The Transall Saga by Gary Paulsen

road through the large village. So far he’d never been allowed to leave Dagon’s property. His chores consisted of feeding the stock, working in the house garden, chopping wood and carrying water to the field hands and herders. The main section of town had been off-limits until now.
    It was hard for him to keep up with her. Not only did he have to push the unwieldy wooden cart but he had to cope with the iron bar on its short chain as it dragged along behind him.
    They passed several women sitting outside their houses sewing. Megaan waved and called each of them by name. Mark felt them stanng at him as if he had two heads.
    Not only was he unusually tall, with strange disfigured eyes and feet, but he was a slave who had tried to escape and yet was allowed to live. This was a feat unheard of among the Tsook.
    The village was presently inhabited mainly by women and children. Dagon had taken most of the men out on a raid. Only those thought essential to keep things running smoothly had been left: the blacksmith and the slave overseers with their deadly crossbows. A few elderly men sat around doing nothing but chewing a smelly kind of tobacco.
    Mark had overheard Dagon planning his next attack with Sarbo and some others. Across the high mountains to the east lived a group of savage people known as the Rawhaz, cannibals who had slaughtered a party of Tsook from another village. Dagon and his warriors had joined forces with them and gone out to find and destroy the man-eaters.
    Mark had been waiting for a time like this to make a run for it. With the warriors gone there would be no one to come after him. But first he had to find some way to get rid of the chain and bar.
    He heard the clanging sound of metal hitting metal and stopped to stare at the fiery forge in the blacksmith’s lean-to. Fire. If he had a tool and could get the chain hot enough ...
    "Kakon. Must I always yell to get your attention?"
    "Huh? What did you say?" Mark rolled the cart up to Megaan.
    "I said... Oh, what is the use? You will never make a good worker. I do not know what ever possessed my father to think that you and the Merkon could possibly..." Megaan’s eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth. "What I meant to say was that you should quit dawdling."
    That was the second time Mark had heard that name. Why was it such a secret? He tried to walk faster.
    "So who is this Merkon, anyway?"
    "Here is the storehouse. You wait outside while I go in and barter with Tanta." Megaan walked to the large building without looking back.
    Mark sat on the ground. Megaan infuriated him. She always had her nose in the air and never answered any of his questions. One of these days ...
    "Mawk." Mark heard a familiar voice calling to him from across the street. It was Leeta. She was walking behind an old woman and carrying two heavy baskets.
    "Leeta." Mark jumped up. "How are you? Are they treating you all right? Ksee tyaak tu?"
    The old woman glared at him. "No talking, slave. It is not permitted." She poked Leeta with a stick and they moved on down the road. Leeta looked back but didn’t say anything.
    Mark watched to see which house she went into. It was a square one with a thatched roof at the end of the street.
    "Kakon. What are you staring at? Quit gawking at that stupid slave girl and come get these sacks." Megaan stood in the door of the warehouse, frowning. "My grandmother was right. She said you would embarrass me."
    Mark turned slowly. His jaw tightened and he spoke carelessly. "Leeta is smart. You will not speak of her like that."
    Color flooded Megaan’s cheeks. "I told you to come and get the sacks. Don’t make me tell you again."

chapter
25
    "A windmill? What’s that?" Barow pushed
    the door open so that Mark could carry in the heavy wooden buckets of water.
    "It’s a wind-powered machine that can bring water up out of the ground."
    "What sort of nonsense are you filling his head with now?" Megaan knelt by the fire, stirring the stew in a large