cages. The worst are the babies. Their cries pierce the tranquil morning and send forest creatures scurrying to their burrows. No words are spoken.
They are heading north, this much he knows. Jack has seen this landscape before. They are not a far walk from the village and he yearns throughout his body to run there now. He slides his hand along the bottom of the cage, to the corner, and tests the rope bindings there. A rough hand pries his fingers away. Jack looks up. The stare is unwavering.
He withdraws and huddles in the corner of his cage, watching the horizon bob up and down with each step taken, feeling those unforgiving eyes burn into the back of his skull. They march on like this for some time, leaving the land of his familiarity and entering unknown territory.
They pass by copses of thick, tall trees and move down a shallow ravine with a burbling stream running through at the bottom. The procession halts and the cages are set down on the sloping bank. The warriors step away, shuck their loincloths, and walk slowly toward the gentle waterway. They wade out into the waist-deep stream and scoop up handfuls of water and slather themselves with it, their flesh streaked with running darkness.
There are no longer sounds of weeping. The children are catatonic as they watch this bizarre spectacle. For one brief macabre moment nearly all of the warriors are submerged at once, thrashing and scrubbing the soot from their heads, and the surface of the water appears molten and boiling. Tendrils of black emanate from each man and cloud the narrow stream. The Nezra leave their filth swirling behind them and emerge tawny and dripping.
The cleansed warriors climb the bank and dress themselves in simple attire. One returns carrying a wooden bucket. He moves down the line, allowing each of the children to take sips from a cup that he dips and then offers through the narrow slats. When this brief respite is complete, they heft the wooden cages and continue along through the forest.
Through their tears the children gape at the gargantuan trees towering above, with auburn bark and trunks as big around as Jack’s whole cabin. He thinks briefly of the little statue he and Lia found, and longs all over again for his ruined village and his mother.
Haylen is in the cage in front of him. She looks terrified. She and Jack shoot each other furtive glances, the expression behind her eyes always carrying the same question—What is happening to us? He desperately wishes he could talk to her, comfort her, but he dare not make a sound.
The crying abates eventually, only the occasional low whimper breaks the serenity of the beautiful forest morning. The steady crunch of footsteps and birdsong are the only other noises. Overhead, the sun reaches its zenith. Warm light dappled by the leafy canopy strobes across their faces.
And still they move forward.
Their northward trek has been arcing to the west gradually, and as the sun begins to fade toward evening they find themselves marching straight toward it. They make a tight turn up a rocky hillock and Jack can see the front of the convoy. The two forward warriors are mounted, riding the backs of some magnificent beast he has never seen before—tight, dark brown coats with flowing manes, thick muscular haunches.
He scans the cages looking for Lia, to no avail. She must be near the back of the line, he figures.
When the mounted warriors reach the top of the small hill, one of them raises his hand stolidly in the air and brings everyone to a halt. He dismounts and flashes quick signals to the rest of the men and the cages are once again placed quietly and softly on the ground. The warrior takes a bow from his back. Another joins him, also armed, and they hunker down and slink over the mound.
Time passes and they wait.
Jack becomes mortified, wondering what ghastly murders they are committing on the other side of the hill.
The sunlight grows dusky and still they are not back.
Finally the two disappeared warriors crest over the top of the hill, one of them carrying a small deer around his neck and shoulders like a shawl, its limp head swaying back and forth. More hand signals and the cages are again hoisted, but only momentarily. They arrange the little wooden prisons in a circle around the small clearing and set them back down.