Sam

Chapter two of The Nameless

Sam

 

            The wagon bounced with each bump in the uneven road, jarring the passengers that it carried. It had been like this for the better part of four hours, ever since they had left the village behind, and it seemed as if it would continue for another long while yet. A majority of the Nameless people in the back of the dark wagon were finding it difficult to rest, either because of the bouncing and jolting of their ride, or because of the images that played in their minds even with their eyes open. A few of the littler children had passed out, but were tossing and turning, whimpering quietly and calling out for their parents, most of whom were dead.

            Sam sat with his back against one of the wagon’s walls, as far from the wooden door as was possible in the confined space. He was twelve, the eldest in this particular wagon �" the women were with the girls in the other, and no men had been taken captive. Manacles were clamped tightly around his wrists, adding to the general discomfort that being on the move brought. He held a little baby in his arms, the infant fast asleep and completely unaware of what had just happened. All the boys were terrified, most of the younger ones pressed up against Sam or any siblings who happened to be sharing the space with them. Sam didn’t blame them.

            The attack had been sudden, occurring in the middle of the night, and startling most of the villagers from sleep. Sam remembered waking up to the smell of something burning and his mangy little puppy barking loudly. Once he was awake, he had caught the sound of screaming, laughter, and the crackling of fire. In the room next to his, he had heard his baby sister wailing loudly. Sam had run in to grab her from her crib, finding his six-year-old sister and nine-year-old brother cowering in the same room. He had grabbed his sister’s hand, and she their brother’s, and led them downstairs.

            When he’d arrived with his three younger siblings, Sam had found the house already broken into, Named soldiers standing in the sitting room with weapons drawn. His older brother, fourteen-year-old Fisher, lay bleeding nearby. His father had a short sword and had been attempting to hold back the Named, but was cut down as Sam watched. He remembered his little siblings, Jade and Caleb, shouting out and crying, trying to hide behind him. The baby, named Jane until she was old enough to name herself, had kept wailing. Sam had looked around frantically for his mother, but had been unable to find her anywhere.

            The children had been taken outside the village by a couple of the Named. Sam had wanted to fight back, to keep them from taking him and his little siblings, but had resisted the urge. As they’d gone, he had seen what had happened to people who took up arms, to those who tried to protect their fellow Nameless. Each one of them had been brutally killed without a second thought, their weapons tumbling from lifeless fingers, their blood soaking into the ground below.

            When they had reached the wagons, three of them sitting patiently outside of the village with the horses looking oblivious to the disaster, Jane and Jade had been pried away and sent to join the girls and the few women who had gone without a fight. Sam had struggled, trying to get his little sisters back, but had quickly stopped when one of the Named drew a dagger, his eyes fixed on the pre-teen before him. Sam and Caleb had been led to the second wagon to join a group of young boys, none of them his own age. Most of the boys older than ten had fought back �" Sam was the one who hadn’t.

            He could remember quite clearly everything he could hear from inside the wagon, where he’d sat with the younger boys around him. There had been more screams, shouts, war cries, children wailing, dogs barking, fires crackling, weapons colliding with weapons, and the harsh voices of the Named coming from outside. At some point, the baby had been given to him to hold and take care of, and Sam had accepted the task. More little boys joined him in the wagon, until finally the noises stopped. There was no more yelling or sounds of fighting. Sam could only hear the Named and the fires they’d left behind. Tears had welled up in his eyes and his stomach had tied itself in knots at the thought of the whole village killed.

            Ever since they had started out, the boys had been quiet, save for their sobs, wails, and whimpers as they thought about family they’d seen killed, or nursed minor wounds of their own. Each of them bore a set of manacles, which had been put on before each had entered the wagon, and it had upset some of the younger children more. Caleb nestled into Sam’s side, his fists clenched tightly around the older boy’s shirt sleeve. Sam could feel him shaking, and wished he could reach out and wrap his arm around the younger boy, but with his hands shackled and a baby in his arms, that was impossible.

            “Sam?” a quiet, hesitant voice said, shattering the silence. Those boys that were awake looked in his direction, wondering who was speaking and what about. The speaker was a young boy of five, who was staring at Sam with wide brown eyes and was twisting the hem of his shirt with his hands. He shot a quick glance toward the door to the wagon, as if afraid of getting yelled at for speaking. “Where’s Nameless?” the boy finally continued, turning his attention back to Sam.

            The eldest boy frowned, unsure of the answer to that question himself. He had not seen their leader as he’d left, and clearly no men were taken captive. That left only one real, probable conclusion. But he didn’t want to share it with these scared young children. “I don’t know, River,” he finally answered, and the boy drew his legs up to his chest, looping his cuffed arms around them.

            “He’s not dead, right?” River said, a nervous quiver touching his voice. “No one can kill Nameless, can they?” He continued to stare at Sam, begging him to back up that claim. Sam didn’t know what to say. He knew that no one could avoid being killed, but he didn’t know if they could kill Nameless. As far as he knew, no one had ever tried, and no one even knew if their leader was a capable fighter or not. But he did like River’s optimism, his hope that Nameless was still alive. If he was, then Sam knew that all forty or fifty Nameless who had been captured would be helped at some point. But he didn’t want to give the boys false hope without proof, in case the optimism failed.

            Sam was opening his mouth to say…he wasn’t entirely sure what, something he hoped would be encouraging, when the baby in his arms stirred and started to cry. Immediately, the boy’s attention was focused down on the fussy infant. Having grown up taking care of first Jade and then Jane, Sam thought he was pretty good with babies, especially for a twelve-year-old. And he was sure that this one was hungry, as none of them had eaten since before being taken. He himself was hungry, too.

            Pulling his sleeve from his brother’s grasp, Sam stood up with a little bit of difficulty, the baby, the manacles, and the bouncing wagon all working against him. Once upright, he stumbled past the boys, who all stared up at him with fear and curiosity in their faces, until he reached the door to the wagon. Leaning against it with a shoulder, Sam banged his elbow into the door, the best way he could come up with for knocking.

            “Hey, can we get something, please?” Sam shouted over the creaking of the wagon’s wheels and the crying of the infant. He banged on the door some more and then almost fell out when it suddenly swung open. In order to keep his footing, Sam quickly leaned so that his shoulder was pressed against the doorframe, and he spread his legs to keep his balance. He knew he probably looked stupid, but it was better than falling down with a baby in his arms.

            The person who had pulled open the door was, obviously, one of the Named. It was a man, around his mid-thirties, with a thick red beard and hair that was starting to go grey along the edges. He had sharp, rough features, which made the glare that he directed at Sam look that much more dangerous. Some of the younger boys moved away from the door, curling up against the sides of older ones. “Stop your annoying banging. Now,” the Named man barked as he kept pace behind the wagon, one hand on the door that he’d swung open.

            Sam bit his lip before trying to stand up straighter and look older than he really was. “I’m sorry, but we need food. At least for the baby,” he said, strength that he didn’t feel heavy in his words. The man narrowed his eyes at the demand and then looked at the wailing infant, who was now squirming around in Sam’s arms. “Please? At the very least a bit of milk for him.”

            The man looked darkly at Sam and then at the boys cowering in the back of the wagon. Without a word, the Named man shut the door, sending Sam leaning back quickly to avoid getting hit in the face. Dejected, the twelve-year-old started back to where he’d been sitting, but the wagon gave a sudden lurch and he stumbled, making sure he landed on his knees. The impact was jarring, sending pain shooting up his legs, and Sam grit his teeth. But at least he hadn’t hurt the baby. And the wagon had stopped moving.

            Curious, Sam turned to look at the door of the wagon. For a little while, nothing happened, but then finally the door opened again. The bearded man and two others had appeared, and they lifted a crate into the wagon, followed by a barrel. The young boys near the door scooted away hurriedly, and Sam stood up, walking toward the two containers. “That should last you all the whole trip if you’re not greedy. Now quit banging around,” the Named man from before said, closing the door once more.

            Crouching, Sam passed the baby off to a boy nearby, working at the lid of the crate with a little difficulty. The wagon started moving again, and he slid into the crate, but ignored the unwanted movement. Finally he managed to pry the lid of and set it aside. He and the boys closest to him peered into the box, curiosity in their eyes. Inside of the crate was wrapped packages of food in clear bags. There was some dried meat, apples, and a great block of cheese near the bottom. There were also tightly-sealed bags of milk, and the cold items were surrounded by bags of half-melted ice. Sam agreed that this would last them the next few days, provided he rationed it out well enough.

            Moving onto the barrel, he once again worked on getting the lid off. Inside, he could hear a liquid splashing around with the movement of the wagon. Instead of pulling the lid of entirely, Sam just opened it a little, just enough to peer inside and determine what the barrel held. Water swirled around inside the container, and a little bit splashed Sam in the face. He replaced the lid and slid the barrel into the corner of the wagon, where it would be less likely to move from.

            Once the water was put away, Sam returned to the crate, grabbing one of the somewhat cold bags of milk from inside before replacing that lid as well. He could feel about twenty pairs of eyes on him, but for right now, he ignored the other boys. His first priority was giving the baby something to eat �" then he could worry about himself and the others. With the milk in hand, Sam sat back on his heels, biting his lip as he looked around.

            “Hold this,” he told a boy nearby, passing off the milk. The boy did so, looking between the bag and Sam, silently questioning what he was doing. Sam didn’t answer, instead moving over to the boy who held the baby. The boy held out the infant but Sam shook his head. “Hold him for a little bit longer, okay Aspen?” The boy nodded but watched the older boy with his head at a slight tilt, the same question evident on his face as on everyone else’s.

            Sam reached out to the baby and gently started pulling his shirt over his head. The baby squirmed and whined, but he managed to get the clothing off of the wriggly infant. He held the little shirt in one hand and held out his other for the milk bag. The boy holding it gave it up, watching as Sam brought it to his mouth and bit of one small corner of the bag with his teeth. The hole was barely even there �" milk just barely managed to drip out of it.

            Before the milk started to drip on the floor too much, Sam put the shirt over the opening. “Can you come and help feed him?” he asked River, who was one of the closer boys, having followed him over to the food and water. River looked a little uncertain but nodded, accepting the makeshift bottle. “Just give him this part to suck on �" he should be able to get the milk out through the hole and the shirt,” Sam said. River nodded again and scooted closer to Aspen, putting the now slightly wet part of the shirt in the baby’s mouth. Immediately the infant quieted and sucked on the make-shift bottle.

            Despite the situation, Sam couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He was glad he had been able to at least take care of one of these other boys. Now he would just have to take care of the others. Personally, he would rather be one of those being taken care of, since he honestly didn’t know what he was doing. Sam would much rather sit back and cry for a while, letting someone else do whatever was needed. But he was the eldest, one of the few whose age had even reached double digits. Therefore, he was looked to in order to fix everything, to make it better. So while he was freaked out, he knew he had to keep the others safe and healthy as best as any twelve-year-old boy could.

            Moving back to the crate, he lifted the lid and pulled out one of the bags of dried meat. It would be a little tough for the younger kids, but he’d just give them little pieces and probably some cheese as well. Everyone else would be fine with the simple little meal.

            Seeing the food, all the boys scooted closer, eyeing the meat eagerly. “Not too much. We only have so much food,” Sam said, opening up the bag and pulling out one piece per child. As soon as they had food, the kids settled down and nibbled on it. Their fear was still high, but Sam could tell that now that their hunger was quelled and they knew someone was looking after them, they were at least a tiny bit more relaxed.