Scarred Man by Bevan McGuiness Page A

His body ached from the day’s labours, muscles protesting at the unaccustomed exertions.
    â€˜Good day?’ a voice asked.
    Slave put down his bowl and regarded the speaker. It was a man, so weather-beaten and wind-blown his age was impossible to tell, but the hardness in his face and steel in his eyes suggested a mature harvester.
    â€˜Three,’ Slave said, guessing at the man’s inquiry.
    â€˜Amatios,’ the man said, offering his hand. Slave slapped it and offered his own to be slapped in return. ‘Three is good.’
    â€˜You?’
    Amatios shook his head. ‘Only one, and I’m not sure about it.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Tomorrow’s harvest will be better.’
    â€˜How long will we stay here?’
    â€˜As long as the harvest continues. Then we shift our shadow.’ Amatios gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘It’s how it is.’
    â€˜How far is Leserlang?’
    Amatios looked up into the darkening sky and pointed to the south. ‘Twenty days’ travel, that way.’
    â€˜On a horse?’
    â€˜Ten.’
    The first gust of a strengthening wind stirred their clothes and brought the smell of ice. Amatios wrapped his yok tighter and grunted as he walked away. Slave followed him back inside the natona and sought out his bed. Kirri was sitting cross-legged beside it. She looked up at him with an unreadable expression as he approached.
    â€˜Good harvest?’ she asked.
    â€˜Three.’
    Her eyebrows rose. ‘A good harvest.’
    â€˜Is it? I don’t know about such things.’
    Kirri rose to her feet. ‘Are you still well?’
    Slave nodded. ‘I’m a little stiff after the day, but my wounds are healed. Thank you.’
    Kirri opened her mouth as if to say something before snapping it closed again and walking away. Slave watched her weave her way through the tribe without looking back. Like all of the tribe, she was dark-skinned with dark brown hair and deep,almost black eyes. Yet even when nearly to the other side, past all the others, she was easily visible due to the unusual streak of pale hair that hung from the crown of her head to below her shoulders.
    â€˜Bad case,’ a woman said. ‘Worst I’ve ever seen.’
    â€˜What?’ Slave asked, startled by both the words and the voice.
    â€˜Virginity. She’s had it a long time and it needs to be treated soon or it will be with her all her life.’
    Slave frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
    â€˜I noticed that.’ The woman shifted her gaze up to regard Slave. ‘You don’t understand much, do you?’
    Slave felt anger prickle at the insult. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜Kirri is not subtle, but you! You make a cague look quick.’
    Stupid woman! Leave me alone.
    Slave grunted as if he accepted the gibe and understood what it was about. He looked away from her and prepared for sleep. She sniffed and walked away, muttering under her breath. He could only make out a few words over the low rumble of people preparing for sleep: ‘… deserve each other …’

11
    The Arch of the Shamed was an ancient structure, left behind from an earlier people, long since disappeared from the world. Before the Eleven Kingdoms, many such peoples roamed the world. Only scattered remnants were left, such as the Arch of the Shamed. Its true purpose was long forgotten, but the Readers had turned the simple structure into something dark.
    It consisted of three huge stones, one lying across two that stood as high as three men. When someone angered the Readers, a new metal cage was built and hung from the top stone with the condemned person sealed inside, left to die. There was no lock, no opening; each cage was a coffin from which there was no hope of escape.
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    The icy wind cut through him like a sword, shocking him into wakefulness.
    Keshik jerked sharply, his arm jamming hard against one of the heavy bars of his