Rough burlap scratches my face. The image of Evan screaming is seared into my mind, vivid in the darkness. I try to pull the fabric off my face and a pair of hands grips my shoulder and pushes me down onto the ground. I fall hard and gasp as the air is knocked out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe as someone pulls my arms behind my back and ties them together. I try to struggle, to lash out. Something hard presses into my neck. A boot. The pressure builds until I stop moving.

“You’ve got him?” A low voice calls out. I can’t hear the response. I can breathe again although my chest aches. “Evan!” I scream into the burlap, using what little air I had regained. “Evan! Can you hear me?”

“Shut up, kid,” the low voice says close to my ear. Whoever it is lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing. I feel nauseous; unsure of which way is up. I keep yelling though.

“Evan! Evan can you hear me!” A sharp blow to my head makes me stop.

“I said shut up.”

We start to move forward. My head pounds, fills with blood. I try to listen for Evan, for any sound that he is with me. Before my eyes were covered, I think I saw him start to run. Maybe he escaped? I try to calm myself down and listen. I think I can make out several pairs of footsteps, but it is hard to hear over my pounding pulse. It’s impossible to slow it. “Evan!” I call out again and wince as the man carrying me hits my forehead.

“I won’t tell you to shut up again,” he says. His voice is low, gruff. It is easy to picture it belonging to a mammoth person. The braided man bursts into my mind. No. It can’t be him.

“Please,” I beg, “just tell me if my brother’s okay.” I cry out as the man hits me over the head again. This time my vision grays out.

We don’t move for long before my captor stops. I am hoisted off his shoulder and thrown on a hard surface. I try to stretch out, to find my footing, but I hit hard surfaces on all sides. I think I’m in some sort of open box. A moment later a body is thrown on top of me. The box starts to move, tilted up slightly and pulled over the ground. I think it has wheels. I can’t move my arms, but I stretch my hand out searching for Evan. My fingers curl around something warm. Skin. I don’t know if it is Evan. I hope that it isn’t.

I lose track of how long we’re in this cart. Several times it is picked into the air or we are hoisted over shoulders only to be returned to the cart again. I wonder if they are having a hard time navigating the trees. Each time I try to speak out to Evan, I get hit with a hard object on my legs, torso, head. I think it’s the butt of a gun. The cart stops and before I can even contemplate trying to fight back, I am grabbed by my arms and thrown head first into the air. I hit another hard surface and my breath is knocked away. As I lay on the surface wincing in pain, the burlap hood is pulled from my head. I immediately try to see where I am. I look up and I meet the eyes of several other people. They are hunched in the corner of what looks like a huge metal box. Their hands are tied. They watch me with deaden eyes and a seeming lack of interest. Where the gods am I?

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I hear a yell and turn in time to see a hooded figure land next to me. Evan! No one removes his hood. I twist my body painfully to look behind me. A huge, muscular man stands in an open doorway on the side of the compartment, his body so large my eyes meet his chest. I know how he is even before I see his face. The braided man. When I look up I see the twist of hair around his throat and the ferocious grin of the tracker. With both hands the braided man pulls the door to the box closed followed by the sound of metal protesting. We must be locked in.

“Evan?” I whisper. I crawl on my stomach over to my brother. My hands are still tied behind my back. My shirt rides up. The metal is smooth and cold on my stomach. Evan isn’t moving, but I think I can hear moaning softly. I want to reach out to him. I need my hands. I push myself onto my side and mange to rock myself until I am seated. I have long limbs and it is fairly easy to inch my arms from my back under my legs and around my feet. My arms are in front of me although my hands are still tied. I reach over and pull off Evan’s hood. His eyes are closed and a steady stream of tears falls down his face.

“Evan, it’s me,” I whisper. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” The question is ridiculous. Nothing is okay.

Evan opens his eyes. “Javin?” His voice cracks.

“Are you okay?” I repeat. I can already see the soft yellow of new bruises on Evan’s face.

“I think so,” he whispers. “Where are we?” His eyes dart around the box. He leans up on his shoulder, his arms still behind his back.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Nowhere good.”

Evan lets out a yell as the compartment lurches forward. I almost join him. The floor is vibrating and the box starts to move forward faster and faster until I almost can’t feel the speed. I realize quickly what this “metal box” is.

“We’re on a train,” I tell Evan. This doesn’t seem to calm him. I’ve never been on a train before, but I’ve read all about them. The trains carve pathways throughout the east. They run between the cities, the farms. They bring supplies, people, information between the cities. Many historians cite the popularization of trains in the east as the start of the growing distinction between the two halves of Kostos. If the west had the ability to move supplies that quickly they would have expanded and developed as much as the east. I’m not sure that’s true. Most of the westerners believe in tradition over innovation. “Remember Dad telling us about trains?” I ask Evan.

He nods. “They’re like big carts. They move without horses.”

“Right,” I tell him and force a smile. “You always said you wanted to go on one. Just wait until we tell Dad.”

“Javin-”

“It’s going to be okay,” I say stubbornly. “Just trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ve always wanted to go on a train.” I realize when I say this where we must be. There aren’t any trains in the Forsyth. We’re in the east, the great prairie that stretches until the ocean, dotted with the cities of Kostos.

I help Evan roll onto his side and push his hands under his feet. It is a bit harder for him, but we manage. Our bodies shake with the movement of the train. I am about to untie Evan’s hand when someone speaks behind me.

“You shouldn’t do that.”