The Feral Sentence - Part One by G. C. Julien

edge—terrified that the next
attack might be the one to kill them. We were weak and vulnerable,
but I’d overheard Trim say that Eagle had injured the attacking
archers before being shot, so maybe time was on our
side.
    I wondered if Marlin stood a better chance than us in the
Village. I couldn’t get her face out of my mind. Within days, she’d
probably be dead.
    And although I didn’t agree with banishing a woman to the
outside world—away from civilization and closer to the Northers and
wild animals—I understood why Trim had done it. She was a leader
among wild women: felons. These women were dangerous, and they
possessed the capability to kill one another if order was not
established. They needed to fear Murk—to fear the head of their
hierarchy system. I’d come to realize that Trim was Murk’s right
hand and she enforced Murk’s beliefs and laws.
    I was brought to my tent by Rocket after Trim’s speech and
told to rest as much as possible. She explained to me that supper
was served when the sun descended to the level of the trees or when
I heard a brief drumming sound, which was the method used for
announcing mealtime on cloudy days.
    “ We’re lucky,” she said. “Battle Women and Hunters don’t have a
portion limit.”
    I could only assume this was to allow adequate caloric intake
to promote strength and endurance for the purpose of battle and
hunting.
    “ Hey, Rocket?” I asked as she was leaving through the tent’s
front curtain.
    “ Yeah?”
    “ What’s the difference between a Battle Woman and a Hunter?
Which one am I?”
    She
smiled.
    “ A Battle Woman is a soldier, and a Hunter is just that, a
hunter—someone who gets food for the Village. Don’t worry about
your title—just do what Trim tells you. I’ve always been a Hunter
alongside Trim. But things are getting pretty bad now…” she sighed.
“So I get to do both.”
    “ So you’ll fight?” I asked.
    “ To the death.”
    She
stared into nothingness, and I could tell part of her was
afraid.
    “ Let me put it this way,” she added, “all Hunters are Battle
Women, but not all Battle Women are Hunters.”
    “ So, what am I?”
    “ A Hunter.”
    “ Why’s that?” I asked.
    “ Because you’re being trained as an Archer. Most women are
being trained as Battle Women, which doesn’t make them useful
during a hunt.”
    I nodded. I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want to be
alone.
    “ Hey, Brone,” she said, before sliding out of the tent, “if you
decide to build yourself a bed, just remember to always have the
Village or the Working Grounds in sight. Any further, and you’re no
longer on our territory. I’ll see you at mealtime.”
    And I was left alone in the dark, the skin of my feet
illuminated by a ray of light coming from the hole in the roof of
the tent that had been punctured and burned during the
attack.
    Although I wanted to construct a comfortable sleeping area for
myself, I was unable to muster the strength. I slowly leaned to my
side, until finally, I lay flat in the damp soil beneath me. I
closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than a few minutes of rest
after such an oppressively long day. My muscles ached, and my back
felt as though I’d spent all day building an ancient pyramid among
thousands of slaves.
    I breathed in the scent of earth, the freshness of the island
beneath me. I could hear women talking and moving about around my
tent and throughout the Village, but their voices became faded and
indistinct.
    * *
*
    “Lydia
Brone, I hereby sentence you to three years on Kormace Island,” the
judge said. He smacked his gavel hard and made a gesture at the
guards.
    “ Korma—what?” I tried, but the guards moved in
quickly.
    They
looked more like military staff than correctional officers due to
their padded black uniforms, their oversized bulletproof vests, and
their shaved heads.
    “ But I didn’t…it was an acc—”
    I heard my lawyer shout out the term manslaughter in an attempt to