Spies

Spies, prisoners, beaten. This is not where Berin wanted to be.

Spies

“This is your final vero,” said one of their captors in the lingua franca all children were taught. ‘We are nearing Qala Vali.” Berin eagerly awaited the end of the trip.

Seven veros tied to a horse is not great for my backside. Not to mention I need to offload.

Glavino and Berin had agreed not to use the Manas Hu method of releasing out the rear.

“I think it is barbaric!”

“Agreed.”

They had both held their bowels for the duration. But not for much longer, thought Berin. His stomach, though rarely full with the meagre meals they received, felt bloated.

“The Manas Hu must be defending their land well against King Labar,” said Berin.

“That is correct,” said his captor.

“But how?”

“We know how to fight. You Vergarans know how to make good wine, how to love your women, how to raise crops. We, the Manas Hu, are a fighting nation. We learn to fight from youth.”

“Mmm,” was all Glavino could voice.

The convoy consisted of ten Manas Hu soldiers and twenty-three prisoners. Soldiers had one prisoner on their horse, while the other thirteen were tied with niolon to the saddle of the horses. All were deemed spies of the Bacana. Though, one captor sensed this was a misunderstanding. The previous evening, he sidled up to Berin.

“I think you are Vergaran, not from Keturah,” he said, popping a gean in his mouth and offering one to Berin.

“We have been saying the whole time.”

Berin took the sweet cherry and slowly squeezed it with his teeth until he heard the joyful popping and the sparkling taste stretching the length of his tongue.

“Yes, but you must understand, we cannot take any risks.”

“What about them?’ Berin pointed to two of the other prisoners. ‘Are they from Vergara?”

“No, they have lighter skin than you. You are definitely from where the sun shines more.”

“But now that you think that, you can let me and Glavino go.”

“And lose my head? I think not.”

“How do we get out of here?”

“Wait until the battle is over and the leaders have time to listen to you. Then you may protest you are merely Vergarans.”

“How long do you think it will last?”

“The battle? No more than twelve veros.”

Berin could endure that if it gave him the time to clear his involvement, or more precisely, his reasons for being thrust in between two armies.

Now, on the final vero, the convoy grew closer to the capital, Qala Vali. As they neared, Glavino let out a gasp.

“The gods…”

“You must be joking.”

Berin had avoided Qala Vali last time he was in the area, but had seen the quiet city from a distance. Now, it was a patchwork of races, filing through its wide gates.

“How many people?”

“Thousands, at least.”

“How will they all fit in the city?”

“I know not.”

“Make way!” cried the first captor.

The men, women and children in front of the convoy turned to see. They obliged and parted like waves returning to the sea. The convoy glided through the path. Berin peeked at the crowd. They glared back at the prisoners silently. He heard one shout. It was a word he had not heard before. Perhaps it was a local Manas word. He glanced at Glavino, though he sensed his knowledge of the Manas Hu language would be considerably less.

The captor from the previous evening was directly behind Berin.

“They are calling you fatherless…”

“What?”

“You catch my meaning?”

“I do.”

“I suppose the others deserve that.”

“Why?”

“Because they are Bacana.”

I agree. But it is not their heritage that prompts the scorn. They are Bacana soldiers. Bacana spies. That is why.

Then again, though Berin, those boys were Bacana spies. He would not call them fatherless. No, that was unfair. Misguided, perhaps, was a better phrase for the two boys. Maybe they had no choice but work for the Bacana army. These men, however, had a choice on joining the army in this violent quest. That was the difference.

“Finally, we have reached the city!” cried Glavino. Berin’s bowels reiterated the remark. They entered through the gate and turned west, away from the direction of the crowd. Their path led them to a steel wall. A small gate, too small to fit the horses, stood in one corner. The convoy disembarked and the horses were led away. They entered, bowing as they did, into the structure.

“It looks as though they have hastily built this laogai,” said Berin. Glavino nodded.

“Where can I offload?”

“This way, prisoner,” said a man dressed in a similar fashion to a Manas Hu soldier.

The laogai already possessed prisoners. Most were Vergaran men, accused of being Bacana spies.

“We are merely refugees,” said one of the prisoners that night as they sat around eating grist and drinking rennet. They kept their voices low.

“Those are not,” said Glavino, pointing to the soldiers who arrived with them.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us,’ said Berin, ‘how did you come to be here?”

“My family was taken by the Bacana soldiers,” said another, rennet dripping down the side of his beard.

“So was mine,” replied Berin.

“I wonder where they are being taken,” said the man absent-mindedly, as though it was a rhetorical question.

Glavino piped in, “Well, Berin’s family, taken to Akola. Perhaps is where your family is taken.”

The man looked at Glavino, his smile like sunshine peeking through the rainclouds.

“If yours is alive, then mine must be.”

“Mine too.”

“And mine.”

“How did you come to be here?” Berin repeated.

“Sorry, we left that question unanswered. I…most of us were picked up on the border trying to cross by the Bo Hai River. You?”

“Same.”

“Except we were found as the battle was about to begin,” said Glavino.

“Right in between the two armies as they faced off,” included Berin.

The men breathed through clenched teeth.

“That is tough, you will have a difficult time convincing them you are Vergaran.”

Berin nodded. “I suppose we are not white-looking like this grist.”

The men laughed.

“What about you, Glavino? Do you know what happened to your family?”

“Have no family.”

“What, a handsome man such as yourself? Could not find a woman to marry?”

“I did. She could not marry me.”

“Why not?”

“Does not matter.” Glavino shifted his buttocks from side to side and looked away from the group. Berin thought it best to shift the subject.

“Akola. That was where we were heading before the Manas Hu scouts discovered us,” said Berin.

A wiry prisoner joined the group.

“My wife was taken as well. Before they took her, I saw her being defiled.”

The first prisoner’s face dropped, the smile hidden as though the clouds had returned. Berin shuddered at that thought for Juolo, but he did not dwell on it long. The pain of his past was too great. There was no sense adding to the unimaginable uncertainty.

“How did you escape from the Bacana soldiers?” he asked, changing the topic, if ever so slightly.

“After I saw my wife being tortured and raped, they let me go. I think they saw by my reaction that I had experienced enough pain. Their solution was to cut into my stomach as some type of punishment.”

“Vicious men!” exclaimed Glavino. The others nodded.

Berin left the group to retire to his bed. It was not really a bed; rather two blankets placed on the floor with a rock as a headrest. There were other blankets with rocks on top dotting the floor of the deep room; Berin counted sixteen in total. This was going to be like a mass sleep fest, only the sleep fest from elkeler. He carefully laid down, easing his throbbing head on the rock.

I hope my family is safe. I cannot do a thing to save them. Perhaps the gods can help. Maybe Glavino is right. This is punishment for ignoring them.

I hope. I have just enough hope.