Dindi
Blinded and bound, the captives walked.
A thick black cloth covered Dindi's eyes. It smelled like sweat and was rough against her skin. Her wrists were tied in front of her with hemp rope. That rope was also tied to the waist of another person in front of her. Behind her, someone's hands were tied to the rope around her waist.
They were forced to carry heavy baskets on their backs. Probably the backpacks were filled with all the loot the evil Rovers had stolen from the clanholds of the Corn Hills, including Dindi's home, Lost Swan Clanhold.
Each step was a guess. She could not see if she would step on dirt or stones, thorns or a hole. She had been taken barefoot from her clanhold. She didn't know when something might trip her. She stumbled often, and so did the captives in front and behind. If she paused too long, someone grabbed her shoulder to keep her moving. A moment later, the switch would lash her back.
She could no longer smell home—no more fire smoke, no more baking kilns. Instead, the wind carried the scent of maize fields, then flowers like lilac and poppy, then trees—oak, yew, and pine. Acorns under her feet stabbed worse than sharp stones.
The sun burned the top of her head, her nose, and her cheeks where the blindfold didn't cover. The air smelled of sweat, leather, and pollen. Behind her, someone tripped and cursed. She knew that voice, even strained and scared.
"Tamio?" she whispered.
"Dindi?" His voice was too loud. "The Rovers hit your clan too?"
"Quiet!" barked a man.
A switch snapped through the air. Dindi winced as it stung her shoulder. Tamio cried out again as he was hit a second time.
How many from her clan had been taken? How many neighbors? She listened to every voice. She heard Hadi. She heard Jensi. But not Tibi—Tibi always sneezed in this kind of pollen. Dindi waited for the sound but never heard it.
Somewhere behind her, she recognized Kemla's silent breath. A few others she guessed by the way they walked, or by short cries before the switch silenced them. Captives had been taken from all three clans in the Corn Hills. All were young. None were children.
What happened to the elders? To the babies? She pictured their bodies, cut to pieces in the huts. Tears burned behind her blindfold. Anger followed.
We have to escape, she thought. There are more of us than there are of them.
She believed their captors were Rovers. Who else would tie and blindfold them, herd them like animals, and say nothing? But to strike all three clans at once? It could have been a full attack from another tribe. Or a union of clanclutches against them.
Whatever the cause, their fate would be grim. The lucky ones might be sold as slaves. The unlucky ones would become mariahs—sacrificial slaves for the fae.
Branches scraped her arms and caught in her hair. Pine needles crunched beneath her feet. The smell of sap filled the air. Even the birds sounded quiet, like they feared what walked through the forest.
Her tongue felt thick. Her mouth was dry. They had been given no water. Her legs trembled. They had walked since before dawn. It was now late afternoon, she guessed. The warmth of the sun had shifted, falling more on her shoulders than her forehead. Shadows danced on her face as the leaves above filtered the light.
Now and then, the captives stopped. The warriors seemed to check the land for markers. By listening to the steps, she learned to tell which feet belonged to captives—barefoot—and which to captors—men in sandals. Their steps were louder, heavier.
The most important thing she noticed: each time they stopped, some of the men in sandals left the group. She heard their steps fade on other trails. Soon, she felt almost certain that only one guard stayed with them.
As far as he knew, the captives didn't realize the others had left. And those warriors might return at any moment.
If I'm going to act, this is my chance, she thought. I can't wait until I'm a slave and they burn out my eyes or cut off my foot so I can't run. That's what the stories say.
She spent the day working at her bindings. Slowly, carefully, she loosened the knots. Once her hands were almost free, she began to untie the rope around Tamio's waist, not saying a word. She didn't want him blurting it out again.
They stopped once more. The captives panted. No food. No water. The walk had drained them. Dindi explored the ground with her bare feet. It was flat and soft, maybe mossy. No rocks, no roots. But damp—it might be slippery. There were no tree trunks nearby. She had room to move.
The sun was behind her now. It slanted low across her back. Time was running out.
Then she heard it: a switch in the air. Then the snap against flesh.
Hadi yelped.
The guard moved down the line, step by slow step. The switch cracked again. Then again. Getting closer.
Dindi braced herself. She bent her knees a little, but not enough to be noticed. One breath. Another.
He was behind her now.
She moved.
She dropped low, bending her knees and falling backward into a crouch. The switch flew past where her shoulder had been. She spun low and struck the back of his leg with her elbow. As he stumbled, she shoved her shoulder into the back of his knee. He grunted and fell.
She slipped her hands free. The rope fell loose.
The man twisted to rise. She found the switch on the ground and grabbed it. She struck his reaching arm. Once. Twice. A third time—the blow made him cry out, not in rage, but in shock.
She circled as he flailed. Her blindfold slipped halfway down. Bright light stabbed her eyes. She could see only shapes and colors—the blur of green, the dark shape of the man rising.
He lunged. She dodged. The switch struck under his jaw. He jerked back but came again.
He caught her ankle.
They both crashed to the ground, tangled. His grip was like iron. He was a grown man, all bone, muscle, and purpose. She was fast, light, but small. She had no weight, no reach. Her only experience was fighting off ivy nymphs, and that was nothing like this.
The switch jabbed between them, back and forth. It struck ribs and wrists, scraped her jaw.
She twisted. Rolled. Struck again. Drew breath and hit again.
The blindfold slipped off completely, but it no longer mattered. All she saw was motion and light, sweat and dirt, and the flash of his teeth.