Escaping Kalabran

Markus was a wall dweller.

Orphaned at thirteen and considered a man by the kingdom's standards, Markus inherited the family's dwelling, housed in the walls of the formidable city of Kalabran.

The name "Kalabran" struck fear in the hearts of all who heard it. No tribe or warring nation compared to Kalabran's might. King Calum reigned over a city with hulking walls wide enough to accommodate chariots racing side by side on top and tiny houses for the city's inhabitants within. Rising fifty feet above the earth, the fortifications mocked enemies to scale them. Outsiders were forbidden to enter the city and the inhabitants of Kalabran were seldom afforded the freedom to leave. The King's Aides handpicked loyalists to leave the city twice a month to trade with merchant caravans passing on a nearby thoroughfare. Watchers on the wall blew trumpets when traders appeared on the horizon. Those appointed, exited the city gate pulling carts bulging with jewelry, tapestries and bronze, the preferred items used to barter and trade for barley, flour, and honey. Regularly, Markus watched the procession of traders and wished for the opportunity to escape the clutches of Kalabran's tyranny.

Markus often wondered about the outside world. His great-grandfather was the last family member to leave the walls of Kalabran, marching with thousands of other warriors to fight an attacking army. King Calum and his Royal Lineage embraced a vision of peace through strength. When challenged, Kalabran's military crushed the adversary. Afterward, seldom did any kingdom dare challenge Kalabran's muscle. King Calum and his subjects lived in peace from war but not peace from oppression. Many occupants of Kalabran desired the freedom to come and go as they please, though none talked about it publicly. Quietly conversing in homes, families speculated about the world outside of Kalabran but feared the consequences of attempting escape. Markus determined in his heart to be free.

The security of Kalabran presented challenges for any considering defection. In Markus' lifetime, several friends and acquaintances went missing. No one questioned the King's officials about the disappearances, but in hushed conversations many speculated that they had attempted to leave the city and paid the ultimate price. There was no easy way to escape the city without detection. The military patrolled the walls and the only way in and out was always guarded. Markus spent many hours looking for weaknesses in the city's security. He found none. The military functioned like a well-oiled machine. They were adept and alert. Markus realized the only possible way to escape hinged on when the gate was raised and lowered on trading days. There was a way, but it would be risky. He first needed to steal a merchant's robe and hood.

The Merchant Guild of Kalabran wore matching red robes with a barn owl embroidered on the back. Prior to the building of Kalabran, dilapidated and abandoned buildings dotted the plain. Barn Owls and Jackals were the only occupants of the desert region. Once humans inhabited the area, the jackals migrated away but the barn owls found refuge in the buildings assigned for tools, weaponry, and food stores. Though some cultures deemed the barn owl an omen of death and despair, the people of Kalabran believed them to be agents of good luck. Wishing for fortune, the merchants of Kalabran incorporated the bird's likeness on the clothing they wore to trade with caravanning merchants. The barn owl became an emblem of strength for Kalabran.

Markus needed a robe.

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The Marketplace of Kalabran buzzed with life. Markus feigned interest in the merchandise all the while hunting for an unattended merchant's garment. Seldom did merchants shed their robes, but on stifling hot days, they removed them to ward off the extreme heat. Markus welcomed the warm day, hoping to find a robe. Finally, at the basket shop he noted a robe flung over a table, the merchant haggling with a customer over prices. Markus nonchalantly picked up the robe, rolled it into a tight ball, and stuffed it into a sack of spinach and cabbage. After looking at a few more booths, he left the marketplace and walked home.

A few days later, a trumpet blast awakened the city. Markus shrugged into his newly acquired robe and pulled the hood over his head. He merged into the procession of traders, the hood concealing his true identity. Sweating profusely, Markus smiled. For the first time in his life, he found himself outside the walls of Kalabran. He walked near a cart loaded with tapestries, his head and face enshrouded by cloth. Fifty yards ahead, the traders from other regions waited patiently. As Kalabran's carts creaked to a stop, Markus shed his robe and started to run. Merchants of Kalabran cried out an alarm. Watchers on the wall nocked their arrows and fired them into the sky. Arrows rained down, sticking into the earthen clay all around Markus.

"Ow!" he screamed in agony as an arrow tore through muscles and tendons in his shoulder. He staggered on. Fifty yards and he would be out of the archers' range. Another arrow's point peeled skin from his lower back. Markus' legs buckled and he stumbled to the ground. Pushing to his feet, Markus jogged on. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no one in pursuit. Feeling safer, he collapsed to the earth, passing out in pain.

When Markus' eyes opened, he noted the full moon hanging in the heavens. The shriek of a barn owl broke the silence of a cool desert night. The owl screeched again, nearer this time, swooping to within mere feet of the injured young man. Markus winced. The pain threatened to render him unconscious, but he fought to stay awake. He needed someone to extract the arrow and bandage his wound. He rolled to his side and then groaned to a standing position. The full moon illuminated the majestic bird perched on a nearby rotting log. The owl dropped to the ground, hooted and hopped a few feet, swiveling his head at regular intervals to stare at the young man. Markus felt compelled to follow.

Blinding pain ravaged his body; his body trembled from fever and infection. The owl bounced on slowly, occasionally peeking back at Markus' progress. For what seemed hours, he hobbled on. Cresting a small hill, his bleary eyes locked in on a small campfire encircled by a few canvas tents. "Nomads, no doubt," he thought.

Markus dropped to his knees and then collapsed to his stomach. Markus felt the expressive eyes of the owl boring into him, pleading. The young man opened his mouth to scream but his voice came out in raspy whispers. He started the excruciating crawl to the encampment. After a few feet, Markus stopped and pressed his forehead into the rocky soil. His eyes closed.

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"Markus...Markus, wake up."

Markus groaned, forcing his eyes to peek at his surroundings. "Hi, Mom," he mumbled. Medical equipment stood by his bed, beeping. A blood pressure cuff inflated and deflated. He noted the IV in his arm. "Where am I?"

His mother smiled. "Dr. Calum said your shoulder surgery went great. If you work hard in rehab, you should be pitching for the Owls next Fall."

Markus managed a smile. The fog of anesthesia was lifting. "It was all a dream..." he muttered.

"What Markus?" his mother inquired.

"Nothing Mom...I'll be ready to pitch next season. Go Owls."

She rested her hand on his. "Yes, go Owls."