As Oner and the girl walked toward the looming mountain, rocks bruised and cracked their dirty feet. Arms round each other for support, taking frequent breaks they walked in pained, longsuffering silence. A great commotion was afoot in the mountain.

“Is that a person down there?”

“No, you dufus. It’s obviously two.”

“You wouldn’t know. The last time someone came to this refuge you were in diapers.”

“Oh yeah, old man? The last time someone came to the refuge you were young and stupid. Now you’re old and stupid.”

Their tall, tanned captain stopped the argument before it could continue. “Which ever one of you says the next insult gets fire tending duty for the next week.”

They both shut up until the captain left to tell the chief that he should be expecting some visitors. Then they went back to arguing.

“You mean to tell me that you, a man twice the height and weight of the captain will just stand by, shaking in his boots like a newborn kittie as he is ordered around?”

“I didn’t notice that you were jumping to contradict him, pipsqueak.” The older man raised his voice indignantly.

Unfortunately, the captain of the guard chose this moment to step back into the lookout tower. “To the fires Aron” he told the older man pointing toward a billowing cloud of smoke down inside the mountain.

“Yeah, Aron,” said the younger man in a stage whisper. “To the fires ye old coot.”

This promptly got him sent along and they started arguing again on the way down inside the mountain. The captain sighed. “Anyone ever notice how whenever one of those two gets punished, the other inevitably does something to go with?” he asked of no one in particular. A few heads nodded as he turned to the retreating figures, one old and one young, to yell, “If they keep dilly-dallyin’ I’ll put them down in the fire pits for two weeks!” The men redoubled their pace, arguing all the way.

Finally able to focus, the captain turned his eyes to the people working their way slowly toward the mountain.

Oner stood at the base of the mountain looking up.

He took a huge breath and let it out slowly. Oh boy. This was gonna be fun. The slopes became much more jagged and steep in the next hundred yards. The girl was leaning against him, and she was breathing heavily. They were both weak from their separate escapades, but she was exponentially more so.

Oner looked down at her. “Are you sure the brilliant legend tells you to enter the active volcano to find freedom? Isn’t that a bit counter intuitive?” She tossed him a long-suffering look. The two were already becoming fast friends.

“I can sing the song again if you would like,” she offered, tilting her head. Songs, she had told him, were how slaves communicated. They were usually in code and usually sad.

Oner looked at her quickly. “Oh no. No need for that,” he said quickly. “I remember it perfectly. We’ll just get going.” He started walking up the mountain supporting her as he went. The girl’s voice had become raspy from lack of water and food over the past weeks and her singing was, well, Oner said it sounded like a tiger with a sore throat and if she was honest, he wasn’t far off.

She smiled to herself. Apparently, nothing could get him going like the threat of her singing. She would remember that.

On they went, moving up the mountain slowly and painfully. Nothing comes unless you fight for it, they told themselves. Up they climbed.

Oner set the girl on a stump and slumped onto the stony ground. Something was not right. He was too tired to figure out what though. The answer danced just outside of knowing and tantalized him. Take, for instance, the stump the girl was sitting on. It looked like it had been burned off, but it was awful flat. Besides, lava would not leave a stump, right? And the smoke coming out of the mountain. It did not smell right. He had smelled that exact smell before; he just could not place it.

Oner looked up at the girl, planning to ask if she was cool with stopping for the night. Just when he was considering opening his mouth to speak, a movement startled him. He jerked the rest of the way awake. Not that he had been asleep or anything.

A head appeared above the edge of the crater. She could have jumped out of her skin, even though she had been expecting people. She could not imagine how bad they must have scared Oner.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Oner stood as fast as he could, which was not fast, and placed himself between the emerging men and his new friend. And the earth started tipping. He promptly fell over again. The only thing that kept him from catching his head on a rock was a young man. Wait, boy? He sank into nothing.

She saw Oner fall. Before she could move to help him a blue-eyed, blond-haired boy jumped forward, out of the group of men climbing over the rim and caught him. Gently, he laid Oner on his back and looked up at her. He was probably around sixteen, much taller than her or Oner, and a fuzz had obviously just started growing on his chin. She smiled weakly. He looked worried. “Are you going to faint too?” he asked softly.

She smiled painfully, her lips dry and cracking. “I don’t think so,” she rumbled. “Thank you for catching my friend.”

By now, the men had reached them. The boy was handing her water in a gourd and they were asking her questions. She told them what they wanted to know. She was a slave. She came from far south. This was her best friend. No, he was not hurt, he just needed sleep and water. Food would also be a bonus.

One of the men threw Oner over his shoulder and started over the edge. The boy who had caught Oner helped her along. They were last in line. She was so tired she had trouble walking let alone watching where she was walking. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her over stone, around boulders, and down a ramp that wound around the inside of the crater wall ending at a sandy beach.

Dimly, she saw a pine covered island of over 10 acres in the huge lake that was the inside of the crater. The large island was surrounded by small islands like breadcrumbs, everywhere. Smoke poured from ledges all around the inside wall of the crater. “Nice,” she muttered and stumbled with fatigue.

Eventually she could not keep walking. And they were only halfway down the ramp. She turned to the boy behind her, but before she could voice her concerns, she started falling. He picked her up like a baby. She would rather walk herself, but if she was honest, she was too weak. She didn’t protest. Before they reached the boat that would take them to the island, she was asleep.

Oner woke up suddenly. It was dark. And he was scared. He didn’t move. How did I get here? Where is Papa? In bits and pieces, he remembered. In the back of his mind, he thought about trying to find the girl. But the men had captured him. He remembered them coming over the hill.

It hit him like a brick wall. Jorge, his papa, was dead. He allowed himself to cry for the first time since his dad died. His weeping went from silent and subdued to loud sobs that threatened to rip his body apart. His father was gone, his best friend dead for all he knew. Worst, all of it was his fault.

Roble was sitting in front of his hut, looking at the sky. The clouds were racing each other across the blue that the crater allowed to peak through. It smelled slightly like rain. Hmmm. Might need to take in the laundry soon. Then a whisper of a whimper escaped the thick mud walls of his hut. The boy must be awake.

Roble slipped into the peaceful darkness that was the inside of his humble home. He waited for his night vision to activate. The boy was curled up against the wall on the only bed. He shook it with his sobs. Roble walked over to him and sat at the end of the bed.

Oner was lost in his grief when the pine needle stuffed mattress bent toward his feet. He sat up quickly, terrified. Maybe they had killed the girl, and now that he was awake were going to kill him too. Then he saw, in the darkness a boy. He recognized him, but from where? “Is the girl alive? Are you going to kill me?”

Roble was expecting many questions, but these took him by surprise. His mouth fell open. “She is okay, don’t worry. We are going to help you. We are your friends. You have slept for just over twelve hours. Your friend has told us your story and is probably eating. It amazes me how much that kid can put away.”

Oner was shocked by the answer he got. Friends? Thank the Maker. A tear trickled down his cheek. The girl was okay. That was a plus. But his dad was dead because of him.

Roble set his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Why do you cry?”

Oner hung his head. Everyone would hate him if he told. He deserved it. The shadow from a cloud dimmed the small amount of light coming from the open doorway even more, and out came the story. His mother. His sister. Like an avalanche, once he started, he could not stop. His tears fell in a downpour. When he finished, the older boy lifted his chin, looking deep into his eyes. And told him a story.

Twins. The siblings loved each other more than life itself. They were riding their ponies when slave catchers came. The sister was stolen. The brother ran. He regrets it to this day. Though only seven at the time, he should have tried to help her. But he fled. When he got home, instead of going after his sister, the men in his village, including his father, ran. They left their homes and fled into the forest. And there, the boy swore never to run again. And he never has.

Roble smiled through his tears. “I think you know who the boy is, Oner?”

Oner cried some more. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Roble wiped both of their eyes and looked at Oner seriously. “We have done things we regret. We know that everything can be used for good, and everything can be used for evil. The question I have for you is, what will you choose?”

Oner stood. Maker help him, he was choosing good. He looked at Roble smiled. “I will never run again.”

Roble opened his arms and Oner dove in. Roble ruffed up his hair. “Welcome to the party.”

Oner squeezed his new friend. It was a relief now that someone knew. He sighed long and deep. Releasing Roble, he stepped back and smiled. The weight of his father’s death fell off his shoulders. And a human cannonball rammed into his chest almost tipping him over and forcing the breath out of him. He gasped and looked down.

The girl looked up at him, though he was barely taller. “I will never run again either.” Her eyes shone with passion and loyalty. Or was it unshed tears? Huh.

Roble wrapped his arms around the two kids. Though smaller, they were just as ready to do something. But he had a feeling the next few months would be hard on them. They would realize just how deep the hatred, fear, and suspicion went. And they would understand the need to be different.