Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“A substitute has been selected and accepted.” Jasher raised the ax over his head.
“No,” I shouted. “Please, don’t do this.” I had not sent another human being to her death, to pay for a crime I myself had committed. Surely I hadn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.
The cart lurched forward as Jasher swung. I lost sight of the dais, but I heard the loud thunk. New cheers filled the air, and I knew. Like the old man, Brunette had lost her head.
My hand flew over my mouth as a spear of guilt pierced my heart. Golden sunlight filled the cart, leaving no trace of the storm. As the celebration grew louder, I ground my teeth. A coincidence, nothing more.
Gears cranked, the pole lowering, bringing the redhead into a seated position. A metal cover unfolded over us, extended the length of the bars and blocking out most of the light.
One of the boys tugged on my arm. When I met his gaze, he pointed to the redhead. I looked her over and realized I could free her arms from the pole. The links attaching my cuff to the cart stretched just far enough to allow me to undo her rope. Which I did.
She crumbled into herself, taking a moment to wheeze before lifting her hands to remove the gag. After huffing and puffing while massaging sore muscles, her pretty brown eyes cleared of discomfort.
She resettled against the hay and met my gaze. “You ain’t from around here, is you?”
“Where am I?” I croaked. “What is this awful place?”
“This be Emerald, a province in Hakeldama.”
I wracked my brain but couldn’t locate Hakeldama on my mental map. And Emerald? I laughed without humor. First I’d met the Tinman, then the Scarecrow. Now this. “What state are we in?” Couldn’t be Kansas. “Which country?”
“Country? No. In Hakeldama, there be six territories. West rules Emerald.”
“Name the other territories.” Surely I’d recognize one. “Please.”
“Sapphire, Ruby, Amethyst, Opal, and Diamond.” The girl rubbed two fingers over her chin, leaving a streak of dirt. “I’m Patch, by the way. Never Patricia,” she added with attitude. “Patch.”
“I’m Moriah.” Can’t process. Why name the “territories” after gemstones? The fact that I’d tornadoed into a place known as Emerald, where Dorothy Gale had journeyed, left a foul taste in my mouth.
I met the gaze of each young boy at Patch’s side. “And who are you?”
Both possessed mops of white curls and big black eyes. No doubt they were brothers. They looked at the girl, as if seeking permission to respond.
“This is Boo and Coo,” Patch said, speaking over squeaking wheels. “Their mom cut out their tongues so they’d fetch a higher price when she sold ‘em to Mr. West.”
How was any of that okay anywhere? “Mr. West is the man in the green suit, I take it.”
“Yep. He decided he liked you more than Tandi, I guess.”
Great. Another The Wonderful Wizard of Oz connection. If I was supposed to be Dorothy, and I wasn’t saying I was, even though I was currently dressed to play the part, I’d just stumbled upon my nemesis, and he had me at a huge disadvantage.
The cart hit a pothole, the first of many, and I winced, every bruise and injury protesting. “How did you end up with Mr. West? How long have you been a… stable mucker?”
“Too long, and through no fault of my own,” she said, giving me no real details. “I heard you tell the executioner you stole a healing elixir. Be glad you spilled it. Those elixirs heal the injured parts of the body only to ruin healthy ones. Here. This’ll make you feel better real quick with none of them nasty side effects.” She removed a leather cord from around her neck. A small, clear vial dangled from the center, half empty with something red. She uncorked the top, shook a grain-like substance into her palm and offered it to me.
Did she tell the truth? Or was this meant to hurt me further? Payback for Brunette’s miserable end? Trust no one.
I didn’t know what to think anymore, but I was desperate enough to take a chance. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, accepting.
“Nothin’. Consider it a gift from one substitute to another.”
Substitute. Those who weren’t saved from death but allowed to live only a little longer. “Thank you, Patch.” Down the hatch. The bitter taste made me grimace. I waited seconds, a full minute, but nothing changed. No easing of my pain. But no increasing of it either, so, guess I’d consider it a win. “I’m so sorry about your friend. I had no idea what would transpire when I… I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
“She weren’t my friend.” Patch hiked her shoulders in a shrug, then re-hooked the leather strap to her neck, hiding the vial under the collar of her potato sack. “Substitutes don’t usually last long. Especially when their titleholders can commit a crime every day and still keep a stable overflowing with men, women and children forced to die in their place.”