugs above the swaying grass, swerving from side to side before streaking high into the sky, breaking loose from even gravity’s pull. Unlike her, they were so happy and free.

Girl! Bickle’s shrill voice echoed down the tunnel, jarring her back to reality.

Amara’s imaginary world crashed to the ground like a bird with broken wings. She allowed herself only the briefest moment of remorse before hiking the basket of dirty clothes higher on her hip and hurrying forward.

Is that you, girl?

Was I caught daydreaming again? she wondered. Will Bickle be upset and take away another meal from me?

Amara tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear and bit her lip. She glanced at the figure striding in her direction. The oil lamps mounted in brackets along the walls illuminated Bickle’s distinct bow-legged walk and puffed-out chest as he stomped down the passage. He always carried himself with more importance than his servant status deserved. A contemptuous snort escaped her lips before she could stop it. Thankfully he was too far away to have heard, and no one else was around. She lowered her head in deference as he drew near.

Where have you been, you pathetic excuse for a slave! said Bickle.

She glimpsed his yellow, crooked teeth before casting her eyes to the ground. Chestnut brown hair spilled over her bright blue eyes, hiding the glare she gave his boots. He stopped a few feet away and sniffed with indignation.

You should have been in the washroom with the others, he said. I spent half the morning searching the grounds for you. Were you hiding from me, slave? Trying to get out of work?

No, sir, she hastily replied.

The dirty heap in the wicker basket should have been obvious enough, but Bickle wasn’t the brightest candle. The basket slid down her narrow hip again, and she hiked it back up.

Bickle’s day wasn’t complete without making people miserable, particularly her. At thirteen years of age and the youngest slave, she was always given the worst tasks. Amara was also a girl. On the social hierarchy, girls were not as valuable as boys or women. Even her friend, who was only a year older and also a girl, was never given the nasty tasks she routinely received. Amara was the lowest of the low. Bickle reminded her of that fact daily. Not for the first time did she wonder if Bickle was singling her out because she was a foreigner. Her accent had long since disappeared, but he still seemed to hold it over her.

Maybe it won’t be too awful this time, she thought hopefully.

I was just picking up this load of laundry after carrying freshwater upstairs, sir.

The servant was quiet, perhaps determining whether she was being insolent. Finally, he gave a small sniff of disdain.

Report to the prison, he drawled, almost like he was bored with the conversation.

Amara’s stomach somersaulted. The prison? But what did I do?

She swallowed hard and dared not to meet his eyes. She did not want to give him another reason to punish her. Bickle continued in his high, nasally voice.

A prisoner has died. Clean the cell out by mid-day. Ten lashes if you’re late.

A tiny chill crept up her neck at the thought of going to the prison building. Delivering supplies was bad enough, but cleaning a cell? She hated being around the prisoners.

Yes, sir. She replied, waiting to be dismissed.

Well, get going, you filth!

Yes, sir. She bowed again and bustled away before any additional tasks could be assigned. Amara could imagine his yellow teeth set in a grin. At least she didn’t have to see that.

Once, Amara had responded too slowly to orders from a superior and was forced to clean the dragon cages for a month. Truth be told, they were little more than overgrown lizards with lightweight and flexible scales that were harder than iron. That was why they were so valuable to the Emperor’s army, and why a sizable hoard was bred at the research facility. It had been miserable work, and the foul odor of the cat-sized creatures made her gag, but Amara would take cleaning the dragon cages over visiting the prison any day.

She took a left, another left, and then a right through the maze of passages. Up ahead a dark shape hunkered along the wall. This shape appeared to have a tail, but thankfully it remained still. Rats scurried after people in the tunnels, shrieking for scraps of food and occasionally biting if none was given. Amara watched to see if it would move, but it remained motionless.

Maybe something had been dropped accidentally? she hoped. Drawing closer, she scrunched her nose at its bloated, very dead form. I hope that won’t end up as our dinner!

The scent of lye grew stronger as she neared stone stairs. Because today was a wash day, several slaves would be hard at work in the washroom above. She tapped her worn boots against the bottom step, knocking the dirt off, and mounted the stairs as quietly as a cat.

Given that there was little else to do for entertainment, eavesdropping had become a favorite pastime for Amara. It was the best way to get information about the goings-on around the research facility. Padding towards the stone archway, she listened carefully, but there was just the sloshing of water. She carefully peeked in.

Close to the entrance, the head slave stood at a knee-high tub. Tara’s lean frame churned the contents with a long washing bat. Escaped strands of black and graying hair drifted in front of her gaunt face while she agitated the water. Permanent scowl lines creased her forehead.

Amara’s best friend sat perched on the edge of a stool in the corner, wringing water from a towel. Eva glanced up, noticing Amara peek around the entrance. The two girls grinned at each other, but the women in the room continued working away as Amara crept in, not caring one bit about the newcomer. The only other person to acknowledge her presence was Tara, who gave a thin-lipped grimace.

Drop those in that pile, she growled, gesturing vaguely towards a large heap. The moment Amara dumped the load, Tara exhaled in disgust.

"No! I said there, you dolt!" She pointed to a single sheet on the floor.

Amara jumped back, picking up the cloth and shifting it to the correct spot. Sorry, she apologized, even though Tara wouldn’t hear her soft voice.

A single sheet isn’t a pile, Amara grumbled. It wasn’t worth poking the hornet’s nest to mention the distinction though.

Most people avoided Tara. The woman’s voice was harsh from years of yelling. It grated on everyone’s nerves. Poor hearing was primarily to blame, but Tara enjoyed ordering others about. Tara was the queen of her washroom kingdom, and she made sure that everyone knew it.

Amara hurried across the room toward her friend and grabbed a washing bat, wiggling onto an uncomfortable three-legged stool. This spot was the one place in the entire research facility that she didn’t hate. Sunlight filtered through the small windows in the stone walls, allowing fresh air in but small enough to prevent escape. The distant red cliffs and parts of Yarham were visible during the day, and when it became dark, lamps across the city winked magically into existence as they were lit. Their soft light was always so inviting and welcoming.

Ah, heat, Amara sighed with contentment as the sun began to thaw her from the chill of the tunnels. It was always much cooler underground, even on blazing summer days like today. The sun’s rays illuminated three white lines on her right wrist as she stirred. These were scars that identified her as a slave of the Grand Vizier. After making sure no one was watching, she leaned across the massive tub of water.

I found a giant rat. Probably died from overeating, Amara whispered.

Her friend looked around and leaned in.

The rats get more food than us, Eva griped.

Maybe we should slip it into the sheets and let one of the old maids discover it.

A snort escaped Eva’s mouth, which she covered with a pretend cough. They weren’t supposed to talk to each other either, but that didn’t stop them. They just couldn’t get caught. Thankfully, the sounds of sloshing water covered their conversation. She glanced at the other women in the room. But no one seemed to have heard.

They were all middle-aged and were required to dress in long gray robes. They cover their heads with scarves as a sign of modesty, although Amara knew for a fact that not all of them were modest. Neither Amara nor Eva wore a head scarf since they were not of age.

How about Tara’s pile? There was a glint of mischief in her friend’s hazel eyes. Neither of them would risk getting in trouble, but it was fun to fantasize.

Do you think we’ll ever get out of here? Eva asked.

Amara shrugged, despondent.

The topic had been rehashed countless times, but it never changed the fact that they were both bound to the Grand Vizier until someone paid to set them free. Eva had family who could pay for her freedom, but there was no one for Amara. The only way she would leave was after she died. It was a depressing thought but impossible to ignore. This was her life.

"You know, they have paid servants in the Daphur who are free and treated with respect."

I know, I know, Amara rolled her eyes. Eva grinned.

Slavery is illegal there, and that’s where I’d go if I ever got out. I would never chance getting enslaved again, said Eva, grunting as she wrung water from a large towel.

So why doesn’t the Emperor just remove the Grand Vizier?

Shhh!!! Eva hissed, eyes darting around. She lowered her voice so that it was nearly inaudible. You know as well as me. Once appointed, the Grand Vizier stays in power until either the Grand Vizier or Emperor dies. Besides, rumor has it that the Emperor is dying.

I’m glad. They both should be replaced. Amara slumped on her stool.

It is what it is, and we can’t change anything, Eva sighed.

"Why can’t things change?" Amara hissed, banging the bat onto the wooden tub in frustration.

Eva shrugged helplessly. Her friend accepted local customs without question, and it drove Amara crazy. How could anyone accept this hardship as normal? There was nothing normal about it. Slavery was supposedly illegal, yet here they both sat. Even more infuriating was the Emperor. He pretended to be unaware of the Grand Vizier and his disregard for imperial law. Granted, Yarham resided on the empire’s western border and the fringe of power.

In Kalome, people are free to do whatever they choose. They go where they want and are free to follow their dreams.

Are you sure that place truly exists? You aren’t making it up? And all of that wonderful food you go on about?

Amara rolled her eyes again but grinned at the obvious attempt to redirect the conversation.

Keep working, girls! Tara snapped.

Amara gulped and stirred faster. The older woman’s hand rested on her hip, clearly having watched them for a while. She waited a few minutes until the head slave wasn’t watching and glared in Tara’s direction, sticking her tongue out.

It’s Amara, not ‘girl.’ Uh - Mar - Uh. It is not that difficult to say. Try saying it sometime.

Eva giggled. She thought she had muttered this under her breath, but one of the women glanced her way with a warning look. Amara ducked her head and turned away, watching from the corner of her eye as the woman shook her head and turned back to her work. Tara didn’t blink, not having heard the sass. When it was safe, she leaned toward Eva again.

Bickle stopped me in the tunnels. He told me to clean out a dead prisoner’s cell. Said that I’ll get lashed if I’m late, she sagged further on her stool like melting wax. There was no way of getting out of wash duties, and she resided herself to another lashing.

Oh, Amara! I’m sorry. Eva wrinkled her forehead in concern. She tipped her head to the side to gaze at the head slave. Wavy black hair fell over her shoulder. You should tell Tara. Maybe she’ll let you leave early.

We’re talking about the same Tara, right? Amara huffed. Has she ever let anyone go willingly? I’d only end up earning her scorn on top of everything else.

Just then, an elderly servant shuffled through the door, and the two girls lowered their heads to their tasks. He squinted around the room under his bushy white eyebrows until he spotted Tara. She glanced up with a frown at the interruption as he shuffled in her direction, and gave her customary thin-lipped grimace.

I need a porter. The man’s weak voice wobbled. He also, unfortunately, stood on Tara’s deaf side, and her frown deepened.

What’s that? she shouted, lifting a hand to her good ear.

The servant blinked once, then shuffled to her other side, having gone through this before. He inhaled deep and yelled at the top of his lungs which amounted to little more than loud wheezing.

I need someone. To carry things. To the main cavern. He spoke in short sentences to make sure Tara understood. She leaned away and placed her hand on her chest as if he had said something scandalous.

There’s no need to yell!

Nearby, two women tittered, and Amara turned away to hide an amused smirk. The corners of Eva’s lips had turned up too.

Tara snapped her fingers in Amara’s direction.

"Girl! Help him carry things to the main cavern." Tara turned back to stirring the murky contents of her tub in annoyance but kept an eye on Amara.

Sorry, Eva mouthed, her forehead wrinkling in concern under her dark hair.

Amara sighed and leaned her bat against the tub. Perhaps this would not take long, and she could clean out the prisoner’s cell before returning. Tara would never know.

And hurry back! Tara amended, almost as if she were reading Amara’s mind.

The heated gaze of the head slave blistered Amara’s back as she hurried out. She wanted to stuff an unwashed sock in Tara’s big mouth.

They descended into the underground corridors, and Amara silently padded after the man. She pretended to stalk through a dense forest, its canopy so thick that a few meager rays of light reached the dark forest floor. She imagined creatures among the branches, following along and watching her every move. She shivered in delight. Her rich imagination helped her endure this harsh life. But as she rounded the bend, she noticed the servant standing outside a small entrance, tapping his foot impatiently.

Sorry, Amara gave the man a sheepish look.

As she passed through the door, an acrid odor hit her like a wall, and she buried her nose in her shoulder. How could this man stand the smell? Racks of colorful tubes lined various shelves, and an old hide lay stretched over a table with countless stains decorating its skin. Various piles of discarded trash littered the floor.

Take these to the main chamber and place them with the others. It would take me forever to deliver all of these. The old man gestured towards several racks of glass tubes filled with red liquid on one end of a table. Don’t spill them, whatever you do! he warned, shaking a gnarled finger in her face.

He eased himself onto a tall stool with a sigh and picked up a large beaker. The sound of rattling glass resonated around the room as his unsteady hands poured fluids into waiting tubes.

Amara stared at the glistening red liquid for a moment in horror. It looked too much like blood, and her stomach clenched. She desperately hoped that it was something else. With care, she picked two racks up and exited. In the corridor, when certain that no one else was around, she raised the liquid to eye level to scrutinize it in the dim light.

What is this stuff? Amara wondered.

Against her better judgment, she cautiously sniffed the contents. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and coughed into her shoulder. It reeked of acrid chemicals. That explained why it was made so far away from the main chamber.

It’s definitely not blood, she sighed with relief. But what could it be, and what might it be used for?

Amara plodded toward the main chamber, shifting the contents away from those who passed by for fear of spilling the odorous liquid. The last thing she wanted was to get that stench on her clothes.

At last, she arrived at the massive stone archway. Unknown concoctions bubbled away in small pots throughout the massive chamber. Bearded alchemists dressed in khaki tunics fussed over glass tubes filled with liquids of all shades of color. Some brushed pastes and liquids onto various surfaces to test their properties. Servants who could read and write sat on tall stools with quills, diligently scratching away on thick stacks of papyrus. Slaves clad in plain gray tunics similar to Amara’s scurried in and out among the hive of activity, sent on various errands.

On the far side of the chamber, a large kiln belched out massive waves of heat. Smoke drifted idly towards the large windows some twenty feet up. All of this activity was a continual effort to improve the Empire’s military strength. However, it was no secret within these walls that the Grand Vizier was using this research for his personal gain.

Excuse me, sir, said Amara, bowing to an approaching servant. Where should I-

She stepped aside at the last second to avoid a collision, lifting the tubes away from the clueless individual. She watched, perplexed, as he rushed down the tunnel, mumbling to himself and casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

You’re far too busy to help, sir. My most sincere apologies, she grumbled.

Amara scanned the area and spotted similar blood-colored tubes resting on a wooden table. Figuring that this must be the correct spot, she headed in that direction but slowed when she spotted a small knot of overseers, those in charge of the research. Everyone knew that it was best to avoid overseers, particularly when they were in a foul mood. Those clustered in the middle of the room were arguing.

I told you, an overseer shouted, his hands raised high in the air. Something silver gleamed in his hand. The last one almost took it off. There was no reason to sever the wrist. Only a few more days and we would have figured it out!

Killion said he was lying, another man stated in a calm tone, despite his colleague’s heated composure. He scratched his thick beard and flicked a speck of dirt off of his clean, orange robes.

Amara’s jaw clenched at hearing Killion’s name. He was the one who murdered her father and enslaved her, and he did it for a stupid little bracelet. Someday, she wanted Killion to taste the same treachery he inflicted upon her. She thirsted for it almost as much as freedom.

They were just following orders. If you have a problem with the decision, then take it up with Killion. He was here a few minutes ago and will return soon.

The first man blanched and mumbled something inaudible. He crossed his arms over his chest, not pleased with the situation but unwilling to push the matter since Killion was involved. The conversation sounded gruesome, so Amara tried to hurry past.

Careful with those liquids, slave! You’ll get whipped if any of it spills. One of the men waved a clenched fist at her.

Another overseer chuckled. And it will stink to the high moons in here too!

As Amara obediently slowed, a hissing sound caught her attention. Gray puffs of smoke drifted up between crates stacked next to where the overseers stood. The smoke went unnoticed in the hazy atmosphere, and she wondered if there were fire-breathing creatures inside.

BOOM!

A massive explosion snapped her head back, and she was tossed through the air like a rag doll. Amara landed hard on her stomach. With great effort, she rolled painfully to her side. Glass crunched under her as she moved, and Amara gazed in shock at her blood-soaked tunic.

I’m bleeding to death, she thought numbly.

Dazed, she lay there watching debris rain down throughout the smoke-filled cavern. Great billowing pillars of smoke seemed to rush sideways, and shafts of orange light fought hard to break through. Slabs of rock dropped from the ceiling without sound, but their vibrations when they landed were felt through the ground. People rushed into the chamber, moving their mouths as if calling to someone yet with no sound.

Amara shifted her head, and the movement made her skull throb in time with her heart. She felt woozy, and stars rapidly filled her vision. Before passing out, the last thing she thought was that she’d never get to say goodbye to Eva.

Then blackness overtook her.

2

Freedom

Amara’s head ached. She sensed that she was being moved and cracked open an eye long enough to see the wooden sides of a wagon and a landscape beyond.

Where am I? Why is everything so blurry? And why am I so sore? she wondered. It feels like I’ve been trampled by a herd of animals.

She forced her eyes open and despite her throbbing temples, she gingerly shifted her head to make sense of the surroundings. With a detached sense of surprise, she realized that something was underneath her.

No, it was someone.

Have I fallen asleep on someone’s lap? I haven’t done that since I was a child.

Legs and arms cuddled around her like a nest of twigs, cradling and keeping her safe. There was blood on some of them. She blinked. The memory of the explosion filtered through the haze in her mind, and comprehension began to dawn. She had been mistaken for dead and tossed onto a wagon with others who had died. Her eyes focused on the arms and legs that jostled around her. Thankfully, there were no faces or identifying features.

From the front of the wagon, a camel called out, its long and low growl unmistakable. Just a few feet ahead was the end of a cart, and beyond it were rolling hills of sparse grassland. Short, scrubby trees rose here and there, punctuating the arid landscape.

Real trees. I haven’t seen trees in years.

Turning her head with care in the opposite direction, she spotted a guard and cart driver at the head of the wagon. At that moment, the entire wagon jolted and her head exploded in pain. Amara couldn’t help groaning, but despite the pain, she kept a wary eye on the two men. The guard glowered at the driver for the rough ride, then peered back at their load.

Did he hear me?

Them’s not goin’ anywhere if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout, the driver groused, tipping his head toward his cargo. They’s all dead!

From her perspective, Amara could see their fuzzy faces when they turned toward each other. She then realized that a fabric rested on the back of the cart, obscuring her view. Did it obscure the guard’s view of her too?

How much further? the guard asked. He was young, perhaps a newer recruit, and he sounded impatient.

An hour or so.

Good. I’ll be glad when we’re done. I hate dead bodies. They’re so unclean.

He tapped his middle finger to his thumb and aimed the gesture at their load. The driver chuckled at the young man’s reaction.

Superstitious, ain’t ya? Them’s not so bad. Quiet stiffs, ain’t they? He cackled at his coarse joke. Nice havin’ someone to talk to. Livin’ I mean. I’ve been cartin’ bodies all by my lonesome for years.

While he talked, Amara ran her parched tongue over dry lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood at the corner of her mouth. She sluggishly brushed dried blood and road dust from her cracked lips. As she lay jostling on top of the dead bodies, her mind began to clear.

I need to escape, she thought. But how? She gazed at the back of the wagon where there was no gate. Maybe I can drop off of the back without being noticed.

After a few minutes of gathering her wits, Amara began the slow process of untangling herself from the pile of limbs. The gruesome injuries around her and the strong smell of blood almost made her vomit more than once. She forced herself to breathe through her nose and close her eyes when it became too much. Pushing with all of her strength against a body that lay on top of her, she was able to slide out from underneath and inch toward the back. Every inch of her ached, but she forced her protesting muscles to keep moving. All the while, she kept a wary eye on the two men. Nor did she know how well the fabric cover obscured their view of her.

You know the best part of this job? the driver asked after a while. Searchin’ the bodies. I keep what I find. Not expectin’ much from this lot. Slaves own nothin’, but sometimes they get sticky fingers. They’ve things they ain’t suppose to have. He tutted like he was scolding the dead. Ain’t always slaves. Sometimes they’s fancy upper class. Got rings, coins, nice clothes with no blood. Poisoned, I figure. Maybe suffocated. They don’t need none of them nice clothes no more, so I keep ‘em!

He laughed until he wheezed, and the recruit shifted to the corner of the small seat as if the old man were contagious. Amara used the distraction to slide back further.

Just don’t like the ones missing part of their hand. It’s like someone cut them clean off. Always the same spot too. Dunno why. They’s pop up once in a while. Got one in here.

He held his arm up just high enough for Amara to see and used two fingers to mimic a knife cutting through his forearm just past the wrist. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and tried not to think about the bodies surrounding her.

The guard gave a great shudder. How long does it take to unload them?

Half an hour to an hour with this many. You see them hills over there? I got a special place. Nice deep drop-off over the river. River serpents gobble them up. No trace they’s ever been there. The driver waved his hand in front of him like he was wiping a slate clean. That’s your job, dumping them over. I’m getting too old for this.

The driver leered at the guard with a smug grin, and the young man gazed back in shock. This time, the old man laughed so hard that he coughed for breath. Amara slid back further until she was almost at the end of the wagon.

I’m just spookin’ you, boy, he said. Couldn’t resist seein’ the look on your face.

Amara suppressed a shudder while she slid over arms and legs, trying not to think of their owners. Every fiber in her body screamed to jump up and flee in horror. It was wrong to be slithering over them like a snake. They should be resting in peace. But Amara forced herself to keep calm, making it to the back of the wagon.

The terrain passed by, and she spotted a few nearby bushes that would be perfect for hiding if she could make it to them. The ground was a fair distance below, and the landing would be painful. However, any amount of pain would be a small price to pay for freedom.

Gathering her physical and mental strength, she prepared for the drop. The second before she made her move, the guard glanced back. Amara froze.

I told you. They’s ain’t goin’ nowhere!’ the driver sneered.

Amara feared the guard had seen her move. His gaze lingered in her direction but passed her over with a look of disgust. It was almost as if he was afraid of seeing something he would rather not. He shivered and turned to watch their approaching destination, muttering that he wasn’t cut out for this kind of work. The cart driver must have heard his grumble because he threw his head back and erupted into heavy laughter once more, and the guard stared off into the distance to avoid the old cart driver who laughed at his discomfort.

I like your spirit! he cackled and wheezed. It sounded like he was hacking up a lung.

Amara rolled clumsily off the cart and clung to the edge of the platform. Her feet dragged along the ground while the cart continued on its way, heedless of her resistance. Her weary muscles could no longer hold her. She lost her grip and landed with a soft thud on the thin grass. Her head exploded in pain, but she clambered to her feet and bolted towards a nearby bush where she collapsed on her stomach and kept an eye on the wagon until it vanished over a hill.

In disbelief of her new freedom, Amara grinned ear to ear. She took a deep breath of the fresh country air. The rich earth and fragrant sage grass were the most wonderful smells in the world. Over and over, she pulled tufts of grass free from the ground and tossed them in the air. She closed her eyes and flopped onto her back, enjoying the hot summer heat that beat down. Sweat trickled down her back.

She was exhausted, cut, and bruised, but it didn’t matter. She was free!

After a moment, Amara opened her eyes to take in her surroundings. She was past the outskirts of the city. There were no houses or buildings around, and the tiny ribbon of cliffs that was visible through the thin washroom windows now seemed immense. The iconic onion-shaped towers of the palace rose above the city in the distance. There were a few scrub trees among the rolling hills. The waist-high grass wouldn’t provide much cover for hiding. She gazed beyond the distant hills. An inhospitable landscape of rock and sand awaited foolhardy travelers. It stretched a considerable distance beyond Yarham, making it difficult to travel on foot.

She had heard of people who had wandered into the wild unprepared. They died horrible deaths from animal attacks, hunger, and thirst. There were also