I had mostly forgotten about the other people on the train until now. A man with curling gray hair crawls over to us. He has a small skin of water in his bound hands and two long cuts deepen the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Here,” he says and hands me the skin.

“Thank you.” I pass the skin to Evan. He takes a deep sip and then hands it back to me. I take just a little. There isn’t much water left. “Why shouldn’t I untie our hands?”

“The guards check on us every so often, usually when new people come on. You’ll be hurt if your hands are untied.”

“Whose they? Kai Trackers?”

The man shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I live in a village near the southern sea, right on the edge of the Forsyth. I’d heard that the Kai had ruled it illegal to live in the forest, but I lived in the east and so I didn’t think too much about it. They grabbed me when I was out hunting in the prairie. I wasn’t in the forest, why would they take me? Besides, the way we’ve been treated. It’s…” He trails off, not meeting my eyes. He never looked directly at me while he spoke, instead looking slightly above, almost at my eyebrows. I’ve seen that look before. My grandfather had it right before he passed away. He has no hope left.

But I am miles away from hopeless. “How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here the longest. A week or so. They seem to only take one or two at a time. All near the forest.”

“Do you know where we are going? What about the man with black braid? Does the train make many stops?”

“Sorry,” he says simply and takes the skin back.

“You have no idea who they are?” I ask, desperate for more information.

“Bad men.”

It’s unfair for me to be angry at this man, to want to hurt him for his lack of help and information. Even though I know this, I feel a heat grow in my belly and spread through my skin. This desire to hit, to hurt, it is alien to me. I fight the urge. This man is not the one I’m really angry at. I dig my nails into my palms. The pain distracts me and calms me down.

“I hope your brother’s alright,” the man says to me and I realize I’ve been silent for several seconds.

“How do you know we’re brothers?” I ask, unable to dampen the suspicious edge in my voice.

“I’ve raised five sons,” the man says. “I know what brothers look like. Two of them were taken a month ago. Haven’t heard from them since. I used to think they had been killed in the woods, but now I know what happened.” He nods at me and then crawls back to the other side of the train. He sits down against the vibrating metal wall and closes his eyes.

I can’t sit still. It feels much too similar to giving up. I stand in the shaking compartment. It is hard to balance. I spread my legs and shuffle towards the door. I run my hands over the cool metal on the side, feeling for the edges. When I find them, I try to pry my fingers into the doorway. It is tightly sealed. I push the door with my shoulder and shove with my entire weight behind it. When that doesn’t work, I throw myself against the door again and again. It doesn’t budge. The ache in my shoulder is more akin to pleasure than pain. I’d rip my arm off if it meant getting out of this place.

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“Javin?” Evan calls.

“Hold on,” I say through clenched teeth. My shoulder aches. I ignore it and continue to push against the door.

“Javin!”

I don’t want to stop. I want to keep throwing myself at this door until it opens, until I am able to carry Evan out of here, run into the tree line and keep moving until we are home. It is only the panicked note in Evan’s voice that stops me. I go back to him and slide down the wall. Evan puts his head on my shoulder. Our bodies shake with the movement of the train.

“Where do you think we’re going?” Evan asks. He knows I have a good sense of direction. It’s next to impossible for me to get lost in the Forsyth.

“North I think. Northeast? If these are Kai trackers then we’re heading towards the Delphast.” But I’m not so sure they are.

“What will they do with us there?”

I don’t have an answer for him. And even if I did, I don’t think I could say it. I only want to tell Evan hopeful things. He is looking at me, waiting for an answer and so I have to say something. “The other night I saw you were looking through one of the myth books. You have a favorite?”

“I don’t know too many,” Evan says, somewhat suspiciously. I’ve often admonished him for reading my books.

“I thought you were reading about the godspool. Did you get to the part of the Iancatine Mountains?” Evan shakes his head and continue with the story, glad to have found something to distract the both of us. “When you reach the western edge of the Forsyth, the western flatlands begin. They stretch out for miles on miles and then turn into desert. That’s where the Hillanger tribes live. They still believe in the gods and the myths. Beyond that are the Iancatine Mountains.”

“The impassable mountains,” Evan corrects. He is half right. No one calls the Iancatine Mountain by its actual name. It’s widely known for its nickname, derived from the fact that no one has ever been able to cross the mountainous border. Not that it’s never been tried. Intrepid climbers never return, most likely buried in avalanches. No one knows exactly how tall the mountains are. The rocky peaks pass the clouds. The mountain range surrounds the entire western tip of Kostos, running along the sea. No one knows what the mountains contain. Of course the myths, which have an answer for any unexplainable phenomena, tell us exactly what the mountains are hiding.

“The god’s pool is said to be hidden within those mountains,” I tell Evan and notice that a couple others are listening to my story, their eyes bright in the dark train. “The gods were the only ones that made it over the mountain range, except they were human then.”

“How did they do it?” Evan asks in a small voice.

“I don’t know. They didn’t. It’s only a story.” A loud squeak of the train makes me jump. The compartment is shifting, sliding left. We must be turning. Evan moves closer to me and I wrap my arm around his shoulder. A couple years ago Evan started looking less and less like a little kid. He used to hold my hand when we walked through the forest, then he started to charge ahead. In this moment, Evan looks like the kid I remember growing up with. I guess fear can do that.

Everyone in the train looks afraid. There are about twenty of them all dressed like us in rough, dark clothing. Black coats that are a bit too small, buttoned from your neck all the way down. Gray pants made for warmth, tighter below your knees. Home knit sweaters with holes on the elbows. Rugged boots. Hooded scarves. A few are middle aged or older. Most are children. Shivering, scared little kids who are curled up against the adults scattered throughout the train. The adults look calmer, their faces blank, not screwed up with fear. I wonder how they are managing that. Is it possible they are unafraid?

The train takes another sharp turn and we slide down the compartment a bit. Evan whimpers. “It’s going to be alright,” I tell him. “We will be fine. Just fine.” I keep repeating those words, allowing the repetition to calm me. Maybe if I say it enough I will believe it. I close my eyes. Sleep is impossible. Instead I focus on the rhythm of the train and try to forget where I am. But that is impossible too.