Sleep eluded us all night, while the northern lights kept us company. They danced and waved, manifesting shades of green, yellow, and purple. And they were also sad, like streams of tears. They did little to appease our souls, but they did seem—at least for a little boy—like the sky was mourning. Like it, too, had lost much of which it held dear.

By morning, a new spectacle took place. Columns of men marched through the dawn, forcing us off the road. They wore stuffy, dark blue armor, swords hung in scabbards at their waist, and carried spears and square shields with the silvery half-start crest of the Alturin city amidst a field of blue. They marched north. To the mountain, I thought. Then a group of maybe six ekkuh riders fell behind.

One dismounted, took his gloves off, and said something to our group of survivors.

“Stay here. Don’t go anywhere,” Mom told me as she got up to meet the man.

The rider was tall and imperial, with a chiseled face, and a perfectly groomed beard. He and Mom exchanged words, but I paid no attention. My eyes were fixed on the marching men as they grew smaller down the road. I didn’t know what they could do against a mountain, but I was glad someone was doing something.

I looked at my bare feet as if noticing them for the first time. How ironic, the shoeless son of a shoemaker. There was nothing left from our lives but a bag full of clothes.

Mom took a knee in front of me and pulled up a pair of trousers—Dad’s trousers. She ripped them apart and into threads. Next, she folded several layers together, which she pressed against the sole of my feet, then rolled strips of fabric around them, like bandaging a deep wound. “Don’t run in these,” she signed. “They’ll fall off.”

We must have walked for hours before the well-groomed soldier decided it was time to rest. I took stock of our group. What a sad bunch. More people than I could count on my fingers and toes, but not many more. The well-groomed soldier didn’t rest like the rest of us. He sat with each survivor, a bespoke smile for each story he heard. Who was he? My curiosity wouldn’t remain thirsty for long.

“Nice shoes,” I read on his lips as he sat next to me. Mom interpreted the rest. “Saw your mother make them. She’s a tough lady; you should always listen to her.”

I looked him up and down. “Are you a general?” I asked.

There it was, the look, the awkwardness. Right in his eyes, my accent taking him off balance. But to his credit, he bounced back as if he didn’t notice anything. “You can call me Mink. I see you’re a tough boy, too. That’s good. It’s a nice thing when we can take care of ourselves.” He winked. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s better to have had a good father for a little while than a bad one all your life. Just remember, always have someone to share your pain with. It can even be me if you ever need to.” He patted my shoulder. “It’s okay to cry. It means you’re not a coward.”

“It means I’m weak,” I said, shaking my head.

“Takes more courage for a man to cry than you think. If you’re afraid of your emotions, they’ll corrupt you. That’s what my dad taught me.” He poked my chest with a strong finger—a finger more suited to wielding swords than to helping little boys.

“Will the mountain come back?”

“The mountain? No. And if it does, the Alturin Guard will protect you. Or Alturin itself. It was built to repel the attack of thousands of men. More than enough to repel a mountain.” Mink tousled my air and moved on to the next survivor.

Mom cupped my face. “I’m proud of you. Whatever happens next, I am very proud of you. Do not ever forget it.”

“I’m proud of you too, Mom.”

Mom smiled with wet eyes and caressed my cheek. “Let’s get up. People are beginning to move, and we don’t want to be left behind.”

Not long after, I found myself running along the column, looking for answers. I tried to find Mink, but failing to find him, I settled for the soldiers on ekkuh-back steering the column. The four-legged animals seemed docile enough, with their honey-colored feathers and kind green eyes, until, of course, you considered their large size, sharp claws, and pointy reddish beak. Those were no regular ekkuhs. They were war ekkuhs.

The soldiers looked down at me, much like I once looked at the scaled worm I had cut in half.

“Can you tell me where we are going?” I asked.

“Hey, what’s wrong with him,” said the soldier with a freshly sewn cut coming down from his left eye to the top of his lip.

“Think there’s a potato in the mouth. Yeah, that’s it. A potato, I reckon,” said the other, pointing his small, cracked shield at me.

“I wish I had potatoes to put in my mouth,” replied the first. “What do ya want, boy? We ain’t got no potatoes.”

“There are no potatoes in my mouth.”

He eyed me while frowning, twisting his lips. “A peach, then.”

I took a deep breath. “I want to know where we are going. That is all.”

“Hey, Oddik,” said the soldier with the battered shield. “I think he’s deaf.”

Oddik raised his brow and nodded to himself, then he frowned again and waved his hand dismissively. “Good try. But if he’s deaf, how come he can hear us?”

“He can’t, he’s deaf.”

“Well, Hannik, then how is he answering our questions?”

Hannik scratched his chin. “Didn’t think o’that.”

“That’s why I’m the brains here.”

“Then where did he get them potatoes?”

They both stared at me questioningly.

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“I have no potatoes!” I stomped my foot on the ground.

Hannik and Oddik glanced at each other and back to me, no longer amused with my presence.

“Refuwee cump,” Oddik's lips formed. I always had trouble when meeting new words so it took some mental strain to piece that one together. “Stay close to your mom, aight? We can’t afford to go out searching for missing boys with potatoes in their mouths.”

“Ah, look, Odd, another one,” Hannik said, looking behind me.

A boy who seemed to have his face covered with mud specks came running up to us.

“What do ya want?” Odd said.

“Where are we going?” the boy must’ve asked.

Odd slumped his shoulders and threw his head backward.

“Ask yar friend,” Hannik said and turned his attention elsewhere.

The boy turned to me expectantly.

“Refuwee cump,” I said.

“Refuwee cump?” The boy moved his lips as if tasting something new. “What’s that?”

“It is where we are going,” I said, not giving away that I also did not know, and extended my hand to greet him. “I’m Ludik.”

“Nice to meet you, Lud,” he said, shaking it, “I’m Graze. You talk funny.”

“I hear funny too.”

We talked for a while, pretending to know things we knew nothing about, and we parted ways only hours later, after the column stopped for another break.

I found Mom exactly where I’d left her. What did I expect? That she’d gotten lost in a single column? “Look at your feet,” she said. “Come here.”

I looked at my rag shoes. They had gone loose and dragged behind my feet which were bare against the earth beneath. When did that happen? To be fair, they’d gotten wet almost immediately and the sole of folded fabric had offered little protection against the lumps and pebbles on the road.

“Mom,” I said while Mom reattached the makeshift shoes, “what is a refuwee cump?”

Her attention turned from my shoes to my eyes, a hint of a smile emerging on her lips. “Refugee camp,” she said very slowly, signing each letter.

I repeated it a couple of times so I could get the hang of those new words. “Refugee camp,” I repeated it until Mom was happy with my pronunciation. “Mom,” I began again, “what’s a refugee?”

“It is a person who seeks refuge.”

“Refuge?” I asked, which led to yet another repetitive lesson.

“It means a safe place.”

My eyes lit up. “A safety camp!”

Mom chuckled. “I suppose.”

“Then we are going to be alright. The well-groomed soldier said so, too.”

We camped by the road again for the night. Riders came from Alturin bringing blankets and food. We ate bread and dried meat—a small comfort. The northern lights came back, illuminating the sky and the earth, and up north, a dark, jagged line delineated the horizon.

“Mommy, what is that?”

“It’s the edge of the shattered mountains. You have seen it before, but perhaps you were too young to remember,” she signed, not bothering to speak, though the light in the sky was more than bright enough to read her lips.

We walked for another full day, from daybreak to dusk. And with each step we took, the shattered mountains grew, a gigantic wall jutting from the ground at least a thousand feet high. It was ragged and rugged, without any linear edges, like a million giant crooked daggers packed together, stabbing the sky. It stretched west and north as far as I could see.

Dusk settled neatly on the horizon as we passed a formation of rocks that resembled giant eggs on a bird's nest. The land was flat and empty of trees, littered with many smooth stones. Some were small, the size of carts, and some larger than houses. Then we came to a village of white tents, and beyond it lay the city of Alturin, carved from the face of the shattered mountains itself. A massive wall, shaped like a half star or a half gearwheel, its cogs biting into the terrain like giant’s teeth, protected the city from outside threats.

As we entered the camp, we found Mink standing on top of a stone, asking for us to gather around. “This will be your temporary home,” he began, “until a better solution is found for all of you. I understand each case is unique, and I promise to try, to the best of my abilities, to find a suitable future for you in Alturin or nearby villages. Please make an orderly line while we sort out where to place everyone. Supper will be served at the large tent in the middle of the camp. I ask for your cooperation. There are many things left to be done, and any voluntary help will be immensely appreciated.”

Some desponded faces stepped forward and raised their arms. I counted seven.

Mink smiled at them. “Refer to Balival here,” he said, motioning to a man crossing things on a notebook. He had detached yet penetrating eyes.

I tugged at Mom’s skirt. “Can I join them?”

Mom pursed her lips. I swore she was about to say no. But she did not. Instead, she raised a finger in front of me. “But be careful.”

I joined the volunteers, my chin raised high and proud.

Mink looked at me with amusement and said, “Now that’s the kind of support I’m expecting.”

Balival regarded us as if we were a disappointment, but in retrospect, I guess that’s what his face always looked like. “Yes,” he said. “The latrines still need a bit more digging. You two there, you’ll find my men working on them at the back of the camp. Report to them.” The men he referred to dragged their feet away. “I need four to help in the kitchens. Do any of you know how to cook?” Two women and one man raised their hands. “You’ll do. Report to the large tent in the center of the camp.”

Leaving only me, a woman, and a man.

“And you, what do you do?” he asked without looking up from his notepad.

I looked up to see their answers. “Farmer, my lord,” the man said.

“You look like you have a strong build. Can you swing an ax?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Balival scratched something on his notepad. “And you?” he asked the lady next to me.

“I can sew,” she said.

“Excellent. We need help to reinforce the tents’ canvases. Follow me,” he said, turning around, leaving me without orders.

“What can I do?” I said.

He stopped and looked back, as if noticing me for the first time. “I have no work for little boys.”

“Why don’t you let the boy distribute blankets,” Mink said. “Many cots are still empty of bedclothes.”

“My lord,” Balival responded without the slightest hint of bother. He turned back to me. “Follow the aisles between the tents. You’ll find ladies carrying clothes, water bags, and such. Report to them.”

I was about to take off when Mink, mimicking the movements, said, “Oh, we didn’t have time to set the cots properly. The trick is to flip them on their end, place a foot on the bottom stick, tug the canvas a bit, and the last peg should slip right in.”

I had no clue what he was on about but did not want to sound rude. “Thank you, my lord,” I said, copying Balival’s words, and was on my way.

It felt good to be useful, though the only job I got was mostly out of pity. They gave me a stack of blankets and told me to distribute them along the cots. Which I did, perfectly, may I add. Squaring the edges of the folded blankets with the edges of the cots. As I delivered blankets to each tent, I noticed that the canvases that lined the cots were still loose on their frames. Men struggled to stretch them out and failed. Pegs jutted evenly all around the structure, and the canvas had matching ringed holes. But when it came to the last peg, it seemed nearly impossible to fit it through.

“You have to flip it on its end, press your foot on the bottom against the ground and then pull the canvas up. That ought to do it,” I said.

A large man eyed me, skepticism exuding from his face. But he did as suggested, and to his surprise and mine too, the last peg on the canvas slipped right in. I tried to hide the smugness on my face. But judging from the lack of gratitude I received, I must’ve failed.

I went from tent to tent, spreading the news until I got to Mom’s tent. Our tent. Like all the other tents, it had space for about twenty people, and I guess the news traveled faster than I did because, by the time I got there, people were already using Mink’s trick. I am not going to lie. That annoyed me a little. I wanted to be the one to show Mom how it was done.

Later, we gathered at the mess hall and were served a rich stew filled with many potatoes. Guess I finally did have a potato in my mouth. We ate in silence. Not that I could hear the silence, but I could see the mouths, and all they were doing was biting, chewing, and swallowing.

That night, I pulled my cot as close to Mom’s as I could. I missed Dad. And I knew she must’ve missed him too, so I wanted to keep her company. Mom watched me, and when I lay down again, she placed an arm around me. For the first time in three days, I felt safe again. Right until morning, when a rider from Alturin barged into the camp and decreed, by order of the Duke of Alturin, that no refugee was allowed to leave.