The Imminent Series

The Curse of Tallis

My father always threatened that if I didn't get my act together soon, he would ship me off in an apple barrel.

I never thought he'd actually do it.

It's even less comfortable than I'd imagined. It's dark too. I can see other barrels next to me through the wooden slats. We're on a cart, rattling away to who knows where.

I could yell and pound my fists and rock the barrel, but then I'd have to walk back home. Maybe if I stay quiet, they'll let me ride along until they get back to my father's farm again. 

We jolt to a halt. I don't know how long we've been driving; my father always says I sleep like the dead. I see people in brightly coloured tunics climb into the cart and tip over a few barrels in the first row. They roll them down a plank and out of my sight, then come back with others and load them up. Some words are exchanged, and we drive a little farther. The light through my barrel slats grows darker. We park for the night. I can see the flickering of a fire, and the calm chatting of the day gives way to laughter and storytelling. I smell food. My stomach rumbles, but no one hears it.

Night is a long time.

Finally the sky lightens outside, transforming from inky black to clear blue. The traders wake up, eat again, and we start off. The rattling is worse today. I'm stiff and hungry and my head aches. We don't make any stops. This feels like an eternity. I wonder how long their route is. I never paid much attention to how often they visited my father's farm.

I try to get more comfortable, but the barrel is a tight fit and my muscles resist movement.

Another long night.

This morning, we make a stop. They roll off several barrels and start re-organizing them. Then someone grabs my barrel, and it crashes to its side. My grunt is muffled beneath the grunting of whoever sets me rolling. There's a little bump on the edge of the plank, then I bounce down the incline.

The traders mount up again, and for the first time I feel concerned. They're going to leave me here. I'll have to wait for the next group of traders—or until this one comes around again. Will these people keep me till then, or will they make me work for scraps of food? Worse, what if they make me work to cover the cost of the barrel of apples?

I call out and beat the sides of the barrel with my fists. The traders and the would-be apple buyers come running, and someone takes off the lid. I stand up. Everyone talks at once as I climb awkwardly out of the barrel. I stretch gingerly.

They demand explanation. "My father put me in there while I was sleeping," I say. They ask more, but I just shrug. Finally a burly man pushes his way through the crowd. He says I can either walk back home or ride with them. I choose the latter.

The apple-buyers are given a full barrel and disappear with it into their barn. They return with a barrel of their own. I join the traders as they walk back to the caravan. I'm about to climb into the wagon when the burly man grabs the collar of my tunic and pulls me back. My foot was already on the spoke, so I stumble.

"What're you doing, boy?"

"Um... riding?"

" 'Ride with us' was an expression. Meant you can come with. We walk."

Lunchtime comes. Our food is raw vegetables and dried fish because no one wants to cook in the middle of the day. We get to another stop, and the man tells me I have to roll a barrel down too. I wave my hand and the one he pointed at tips over and rolls down the plank, right to the buyer's feet. They stare at me.

I'm used to the staring. It seems everyone wants the gift I have: I can make things move without touching them. It's handy, for sure. He asks if I can do a few more, but I shrug. I did my share.