Under the Willow Root

Chapter 6

We descend into a valley and see other people for the first time. Some appear to be farmers, some travelers. Despite our frantic pounding on the bars, they barely look up as we pass, except sometimes to point and laugh. Clearly no one is interested in helping us. Across the valley there's a town surrounded by a high wall. In the middle there's a kind of manor house. Not really a castle, just a house that's large enough to be visible over the town walls.

We pass through fields of some kind of plant--wheat, maybe--and through a little village. The houses are simple but tidy and cheerful looking with gardens planted in front. People turn out to watch us pass, staring with detached interest. I gaze longingly at a tray laden with some kind of pastry that one woman offers to a gaggle of little children.

The woman smiles tenderly at the children, just like any loving mother would. She looks kind and warm and friendly. She looks like she's a good person. Yet she barely glances at us as we roll by, as if it means nothing to her that we are caged and starved and filthy. How can that be?

Traffic gets heavier as we approach the town. Other wagons travel in both directions bearing people and goods. Some travelers go on foot, some ride horses or mules. No one seems to find anything strange about a cage filled with people. They pay us no more mind than they do the cart of caged chickens ahead of us.

As we approach the town, we're joined by a long procession of men covered in dust who look like they're about to drop from exhaustion at any second. A guard like ours rides beside them on a horse, but it doesn't look like he has much to do except flick his whip at a few stragglers. One man raises his face for a moment and I see the same blank expression that I saw on the Empty Man in the clearing where I woke up. These men are empty, too.

The caravan breaks off from our group as we approach the gates and moves off along the wall. We enter the town accompanied by several more guards from the caravan. I look around uneasily. I have an inkling of what we might be here for, and I don't like it one bit.

The houses in the town seem to jostle for space and attention. Terraces and balconies run into each other and each house is more elaborately decorated than the last. Door frames and windows are trimmed with ornate carvings and many front porches sport columns or statues. Some households have connected their balconies to those of their neighbors across the street with fancy bridges. I twist my neck, trying to take everything in. After days of seeing no one but the guards and my fellow captives, the life of the town is overwhelming.

When we reach the square, the wagons stop and about a third of the men--the strongest, it looks like--are brought out and doused with water. A few of the women are brought out as well, but it looks like only older women. I suddenly realize that none of the captives look like they're more than thirty or forty, and the youngest is maybe thirteen. I think of the bodies left behind in the clearing and feel sick.

The selected men and women are herded into a pen across the square. It's not exactly secure, barely more than a few ropes strung together, but the memory of the man who tried to escape is still fresh in our minds. No one tries to leave. I watch as people wander by and stare at our former companions. Little kids dart under the ropes and touch a knee or a hip and then run away, giggling. Every so often the red man brings one or two of the captives out and has them walk back and forth or turn around, or show their teeth. It's like a dog show.

No one pays too much attention to those of us still in the cage until a pimply, gangly boy stops near my wagon. He's eating some kind of kabob which drips with grease. A stray breeze blows in our faces, carrying with it the smell of roasted meat. My mouth fills with so much saliva that some spills out. I can't even spare a thought to be disgusted with myself, though I'm literally drooling like an animal. My every brain cell is trained on the meat.