Glade felt the blood rush from his face. He felt cold. He was paralyzed with fear. The short shotgun on the table could easily turn him into pulp. He needed to stay alive if he wanted to help his family. He couldn’t die over a bad price for a pair of binoculars.

  “It’s okay,” Glade said to the three young men on the other side of the stall. He took a step back, hands raised at chest level.

  “Coward!” the young woman beside him shouted. “They try to muscle you with threats and you back away? Pathetic.”

  Glade halted his retreat, more from shock than any surge of confidence.

  “It’s not worth it. You want to put your life on the line for a few bullets?” he said.

  “It’s all I’ve ever known,” she replied. “But if you want to be a coward about it, just say so. Say it: ‘I am a coward.’ I’ll stay here and watch you walk with your tail tucked between your legs, a sad and cowardly mutt.”

  Anger bubbled in Glade’s chest. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!”

  The corner of her face curled into a smirk.

  Glade cleared his throat and spoke. “It’s a bad deal, I admit it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but whatever. I’m not going to rail against injustice and throw my life away. It’s better to live another day.”

  “Yeah,” the woman said with a shrug. “A coward would say that.”

  “What do you want me to do? Fight these guys?”

  “Yeah! Bring it!” Wade shouted, beckoning him with both hands. “I’ll take you one-on-one, a fist fight. No weapons.”

  “Here’s your chance, hotshot,” the young woman said. “Want to earn back your honour? Take him on, one-on-one.”

  “Unless you’re afraid!” Wade taunted.

  By now, the marketplace had slowed. Spectators began to gather around the five youths.

  Glade swallowed. He looked to the ground, mind racing through options and possible outcomes. Wade looked strong. He could probably throw a mean punch. Maybe Glade could tire him out. He might be a bit quicker, nimble enough to dodge a few hits and sneak in a counter. Glade wasn’t weak. He’d worked on a farm his whole life.

  He turned to the young woman beside him. She had freckles and a soft, oval face. He thought she was pretty. Maybe if he accepted the fight and won, she’d be interested in him. Two days into the Wasteland and he’d already found his future girlfriend.

  “What are you looking at, stupid?” she said, squinting like she could read his thoughts. A wicked smile curled over her lips. She shifted her posture and gave him a few teasing blinks.

  “One-on-one,” Glade said, accepting the fight. “Right here, right now.”

  The young woman clapped her hands together with a loud smack.

  “Finally, some entertainment! I thought you’d back out and I’d miss the fun.” As she spoke, a large man stepped beside her. “Kyren, I bet you five bullets the tough behind the stall knocks this landlubber out in five minutes or less.”

  The large man shook his head and held up two fingers.

  “Two bullets for five minutes?”

  He nodded.

  “Not too confident in your boy, huh? Fine, I’ll take it.” She turned to the two young men. Wade had already walked around the stall and squared up. He adjusted his sleeves, bounced in place, and threw a few quick shadow jabs. He wanted to work the crowd. He wanted to win -- but more than that, he wanted them to cheer for him the whole time.

  Glade glanced uneasily at the growing crowd. This was a mistake. He should’ve known better than to trust himself when thinking about a pretty girl. The fact that she bet against him made it clear -- she’d only goaded him into this for her own gain.

  He shrugged off his backpack and placed it on the ground. From one of the side pockets, he tucked away his empty pistol. Then, worried that his jacket might restrict him, he removed it, folded it carefully, and laid it atop the bag.

  “You here to do laundry?” Wade shouted. “Even the wash women wouldn’t accept your help!”

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  A few in the crowd chuckled.

  “I’m going to make you quiet real quick,” Glade said. He started doing arm circles to warm up.

  Cove and Marlin, the other two boys at the stall, began pounding their fists on the table.

  “Wade! Wade! Wade!” they chanted.

  Within seconds, others joined in.

  “I’m so stupid,” Glade muttered under his breath. He glanced at the young woman and offered a smile. Her face twisted in mild disgust. Glade shook his head. “I’m so stupid.”

  He raised his fists and inched closer to his opponent.

  Wade hopped faster on his feet, moving side to side, looking for an opening. He edged in, testing Glade’s reaction. Wade leaned back, watching. Then he darted in with a quick strike.

  Glade’s forearm absorbed most of the blow to his head.

  Wade touched his nose with the end of his fist -- a tic he’d developed from countless scraps. He threw another punch, lower this time, and it landed in Glade’s abdomen. Wade stepped in to follow up, but Glade swung and caught him clean. Wade stumbled back.

  Glade looked surprised, almost like he hadn’t expected to land the punch. Confidence surged through him. Maybe he had a shot. He was just starting to think about his next move when a commanding voice cut through the noise.

  “Stop this roughhousing!”

  Glade dropped his guard and turned.

  The crowd parted. An older woman with frizzy, dark grey hair approached, leaning on a large fishing spear like a cane. Her fishbone jewellery clattered with every step.

  “We’re in trouble now,” Wade muttered.

  Glade side-eyed him. In that moment, they weren’t enemies. They were classmates caught by the schoolmaster. Jude followed behind the woman, his face etched with disappointment.

  “You there!” she snapped. “Speak!”

  “I--, We--,” Glade stammered. He looked at Wade, at the stall with his binoculars, then at the woman who had egged him on. He took a short breath and tried to sound calm, though his voice trembled. “I wanted to sell my binoculars, but he and his friends scammed me.”

  “Scammed?” the old woman said sharply. “Is this true, Wade?”

  “Yes, Grandma.”

  “Grandma? You dare address me with affection in public like this?” Her voice cut through the air like a blade. “You make a fool of yourself and of the Reed Clan, and now you seek comfort in your grandmother? You will address me by my title. Is this understood?”

  “Yes, High Mother,” Wade said, eyes fixed on the ground.

  “Better.” She turned to Glade. “You may not know me, but I am Isla Reed, Queen of the Reeds, High Mother of Manolin. I am the authority here, and you will answer my questions. Is this understood?”

  “Yes,” Glade said. After a beat of silence, he quickly added, “High Mother.”

  “Begin again, foreigner. You say my grandson and his kin scammed you?”

  “Yes,” Glade replied. “I mean -- not entirely.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “They expressed interest in the binoculars, and I was willing to sell.”

  “For how much?”

  “Six bullets. At least three of them 9mm.”

  “You agreed on this price?”

  “I did.”

  “Then where is the scam?” she asked, scanning the crowd. Some villagers began to drift away, but most remained.

  “It was a bad deal,” Glade said. “This woman told me so. When she did, your grandson and his kin threatened me. They pulled a shotgun.”

  “Is this true?” Isla asked Wade.

  “Yes, High Mother.”

  She shook her head. “You should have been with your father. Go to him. Help him fix his boat. We will speak later.”

  Wade ran off.

  She turned to the others. “Cove, return to your parents. I shall speak with them.”

  “No!” Cove blurted, then covered his mouth. “Sorry, High Mother. I meant no disrespect.”

  She waved him off. He fled the marketplace.

  “And you, Marlin. If I hear anything else like this again, I will break your other arm myself. No lake for you. Understood?”

  “Yes, High Mother,” Marlin said, shrinking into his stool. But his eyes stayed fixed on Glade and the young woman.

  The High Mother turned to them. “You two are causing trouble in my village.”

  “This is not your village!”

  The voice came from somewhere in the crowd.

  Isla turned toward the sound, muttered a few curses, then refocused on the pair before her.

  “As I was saying -- you are neither Reed nor Rush. You are not villagers nor friends. You’ve abused our hospitality.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” Glade said. “She made me do it!”

  The High Mother’s eyes narrowed. “You are young. But those words are cowardly. No woman makes a man do anything. A man makes his own decisions. If a woman still tells you what to do, you are still a child.”

  Glade bit his tongue, resisting the urge to point out the irony of her statement.

  “Is this your foreigner, Jude?” she asked.

  “Yes, High Mother,” Jude replied with a respectful nod. “I will not press the matter.”

  “Good.” She leaned heavier on her spear, visibly worn by her exertion. “I will not allow such people on our boats, no matter their mission.”

  “What!” Glade blurted. “No! I need to get to Dewindalo!”

  “Not on my boats. Furthermore, you and this woman are to leave Manolin at once. You are banned until you prove yourselves friends of the Reeds.”

  “Yeah,” the young woman said. “And how are we supposed to prove that when you won’t give us the chance?”

  The High Mother raised her chin. “First, by respecting the elders.”

  “I spit on the elders,” the woman replied. She cleared her throat dramatically and spat at her feet. “And I spit on your village too.”

  Before she could summon another wad, a large hand landed on her shoulder. Kyren urged her to stop.

  “Out!” the High Mother barked. “Ten minutes, or our men will remove you.”

  “And if we refuse?”

  The High Mother said nothing. She stepped closer, so near they were nearly nose-to-nose.

  “Lady, you behave disgracefully. You are a shame to your sex, your family, your friends. If you wish to find out what happens when you defy me, I will let the men of this village show you. You will not survive it.”

  Glade watched the woman recoil at the old woman’s breath.

  “Go,” the High Mother said. “And do not return.”

  Without a word, the crowd began to part. The old woman exited, and Glade turned pleading eyes to Jude -- who only shook his head and turned away.

  “Thanks a lot,” Glade muttered, pulling on his coat and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I hope I never see you again.”

  “Unlikely,” the woman said. “We’re both heading to the front gates.”