He heard his name and felt a warm, smooth hand brushing across his face. It was comforting. The distant sound of children's laughter made everything even more pleasant. He felt at home. He felt at peace.

  "Jon."

  He heard his name again, and the voice that called it was familiar. Fiona. It was Fiona. He could hear her voice. She was somewhere close to him. And little Brion was laughing nearby. They were there. They were alive. They were with him.

  Jon reached out to grasp her hand. He longed to touch her again, to feel her soft skin and warm embrace. And whenever he heard little Brion's voice, something inside him stirred, bringing a smile to his face.

  He hadn't smiled in such a long time.

  Cold. That's what Jon felt.

  Fiona and Brion were only in his mind, and the last memories he had of them were of burying them deep in the earth.

  Were they cold now? Probably not. Their bodies were surely long decomposed by now. But he felt cold. He felt the cold in his heart, a coldness brought on by the constant dreams of them.

  Sometimes he only dreamed of Fiona, and other times only of Brion. He cherished the dreams where they both appeared; those were the only moments when he felt even a fleeting warmth, just enough to warm him.

  Then the cold would return.

  Beyond the cold, he also felt moisture, as if drops of water were trickling down his face, just like when he had buried them. He buried them deep in the earth, where their dead bodies would become one with the Earth. In the same way, then as now, drops washed over his face, running down to his lips and dripping downwards. Back then, they mixed with his tears as they fell into the earth.

  But that was before.

  He opened his eyes abruptly and wiped his face with his hand.

  "Hey, pale-eyes, are you alive?"

  Brion and Fiona were gone. Instead, a man's voice called out to him, and the rain was still falling, this time on wooden planks. He lifted his hand and wiped his face again. It was pointless; the rain was heavy and quickly soaked his face once more. The man's voice echoed again:

  "Hey, pale-eyes. I said get up."

  It took him a moment to remember where he was. There was water everywhere. Everywhere except the deck of the ship. And the sea around them had crushed them in its embrace. He couldn’t see where the sea ended and the sky began.

  "If you pass out again, I swear I’ll throw you overboard."

  Jon stood up. He knew what he had to do. Sometimes he would lose consciousness for a moment, but he was grateful because whenever he slept or fainted, he saw them. He saw their faces, and Fiona kissed him.

  "Damn this storm!" The man yelled again. This time, it wasn’t directed at him, but it was because of him. "I can’t handle this alone, pale-eyes. You better help, or I’ll order them to put you back where they found you. And you’ll never see another land except the one you were going to die on."

  Jon approached him and took the rope from his hands. He wasn’t as strong as the other man, which was immediately evident. He had to struggle to keep his footing and prevent the rope from dragging him upward. And when he did, he had to grit his teeth to endure the pain. The rope wrapped around his palm seemed to crush every bone. It burned and hurt, but he had endured worse.

  The big man disappeared for a moment and then returned with something heavy, even for him. He was drenched and moved slowly. Water streamed down his beard, probably one of the few times it had been washed. The heavy object he carried, which looked like a bucket full of stones, slowed him down even more. Finally, he brought it over and nearly dropped it at Jon's feet. For a moment, he stood, leaning his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

  This seemed to soften him a bit.

  "I thought you Thorns were stronger. You’re barely standing."

  The big man, surprisingly or not, had all his teeth, but they were black. He definitely loved tobacco, especially chewing it. That’s what Jon thought about him, ignoring the pain. The big man was right about one thing. Jon had seen and endured worse in Thorn.

  The man took the rope from him as if it were a thread. Well, he struggled too, but when he flexed his muscles, he quickly gained control over it. He pulled a bit more than he needed and tied it to the stones. He let it go slightly to make sure it would hold the sails and then slowly stood up. Now, he looked a bit more kindly.

  "It’ll pass soon. This happens often here. There’s some damned current. You must’ve seen it on the way here."

  He had seen nothing on the way here. His mind was filled only with the dead bodies of his wife and child. Of Brion and Fiona. Nothing else.

  Well, sometimes he remembered the mangled face of the man he had caught bent and bloody over them. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was him and still sometimes wondered, but he preferred to think that he had done the right thing. After all, it was Father Simon who had pointed him out. And priests don’t lie.

  "You’re the quietest of all the bastards below, I swear," the big man’s voice echoed again. "And the sickest too. How many times have you fainted today? Two or three? Sometimes I wonder how people like you stay alive while the truly worthy ones die."

  "It’s God’s will," Jon said, meaning it.

  "Screw the gods. If you’re still alive, it means they don’t care. Tell me, pale-eyes…" The man had finished tying the last rope with Jon’s help, and the ship turned slightly, making the storm a bit more bearable. "If a baby is born somewhere in our world today and dies two hours later, does it deserve to die?"

  "If God wills it…"

  "And at that same moment, your God," the big man interrupted again, "decides that you, a man who’s killed someone, should be sent to prison. And not only that, but you get brought back." The big man spat at Jon’s feet. "Don’t answer. Screw your gods."

  "Kirr!"

  The big man turned. Someone was calling him.

  "He’s a prisoner, not your friend."

  "I know that," Kirr snapped back. "The bastard passed out. Again."

  The one who called him waved dismissively.

  "Come with me." Kirr grabbed Jon by the collar of his tattered shirt and dragged him toward the cabins. He had been right. The storm had passed quickly, and the sun was starting to break through behind them.

  There weren’t really any cabins. Everyone slept in the lower part of the ship, which was accessed through a hole in the deck. Kirr shoved Jon in first and followed right after. As he entered, he slammed the hatch shut, though it still let in water. But the water didn’t stay inside; it flowed through various gaps and disappeared somewhere below. But it was dark. There were two or three candles, but they weren’t enough to light the place.

  "Are you going to sit down on your own, or do I have to help you?"

  Jon waved his hand. Kirr probably didn’t see it, but Jon had no intention of causing trouble. Not here. In fact, he never started trouble. But he always finished it. Just as he finished off that fool who killed his wife and child, only to later learn that he was just following orders. Jon didn’t care about his orders. He remembered the pieces of his skull left on the rock. And beside him lay the still-unburied Brion and Fiona. In the rain. Three bodies in the rain. But he only buried his loved ones.

  Bast Kane, as Jon later learned the man was called, was left to rot in the rain. Maybe that’s why they caught him. But when they did, Jon didn’t care about anything anymore. He had gotten his revenge. But there were still others to blame. Guilty ones who, until recently, he thought would get away. But if God had kept him alive, it meant their time was coming too. He hadn’t seen them, but he knew their names.

  "Is everyone down here, Kirr?" came the voice of the one who had called them earlier.

  "Screw your questions, Otto. Where would they run to? Out on the sea?" Kirr laughed loudly.

  "Maybe someone stayed up top, you idiot."

  "That’s their problem. It’s wet up there, getting cold, and it’ll be dark soon. And there’s no food."

  "When do you think we’ll arrive, Kirr?" Otto wasn’t taking the bait.

  "Morning. Maybe before the sun, but more likely a little after. Will he be waiting for us?"

  "We were supposed to be there two days ago."

  "Well, it’s not my fault." Their argument continued, and the others, including Jon, listened quietly. "What was I supposed to do when you couldn’t pick out the bastards from Thorn faster? I thought you’d be ready when I arrived."

  "We had some problems. No one will blame you, Kirr. You’re just the boatman."

  "Sure. You don’t know Ben Knox. Not only will he cut my pay, but he’ll also chew me out in front of everyone."

  "If he cuts your pay, I’ll give you some of mine. But I know Ben Knox. And I know him better than you do. Leave him to me."

  "It’s always you, you, you. You’re raking in the money with Ben, and I’m stuck on this rotten ship, ferrying freaks like these."

  "I’d advise you to watch your mouth, Kirr. Thorn isn’t a place for the polite and kind."

  "As long as the ship’s on the waves, they can’t do anything to me. And they know that’s just how I am, Otto. I’m just talking."

  No one else spoke. And there were quite a few of them. Besides Jon, there were five others he recognized by face, but he didn’t know their names. He only knew one of them—Edgar. Edgar Flint. They had talked a few times.

  And then there was Renald, who was leaning against him.

  "That one over there looks like a woman," Renald nudged him slightly, pointing to someone leaning on the other side of the cabin.

  Meanwhile, Kirr and Otto were arguing again, this time over whether to cook beans or boil ten potatoes to feed them.

  "A woman? I don’t believe it. They wouldn’t take the risk."

  "I’m telling you, Jon. That’s a woman." Renald continued pointing. Suddenly, he stopped and changed the subject. "You talk about God a lot. Do you really believe in God, Jon?"

  It was starting to wear on him. Kirr had talked about God, and now Renald. But Renald was one of the people he got along with best. He was older than Jon, probably past forty, with white in his beard starting to overtake the rest, and his face looked tormented, the wrinkles beginning to carve holes into it.

  "I believe," Jon finally replied.

  "In which God?"

  "It doesn’t matter which. I just believe."

  "So when this God created man and woman, do you think he divided their responsibilities or their character? Did he say, ‘This is a man; he’ll be a rapist, and this is a woman; she’ll be the one raped’?"

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Jon had never thought of it that way, nor did it concern him. Renald could be annoying sometimes. Like now.

  "There was a women’s wing in Thorn. Naturally, they weren’t stupid enough to mix men and women. Although the women were still guarded by men."

  "Our guards were eunuchs."

  "Probably theirs too. But desires are desires, whether you’ve got the parts or not."

  "How long were you in Thorn, Renald?"

  "If it’s late summer now, then almost a year. I wasn’t as lucky as you. You got in the other day and are already out. But you believe in God, so maybe that’s why."

  "It was cold when I went in. Winter was just ending."

  "So it’s still less than me. You didn’t get to see Thorn in all its glory."

  "Probably because I believe in God."

  Renald laughed.

  "Do you know what happens if you stay too long in Thorn, and neither Otto takes you out nor do they find you a job there? Or if you don’t escape somehow?"

  "They probably just kill you."

  "Killing you would be too stupid. They’d have spent a lot of coins feeding and watering you."

  "Food? I doubt they even spent half a black coin on me."

  "It’s much more profitable for them to sell you as a slave."

  "A slave? You mean like us now?"

  "They’ll give us weapons. Have you ever seen a slave with a weapon? They take slaves from the West and use them to feed their warriors."

  "I’ve seen people eat people, but only when they’re so hungry that there’s nothing else left."

  "That’s not what I meant, Jon. By ‘feed,’ I mean they pit them against their warriors. They buy ten prisoners who have no reason to live and throw them against their warriors. If the warrior wins, it’s obvious—death. But if the prisoner wins…"

  "Which probably never happens."

  "Maybe it has… But if he wins, they set him free."

  "And then sooner or later, they end up back in Thorn." Jon knew all this. He just wanted to hear how Renald would tell it. And the time on the ship was dragging by too slowly.

  "They often come back."

  "They always come back," Jon added. "It’s hard to kill for the first time. After that, it starts to become normal for you. And you’ll kill again, and again. And imagine killing a warrior, Renald. You become so strong in your own eyes that you feel untouchable."

  "And the ship to Thorn is waiting for you." Renald leaned back. He hadn’t closed his eyes. He was watching those across from them, who looked more tortured than anything.

  "Potatoes," Kirr’s voice called out again. He was coming toward them. "That’s what you’ll eat. Everyone gets one. If you want more, work it out with the one next to you. I’m not here to be your servant."

  Kirr bent down and placed a hot, flat piece of metal between them. On it rolled a dozen potatoes, which disappeared almost immediately. Like wild animals, Jon and the other seven pounced on them. All that could be heard was the clattering of the tin and Kirr’s laughter.

  "It’s always fun watching you like this." He turned and pulled out another tin, slightly smaller. "Just so you see, I’m not all bad. I’ve got some drumsticks for you too. They’re not chicken, nor pig, but I hope you’ve had pigeon at least once in your life. If not, this will be your first time."

  The same thing happened. Kirr threw the tin on the floor in front of them, and though they were more cautious this time, several pairs of hands still snatched the meat in an instant. It tasted like chicken, and if Kirr hadn’t told them what it was, Jon wouldn’t have known.

  "Well, I’ve got no more surprises. And I don’t care if you’re still hungry. Even if you wanted more, there’s nothing left. I’ve saved a dozen potatoes for tomorrow, but you won’t be here tomorrow. Otto," Kirr turned back, "give me the keys."

  Otto stepped forward. He was shorter and smaller than Kirr. The only hair on his head was above his upper lip, where he had left a reddish mustache, though it had started to gray.

  "If I leave you unlocked tonight, will you behave?" Otto didn’t hand over the keys.

  "Are you sure, Otto? This ship is all I’ve got. I don’t want any trouble."

  "They have no choice, and they’ve got nowhere to go. They’re either waiting to be killed in the West or will die in Thorn. Unless they steal the ship and sink themselves."

  Kirr didn’t find it funny. He looked them over one by one. He probably couldn’t see everyone, as the darkness had covered them completely where they were sitting.

  "That’s on you, Otto."

  "I’ve got this just in case," Otto pulled out a sword, which, for some reason, he looked at as if it were the finest blade ever made. It wasn’t anything Jon hadn’t seen before, or even what the guards in Thorn carried. "I named it Cornelis."

  "Cornelis?" Kirr turned to him. Apparently, he was hearing this for the first time too.

  "Yes. I named it after the first man I killed." Otto gazed at his sword and gently touched its blade. He was proud to have it.

  "And was he as ugly as the sword?"

  "Even uglier," Otto tried to stifle his laughter, but it mingled with Kirr’s.

  "Listen up, bastards," Kirr often addressed them this way. "You’d better get some sleep because tomorrow’s going to be a tough day. I know you’re hungry, but Ben Knox will feed you. There’s plenty of food for everyone there. Well, you’ll probably spend the rest of your time training and training until he finally decides to throw you into the fight. But at least you won’t be in Thorn."

  "Have you heard of Ben Knox?"

  "Yes," Jon had heard, but not much.

  Even so, Renald seemed to have decided to tell him more.

  "Ben Knox was appointed by King Roland, the king of Blector. He was something like the commander of the entire army. And then, when the king’s son—Garrick—decided to usurp the throne, he sent him to Thorn."

  "I didn’t see him in Thorn."

  "Neither did I," Renald quickly replied, as if he knew what Jon would say, and continued. "But when Garrick came, he decided that Blector didn’t need a commander of the army since they weren’t at war with anyone. Blector already controlled the entire eastern part. But the Black Blades needed one."

  Jon knew this, but Renald’s voice was calm and soothing. So soothing that Jon drifted off while listening.

  Strangely, this time he didn’t dream of Fiona and Brion. He dreamed of Bast Kane. The man he had killed for them. But this time, he didn’t kill him. Bast smiled at him and said something Jon couldn’t quite understand. And as he looked at his face, young and full of life, it suddenly shattered into pieces. Pieces Jon had seen even without dreaming, as he smashed the rock into his head.

  Kirr’s voice woke him, mixed with the stronger rocking of the ship.

  "Bastards, get ready. Soon you’ll meet your new master."

  Light was streaming through several cracks in the ship. The five across from him were awake. Two of them glared at him, while the other three rubbed their eyes. No one had moved all night. They were exactly where they had been when Jon had fallen asleep.

  "Wake your friend yourself before I do it for you." Kirr stood over him, speaking.

  Jon had forgotten about Renald. He turned and nudged him. At first, Renald didn’t move. Jon thought he was dead. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He hadn’t spent much time in Thorn, but long enough to see four people die beside him. The first time, he was afraid he’d be accused of murder. But when he saw they simply came and threw the body off Thorn’s high cliffs, he was calmer about the other three. He was even grateful that one of them died because he had been a miserable wretch. He smelled bad and sometimes behaved poorly, though he never raised a hand. Jon had wished for him to be gone, and he died. Later, Jon felt guilty, but he quickly forgot. His name was Wirt, and he had ended up in Thorn by mistake. But everyone there was there by mistake. And now, Wirt didn’t matter anymore.

  Renald woke up, though with difficulty. He nearly jumped and was startled. He mumbled something incoherent, wiped the drool from his mouth, and looked around sleepily. Now, it was even more obvious that he was old. Not too old and not too frail, but still not full of life. But he was full of strength. Or at least that’s what he managed to project.

  "Princesses," Kirr was good at coming up with names, "we don’t have breakfast, but the shore is near. Wipe the dirt off yourselves and be ready to go up in a moment. I want you looking presentable."

  "What did you dream about, Jon?"

  Renald’s question surprised him.

  "You were talking in your sleep. Muttering and cursing at someone. I didn’t catch the name, but it was short."

  "I don’t remember." Jon remembered the dream, though not as clearly as before. He often forgot them after waking up. But he had no intention of telling Renald about it.

  "Did you have children, Renald?"

  "Two," Renald answered quickly. "And I lost them both."

  "Did you tell them stories when they were little?"

  "Stories? I mostly told them the history of the world. And they listened with rapt attention."

  "How much of it do you know?"

  "Almost everything that’s worth knowing, and even a little more. I can name all the victors in the great battles of the West without ever setting foot there."

  "And all that from books?"

  "From books, from travelers, from merchants. I loved to read. Then I ended up in Thorn."

  "Birdies? Aren’t you getting up?" Kirr interrupted them again.

  They were the last ones in the short line. One by one, everyone climbed the ladder. And up in the light, Jon saw that the person they had been discussing last night was indeed a woman. Not that it mattered much, but it was the first thing that caught his attention. Then he saw the shore. The shore he had seen receding not too long ago.

  However, Edgar was crying. He was the other one Jon knew from Thorn. A short, swarthy man sent to Thorn because he had two wives. At least, that’s what he claimed. According to people close to them, it was because the women were actually the sisters of some lord. Jon didn’t believe either story. Edgar was ugly. Even the men avoided him. Jon couldn’t imagine him with one woman, let alone two. But he fought like a beast. And his favorite thing was to fight with his bare hands.

  He had been in Thorn for two years. And he was crying because he was finally seeing the shore. But not the shore where the prison was. The shore of his homeland.

  "And don’t embarrass me," Kirr yelled from behind them. No one else was likely to hear him. "I want Ben to be pleased. We’re already late."

  Otto moved ahead of everyone, holding his Cornelis. The sword was indeed not much to look at, quite worn. But it had the letter "K" poorly engraved at the base of the blade. Otto held it as if they weren’t arriving at friends but were about to fight those waiting on the shore. And a lot of people were waiting. It seemed like there were more and more of them.

  "Move back, Kirr."

  Strangely, the big captain of the ship obeyed. Otto stood at the front, with everyone else behind him. And no one spoke.

  It was early morning, and the dying fires on the shore had filled the air with the smell of ash and burnt wood. Two men dressed in black were pissing into the sea as if they didn’t see the ship coming. In the distance, more people were sitting around. They were scattered along the beach, some still sleeping. Only a tall man stood at the front, dressed as if he were welcoming noble lords and princesses, not prisoners like them.

  Yes, Jon didn’t consider himself anything special. He didn’t think they would be greeted like this. And he was sure that everything would change soon.

  The ship bumped against the sand, causing everyone to jump to keep their balance. A ladder from the ship was lowered, and another from those below was placed against it. Otto was the first to descend.

  After Otto, they came down one by one.

  Kirr came down last. He cursed as he descended, moving slowly and carefully as if he had never gotten off a ship before. Which might have been somewhat true.

  "You’re late."

  The man almost roared. His voice was so hoarse that it seemed to create waves around the ship.

  "They delayed us on the island," Kirr quickly justified himself.

  "Kirr isn’t to blame, Ben," Otto defended him. "They really held us up there. They couldn’t pick the people for us."

  "Is it that bad?"

  "No. They wanted to pick the best."

  "And is this the best?" Ben pointed his sword at their group, the blade stopping right on Jon. "If this is the best, you might as well return them or sink the ship halfway."

  "And what about the money?" Kirr couldn’t hold back.

  "You’re a day late, Kirr. What money?"

  "I told you," Kirr turned to Otto. Otto remained calm.

  "How much did I promise you, Kirr?" Ben spoke again.

  "Three black coins, and we’re even."

  Ben reached into a deep pocket of what looked like a robe. Jon imagined him rummaging his fingers among the coins, and by their sound, he could tell there were at least ten. Ben pulled out his hand, holding four coins. He threw three to Kirr, one after the other. Two fell to the ground, but the fat captain didn’t care. He quickly bent down and picked them up. The last one he handed to Otto.

  Otto bowed to him.

  "Do you still need me, Ben?"

  "No. Leave these to me. You might have more work soon. How are things there? Are there more?"

  "It’s full, but I’ve picked the best for you. The Westerners are taking quite a few for their own needs. I hear they’ve got problems too."

  "I don’t care about the Westerners. I pay more to both the prison and you. Send the rest to them. I want the best for me." He looked at them again. "And you’d better have brought me the best."

  Kirr was already back on his ship. Surprisingly, he had climbed up quickly despite the effort it took him to get down. Otto had circled behind Ben and stood as if he had always been his man. But Ben was still looking at them. Specifically, at Jon.

  "You!" He pointed at Jon with his sword. "Stand here." He pointed to a spot.

  Jon stood.

  "From the looks of it, you’re the tallest. I want everyone else to line up behind him by height. And all of you look at me."

  It didn’t take them long to do so. And Ben was right. Jon was the tallest. Renald was right behind him. He didn’t see the others. He didn’t want to look that way. He felt a certain respect for Ben. He was exactly the kind of man Jon imagined could command a group like theirs.

  Ben turned his back on them, and another man stepped forward. He was smaller than Ben but looked at them more harshly. Ben remained, but further away. He was with Otto, talking.

  "Dogs," the new man began directly. "Ben is too soft with you. And to show you that this is serious, one of you needs to step forward."

  No one moved.

  "You never come forward on your own. Fine. I’m not in the mood to wait. You!" He pointed at someone in the line. Jon only saw the back of the chosen one, who stepped forward hesitantly.

  "What’s your name?"

  "James, sir."

  James bowed his head to show respect.

  And his head fell to the ground. His body crumpled beside it.

  "And by the way, my name is Rex." The man slowly wiped the blood from his sword. "And I needed six men, not seven."