I lay upon a limitless sea.
looking upto sky.
It was not so deep, but the water was thick, like a marsh, and it held me fast. My body was half-drowned in it. Only my nostrils remained above the surface, keeping me alive. The thing was, I could not move, not even slightly. There were no waves to carry me to an edge. There was only a flat, grey, limitless sea. I could see no other people.
By the gods, where am I? I thought. Did the cart fall into the sea? Or am I in heaven? But if this was heaven, what had I done to earn it? No… this was different. This was something else. My eyes rolled in their sockets, looking across the verge of emptiness.
Maybe when I fully drowned, I would find salvation. It was a plain sea, with crystal clear water. I could see right through it, down to the bottom.
Then, a sound. It came towards me.
Splash… splash… splash…
A wave? No. Those were clear footstep soundings. But I could see no one. Not even a shadow.
I strained my eyes, rolling them hard to the right corner until my neck screamed in pain. From inside the water, I saw two fish-looking creatures coming up from the bottom. I could see them clearly from where I lay.
But no. Those were not fishes.
They were the soles of someone's feet.
They were walking towards me, but upside down, inside the water, with their soles facing the sky. It was as if the water's surface was their ground. Who was this? Who was coming to my point of salvation?
Was it Father Velvean? No. The king's lackeys had crooked him, torn him to shreds. Was it Jelin? That poor, gentle soul.
The thing kept coming, closer and closer. And then… it emerged from the water's surface, rising up like a summoned evil, a demon crawling from the blackest pit!
My heart stopped. It looked like him.
Reppen Schale.
His face was a mask of pure rage. He raised his fist, the same one I remembered, the one stained dark red. He slammed it down upon my chest.
In that very instant, all the water turned to blood. The sea vanished, it vaporized, and I was back in the house, on the third floor. I was on the floorboards, and he was standing over me, laughing. He was forcing his blood-soaked hand into my mouth, making me taste it… the blood of my father!
"TASTE IT, BRAT!" the nightmare screamed in my head. "TASTE YOUR FATHER'S GREED! TASTE WHAT YOU DID!"
A voice, sharp and sudden, cut through the horror.
"Hey, boy!"
The house, the blood, and the hateful face of Reppen Schale all melted away. The endless water returned for a single second, and then I woke up, my whole body jumping with a gasp that tore at my throat. I was scared to my very bones. My organs felt dismantled, like they were no longer inside me. I could not feel anything but raw, cold fear.
My chest… it had stopped bleeding. Someone had bound it tightly with a strip of cloth.
I looked up, blinking away the terror, and saw the bullock cart owner, Zegen Graths, looking down at me. His face was rough and unreadable.
He grunted. "Looks like you were wounded fatally, boy. But no worries. I have given you first aid."
****
Zegen stared down at me. "Ah, boy. You are awake."
His eyes moved to the cloth on my chest, and he gave a rough chuckle. "Nah, I just threw some turmeric onto the wound. And used a spare cloth. Nothing special." He looked at me sideways. "Looks like I have saved your life twice now, eh?"
I touched the bandage. The wound was from that monster, Reppen Schale. It was a last act of spite from that horrible day, a gash he gave me in the struggle. It was not a soul-drenching cut, but by the gods, it would leave a mark upon my chest forever.
I looked at Zegen Graths. A strange gratitude filled me. He had saved my life. Although… I looked again at the bandage. I could see that was not just turmeric. The pain was too dull. And the clothing was not a normal, rough-spun rag. This man was more than he seemed.
"Emil tetre hud?" he asked. Then, "Tvam namno kim?"
Graths started asking me my name in various regional languages of Pasrel, thinking I was some northern mute who lacked the central language. When I gave no answer, he stopped and looked at me, a sly, knowing look in his eye.
"Ah, I see," he said, switching back to the common tongue. "You want to move on from the past. It's an awful thing to live with, eh?" He spat onto the dirt floor of the moving cart. "Okay, forget it."
He leaned closer, his voice low. "From now on, you are Crugur. My son. Got it?" He paused, and his eyes glinted. "...Or perhaps you would rather I call you 'Morass'?"
My blood ran cold. How did he know that name?
"Ohhh, yes," he whispered, seeing the terror on my face. "You are Morass. That guard told me your name right before I paid him handsomely to forget he ever saw it. You can keep 'Morass' if you want, boy. But for your own sake… for your own life… I say you choose 'Crugur.' Right?"
I stared at him. I didn't care if the guard said my name or if Graths bought it from him with that piece of silver. I only cared about one thing: to live. To get far beyond the shadow of the Pasrelian reign, a shadow that had brought me to the very verge of death.
A dark thought settled in my heart. Freedom in my own land meant only death and terror. If slavery in a foreign land was the only way to live, then so be it. I would accept this chain. I just have to gain some respect. I will become the best slave. And one day... I will become far superior to the Pasrelians who hunt me.
"Oh, look, boy," Graths's voice cut through my thoughts. "There it is."
I looked ahead. It was the Great Passoil Border. A massive wall and a line of forts stretched as far as I could see, disappearing into the hills.
"That's the border of Pasrel and Solia," he said. "Fourteen kilometers big, and watched by every soldier with an eye. A big, bloody line of surveillance."
He then grabbed my shoulder, his grip like iron, forcing me to look at him. His tone was dead serious now, all traces of the rough merchant gone. "Look at me, boy. I do not want any mess here. Escaping this place a hundred times was nothing for me. But this time, it's different. This time, I have you."
His eyes were like steel. "To them, you are my son. You are Crugur. I have a wager upon you, boy. A big one. Do not mess this up. Okay?"
I nodded. Yes. From this moment on, I was Crugur.
Our destination, the town of Sydiska, was just on the other side of that enormous border crossing. But the risk was here, at Area 1, the main Pasrelian front. The law here was clear: the Pasrelian kingdom does not allow its own people to be sold as slaves.
They were looking for a Pasrelian killer, not a Solian slave. My escape depended on me being worthless property, but my blood made me a priceless target.
A half mile before Area One, Zegen slipped me new clothes. They were warm and rough — his own coat, it seemed. The cloth hid the cuts and the dark marks on my chest. I washed my body with the last water we had. I scrubbed until the skin hurt.
We stood on a field that looked like a desert. Sand and scrub spread in every direction. There was no food. There was almost no water. I dug a small pit and threw away my old rags, just as Zegen had said. I didn't speak much. I only nodded when he looked at me.
The Passoil border was built where the two kingdoms meet — Pasrel and Soilia. The border ran fourteen kilometers. Between the two high walls lay a long strip of land. There were both forest and desert there. Sometimes war stopped. Sometimes it burned everything to dust.
Two Sydiska lines cut through the border. They were like caves made for trade. The lines split the border into two parts — one side of desert, one side of forest. But the wars had ruined much of the forest. One route ran inside a sealed cave — airtight but with a small passage for air. One tunnel led into Soilia, the other back into Pasrel. The lines stretched fourteen kilometers, like two long veins through the walls.
From the Soilia side, about seven miles to the main line, the road held many checkpoints. Each mile had its guard posts. Traders and travelers had to stop at each one. If anyone carried guilt or hidden crime, they would be judged. The patrols were fierce. Passing from neighbor country back home was hard. One wrong paper, one wrong look — and the price could be death.
Zegen watched the horizon and spat. He did not want trouble. He had pulled me from a life of blood, and now he guarded me like a strange son. His wager on me was heavy.
We had to cross the pass carefully. One slip, one loud noise, one wrong word — and the whole plan would fall. But there was no choice. The border waited, and so did our fate.
Zegen moved the cart, steering it into the dark tunnel marked for going to Solia.
"Halt!" a voice barked. A soldier stepped out, blocking the path. The cart's wheel, turning sharply, struck a giant stone at the tunnel's entrance. The whole cart jolted, throwing me against the side.
In an instant, Zegen was off the cart. He shoved his shoulder against the wheel, centralizing the cart while also unhitching the bulls and leading them to the corner of the tunnel. The slaves in the back were ordered out, touching the land in a single, clanking, handcuffed line. The soldier did not help. He just watched, his hand on his sword, and then called out, "Checkpocket! We have a trader!"
A man came out of the guardhouse. A tall man, towering over Zegen, who only came up to his shoulders. He gazed down, his eyes sharp. "You look familiar. Have we met?"
Zegen, while handing over a roll of papers—an official writ stamped with the seals of both the Solian Vanguard and the Pasrelian Royal—bowed his head. "Aye, sire. I am Zegen Demorlan Graths. By this piece of paper, I bought a month of time in Pasrel. I came in a couple of weeks ago, and now I am here to take back my Solian slaves."
The Checkpocket chuckled, a low, hard sound. He took the papers, his eyes scanning the subject matters, and nodded. Then he asked, "Granting you slaves for what?"
"Mean what, sire?" Zegen asked. "Ah, it is for rearranging the Regen Palace. The Royal Regen loves Solian structure. It is world-class, as you know. And these slaves... they are masters in it."
The Checkpocket's eyes narrowed. He looked at the slaves. "Proof. Proof they are Solian slaves."
Zegen pointed a thick finger at the neck of the nearest slave. There, imprinted on the skin, was a tattoo: a black ace with three small white stars inside it. "There it is, sire."
"I could have that painted on a dog," the Checkpocket sneered. "You can make it by your own hand."
"No, sire, I cannot," Zegen said calmly. "These are made inside Solia to certify the trade of slaves into different kingdoms. It is made with a special rubber ink, from the latex of the Kukunduki tree. It only grows in Solia, and it has a strong, weird odor. A smell you never forget. You can smell it, if you wish."
To check this, the Checkpocket ordered the first soldier to smell the tattoo. The soldier bent down, put his nose close to the slave's neck, and sniffed. His eyes widened, and he recoiled, nodding to the Checkpocket. The stuff had a hell of a pop to it.
The Checkpocket looked back at the cart and finally saw me, huddled in the oversized clothes. His gaze turned to stone. "What's this? You trade upon children now, gramps?"
Zegen laughed, a warm, fatherly sound. He turned and called me to come close. I went to him, my legs trembling. I tried to act shy, blushing, as he waved his hand upon my head, ruffling my hair. Then, Zegen's hand stopped. It stilled on my head, and his voice, when he spoke to the Checkpocket, became tight with false pride.
"This," he said, his voice loud, "is my son. Son, tell the commander your name. Tell him delightly."
My throat was dry as dust. I stammered, "C-Crugur… Graths."
The sound of a child's voice, spoken from my own mouth, seemed to have more power than all of Zegen's papers. It was a good trick.
More chuckles from Zegen. He said, "Sorta, you see, I travel from Solia to Pasrel, and spend more time in Pasrel on business. So he stays there, with his mom."
The Checkpocket was still gazing at me. His suspicion landed on my clothes. "A good fit for the boy. Are those your clothes?"
"Yes, my lord, they are," Zegen said, his face a mask of sadness. "It was a mistake. I missed packing his wearings when we left his home in Pasrel. I picked up a baggage of hay for the bulls instead, which was too much. Then, upon the way, we were stuck in a calamity. A flash flood in the river. While we were swimming for our lives, his wearings were all washed away. By the gods, we were lucky just to save him."
The Checkpocket looked at me, his hard face softening just a little. He bent down, a giant mountain of a man, and landed both of his huge hands on my shoulders. "So, you are the son of this man."
My body went stiff.
Suddenly, he started moving one of his hands up, sliding it from my shoulder towards my mouth. My mind went blank with panic. I was getting intense, my psyche screaming. He touched my cheek.My blood turned to ice. His fingers… they were on my face… just like Schale's bloody hand!The memory screamed in my head. The dark room. The heart on the spear. Taste it, brat! Taste your father! Taste his greed!I shivered so hard my teeth chattered, and I let out a small, terrified gasp, falling backwards, scrambling away from his touch, my body horrified."Crugur!" Zegen grabbed me, pulling me back to his side, shielding me. He spoke to the Checkpocket, his voice shaking with false anger. "He does not like that, gentleman! He has trauma! From that incident… when he was drowning in the river!"The Checkpocket stood up, looking surprised. "I just wanted to make him feel free to talk.""There is no need to do that, sire," Zegen said quickly. "Here. Here is the evidence that he is my son."He pulled another letter from his tunic. A letter that held me as Zegen's son. When did he make this? I thought, my mind reeling. While we were travelling? This was why he named me Crugur. It was like my birth evidence, stating I was born in the Manta region of the Pasrel kingdom.
I had never even heard of the Manta region.While the Checkpocket was reading it, Zegen played his master gamble."Sorry for that," Zegen said, his voice breaking. "I did not tell you this… but he has been like that from the moment his mother died."Zegen… he started to cry. Real tears welled in his eyes."His mother… she was… murdered."The Checkpocket stopped reading and looked up, his face filled with shock."I was so grateful to have her, and to have Crugur," Zegen wept, pointing to his own chest. "She was… she was like a song, sire. Not one you just hear, but one you feel deep in your heart. And they tore that song right out of me. They tore her from my book of life, like I was teared in two.
"He pulled me close, his hand on the back of my head. "That is why Crugur was stammering. That is why he pulled away. He is afraid of strangers, sire. He thinks… he thinks every new man he sees might be the one. The killer. He has no hates for you, sire. Only fear."By the gods, it was working. The words of Zegen, his tears, his broken voice… it caught the emotions of the Checkpocket. He was not looking at me like a piece of cargo anymore. He was thinking of me as a poor, motherless boy.The Checkpocket sighed, a long breath, and handed the letter back. He nodded. "Go ahead. The next check is a mile down the tunnel."But as I went to the cart along with the slaves, he stopped Zegen for a sudden moment. "Graths. Can I ask you for a moment? Why are you doing all this?""All what, sire?" Zegen asked, his tears already drying."Taking these slaves back to Solia. They are just slaves. Pasrel would buy them. Why this level of risk?"Zegen Graths actually laughed. "Aye. I have asked this question, too."The Checkpocket was confused by this. Zegen kept talking. "I mean, I also thought about it. But then I came across a thought: Why should I ask my owner about their work, as long as I get a handsome earning? This time, I get paid thrice, because of the risks." He leaned in. "But, to answer you straight up… the Solian Vanguard, Manero Gikins… he has a special attachment to all Solians. Even a Solian corpse.
To him, 'Our is ours.' He will take back what belongs to him."The Checkpocket gave a final nod. "Aye. He should take it. But if we find out that any of these are our people… we will take them back.""It won't come to that," Zegen nodded.They handshaked, a firm grip. Zegen connected the bulls to the cart again with a giant rope. Then, we were going forward, into the dark. But the Checkpocket sent the first soldier with us. "He will see you to the second checkpoint."We started moving forward. Zegen asked the soldier's name. The soldier replied, "Diogram Idslase.""Oof," Zegen said, clicking his tongue. "That's a rough name to speak, friend." He looked at me, as if sharing a joke. "For the wonder of my son Crugur, what is your regional language? Ahh, look, man!" Zegen pointed down, his voice suddenly sharp. "There is a stone beneath your horse!"The soldier looked down, confused.In that instant, Zegen moved like a serpent. He leaped from the cart, not onto the ground, but onto the soldier's back, one arm choking his neck. He snatched the man's own dagger from its sheath."Ah, look man… a stone," Zegen whispered again.SHLIIK!He stabbed the dagger straight into the man's eye, through the eye, deep into his head. A slight twist, and the soldier, Diogram Idslase, was dead before he could even grunt. He fell from his horse like a sack of grain, his body thudding on the tunnel floor."Sorry, man," Zegen said, wiping the dagger on his own shirt. "Can't remember weird, long names."He quickly dragged the body to the side of the tunnel, behind some rocks, and came back to the cart. The slaves had not moved. They seemed emotionless, their eyes empty. I, however, was terrified, shaking so hard I could barely sit.Zegen looked at me, a wide, terrible smile on his face. He was breathing hard, his eyes alive with a wild fire."Hehe," he panted. "We did it. The first step. By our maded story, we managed to escape from fifty percent more checking. If he had found even a slight suspicion, it would have led to our loss."He looked at me. I was just staring at him, confused and scared. He read my mind."What? Huh, man. Don't be angry about the maded story.
I just made it up on the way. And that letter… I have had that from a long time ago. It is just for bringing any kid slave alongside these Pasrelian slaves, yeah thats right, i lied by fraud docs and marking checkpoint 2 will figer it out."He gestured to the slaves in the back. "You know why they didn't speak? Why they didn't tell the Checkpocket the truth?"I shook my head."Because they have no mean to live. They were sold upon themselves. Proper brain damage, no critical thinking. They are living corpses. Maybe you have encountered a slave like that before, huh?"For just a glance, my mind saw Jelin. Her face as she told me she had to leave. 'That's life, son… I have nothing to loose and gain.'Had she been like these… a living corpse? A cold, rough thought. By the gods, I hoped not. But this was just Zegen talking.
It meant nothing. I presumed."Look," Zegen said, pointing ahead. "We have covered half a mile."He took the reins and suddenly struck the backs of the bulls, hard. They were in the straight direction of the tunnel, heading towards the second surveillance checkpoint. The hard strike affected the cart, making it lurch sharply to the right.Where there had been only a solid wall, there was now a small, dug-up path, hidden in the shadows, going outside the tunnel and into the dark forest."I built this," Zegen said, his voice proud. "Passing through, time to time, a little bit at a time.
The Checkpocket will check the passing letter and its validity or see that riderless horse of that soldier. He will find it a fraud, and he would chase us. Or the remaining six checkpoints would gather intel and take you, Crugur."He steered the bulls into the hidden path. "That way was dengerous. So from this path, we will go into the warzone forest."The tunnel was gone. We were outside, in the cold night air, in a land of broken trees and the distant sound of screaming."We have to stay here for the night," he said, his voice deadly serious. "We wait, until the war ceasefires for the dawn."He looked at me, his face hard in the moonlight."And this, boy, is going to be the real wager.""From this front, when they find the dead soldier, they will think we died in the war. They will think the forest took us."He grinned. "We have to go through it.For me... and for you, for your life.