My leg and back muscles scream as I bend over to attach the bucket to the hook at the rope's end. As I lower it—slowly so that it doesn’t make any loud noises and call Hibsej from her home—I look up.
From this spot, there is a small gap in the trees. Eneko’s house is on a hill, and down below, in the valley, I can see theslave pens. Griselda’s home is there. It is unharmed. I knew that it would be; the burnings didn’t touch this area of land. They could start tomorrow, though.
I let out a sigh.
Let's hope not.
While the tension on the rope grows taut, I spare one last glance at the elm that grows near Griselda’s den. The tree has been there since I was young. Strangely it hasn’t been cut down as most of the trees in the pens have been.
I need to visit. The girls’ birthday is next week, and I want to visit them before then. Maybe I can even glean a few things to send back to Estela.
While I pull one bucket up and attach the other, I think of everything we saw on the way here. The stacks of bodies, the charred dens burned en masse. The thoughts spark inside me, and I welcome the anger like an old friend.
Once I have both buckets filled to the brim, a bit of nausea gathers in my belly at the thought of Thea and Wren, but I banish it with a deep breath.
It's been a while since I've seen the girls. Surely, they’ll be happy to see me.
Who doesn’t enjoy a visit from their mother?
Chapter 16
RA’SA
Sleep didn’t come easily. Throughout the night, I clutched a tiny stone in my hand, desperate to ensure that my glamour doesn’t fade. At some point, my Fuegorra started to burn, and I rolled over to ensure it didn’t wake anyone. It was an uncomfortable way to rest.
The hut that the working men are meant to share is large but overcrowded. It's a combination of mud bricks and wooden sheets that lay precariously against each other and do the absolute minimum to keep the chilled air out.
There is a smell that seems to cling to the walls like a man hanging onto the side of a cliff for dear life. It is musty and pungent, like unwashed feet.
The room is cold enough that my breath is visible. I adjust on the poorly made bunk, my feet hanging off the edge. There's barely enough space for me to stretch my shoulders, as there’s a man on either side of me.
When the other men stir, I sit up, grateful to stretch out my sore, cramped limbs. Their movement causes more smells to ripen in the air, but the stench doesn’t bother me so much. The eerie silence does.
No one speaks as we pull on our boots and soiled shirts before shuffling out of the room.
Men of all ages are around me, but I tense when I see a few children sporting the faces of men as they dress and grab their hats.
Children.
They should be playing in the woods, not destroying them.
A few people cast me confused glances as they crane their necks to take in my full height. Others bare their teeth, and I think about what Eneko said about those with giant blood. It won't be easy to make friends.
When we walk outside, I follow a silent group until we reach a large fire. Three giants are standing behind red-faced humans tending to an enormous iron pot covered in cooked-on fat and scorched food.
The guards watch us as we approach the dozens of long wooden tables. There are no chairs, and the closer I get, the more I realize the weathered surfaces are covered in a thick layer of grime. My lips pull back at the dreadful conditions.
Inwardly, I grimace, dreading whatever slop they intend me to put in my mouth. The closer I get, the stronger I smell soured meat.
I watch the men and women dribble out of their dens, step in front of me, and shuffle past the table. Each takes a bowl and waits for it to be filled before scattering. Some go back to the half-wood, half-mud houses; others go to lean against some of the trees or find rocks poking out of the snow to sit on.
After I’m served the slop, I find an unoccupied tree and grab a crudely carved spoon. As I bring the mush to my mouth, I nearly choke on the smell.
This goes beyond soured meat. Something akin to too-sweet berries burrows deep in my senses. The food is definitelypoisoned. It is likely not enough to kill everyone, but enough to kill a few.
When I sneak another glance to survey the other slaves, some eat like normal.
Interesting. I’ll need to wake up earlier tomorrow and hunt something.