CHAPTER 1
- MARTHA -
Martha woke up to the same scene she had done everyday of her life, the inside of a large, old, light brown tent. She wriggled out of the buffalo skin sleeping bag as she had done every morning. Getting up, Martha walked across the empty tent towards the old cracked mirror that leant against the opposite tent wall on the floor. She looked at her self, her shoulder length brown hair was still messy from the night’s sleep, her teeth needed brushing and she must put on the blue, scaled trousers that had been made out of fish skin and put on the fish shirt before she would be in an appropriate fashion to go outside. After Martha had got her self ready, she widened the small gap in the opening of the tent, sunlight beamed through the small opening she had made. She climbed out of the opening and her foot touched soggy, damp wood as it had done every morning. All that could be seen for miles was the Mammoth Sea that separated the two kingdoms. It was a beautiful summers day outside as it was most days out on the POTS islands. Her father was fishing, sitting at the edge of the one of the wooden panels that surrounded the tent with his legs dangling in the water.
“Morning Papa” Martha called. Slightly startled by this, her father nearly lost the fish he was reeling in, but glad of the company, he stood up to greet her.
“How are we this morning m’girl?” her father was a true POTS fisherman with a strong POTS accent to prove it. The traditional POTS accent sounded Scottish and Canadian at the same time.
“I’m fine thanks Papa.” replied Martha, her accent not so strong. Her father beamed down at her, everyday she reminded him more of her mother, who unfortunately had died some years prior.
Other than the sea, hundreds of clusters of POTS islands could be seen, stretching back mile after mile, they were very small islands with room for only one hut or a tent and a little wooden patio. There were no boats around, everyday, the men would drop their fishing lines into the marvellous blue water and wait for fish to tug at the line. On a good day, to the east, the tallest mountains of Kirpha could be seen, their tops just creeping over the horizon. But on this day, to the west, in the water, pieces of wood seemed to be emerging out of the horizon, the thin, long pieces of wood, standing vertically ascended further out the water’s edge. As the objects got nearer and clearer, it became apparent that the pieces of wood were large masts creeping over the water while clinging below were majestic, light red sails. The ships got closer and people started to realise what they were.
“War ships!” someone bellowed and all who heard ran around wildly. Men picked up the small weapons that they had hand built themselves and prepared to fight the incoming ships, there was no escape, there were no boats on any of the POTS islands. Martha and her father ran into their tent.
“Martha, you must get to safety” Martha’s father had made a small, water tight compartment (just big enough to fit a small person in) under the tent whose opening had stayed hidden under a small cabinet which kept in it what little jewellery Martha’s mother owned. Before sliding into the compartment, Martha opened the cabinet and took a necklace which had a picture of her mother and father in. With a nervous hug, Martha descended into the small compartment. Her father then picked up a hand made spear and ran outside to join the battle.
Cries and yells could be heard and Martha knew the battle could not be won, old men brandishing flimsy, home made weapons against young and fit men brandishing new, shining metallic weapons of destruction. A few hours later, the sound of banging and breaking china could be heard, issuing from above. There was someone in the tent, Martha remained in the compartment as quietly as she could, her arms wrapped around her legs, she hoped it was her father coming to tell her the battle was over, they had just won. When the noise quietened and the person in the tent was about to leave, Martha realised her father would not be coming back for her and the thought that the POTS people had won the battle was just a hopeless dream and, at this, Martha started to weep. The man who had still not left the tent heard the slight whimpering coming from somewhere and resumed his search around the tent. Martha made no effort to stop or be quiet, her mother had died and now so had her father. The man searching the tent realised the noise was coming from near the floor and began to investigate. He eventually removed the cabinet and saw the trap door that opened the compartment. The man lifted it, he saw the girl weeping, but she still did not look up. The man reached inside the compartment and dragged her out. At which point Martha did look at the man who had found her. He was a big man, very wide, he had long urban hair and stood very tall. The man had red tattoos all over his face and snarled at Martha when he had a good look at her. The large man tied some rope behind Martha’s back and pushed her out the small opening of the tent. Everything looked white to Martha after hours in darkness but her eyes soon adjusted and she could see other people taken prisoner to the men from the boats. Some were kicking and fighting and some like Martha had no fight left in them.
After about a quarter of an hour’s walk, crossing from one POTS to another using the system of bridges that had always been there, Martha finally arrived at one of the many large war ships. The ship’s wood was dark brown. Large masts, also dark brown, towered over everything, the huge sails hung from the masts, light red and carrying the dark red, spiked emblem of the Sprostan army. Just before Martha was dragged onto one of the huge ships, she had just enough time to turn and get one last glimpse of her home before being taken away, possibly forever.
Despite Martha living out at sea, she had never set foot on any type of ship or boat and felt rather strange when the she started rocking up and down, side to side when she stepped onto the boat. Clearly, the other prisoners were feeling the same sensation because they were moving around and repositioning their feet to try and keep their balance. Martha and the other prisoners were escorted onto the clean ship deck, down the slightly grimy staircase and into the filthy cells in the bowels of the ship. People cried as they were marched down the dirty stairs. After being locked up behind the chunky, rusted bars of the cell, Martha turned around and looked at the other prisoners on the ship. The cell was massive and took up all the room below deck. Martha saw there were about two dozen other prisoners, and despite the small community they all lived in, Martha recognised none and found a small corner at the back of the cell, sat down, the locket in her hand and cried.
A few of the prisoners eventually shuffled round and met up with friends or family but Martha had none, no one to talk to on this long journey to the mainland. The journey seemed to take for ever. Normally, Martha being a sixteen year old teenager would be bored stiff or in her always high spirits, find something to do, but not on this journey. Martha could think of nothing else, the loss of her father had captured her mind, memories of when he was still alive, memories of when her mother was still alive, worrying thoughts of what she will do, now she was alone in the big wide world. Only about an hour on the sea and Martha began to feel sick. She could not think about that now though. The men who had captured her were back. They stomped down the stairs and growled at the prisoners as they opened the cells to let the prisoners out. Martha and the others were herded up the stairs and onto the top deck like cattle. The men and women were separated, any children stayed with the women.
“Our war is not with you” shouted the general who was a massive man like the general that had addressed the king all those years ago.
“Who are you people?” a man called from the back. The general snarled and, pushing the prisoners who stood at the front out the way, he advanced to the back. The general appeared at the front a few seconds later with a small man in his arms. The man, like everyone else had his hands tied behind his back and was too small a man to fight off the giant anyway.
“We are troops from the great Sprostan army, we wish to speak with your king.”
Muttering came from the crowd.
“The Sprostan army? That’s an old myth isn’t it?” Martha heard a young woman behind her whisper.
“The Sprostan army has no dispute with you people of the sea and we will not hurt you as long as you keep quiet and do not upset us when we get to the mainland.”
At this, Martha’s pain for her parents returned to her and she could not stop herself, she had to say it-
“‘Not hurt us! Not hurt us!’ We are the last standing people of the POTS islands! You killed my father! You killed my Papa!” and at this Martha began to cry.
The general seemed not at all fazed by the crying girls sobs and carried on where he’d left off-
“When we do get to the mainland however, these are the conditions you will be under:
One! You will keep quiet. And Two! Any attempt of escape when we get to the mainland will be seen as a clear violation of the Sprostan army and will result in death if caught.”
Martha was crouched on the deck, her hands covering her face. An old woman wrapped her arms around her.
“What is your name dear?” the old woman asked softly.
“Martha” she whimpered.
“And how old are you dear?”
“I’m sixteen” said Martha, a little more composed. She recognised the softness and warmth of the woman’s voice. It was almost like a memory to her
“I knew your father, Martha, and your mother.” the old woman said as she wrapped one of her many purple woollen coats around Martha. At this point, Martha looked up in surprise.
“We were once good friends, me and your Papa, your Mama, good friends, good friends indeed. Do you know, when you were born, I was always around, stopping by to see how your Mama and Papa were doing, coming for tea. When your mother died…” and the woman sighed but went on “your Papa didn’t want to know anyone or see anything. For about five years, the only person he saw willingly was you Martha, you were the only thing he had to hang on to. The only person he could rely on and trust. You saved him Martha, without you, your Papa would have gone mad.”
When the woman had finished speaking, Martha didn’t know whether to feel better or worse. She had always confided in her father, always depended on him, and in all those years she had not known that her father had sought refuge in her too.
“What is your name?” asked Martha.
“My name is Eva” Martha’s middle name was Eva, Martha Eva Workliff. The woman gave Martha a smile, she knew what Martha had worked out. Thinking on, Martha remembered something-
“He spoke of you sometimes, my Papa. He said that you were a good friend and that your door would always be open to me”
“And so it should be” replied Eva “After all, I am your godmother!” Eva said chuckling, and Martha and Eva grasped each other tightly.
Not a moment later and the ship came to an abrupt stop and slightly tilted as it snuck slightly onto the sandy bank. The feeling of rocking up and down had been relieved but the loss of her father seemed to have no remedy, no cure, no one could bring her father back, no one could make him breathe one last time.
The prisoners were put into a single file line, the women to the front and the men at the back. As Martha was marched down the steep, wooden ramp that led from the ship to the ground, she scoured the area as she descended. The men from the ships had chosen this location very cleverly and carefully, the landscape was completely isolated from the towns and cities on the island but completely hidden by the many tall, thick trees that surrounded the small cove the ships had landed on. Martha and the prisoners were marched and sat down on the sand a few metres away from the soldiers and the ships, far away from the concealing trees and well in sight of the closely watching Sprostans. The prisoners now sat in a huddled group and all talked and met back up with their loved ones. This time however, Martha was not alone, she had Eva to talk to as the men set up the small army camps in the background. Martha and Eva talked for most of the day about clothes, the POTS, but the most common and the most rewarding subject, to Martha, was her father, to hear of how much of a great man he was, how good he was at fishing and looking after his family, how clever and strong he was. Eva on the other hand seemed to go into a very remote mood and felt very strange when the subject of Martha’s Papa was brought up but politely went along with the conversation.
By the trees, the camps were set up by sunset, the camp consisted of a small hut which contained parchment with drawn movement plans that showed how the army and prisoners would be transited up to the king’s palace as the original army had done hundreds of years before. The hut was made of a dark wood that the Sprostan men had brought from the ship. Tents surrounded the small hut, their light red fabric dimmed by the darkness of the night. The tents are where the prisoners slept, still tied up behind their backs. The men and women once again split up and put into separate tents. The guards, in turn, slept outside the tents to keep an eye on the prisoners. The rest of the Sprostans slept in the ship, on comfy beds and with food and drink available.
Martha walked into the tent with Eva and the two lay down and despite the rough and mentally draining day Martha had had, she still lay as peacefully and placidly as she would of if she was at home, and clutching the locket, she slowly fell asleep next to Eva.
