Free The Transall Saga by Gary Paulsen Page B

the moment he had been well enough to sit up, Dagon had had the village blacksmith build the ankle chain.
    Dagon’s daughter, Megaan, had tended to him personally. She and her grandmother had removed the arrow and treated the deep laceration. And all the time he was healing she taught him the Tsook language, which he now spoke almost like a native.
    He had been given an old pair of buckskin pants to wear and was allowed to sleep on the floor in a comer of the house. Dagon had issued orders that Mark was to be fed generous portions. He said he wanted him fully recovered so that he could do the hard work he had been purchased for.
    Mark hadn’t seen Leeta since the day she had been brought in and sold. And he was too proud to ask Megaan about her. He could only hope she was being treated well.
    "Kakon. Pay attention. I need your help with this." Megaan scowled at him and pointed to the buffalo hide they were dipping into a foul-smelling liquid to tan it. "I think if you don’t stop dreaming all the time I will have to tell my father how useless you are."
    "And I think I would be far more useful if I had this chain off my leg and wasn’t forced to do women’s work."
    Megaan raised an eyebrow. "You would run."
    "I might." Mark helped her lift the heavy, wet hide. "I told you I have to get back to the dark jungle and look for the blue light."
    "I’m not sure I believe you about this. Probably it is a wild story that you have concocted to fool us."
    "Then how do you explain why I look so different? Have you ever seen anyone else in your world who looked like me?"
    "Transall. I told you before, the Tsook word for the world is Transall."
    "You didn’t answer my question "
    "I think this one is finished. Help me hang it over the fence. We will work on it some more tomorrow."
    It was always the same. Megaan avoided talking about the blue light and the possibility of his returning home.
    She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Now we will go to Tanta’s storehouse. We are almost out of pole flour."
    Mark stared at her. "We? I am to come with you? I thought your father said—"
    "My father said that I am in charge while he is away. And I need you to come with me to carry the sacks. Get the cart."
    Megaan’s grandmother appeared at the door of the house. "Do you think it wise to take the savage manboy among the real people? He might embarrass you."
    The old woman always called him the savage. Many times Mark had heard her go on and on about how the Tsook were the original people. They were specially made by the Creator of Life to rule Transall. Everyone else had been provided to serve the Tsook and to be used however the people wished.
    "What can he do?" Megaan asked. "Besides, I need pole flour and Barow is too small to help me carry it."
    "I am not too small." A little boy with curly black hair was standing near the door. He stuck his head outside and pouted. "I am a brave warrior like my father, the great Dagon."
    Megaan smiled indulgently. "Someday, my little Barow. Someday."
    "Take one of the field hands," the old woman said sharply. "They can move about more easily than this one. I’ve never understood what your father sees in this giant savage. Why in the name of Transall does he let him stay in the house and feed him good Tsook food like a pet? He should sleep in the fields with the others."
    "I have made my decision." Megaan watched Mark pushing the small two-wheeled cart toward them. "If he misbehaves will have him whipped. He knows this."
    Mark brought the cart to the front of the house and waited for instructions. He towered over Megaan and they both knew that the only thing that kept him in the village was the heavy iron shackle clamped around his leg. He did what he was told in order to get along. For whatever reason, Dagon treated him better than most of the other slaves, and Mark wanted no trouble until he could find a way to escape.
    He followed Megaan down the narrow path leading from her house to the central