Stalemate

Chapter 8

The most surprising part was how easily Ashtin was torn from Doon's grasp. By the time he was turned around, all wide-eyed and panicked, Ashtin was already dragged several paces down the path, towards the strange carriage. She thrashed against the strong hands clenching her underarms, kicking up dirt and calling Doon's name.

And she was absolutely hysterical.

She watched Doon dodge another Dordan, ducking under his snatching hands. His exhausted body limped toward her desperately. "Fight back! Fight back!" he called to her. Ashin thrashed more, but it did little to loosen the bulky man's grip. Suddenly he dropped her in the dirt, right under his feet. She lay there frightened, staring up at the armored man. His biceps were enormous and he towered over even the dark wooden carriage. There was no wisdom in trying to run, so she lay motionless, waiting. His giant hands unwound chains and unlatched two doors on the backend of the carriage.

Doon, on the other hand, did not stay still.

The sounds of Doon's struggle echoed behind her. Shoes scuffing in the dirt. Heavy breathing. Grunting and cries of pain. A balled fist making contact. Ashtin held her breath, waiting for the fight to be won. It had to be Doon. He'd been fighting since he was seven, and he nearly always won. Against the schoolboys, at least.

Someone hit the ground hard. Silence. The Dordan opened the doors, exposing four or five squeamish people seated on benches, all staring back at them. Some looked tired, some angry, some determined. None of them were crying. Ashtin recognized a few of their tattered faces. The man grabbed Ashtin by the arm and yanked her back up to face him. He bore no distinguishable emotion on his face. Bored, almost. And his eyes, she'd never seen a Dordan's eyes up close. She could separate the iris from the blacks in them. Unlike her own, they didn't swallow light. Somehow that frightened her more.

He did not look at her. From a loop on his belt he took rusty iron handcuffs. In one swipe, he had both of her hands in one of his own, and clasped them shut. Ashtin whimpered. The weight of them forced her hands down in front of her, pulling at her fragile skin. Again he took her by the same arm– sore now from his firm grip– and pushed her forward. Ashtin kept her feet planted in the dirt, hardly wavered.

And suddenly, a bloodied Doon appeared. Heaving and limping worse, he snatched Ashtin's other arm and yanked. Caught off guard, the Dordan lost grip and scrambled after them.

"Run, Ashtin! Run!" Doon called behind him.

They barely made it ten feet before the other Dordan man, this one shorter and fatter, jumped in front of Doon and absorbed him, his giant arms wrapped around his middle. Ashtin reared back and screamed. She pulled on his hand weakly, the handcuffs weighing her down.

Behind her, she felt the stockier one take her calmly by the shoulders and pull in the opposite direction. Doon thrashed against the man, who was almost too short to handle him. His grip tightened on Ashtin's red fingers.

Ashtin began to weep again, almost delirious. "Please! Please let us go!"

Her cries for mercy did nothing.

For a moment, she saw Doon's determined face shift. He recoiled at her. She knew exactly what it meant. A Minarian never begs for mercy. A Minarian fights back. A Minarian is not weak.

Ashtin felt weak.

No longer able to hold on, Ashtin let go. Seemingly frustrated, the Dordan turned and shoved her back towards the carriage. Ashtin still cried like a fool, unable to wipe the stream of tears and snot from her face. The man picked her up. Plopped her on the edge of the bench. Llifted her arms to the ceiling. With a key he fastened her shackles to a hook. Her arms gave under the weight of the iron, every muscle and nerve pulsating.

Behind him, she saw Doon elbow the other Dordan in the face.

Her captor grabbed onto the handles of the doors.

Doon fell on the ground and scrambled the other way.

The doors closed and she saw only darkness.

She got a sudden unpleasant waft of sweat and urine. Bodies shifted and trapped her between them. Hot skin touched her own.

Then, outside, there was a single gunshot.