Free Scarred Man by Bevan McGuiness Page A

but the other man grinned, as sudden a sign as it was unexpected. ‘You slap the top of my hand and then offer me yours to hit,’ he explained. His grin broadened when Slave complied. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘share our walk.’
    As Slave had been wandering without direction, any way seemed equally good to him, so he shared their walk. Amid the slowly moving group with their horses and animals around, the desolate plain felt less vast, even the wind felt less brutal. Slave relaxed slightly.
    â€˜My name is Vasilis.’
    â€˜I am called Slave.’
    â€˜Parents didn’t like you?’ Vasilis said with a smile.
    Slave shrugged. ‘I don’t know if I even had parents.’
    Vasilis’s smile vanished like he had been struck. ‘Everyone has parents, traveller.’
    â€˜So I hear.’
    â€˜You’re a strange one, Slave.’
    â€˜I’ve heard that, too.’
    A woman appeared at Slave’s shoulder, offering him something.
    â€˜Ah,’ said Vasilis. ‘Food. Take it, Slave. From the look of you, you could use it.’
    Slave accepted the hard, red-brown lump. He raised it to his lips. The pungent smell made him recoil.
    â€˜Delicious! I agree,’ Vasilis said, apparently misunderstanding Slave’s reaction. ‘Nothing like curdled cague milk.’
    â€˜Cague?’
    Vasilis roared with laughter. He pointed at the small dirty animals that wandered along with them. ‘Cague,’ he said. ‘Our little flock that keeps us alive and prospering.’
    Slave stared at the short-legged, light brown animals. They looked tough and hardy, with their tightly coiled wool and sturdy legs. There were about forty of them being driven along by the young men, each of whom carried a long stick taller than themselves which they flicked at the cagues to keep them in a tight formation.
    Prospering? He calls this prospering? With a sigh, Slave opened his mouth and bit into the morsel of food. It’s better than I have, at least. He’d eaten worse, but not much. Still, it was surprisingly filling and he managed to keep it down. Vasilis opened the first layer of his clothes and offered him a waterskin. Slave accepted it and pulled open the stopper. The water was bitterly cold, barely liquid, despite being carried near Vasilis’s skin. He gasped and spluttered as he felt the freezing water seep down into his belly.
    â€˜My thanks,’ he gasped.
    â€˜How long is it since you last ate?’
    Slave shrugged. ‘Days.’
    Vasilis raised his arm. ‘We make shadow here,’ he called. ‘The sun will move over us while our newfriend recovers his strength. I claim this place for the Kuvnos. May our harvest be rich.’
    The small tribe started to make camp. The horses were unloaded while the flock of cagues were urged into the centre. It seemed that everyone, from the oldest to the smallest child capable of walking, had a task. All except Slave. The strains of the previous days suddenly hit him and he felt himself slide into unconsciousness.
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    He awoke warm and comfortable, if ravenously hungry. His eyes flickered open to look around, and saw a woman staring down at him. As he struggled to sit up, her hand pressed on his chest gently, but with strength, forcing him back down.
    â€˜Be still, Slave,’ she said. ‘It is too soon yet to cast a shadow. Your injuries are great and will take time to heal.’
    â€˜Where …?’ he started, but the woman shook her head.
    â€˜You are safe within our number. The natona spreads its shadow over you and the Kuvnos surround you. Our solpon has offered you sanctuary. You are one of us now.’
    Slave did not understand many of the words she spoke, but her tone was soothing and her face seemed calm. He allowed his eyes to close again. The sleep that followed was more relaxed, less troubled by anguished visions, than any he had enjoyed since fleeing his