Garour was a small town, a district closed off from the rest of Ayden. It sat alongside Reitland, where workers strained day after day in the long rolling fields. They picked food and flowers and cotton, harvested silk and sap from orchards, and did so with peaceful compliance if Milo hadn’t known better. He’d seen labor camps before. Bethany, like many other towns, couldn’t afford long-term prisons and made use of the useless. Criminals were less inclined to continue with their ways when they were busy, hunched over, and wrist-deep plucking beans from vines from before sunrise until after sunset. And if they dared try to escape, their servitude ended indefinitely with the loud crack of gunfire.

  Milo, sitting obediently on the back of the wagon, watched as the women with barrels of berries chatted alongside the road. For slaves, as they were, they didn’t seem miserable or starved or unwell. They laughed and carried on with each other as if they were free. But they weren’t, and they didn’t see it for what it was. They were songbirds in a cage, fat and happy with dried millet and seeds. He couldn’t be like them. Every mile farther was heavier on his heart than the one before.

  When the driver turned into the white stone gates of Garour, Milo’s head tipped back as he stared up at the mighty walls lined with bowls of fire, and at the head a pillar of red flames like a sword guarding the gate. He turned round, leaning over the side of the wagon, and stared in awe at the lush, overgrown district. There were vines creeping up buildings and blooming with purple flowers. The trees clustered together and plump fruit dangled from their boughs. Bushes and brambles entangled each other like lovers amid ferns draping their open palms to the sun. Laughter, unlike anything he’d heard before, filled the sweet, warm air.

  There were children everywhere, as far as the eye could see. They had toys he’d never had the privilege of owning, and music played as they danced carefree in the streets. It was a paradise they couldn’t keep, and he knew he didn’t belong in it. But the wagon stopped, and the drivers climbed down. One carried a clipboard, and the other had a ring of keys. They came around to the back and opened the hatch. There were six others in the wagon, all much younger than himself, but like Milo, they kept quiet from the moment they boarded to when the drivers collected their papers.

  “Alright. You, sweetheart,” the man with the clipboard said with a smile as he kneeled down beside the small girl who’d climbed from the wagon first, “you’re headed over to the Anthos House.” He turned the clipboard around and flipped the pages over to a map. “See, it’s right here. If you want, you can head over, or you can wait until Miss Glenda gets here. I think you’ll like her. She has a daughter just about your age.”

  The girl stared at him, her eyes wide and unblinking and her mouth pulled tight in a line. Milo turned away. She’d seen more in her short life than he’d seen in his and he didn’t want to imagine what stained the innocence lost in her distant stare. The other driver cleared his throat, helping the next child down. “Her name’s Margo, isn’t it? Hector was sure they were having a son.”

  “Life’s full of surprises.” The first said, patting the girl on the head and moving on to the boy behind her. “And what’s your name?”

  The child stared at him as if he didn’t understand. The man looked at his clipboard and frowned. He held out his hand and collected the paper. The boy’s gaze lowered to the ground. The drivers looked at each other and shrugged, carrying on as if there was nothing to do about his silence. By the time they got to Milo, there was no offer to help him down. Rather, the man with the clipboard seemed baffled by him. He checked and rechecked the papers and stared at Milo, a queer sight to behold. He was tall for his age and his face was harder than it should have been.

  “Sixteen,” he said, not a trace of confidence behind it.

  Milo nodded once.

  “Well,” he breathed, “we don’t normally get big kids in, but it happens sometimes. Anyway, looks like we have orders to escort you over to Sykia House.”

  Milo looked over at the boy, who’d not said a word. “Where’s he going?”

  “The Anapiros House.” The driver replied, glancing up from what he was writing. “He’s deaf. He needs special care.”

  Milo stared down at the child. Without thinking, he placed his hand on his head, ruffled his hair, and offered a smile. The boy’s brows furrowed as he stared up at Milo. A faint light melted over his head and down along his cheeks. Milo stiffened and yanked his hand back, cramming it into his pocket. The boy blinked and looked around. His mouth fell open as though he had something to say, but he’d never heard words before. He gabbed and grunted as he swung around, delighted by what filled his ears for the first time.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Hey,” a man interrupted before either driver noticed, “are these the new kids?”

  “Sure are, Hector. Can you take them to their houses?” The one with the clipboard handed over a stack of papers. “And watch out for the little one there. He can’t hear. And from the looks of it, all the action around here is getting to him.”

  “Not a problem.” Hector smiled and then looked at Milo. His lips screwed to the side. “What about him? Does he need a job? I could use another apprentice at the butcher shop.”

  “No, we have orders to take him down to Sykia.”

  “He’ll fit in over there.” Hector bobbed his head as he collected the little hands of the children. He paused then and studied Milo’s face for a moment. “You know, he looks a lot like the other kid you took over there a few days ago. Good kid, mine seems to like him.”

  “Margo likes everyone. She’s a sweetheart like that.”

  “She’s more discerning than you give her credit for, but that kid, she thinks he’s going to do something great the second she looks away.”

  “Kids,” the driver guffawed, “they’re so deep in their own adventures, it’s a wonder any of us can keep up.”

  Hector laughed in agreement and then led the younger children away. The two drivers chatted between themselves and then decided on who would take the mantle of escort. It was the older man, the one who’d done little more than unload the kids. Marrok, as he introduced himself, was like a sheep in wolf’s clothing. His rough skin and scruffy beard matched his square eyes and tangled short hair. Though, when he spoke, his voice rumbled with warmth rather than intimidation. Milo strolled beside him, feeling small for the first time in a long while. Marrok was a behemoth of a man and strutted his size with pride.

  He talked the whole way to the end of the road about the different trees and how they worked hard to blend the fruits. Apples grew alongside figs, and plums amid oranges. It made the whole place smell like heaven, and the pies the kids made on the weekends were too good to stop at one. Sure, it required a good deal of upkeep and constant maintenance, but what else were they to do? They weren’t fit for combat, largely by choice, and so they busied themselves with tending to the gardens and fields and livestock and all the children raised in the nursery town.

  They rounded the next corner and came to a small weathered red house at the end of the curvy road. It had a black iron gate full of smooth circular curls and coils like roses in the metal. A stone path leading to the porch full of chairs and hanging swing cut the overgrown yard down the middle. The cream-yellow shutters framing the windows were beaten and worn, and one was a bird’s nest. And for a moment, Milo almost felt like he was home.

  The door swung open and a stout woman, plump in the middle, and long grayed, smiled excitedly and hurried down the stairs. Her tiny feet pattered across the bare dirt and thumped as she carried over the stone path. “Let me see him, let me see him!” she crowed, and grabbed hold of Milo’s arms, yanking him down before he could make sense of her enthusiasm. “Oh, you are a handsome young man, aren’t you? They said you were, too! And they’re never wrong. You’re going to like it here, I just know it. Are you hungry? I bet. Look how thin you are! We’ll fix that. Get some meat on those bones and your belly.”

  “Vevina, please!” Marrok groaned as if he were the one being accosted by her affection. “He’s sixteen. You can’t baby this one.”

  “Hush, I babied you when you first came here and you turned out just fine.” She puckered her lips and scrunched her nose. Marrok turned away, rubbing his hand over his hair and looking for a quick escape from embarrassment. Vevina turned back to Milo and squished his face between her hands. “You look just like your brother.”

  “Michael?” He breathed out, and then jolted back, staring at the house.

  “Stillwater, right?” she asked and took his hand, leading him dumbly inside. “Oh, he’s a really good boy. He’s always helping without being asked. And he’s a real whiz in the kitchen, too. There’s not been one complaint from him or about him. And here I was worried there would be at one point or another.

  “He’s sharing a room with a couple of the older boys. Bill’s seventeen, eighteen next month. And there’s Tristan, but I don’t think he’ll be leaving us any time soon. Tristan’s been through a lot. He’s a little delayed, unfortunately, so don’t expect much in the way of conversation. Seems like the only person he talks to is Zoe, aside from Michael. But she has a way of getting people to open up to her. If you ask me, she’s a natural leader. Draws people to her like a moth to a flame.

  “I have to say Michael impressed me. He got Tristan talking to him in three days flat. He even said good morning to me yesterday. First time in five years. Having Michael around has turned the tide. I expect he’ll make something of himself, and give it his all in the end.” She paused and looked up at Milo. “You, though. You’re something else, aren’t you?”

  Milo hardly heard a word she said. His attention was on the staircase and the boys sitting halfway up and halfway down. They were flipping through books filled with trading cards and pointing from page to page. Not one of them looked sad, morose, or even a little worse for wear. Their clothes were fresh, clean, and pressed. And not a single face was dirty, their hair neat and kempt. And in the center of them was his brother. His eyes were as bright as always, and his hair sloppily fell in uncontrollable waves over his brow. Michael looked up, and the smile on his face dropped in disbelief. Milo had found him, as he’d promised to do.