Verona wandered the desert, the heat of the sun blazing against her back. Her stomach growled with hunger and her shackles rang with every step she took. As the day progressed, she’d grown slower and slower.

  Verona regretted Justicar not being able to free her from these things, but she also knew that the heat of the moment didn’t allow them to. How they overpowered the camp, she had no idea. One thing was for certain though: she’d have to live with these until she could find a weapon to cut them free or keys to unlock them.

  If the Minister of Labor hated anything more than rebels, it’s escaped slaves. In their words, these prisoners halted progress, and anyone found harboring or protecting them would be subject to the same treatment. All escapees were to be reported to the nearest soldier so action could be taken.

  Verona found this out the hard way. The first town she went to, the owner kicked her out of the inn with just a glance at her wrist. Thankfully, that town didn’t appreciate the rule of the king that much so they didn’t report it. They were only protecting themselves, she came to realize.

  The second town tried to arrest her and report her, but she escaped. She didn’t know how she was able to outrun the fully grown adults, and she didn’t question it. She just knew the ruby was her good luck charm. They were chasing her and suddenly stopped to bicker with one another.

  Verona reached into her pocket and pulled out a gemstone which she stole from the mines that day. A bright and beautiful ruby. When she knew her freedom guaranteed, she picked up the ruby and left behind the amethyst she had. The amethyst felt foreign to her, but this ruby… it called to her. Perhaps she could have held onto both. Sell both for a good amount of money so she’d be well of. But no, she didn’t want to use anything Lord Demarian gave her to her benefit.

  She held the ruby upwards and admired the gemstone, which shined splendidly underneath the light.

  Funny how the sun can do that: make things beautiful just by shining its light on them, yet it had another effect for other things. Take gemstones, it can make them shine radiantly, while it doesn’t do the same for her. It made her hot and sweaty.

  She found her mind wandering to places where she could sell this ruby. It had a decent size to it, and merchants wouldn’t be foolish enough to not take this off her hands for several mets.

  But since Justicar didn’t help remove the shackles, it was all pointless. No one would do business with someone in these cursed iron, as they most likely stole the item they were trying to sell. Well, she did steal it, but still…

  The third town she went to, they reported her name to the authorities, and the guards who worked at the gem mines ventured out to the town in search for her. She’d overheard some of the townspeople talking about it, so she managed to sneak away before they caught up to her. She was tired of being on the run.

  From then on, she learned to use a fake name wherever she went, no matter who she dealt with. Better to be safe than sorry.

  Four towns. That’s how many towns she walked to in the heat of day and cold of night. And each time, they’d treat her as subhuman and chase her out. Maybe the fifth town would be different.

  Up ahead in the dirt road, she could see a couple of people approaching. People in shiny silver armor carrying spears. She wondered how they didn’t grow hot when walking around all day in those things.

  They were clearly soldiers. She glanced down at her chains and ducked off to the side, hiding in some dead brush, hoping they would just walk past her.

  As they got closer, she held her breath, and watched as they marched by.

  Her stomach let out a growl. The soldiers halted in their tracks. “What was that?” one of them said.

  Verona shut her eyes tight, hoping, praying that her stomach wouldn’t growl again.

  “Come on, you must be imagining things,” the other solider said. They continued to walk past.

  Her stomach growled again. Her breath caught. The moments that passed seemed to stretch for an eternity. Thankfully, the guards ignored it and continued onwards.

  She breathed out a sigh of relief and moved away. Something cracked under her feet and with a glance, she realized she’d stepped on a twig. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Gotcha!” a voice from behind her said. The ground grew further away and she found herself flailing about. “Man, you look like you haven’t eaten in days!”

  Verona turned around to face the soldier. “And these shackles. Where did you get them? Is this what young kids are wearing nowadays in the country as a fashion statement?”

  Verona blinked at the man. He put her down gently. “Why don’t you come with me, I’ll get you something to eat.”

  No. Verona didn’t believe it for a second. Her growling stomach was convincing her to go along, but she knew it was a trap. They’d just turn her in to Lord Demarian. Surely posters of her face have begun to circulate already. She needed to get out of there.

  The soldier let out a laugh. “Why do you look so worried, young one? Man, you have bruises and scars covering your entire body. You must have been treated badly where you come from. If you follow us, then we’ll get you to someplace safe and you won’t have to worry about food anymore.”

  She couldn’t believe it. Soldiers of Agnius speaking about how badly slaves are treated? Such a thing would get them investigated for being a rebel. Even if it was a ruse to get her to follow them. But they wouldn’t have to give such an incriminating statement to get her to go with them. She lacked the weight of a normal person, so they could easily detain her and carry her.

  Verona couldn’t find her voice. Her knees shook vehemently.

  The soldier noticed that. “Oh, I forgot. I’m wearing this blasted thing!” He took off his helmet revealing a face drenched from hair to chin in sweat. And smack in the middle of his forehead is a mark, ingrained there by burning hot coals, designating someone as a slave. “Sorry to scare you, I have to wear this when I go out so I don’t get questioned or captured.”

  Could this still be a trick? Would a soldier go as far as to mark themselves a slave just to gain the trust of a runaway and bring them back? No, such an idea is preposterous to even consider. Verona had nowhere to run. Her stomach growled with every step she took. She wished she had other options than to blindly put her trust in someone wearing a soldier’s armor.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “I’m… so hungry,” she said, clutching her stomach.

  “Come along then,” the soldier said, taking her hand and leading her to the main road. The other soldier/slave waited patiently for them. All three continued down the road together.

  “Since we have you traveling with us, we have to go back as soon as possible. Can’t risk actual soldiers seeing you,” the first man said as he placed his helmet back on his head.

  “Or you can just pretend you’ve captured me,” Verona suggested.

  “A bright one, aren’t ya?”

  They continued walking down the road, making several turns here and there and eventually, they came to… a mound of dirt.

  “Well, here it is,” the man said. “Our home abode.”

  “Finally,” Verona said. “Some shade!”

  “Oh how rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Siva, and this right here is my partner. His name is Chatham.”

  Verona gave a curt bow, as formal as she could manage. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is V-,” she paused for a moment, the weight of both their stares pressing down on her. “Jocie,” she finished.

  “Well Jocie, I hope the people here take a liking to you. They can be a scattered bunch when you first meet them, but if you get to know them, they’re good people,” Siva said.

  Verona raised an eyebrow. Her unspoken questions were answered when Siva pulled a shovel from a hidden spot in the ground and picked at the mound of dirt. An entrance to a cave appeared, leading down into darkness.

  “Come on then, before anyone sees us,” Chatham spoke, taking the initiative and descending.

  Verona hesitantly followed the two men. With the first step, she nearly slipped and fell, but quickly regained her balance. She slid down the dirt and allowed the darkness to envelop her.

  Siva was the last one to enter, as he stayed behind to reconstruct their hidden entrance.

  A single spark of a fire came alight. Chatham held a torch in his hand and it revealed a dirt path leading further into the cave. A distant light grew larger the more they walked along the path.

  Once they passed by the buffer area into the full underground, she was greeted by a multitude of people, all with slave brands on their foreheads, all laughing with one another, talking, eating. She didn’t mind the heavy smell of dung, as she was used to much worse.

  “May I have everyone’s attention?” Siva called out, coming to the center of the room. “I would like you to welcome the newest addition to our little crew. Her name is Jocie, and she’s recently escaped the fate we’ve all known ourselves. I would like you all to make her feel welcome here.”

  Verona couldn’t help but find herself smiling. The people accepted her as if she was their own. One passed her a bowl of warm sludge soup, which she slurped down. It tasted bland, but it was a better taste than what she experienced in the gem mines.

  Tables and chairs made of dirt circulated the room. There was some water, but not much, and the little they did have, they were more than happy to share with her.

  Once the impromptu welcoming party quieted, Siva approached Verona, his spear in hand. “I didn’t tell you this, but if you’re going to be one of us, then you’ll have to hunt and help us get food as well. We can hunt in packs during the night when there are hardly any guards around, and secure food for everyone.”

  Verona nodded. “Thank you,” she said, her stomach full for the first time in a long time. She couldn’t contain the tears in her eyes and let them flow freely. “Thank you,” she repeated. Finally, a chance at a fresh start. She could rest her muscles and allow them to heal. Her mind and body could be at rest as well, and she might finally have a shot at happiness here. She wept with joy, unable to remember the last time anyone gave her such friendliness.

  “Aw, no biggie,” Siva said. “Stop crying, you’re going to make me cry.”

  Verona wiped her eyes and pointed at the spear he held. “Can you teach me how to use that? So I can help you guys hunt.”

  “Whoa whoa, slow down,” Siva replied. “You need to rest up; you don’t have to start hunting and gathering yet. You can take your time, our hunters can wait for you to get well.”

  Verona shook her head. “No, I owe you.”

  Siva let out a laugh. “It’s not like that. We don’t count favors here, we just work together and watch each other’s backs. You can rest up.”

  “No,” Verona spoke again, her voice adamant. “Teach me how to use that so I can help.”

  Siva sighed. “Well if you’re going to be stubborn about it then fine, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  And that was when Verona’s training with Siva began. He handed her a smaller, lighter spear, which fit in her hands perfectly. Despite her tiny frame and weak arms, she was surprised to be able to hold the weapon. Not only that, but it felt somewhat light in her hands. All the years in the mines, swinging a pickaxe everyday, helped improve her strength, even if her exterior didn’t show it.

  “If you’re going against someone who has a shorter ranged weapon, you might want to hold it like this. Keep your distance and don’t let them get close to you no matter what,” Siva said, using his foot and kicking hers to help her get into a more proper stance. One which gave her equal balance on both feet with her knees bent forward.

  It’d been too long since Verona wielded a weapon. All stances and techniques fled from her memory. They sparred, and each time, Verona would get knocked to the ground, and he would help her up.

  She remembered her own father teaching her how to wield a spear so long ago, before he she was sold into slavery. Although the techniques being taught were foreign, she felt the weapon as a part of her, akin to having a broken leg heal and able to use it again. A breath of fresh air.

  Despite not practicing spearmanship for about ten years, just a little movement here and there with it brought the memories and the feeling back, although she still was not proficient in it.

  In another room in their cave, they had a dummy which she used to practice after the spar.

  She would not leave the dummy’s side until she’s improved her techniques. It had been the same when she was in slavery, only she wasn’t forced to perform this monotonous task. She’d chosen to, and now that she had people who surrounded her, she couldn’t let them down. So she trained and trained, well into the day.