To The Gods

It had started pouring. Large drops ran down the leaves and dripped to the ground. The soil had become mushy.

"Alya!" Olaf shouted. He ignored the cold and ventured deeper into the forest. He arrived back on the dirt road close the to the city gate, when he saw two small hollows in the dirt, creating a long line that followed the road.

Olaf began running, "Alya!" His boots were slowly soaking in the puddles he ran across.

The path turned around a large bush, when Olaf walked around, he saw the wheeled chair in the distance. It was empty, "Alya!" He arrived at the vehicle, a wooden rest had broken off. Next to the chair, the trail of a horse's hoofs created small depressions in the wet ground.

Olaf continued following the path. He ran and stumbled. It felt like an hour had passed, maybe it did. The tips of his finger and his feet had fallen numb. The path in front of him followed a straight line into the horizon, yet Olaf was not able to see a trace of the horse. He stopped, gave up.

"What is going on?" He looked around him. A noticeable hole had been pushed into the foliage next to the road. Olaf stepped closer.

He was shaking, but it all stopped. Before him lied a warm, dead body. Ole's neck had turned black.

His soldier had not gotten far, "Then, where is she?" He looked around for Alya and the horse, but the tracks continued. His mind had shut off, he just picked the body up and walked back to the city. After a few steps, feelings crashed against him. He was unsure from where they came, but he lost the power to continue standing and tripped.

He layed on the street, rain left his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He closed them, everything turned black. His legs hurt. It felt as though they had fallen off.

A few hours later the rain had stopped. The forest was damp and the air foggy. Alya had continued following the road for the most time, but earlier she switched to a smaller road that split off, the sign she had passed read: Hopkins Commune.

The horse was a struggle to control for Alya, since she could not use the spurs attached to the saddle. Riding felt like second nature to her, she must have learned it a long time ago. She came upon a split in the road. A large old tree reared over her head, small droplets dripped onto her head.

Suddenly, the horse stopped. Alya looked around, it was quiet for a second.

A loud cough drew her attention to her right. Behind the trees, men and women walked out. They carried crossbows. Most of them had brown skin, they were slaves. Alya was relieved, but stayed cautious.

"If you try to ride off, we shoot." A voice behind her shouted. Alya looked back, she was surrounded by a dozen off them, not all carried ranged weapons.

"I'm here to warn you. Two wagons filled with your kind are beeing transported down the main road. The army wants to kill them before you get there." She kept her voice deep and loud.

"Then they are too late, we already saved them." The man, as Alya saw through her blue eye, was also a slave. He seemed to have authority, a bronze key dangled on his necklace. The man looked to the side and waved his arm towards Alya.

A boy, around fifteen years old with light skin and black hair stepped in her direction. Meanwhile, the man continued, "You have two choices, you join us out of free will or we force you to."

Alya turned towards the boy arriving at her horse, he looked at her missing legs.

"Don't move!" The man shouted. Alya smiled.

The boy lifted his arms, "Give me your hand." Alya was touched by the gesture, so she did. The boy closed his eyes, his warm hands closed around her cold fingers.

"And?" The man raised his voice again.

"Yes." The boy answered. For another moment he kept still, but suddenly drew his hands away. He looked up at Alya with wide eyes and stepped backwards.

The people around him seemed not to notice, they started lowering their weapons and looked at eachother, nodding.

"Come with us." The man said. They travelled down the right road and quickly arrived at a small village. About ten large houses were build there, from stables to workshops, they all had a use. Even a smithy was present. For the size of it, these people had everything they needed aside from food. The fields and animals would have been enough for the people usually living here, but it was packed. Around a hundred men and women of different skintones walked around and talked. Most of them eyed the new arrival carefully. They followed the road to the stables, where an old man greeted them.

"Hello, fellas." The old man had short, light-grey hair and a stubbly beard. He smiled at them. "Who are you, beautiful? And, what happen to ya legs?" He cut Alya off before she could say anything, "Wait a moment, I'll get you a cart." He walked into the wooden building. From inside he shouted, "You can bring the horse in." The people leading her opened the large door and she led the horse inside.

"Someone... can drive ya around for now." He pushed a small wooden cart, probably used to carry product, or food... or manure.