“There, there.” He moved closer and placed a bony arm around shoulder. “It’s all right.”
“Jonas is dead. They killed him.” She sobbed and the old man nodded his head.
“They do that sometimes, child. Kill the young men and take the women. Must be afeared the men will try to escape.”
Willow pulled away from the stranger and set her eyes on him. She wiped her nose, thankful that at least her hands were free. “Who are you?”
He offered her another gaping smile and straightened the collar of his tunic. “Martin is my name. And you are?”
“Willow.”
His eyes lit in surprise. “Like the tree with flowers?”
“Yes.” She smiled through her tears. “Like the tree with flowers.”
“You’re very pretty, Willow,” Martin told her, bunching up his shoulders like a shy child. “I cannot see too well, but I can hear your beauty in your voice.”
“Thank you,” Willow whispered. She looked around at the gray dingy walls, trying to look past the sullen, hopeless, captive faces that stared back at her. There were no windows in the enormous room, the only light coming from a few torches hanging from the low ceiling. There were flies everywhere and the stench of death made her gag. “What is this place?”
“The holding room. There are seven of them here, but they empty them quickly.” Martin picked what Willow guessed was a bug, out of his thin white hair and flicked it away.
“What do you mean, empty?” She was almost afraid to ask.
Martin set his soft eyes on her, and for a moment the childlike innocence that protected him against the harsh world of Predaria was gone. “We’re being sold,” he told her. “The last time I was here the whole batch of us was sold throughout Lionese. But I made it back, escaped in the night and came back here, to the dead land.”
“They caught you again?” Willow asked, horrified.
The innocence returned like a hazy cloud drifting over the surface of Martin’s eyes and he shrugged his fragile shoulders. “Well, I don’t have me a home. Was burned down two years ago by the fires. They caught me on my way to Londa. Was looking for an inn to sleep.”
Willow’s voice shook as she touched his arm. “Martin, there are no inns in Londa.”
“Is that so?” he asked curiously, then shook his head. “Just as well I didn’t make it then.”
The hopelessness that plagued him shook Willow to her core. She bent to touch the chains around her ankles and felt a scream welling up inside her. She looked at Martin again to keep herself from going mad. “Where is ‘here’?”
“What?” he swatted a fly buzzing around his face.
“You said, ‘The last time I was here.’ Where is ‘here’?”
“Oh!” He smiled at the revelation. “Culderia. In an old church King Baltrasard closed down some years ago.”
“My father closed down a church?” Horrified, Willow shut her eyes, praying this was a terrible nightmare. She was almost tempted to ask Martin to pinch her.
Thinking she was crying again Martin stroked her hair as if she were his own child. “Willow?” he whispered close to her ear so no one would hear. “Why do you think you’re the king’s daughter?”
“Because I am.”
“Oh,” he responded thoughtfully. “Well then…Your father…he had all the churches in Predaria closed. Only ones up now are in tents. Doesn’t believe in God I guess.”
Willow threw her hands to her head in shock. Why in the world would her father do such a thing? How could she not have known so much about the man who sired her? Martin’s voice rescued her from going insane. “Do you believe?”
“Yes…I want to. I have—” she felt around her back pocket and smiled, “—a Holy Bible—”
“Put that away!” Martin hastily commanded. “The Catchers will take it!”
She slipped it back into her pocket and remained quiet.
“Praying right now, are you?” he asked. Her head was lowered, and he bent his to see if her eyes were still closed.
“Martin, there has to be a way out of here.”
He shook his head. “There isn’t. We’ll be sold in a few days.” He lay down on the floor to go to sleep. Willow pulled on her chains, softly at first, and then she gave them a hard yank and began to pray.
The small group of Londonian Warriors saw the three men bleeding on the ground and rushed to their aid. They’d heard someone issuing the Warrior chant like a trumpet in the silent night and found the