Avery The Sneak

Chapter 6: The List

The next morning was chilly and still. The air bit into my skin as our carts rolled steadily to the East. The guard captain was in a good mood because in a few hours a handful of prisoners would be gone. While looking at him as he whistled a carefree melody on the back of his horse I realized how little I had really interacted with the man. Those past weeks were supposed to be under his watchful eye, but I was left feeling like a child whose father failed to show up to a game I ended up losing. Part of me was happy he wasn't there for it, but maybe things would have been better if he had been.

Looking away from our jolly leader I turned toward Ludwig, in the middle of yet another nap. All mystery was gone while he slept; he became just another old man. His mind was made up, so I supposed he wouldn't have had much to wrestle with overnight.

"Company halt!" I heard the captain yell from the front of the procession. We'd stopped next to a narrow footbridge arcing over the narrowest part of the Napleo. Grey clouds obscured the Sun leaving the scene feeling bleached of any color. The bridge was damp with the spray from the river below. I wondered how many inmates have slipped as they crossed it over the years.

"This is the Exiles Bridge to Milnir." The captain had dismounted and was now addressing the procession at large. "Some of you may have already heard of it, but for those of you who haven't I will give an introduction. Those willing to give up Wrencort citizenry are allowed to emigrate to Milnir. Your name will be taken, and if you are ever seen in Wrencort again you will be executed." He absentmindedly twirled his glossy moustache as he said all this.

His voice made me think of what a banker must be like in bed. Every word was direct, and any hint of inflection or personality was sponged away by the feeling of fatigue we all felt at having to go through this so early in the morning.

Just then one of the inmates piped up from where he lazed in the cart. "So we just get to go free up in Milnir? How's that work?"

"I was getting there, and if I'm interrupted again I'll throw each of you in the river with their hands tied to the feet of the man before him. Now, not everyone qualifies for exile. It's mainly for less notorious criminal cases, so if your arrest made a headline you can probably forget about it. We wouldn't want anyone checking to see that every prisoner made it, would we?"

This time a younger guard whispered to the man next to him. "How come we let the prisoners loose in another country? How's that allowed?"

The young guard spoke softly, but somehow the Captain still heard. That or he'd been through this enough times to know what people would ask. "Milnir and Wrencort have a mutual disdain for each other. Enough so that both countries send prisoners into the other in an effort to destabilize them. Of course, it takes more than a few shoplifters and trespassers with no papers to bring down a nation, but it's still how we get our bonuses." He paused to take a sip from his canteen. Meanwhile, the prisoners gave each other confused looks. Not surprising when they'd just been told they were about to take place in a bureaucratic pissing contest.

The Captain stared down at the guard who'd interrupted him. "Now, I said not to be interrupted again, but since you're not a prisoner Berrick I'll go easy on you. Williamson!"

"Aye sir?"

"Take Berrick and dip his head in the Napleo, I want him sneezing by the time we ride into the Palemere."

"Yes sir."

We could distantly hear the sounds of yelps and splashing while the Captain read out a list of names qualified for exile. Ludwig made the cut obviously. I did as well, but my name was dead last. It struck me as odd because the rest had been alphabetical, and yet "Avery" was at the bottom. I figured it must have been by last name, but there had been two fellows with the last name "Zandarski" before mine.

My thoughts didn't last as I saw Berrick come back with his hair plastered to his head and his teeth chattering. A few of the other guards let out some guffaws at his state. Maybe I should have just been happy they didn't spell my name wrong.

There was a lot of rearranging during the next few minutes. Many of those whose names had been called, myself included, moved to stand next to the bridge. I stood next to Ludwig, whose mood had greatly improved from yesterday. Slick and Sash stood at the other end of the line looking pleased with themselves. The thought of them loose in the same country as me made my skin crawl, but if Ludwig really knew his stuff I probably won't have to worry.

There were around fifteen of us lined up in front of the bridge. Those that stayed behind looked older, and given how cold it had been just in Northern Wrencort I couldn't imagine them surviving a journey farther North. Ludwig was the oldest of the exiles, but despite his slight build he wasn't shivering. I made a note to ask what his coat was made of once we were alone.

One of the guards stepped forward with a stack of papers. Curiously, they were all blank. Then I noticed the charcoal pencils he had lined up in a leather sleeve. He was a heavy set fellow; I wouldn't have pegged him as a guard.

"Markas here will take a sketch of each of you," the Captain said. "After today if you're spotted again in Wrencort there will be no camp at the end of your trial." He paused and stared at each of us one at a time. His gaze lingered on Slick for a moment longer than the rest of us. "Enjoy Milnir's hospitality. Markas, if you would."

Markas headed down the line, one prisoner after the next. He scratched away with his meager set of pencils, but I was astounded at the level of detail present in each depiction. The weariness of the trip North must have worn on our faces because each picture looked exhausted. Once he finished drawing, Markas flipped the picture and let the prisoner see themself as they were before leaving Wrencort forever. Sometimes the prisoner would give a sad smile at themself, and Markas would beam back at them. The Captain frowned but said nothing.

Ludwig's portrait was the only one that didn't look completely spent. His coy smile was mirrored back at him, and I can just imagine some guard having to see his smug face every day on a wall with the other exiles. Wrencort was probably happy to be rid of him.

I had never had a portrait done before, so I felt a tad embarrassed while Markas was sketching. There was so much intensity in his eyes as he glanced back and forth from me to the page. He stared at me like I was a sunset or the end of a battle. When he finished I was left staring at a stranger.

My face had been hollowed by the weeks spent living on nothing but bread and water. Dark hair that still reminded me of my father's framed skin stretched over jutting cheekbones and the curve of my jaw. My eyes were dark enough that they almost look colored in, but close inspection shows how Markas captured the subtle difference in color between my iris and my pupil. There was even a faint scar on the corner of my bottom lip from when the dentist had sneezed.

I smiled at Markas and he smiled back. I should probably have been more somber because with a picture like that there was little chance I could show my face in Wrencort again. Still, it felt nice to smile genuinely. Maybe once I was settled in Milnir I could get a proper portrait done. Then again, considering Ludwig's line of work, maybe not.

"All right. All of you will now cross the bridge. You have one hour to move out of sight of the border while the main procession rests. Anyone still within eyeshot will find an arrow in their back and all of Markas's hard work will have gone to waste."

We didn't stick around long after that. Ludwig was quick to start walking North without so much as a glance back at Wrencort. I, on the other hand, kept looking at the Southern side of the Napleo. The prisoner camp grew smaller, and more trees rose up between me and home. It dawned on me how suddenly this all had happened. Two days ago I was heading for a labor camp for twenty years. Two months ago I was being led out of a courtroom away from my parents for possibly the last time. Four months ago I sat behind a desk certain that the state had bigger problems than a twenty-two year old taking a few bribes for coffin spaces. Now, I was marching North without a country to call my own. My only companion was an old man I've only known for a few weeks. Nothing really left to do except walk forward.

Author's note: I hope it stops being summer soon.

-SleepEast