Sonara
Three days had passed since Sonara was captured, knocked out and bound, and had awoken here, a prisoner among twelve others, her back cramped against the rough wood of a prison wagon as it rocked its way across the northern road.
Three of the twelve were already corpses gone cold. Their eyes were open, staring past the iron bars on the windows as if they’d wanted to catch a glimpse of freedom as their spirits were called home.
It felt like a dream, waking here in the stink of sweat and piss and broken dreams.
Three days, and Jaxon was nowhere to be seen.
The crack of the whip sounded out.
Sonara bumped heads with the man next to her as the steeds hauling the caravan hastened their pace. Outside the barred window, she caught a distant glimpse of the armed guards that had been hired to escort the prisoners from Stonegrave to Deadwood.The wagons snaked along a curve in the makeshift desert road. The escorts, ten on each side of the caravan, rode beautiful beasts from Soreia, backs broad and necks strong, hooves kicking up sand that was picked up by the wind. Endless miles of it.
Sand, and sand and sand, spreading into the ghostly forms of the Bloodhorn Mountains, far beyond.
From here, the desert almost looked like the sea.
When Sonara closed her eyes, she could imagine it; the memory of the waves tugging at her bare toes. The sound of the gulls cawing overhead, the kiss of the salt air upon her lips.
The feeling of waking up from her own death on a distant shore, long ago, with a hazy memory of only spending a short time in the afterlife. She had her new curse as her companion.
AndDuran.
Blessed, beautiful Duran.
They’d died together on the rocks, their bodies crushed during the Leaping. But somehow, the steed had come back to life alongside Sonara, unharmed and unmarred. It was like a sweet dream, that moment of waking, of blinking back the sun and seeing Duran step towards her on the shore. As if the goddesses—or whoever was in charge of the realm that held the living—couldn’t bear to see his soul leave the world so soon.
She had no idea why they’d both been brought back.
Howthey’d been brought back.
Only that they were here, now, and for the past ten years they’d stayed together, wild and free.
Sonara’s memory was broken by the sound of a scream. The mournful kind that ripped apart the soul.
“Goddesses be with them as they go,” a woman across from Sonara whispered.
The scream heightened, turning to muted sobs from the wagon in front of theirs.
Another prisoner had succumbed to death.
“The goddesses can’t hear your prayers,” Sonara said. “And even if they could, I doubt they’d be listening.”
The woman’s whispered prayers fell silent.
Two days more, and they’d reach Deadwood, the prison camp at the edge of the Deadlands, where the rocky Bloodhorn Mountains turned to solid ice. The frozen land dropped straight off into what seemed an endless abyss. There, the prisoners would live the rest of their days carving out a frozen bridge that would span across the miles-long gap that separated the Deadlands and the northern kingdom of the White Wastes.
Sonara would rather die.
She was not fond of the cold.
The whip cracked again. The wagon lurched over a bump in the sand, and a man to Sonara’s left leaned over and spilled his guts onto the wooden floorboards.
The smell of waste, offear,hung heavy in the air.
Her manacles clinked as she shifted, her wrists red and raw. Each one of the links, shimmering beautifully, was made of diamond, and worth one hell of a prize.
It was also unbreakable.
