Kane
Snap. Clank. Jangle. The shackles binding Kane’s hands jingled as the prison cart thumped over yet another bump in the road. Curse that girl. If it wasn’t for her, he’d already be across the border and getting the map back to the rebellion. Instead, he was sitting in a cramped prison cart squashed against half a dozen other prisoners of Carellia. The cart was a pungent box of trapped stench. The heat of the day made it stuffy with heat, and dust from the road clouded the stagnant air.
Kane shifted to a more comfortable position. He’d been squished in this infernal cart for three days now. Somehow that pirate captain –Gustov? Yes, Gustov– had convinced the curfew guards he was following orders from a Carellion general. They’d agreed to escort him to the Carellion Army headquarters, and Kane was put in the prison cart along with the rest of the prisoners being transferred. He couldn’t imagine why the guards had believed Captain Gustov, but they had, and now Agora was days behind him.
“So, what’d you do?” A balding old man asked the man next to him, who looked like he’d been uprooted from the heart of a forest.
The man grunted and shrugged.
“Well, I took some bread from a house,” said the old man, seemingly undeterred by the other’s lack of interest. “‘Sept it wasn’t a house,” he continued, “it was the patrol camp.” The old man chortled and nudged the ragged woman next to him, “That’s the third time this week the patrol ‘as caught me, i’nit Esti? Guess they got tired of catchin’ me stealin’ food, finally decided to lock me up er somethin’. Dunno why you had to come along, though.”
The young woman sighed brokenly and leaned against the wall. “Pa, please just give it a rest.”
He patted her shoulder, “It’ll be okay, Esti, they’ll probably let us go. The jails are pretty near full, I’d reckon.”
Kane looked away. He couldn’t stand the sadness these people had to face. The jails were indeed full. Full of innocent people whose only crimes were defying the tyrannical Carellion soldiers’ orders or stealing out of their desperation to feed their families. Few real criminals were arrested anymore. The Carellion invasions had brought nothing but destruction and hardship to the Arklands, and the Carellion soldiers didn’t care about the people whose lives they uprooted. Kane knew all too well that the queen of Carellia was willing to do anything to get the power she thought should be hers. Kane couldn’t let the map fall in her hands or any other agent of the queen. Not after all the rebellion had gone through to keep the relic pieces safe from Carellia.
Ugh! Kane raked his grimy hands through his equally dirty hair. How had that girl even known about the map? Few people knew, let alone believed, the legends anymore. She couldn’t be any ordinary thief. No dauvish thief could outlast the Carellion Army on their own. Dauves were arrested on sight to ensure no rebels could escape. Being dauvish was a crime in itself, even if you weren’t a rebel. She must be working for someone. It was the only explanation he could think of. And it was the least of his concerns right now. He needed to get the map. The fate of the rebellion depended on it. And to get the map, he would have to do the impossible; break out of a Carellion prison.
As if to remind him of his situation, the cart lurched, yanking his shackles painfully. The rough metal dug into his wrists. The cart lurched again and rolled to a stop.
Kane heard boots crunching in the dirt, the shouts of soldiers, the creaking of a gate being opened. The cart groaned and began to move. The sounds of people and equipment grew louder.
“This way, corporal.” The voice was gravelly. “Any top security prisoners?”
“Mostly the usual, sir, although we did escort some men who say they’re working for General Rotia, and they brought a duaf.”
“Shouldn’t require extra security?”
“No, sir.”
“As you were, corporal.”
The cart had stopped again. Kane strained his ears to get a sense of what was happening, but the clanking of shackles from the other prisoners made it impossible to hear anything definite. All of a sudden, everyone in the cart stood as if it was some pre-choreographed motion, and Kane was hauled up by the wrists. His wrists screamed in protest. Sunlight flooded in. “Everyone out, no funny business,” barked the corporal, jerking the chain.
Eyes watering, Kane stumbled after the rest of the prisoners. He had no choice, after all. Kane tried to get his bearing, swaying a little as the rush of sunlight and nausea overwhelmed him. He would forever hate carts, that was for sure.
Someone detached him from the rest of the prisoners, shoving him gently towards a doorway.
“Just hang in there, okay?” a familiar voice whispered in his ear. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“Jamal!”
“Shh, keep it down, they don’t know I’m with you, remember? Just don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll be okay.”
Kane sagged with exhaustion and relief. Jamal would figure this out. Hope wasn’t lost just yet. He shifted so his brother’s broad back partially blocked the blinding sun, giving him a chance to adjust his eyes. His entire body felt lead-weighted. Having slept on the cart ride would have been wise, but there was no help for that now.
“Captain, I have the thief!” Jamal raised his voice above the hubbub of soldiers and horses.
“Good,” Captain Gustov strode up with the rest of his crew. His face was set, and Kane could’ve sworn he looked worried. “We’ll take the boy to the General and explain the situation.”
“Captain!” It was a rather skinny young pirate who spoke. “Do you really think she’ll let us off for not bringing what she asked? We lost the map! You said yourself we’d be in trouble if–”
“Silence, Lorenzo!” All doubt left Gustov’s face. “I will not tolerate you contradicting me. You wanted a spot on this crew, didn’t you? Now act like you meant it.”
Lorenzo mumbled something that sounded like “yes, father.” Kane glanced at him curiously. It hadn’t occurred to him pirating was a profession one passed down; he’d always thought of pirates as cold and ruthless, without family ties. He scanned the rest of the crew, intrigued. His eyes landing on the backlit figure of Erika. His captor. He gritted his teeth. She was a ruthless pirate. He might have escaped if it hadn’t been for her. He might even have gotten the map from that slippery thief’s hands if the pistol fire hadn’t startled him into letting her go.
Gustov, who had been talking to some soldiers, turned to his crew. “Alright, men, we are going to meet with General Rotia to give her the report. When we get there, I’ll do the talking.” He looked pointedly at Lorenzo, then continued, “Stand respectfully and quietly. I want to leave here with both our dignity and our heads intact.”
And with that dire thought planted in their minds, Captain Gustov led them through the door and towards their destiny.
The Lighthouse 