Oasis
Rain
It's hard to describe losing freedom.
I've heard it described as caging a bird, but I find that too kind a description. At least the bird can still eat, drink, and sing, although it forever yearns to fly again. But imagine if that cage were opened.. just for an instant.
I imagine it's more like plucking the feathers from the bird's body, so that even if he was uncaged, he would never again feel himself truly free.
When I could stand to keep my eyes open, the sunlight made my head throb. The others in the wagon had ceased crying and wailing days ago. Everyone was occupied with struggling to keep themselves upright. The toll of no real water or food had us incapacitated, and docile. I longed to feel water again. The shackles began to bite into my wrists with each sway or bump of the wagon, peeling my skin red. Being so far separated from the sea made me queasy, and the land around us loomed on and on, dragging us further from our freedom. My wings felt like they had been clipped to the nub.
The chained men who marched along behind us had long been mute on the journey. Their shuffling feet dragged more slowly over each mile. The metal shackles around their wrists and legs had wore wounds into them, and dried blood could be seen caked underneath. I would have felt more pity for them if I could focus on anything but the gnawing thirst that gripped at my throat and the pain in my head that sent me sweating.
The men on their horses talked to each other and laughed. Occasionally, one would ride up to the side of the wagon and reach in, plucking up a girl or boy by their hair like fruit from a stand, and then drop them again laughing.
By midday, on our third day, a horrible rain started. It pelted us mercilessly, and our relief for the oncoming water soon turned to torture, seeping cold into our stiff bones. My sister looked up bleakly towards the sky, with eyes half-lidded, and she stayed like that for a while, letting the rain pelt against her cheeks.
I tried catching the drops in my mouth, searching for relief, but my attempts only dampened my tongue. If we didn't stop soon, I knew the toll of the journey would begin to lay waste to us. I felt an icy shiver run down my spine.
Almost on cue with my thought, a man in the line-up behind us faltered, skidding to his knee's in the mud. A chorus of shouting started, and men trotted over to him, whipping and screaming. He tried to wobble up, but his knees buckled, and he slammed down face first into the ground. The procession stopped.
I turned to look at him, my eyes throbbing with the pain in my head. I felt annoyed, and that startled me.
The man with nice armor rode towards him, his arm waved to cease the incessant whipping. His soldiers looked at him patiently, like dogs hovering over a wounded animal.
He stared down at the man who struggled on the ground, and in one swift motion, pulled out a weapon I had never seen before. It was obsidian in color, and looked strange, and had no blade. He held it in one hand easily. I wondered more about what it was than the state of the man on the ground.
Suddenly, the thing brought forth a sound like thunder, and the man lay still. Smoke wisped from the maw of the strange device. Everyone in the wagon jumped, and flinched away.
I didn't understand what had happened.
Men got off their horses and unshackled the still figure, and then the procession moved along again. I stared after the still man for a long time, until he was a speck in the distance, still laying where he had fallen.
***
I don't remember falling asleep, but I was jolted awake with the sound of excited shouting. I blinked away grogginess, and clenched my splitting head. My sister was sitting wide-eyed next to me, and for the first time in four days, she said something.
"Look," she whispered, pointing a shaking finger.
Ahead, there was a small village. It had many tents on it's borders, and the smell of smoke and food assailed my nostrils before we had closed the last mile between us. It was bustling with movement, and as we approached, a man on horse-back galloped to meet us. He steered our convoy to tents on the brink of the town, and then stood talking for a while with some soldiers. He leered over at us, laughing, and turned to trot merrily back into the village.
We didn't have a moment to take in our surroundings, for as soon as the wagon wheels rolled to a stop, we were being dragged out onto clumsy, weak feet. I staggered on my neglected legs, stumbling as I was pushed into a huddle alongside one of the tents. The metal bands around my wrists were undone, and I touched the welts they had created gingerly, hissing at the pain.
I wished for something to say to my sister, but the words were strangled at the back of my throat. I was too bewildered to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak.
We sat huddled for a while, and then eventually brought one by one to a trough to drink water. I shared my visit with the ox that had looked at me, and he eyed me deliberately as I drank. I paid him no heed, and cupped my hands eagerly in the murky water, brining them hastily to my parched lips. I wanted to crawl into the trough, to soak in the water. My skin felt just as dry as my gullet.
All too quickly, I was forced back into the cowering band of prisoners, but the water had already to perk me up. I stared at the commotion around us, unblinking, trying to absorb the sights and sounds. Each tent had a surplus of idle soldiers, meandering in groups or sitting and talking in their strange language. They ate food from wooden bowls, and my stomach grumbled angrily at me. The smell of smoke and cooking meat was overwhelming.
I glanced around, trying to distract the growing feeling of desperate hunger. Chewing nervously on my lower lip, I surveyed our surroundings. The land around us was rocky, with more sand than grass, and in the distance I could see the formation of mountains, separated from us by gradual bush and a thickening forest. It was at least a day's walk from here until the edge of the trees, and I felt dread begin to creep in.
My heart fluttered in my chest as the question that I was too tired to think of before began to form,
What now?
I looked over at my sister, who looked tense, as if she too were thinking the same thing. Her brow was knitted with beads of sweat.
I reached out and laced my fingers through hers.
In the morning, we were allowed another drink, and given a piece of bread to scarf down. I momentarily forgot my hunger while the pain of thirst was so rampant, but the pangs were stronger now. I was getting antsy.
By the time afternoon rolled around, the man with the twinkling armor came to inspect us. His eyes dragged slowly over each person, taking his time. I watched him intently, but when his gaze dropped to me, I fought the urge to run. His eyes withheld emotion, and sat like two gray stones on his stoic face.
I turned my head to the side, too afraid to meet his gaze. He lingered over me for what felt like hours, and then continued with his silent observation down the line. Without warning, he raised his hand and called out to a few men who were sitting idle near by. They rushed over, and hearing his words, began to usher our men away from us. The women rose out in cries of protest, grabbing onto whoever was nearest to them. The soldiers kicked them off with no hesitation, making my blood boil. For the first time, I found the energy to feel hatred toward our abductors.
The man who I now understood to be their leader, said something over his shoulder, and then approached the rest of us. He stooped to one knee in front of me, staring into my eyes. I flinched, scooting backwards, until one of his soliders came and grabbed my shoulders, keeping my still. My chin was yanked from the side, and I could feel the color leave my face.
The man said something to me, holding my chin to face him, and I shook my head, not understanding. He laughed. The sound of his laughter filled me with rage, and I struggled against the hands on my shoulders, wanting to kick out. Quickly, he stood, and backed away. He said something again, and walked off.