A Tribute at the Gates Read online

  The pungent smell of brine that assaulted his nose was a welcome smell from that of his moving cell. Wooden docks, precariously perched on large posts extended out into the sea, small fishing boats moored against their sides.

  The carriage made a sharp turn that would have thrown him against the side had he not been glued to the window. The full view of the ocean was arresting. Ryl could barely take it all in. As the carriage steadily retreated from the water, the wide views of the ocean were replaced with towering buildings. Past shops, homes, and inns, they made their way steadily forward, stopping for no one.

  The water had nearly disappeared from view when the carriage made an abrupt stop. All Ryl could see of the ocean now was narrowed down to a single strip spanning the width of the road. For the last moon, the only voices Ryl had heard were the muted conversations of the driver and guard. However, neither had said so much as a word to him.

  “How many tributes this time?” the new voice asked gruffly.

  “Just one,” the carriage guard replied.

  “All right then, let’s get him to his new home,” the new voice said, chuckling.

  The carriage rocked slightly. The sound of their heavy boots on the cobblestone echoed in the air as they rounded to the door. Not making the same mistake as the last time, Ryl curled up a step back from the door as it swung open.

  “C’mon out,” the new voice commanded. “You don’t want to keep the master waiting, now do you?”

  Ryl didn’t resist as he was dragged out of the carriage. In his weakened state, any struggle would have been pointless against the adult guards. He had lost weight from the poor nutrition and sweltering heat of the carriage, leaving him in an astonishingly emaciated state. His legs, still cramped and half-asleep from the extended duration of his imprisonment, stumbled weakly along, struggling to propel his pitiful frame. The new guard had twisted his hand in the tattered fabric of Ryl’s tunic, lifting him up slightly, taking some of the weight off his legs, allowing them to keep up.

  The carriage had pulled up sideways across the face of the palisade directly in front of the massive gate. The wall towering above his head felt smothering, as if it was leaning over him, blocking out virtually all of the sky overhead. He could make out the silhouetted heads of a score of soldiers as they walked back and forth across the palisade’s top.

  He was half-dragged through the door of a small guard station growing out of the immense wall, accompanied by one of his original jailers and the new soldier. The armed soldiers standing like statues on either side of the door glared at him in disgust as he passed through. Without pause or a word from his guides, he was led into a small sitting room. There were several guards inside, engaged in an animated conversation. Their laughter ceased upon his entry. One broke off from the group, saluting the two escorting Ryl.

  “Corporal Asher, reporting with tribute H1351+ as directed, sir,” the guard that had accompanied Ryl announced formally with a salute. Ryl realized that this was the first time over all the miles that he heard his captor’s name.

  “Well met, soldier. Captain Le’Dral, at your service,” the captain replied. “I assume the ascertaining and mender’s papers are in order?”

  “Aye, sir,” Asher said, handing over a small worn packet to the captain.

  Captain Le’Dral broke the seal, quickly scanned the parchment, slightly nodding his head in approval. Le’Dral wasn’t an overly tall man, though solidly built. His muscles were clearly defined through his uniform. His close-cropped dark hair was startling contrast to the light blue of his eyes. Eyes that spoke with a mild kindness, the likes of which Ryl hadn’t seen in over a moon.

  “All’s well, Corporal,” Le’Dral said. “You and your companion can rest here for the night and resupply in the morning. Food’s ready in the mess.”

  The captain motioned for one of the soldiers in the group he had left.

  “Lieutenant Millis here will show you the way,” Le’Dral said. “Dismissed.”

  Corporal Asher saluted again then quickly exited with the lieutenant. Captain Le’Dral bent to a knee, lowering himself to eye level with Ryl.

  “What’s your name, boy?” the captain asked.

  “Ryl, sir,” he managed to stutter, taken back by the kind tone in the captain’s voice.

  “Well, Ryl. Let me be the first to welcome you to The Stocks. Your new home.” Le’Dral made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

  “I know you have a lot of questions,” he continued, “and I promise all will be answered in time. But for now, we need to get you cleaned up a touch before you can see the master.”

  With a small smile, Captain Le’Dral stood. The captain nodded to the lone guard standing at Ryl’s side, his hand still holding tightly on to his tunic. The guard began moving forward without a word, pulling Ryl along with him.

  From there, they followed a short hallway turning into what appeared to be a small bathhouse.

  “In you go. Can’t have you getting the rest of the herd sick,” the guard ordered. “My, you lot are foul smelling when you get here, eh?”

  Ryl was stripped of his haggard clothing before having a bucket of water that had been warming on the small fire in the room’s corner unceremoniously dumped over his head. After the initial shock, the warm water breathed a small spark of life back into Ryl, the heat immediately seeping into his weary bones. Slick with grime, the water drained with a low gurgle through a grate in the center of the floor.

  The guard proceeded to scrub him with a small course brush attached to a short wooden pole. The harsh-smelling soap and hard bristles uncomfortably erasing the layers of filth that had built up over the last moon.

  More warm water was poured over his head before he was given a small towel and a set of clothes. While he dried, the guard snapped the handle of the brush over his knee, carefully scooping up his soiled clothing, tossing the lot into the fire. Ryl dried quickly and put on the new clothing. The fabric was itchy and abrasive but a world cleaner than the filthy rags he'd been living in. Rags, he watched now burning away in the small fire. His eyes began welling up with tears.

  In that fire burned the last piece of home. That life was now nothing more than ashes.

  “Move along,” the guard barked, beckoning him with his hand, leading Ryl further down the hallway. They passed through a reinforced doorway, its thick metal door standing ajar. The walls and ceiling from this point on were made entirely of stone, lit by lanterns hanging from sconces on the wall. Passing through another small guard room, the hallway turned to the left, ending in another solid metal door, which his guard opened with a key.

  Ryl was led into an enclosed courtyard of sorts. On either side were sets of massive doors, standing nearly thirty feet high and wide. Both sets of doors were secured by an enormous wooden beam that looked to be as large as a tree trunk. One set of guards accompanied each set of doors. The pair to his left had eyes trained on the activity occurring outside through narrow barred slits, while the pair to the right conversed with a party on the other side of the gate.

  Noting their presence, one of the members from the patrol to the right broke off from his partner, taking a step back. He cupped his hand alongside his mouth to amplify the volume.

  “A tribute at the gates,” the guard announced, projecting his voice which reverberated around the interior of the room.

  The guard joined his partner moving toward the far wall, where they began straining as they pulled with staggered hands down on a thick metal chain. Their efforts were rewarded as the large wooden beam slowly withdrew, making its way into an opening in the opposite wall. Once clear from one of the two giant doors, the guard called out to the group outside the gate. With a deafening creak of hinges, the door slowly opened, stopping once the space was wide enough for Ryl and the guard to fit through.

  “In you go,” the guard escorting Ryl said.

  Stepping through the opening, Ryl had his first glimpse of that which would be his new home.

  The Stocks
.

  The large warehouse and three identical inn-like residences looked incongruous to the small semicircle village to his left. Beyond the village was mile after mile of neatly tended farmland. The walls stretched out as far as the eye could see to the north and to the west. Behind him, the gate door closed with a loud thud, a puff of air momentarily billowing out his baggy clothes.

  Was he being locked out, or in?

  Ryl’s observation was almost immediately cut short by the barking of a raspy voice.

  “So, this is the newest herd? Pathetic looking little shit, if you ask me,” the man said mockingly, reaching out to snatch the parchment from his escort. “The name is Master Delsith, and you will address me as such.”

  Master Delsith was the opposite of what Ryl had come to know in his short experience of the typical soldier. His body bordered on plump, while most were in fighting shape. His wavy brown hair was disheveled, while most sported neatly cropped cuts. His beady eyes were cruel. The most notable difference was his attitude. The master exuded an aura of superiority and animosity so strong that Ryl could taste it. The air felt heavier and harder to breath, as if the master’s presence was slowly choking him.

  “You will do what I say, when I say it,” Master Delsith chaffed. “Do I make myself clear?”

  He slapped the parchment on his opposite palm, adding emphasis to his every word.

  Ryl struggled to hold back the tears, nodded his head, breaking eye contact.

  “See that you do so, herd. You might be an important Harvest to some fop-of-a-noble out there,” he snapped, waving his arms dramatically at the horizon. “But in here you are nothing. You have no name. You belong to me, and I can make your life very difficult for the next...”

  His voice trailed off as he roughly grabbed the top of Ryl’s head, twisting it to the left, painfully stretching the scabbing skin over his brands.

  “For the next ten cycles,” he hissed.

  He released Ryl’s head with a shove. The guard still attached to his side thankfully prevented him from toppling over.

  “You will report to the mender at first light tomorrow to receive your treatment,” he said, clearly not wanting to waste any more time. “Now, I’m sure the rest of the herd is dying meet their newest tribute.”

  The word tribute was said with pure scorn and hatred that Ryl couldn’t fathom.

  “Let them fill you in on the rest, H1351+,” the master flailed his arm in the direction of the three identical inn-like structures.

  Having said his piece, an increasingly disgusted look spread across his face. Master Delsith cleared his throat and spat on Ryl’s feet before turning and fuming back toward the large house closest to the opposite side of the gate, the guards following closely on his heels.

  His body was in shock and he stood wobbling aimlessly for a moment. Ryl hadn’t noticed the guard beside him leave as well. He was completely alone, standing in a strange village, not understanding why he was there, or the reason for the hated and acidic looks that had been heaped upon him.

  With nowhere else to turn, Ryl began shuffling his way toward the first large building the master had motioned to. His feet felt leaden. He struggled to muster the energy needed to pick them up, kicking up clouds of fine dust with every dragging step.

  Ryl had barely made it a dozen steps when he could go no further. He collapsed to his knees, arms crossed holding his chest. His head fell forward to the ground, the tears exploded from his eyes. After what felt like an eternity, his sorrow was interrupted by a friendly voice.

  “He’s quite the bastard isn’t he?” the voice intoned.

  Ryl looked up dumbfounded at the owner of the voice, his vision blurred from the tears still falling from his eyes.

  “He’s just jealous of your good looks anyway,” the newcomer said, grinning from ear to ear.

  A young boy, only slightly older than Ryl, knelt down on the dirt road in front of him. His hair was a mess of curly blonde locks. His brown eyes reflected the smile on his face. Ryl let out an involuntary laugh, a sickly, half-laugh half-sob.

  “Good. That’s a good start,” the boy continued. “Don’t let that brand define you. Don’t let them convince you your blood defines your worth. They can never take away who you are. One day, you’ll get the chance to show them.”

  Those words would be forever ingrained in Ryl’s mind.

  The boy paused.

  “Hi, I’m Elias.”

  6

  The brief laugh, involuntary as it may have been, along with a bowl of hot stew, had injected a new life into Aelin. Odus has come across a felled deer a day earlier while tending to his duties in one of the fields closer to Cadsae. Luck was with him that day as the animal had apparently broken its leg attempting to leap a wall and had succumbed to malnutrition.

  Venison was a rare treat in The Stocks, one that he had experienced only a single time in his cycles here. Bladed weapons as well as bows and arrows were forbidden in The Stocks, even for the regular guards and patrols. The master and his ever-present bodyguard were carrying the only blades he had ever seen inside, each holding a small, poorly-concealed knife on his belt.

  That’s not to say the guards weren’t armed, however. Every guard carried a long ironwood baton and was well versed in wielding it with non-lethal skill. Skills that were practiced all too frequently using the tributes as unwilling fodder.

  Ryl looked over at Aelin, who was now polishing off his second bowl of the flavorful stew.

  “Careful Aelin, dear,” Sarial, who was sitting at his other side, said with her sweet motherly charm. “I know you’re starving, but don't eat too much tonight, your stomach won’t allow it. You'll have plenty of time to put some meat on your bones.”

  He responded with a smile before lifting his bowl to his lips, tipping his head back to savor every last drop.

  Throughout the course of the night, the tributes at Cadsae had offered their kind greetings to the young boy. The community bonded together to ease the suffering of the new tributes, sacrificing a portion of their rations to feed, donating their ears to listen, and freely giving the knowledge needed to help them adjust to and understand their tragic new place in life.

  Ryl remembered his first meal in The Stocks, sandwiched between Elias and Sarial. He looked down at Aelin. For a moment he saw the smaller, haggard version of himself sitting there. Ryl caught Sarial’s eyes and the two exchanged a knowing smile over the top of the youngster’s head. Sharing the bond of the same Harvest date, H1365, Sarial felt a deep rooted urge to nurture the young Aelin as if he was her own child, having not left his side since his arrival earlier in the afternoon.

  “Ryl, would you mind if Aelin moves into the open bed in your room?” Sarial asked politely, already knowing the answer.

  “I'd be happy for the company,” Ryl responded, gently patting Aelin on the back. “Though it'll be more his room than mine, Master's sending me back out in the morning. I’ll help show him the ropes. Won’t let him make the same mistakes I did.” Ryl winked, offering a mischievous smile to Aelin, who beamed in return.

  Sarial shrugged and shook her head at the jest. In truth, Ryl and Elias had caused their share of mischief throughout the community. Their pranks only caused her excess worry when they involved the guards. The hateful men were more apt to respond with violence than a smile at the appropriately childish actions of the boys. With few exceptions, virtually all the tributes in The Stocks were still children, forced into living an adult life, in a short harsh world.

  Having finished the meal, Ryl had fetched a pail of water from a kettle warming on the small fire, and led Aelin up the creaking stairs along the southern wall of the structure.

  “Mind the fourth and seventh steps,” Ryl said over his shoulder, Aelin following closely at his heels. “Makes it tough to sneak around at night.”

  Behind him, Aelin chuckled.

  Even when he and Elias had been silent, Sarial almost always caught them. She had an uncanny sense for when the yo
ungsters were causing trouble that Ryl could never understand.

  The stairs continued up for another flight, but Ryl led them off the first landing into the hallway that ran the length of the building. The boarding houses were built using the same design featuring two floors for living quarters, each with forty small rooms and a washroom. Individual rooms were shared by two tributes and typically held nothing more than two small cots, two meager chests, a small table and chair, and a simple lantern, held by a sconce on the wall.

  Pointing out the public washroom as they passed, Ryl left the bucket of water behind, leading Aelin down the hall, stopping before a door near the middle of the building. The faded number “10” was painted sloppily on a tiny sign on the door.

  “Well, here we are,” Ryl said, swinging the thin door open with a flourish, “home, sweet home.” He entered the small room, crossing to his cot along the left wall, depositing his small pack of clothes in the chest, and hanging his water skin on the small wooden nail he used for a hook on the wall. Aelin mirrored him, moving to the opposite cot, gingerly sitting down, sparking a memory that pained Ryl.

  “What was that look for?” Aelin said sheepishly. The feeling had apparently shown on Ryl’s face. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, no, of course not, Aelin,” Ryl retorted. “Just a memory. You remind me a little of him you know?”

  Nine moons had passed, yet Ryl felt the stinging loss like it was yesterday. Three moons would bring an end to another cycle, and with it another Harvest.

  Another chance to mourn.

  Elias, whom he’d grown closer to than anyone was among the score of tributes taken during the last Harvest. Elias would always joke that since they were all here because of the blood of the ancients, or alexen in their blood, maybe they were truly related. To Ryl, the blood was unimportant.