Meritona Hills, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

Matthew had never killed a man before. He had seen men die, seen many people die, but by his own hand? Never. It was something he had never wanted to experience. It followed him, the thoughts roiling in his mind, plaguing his heart. Kolbin had been a human being with a life just like Matthew, with thoughts and feelings, a story of his own. From the brief glance Matthew had seen of the man's life, he knew that the man's story had been bitter and full of grief. Seeing the life leave the man's eyes, his soul drift away from the earth, it was something that haunted Matthew endlessly. He had killed a man. He was a murderer.

How was it possible that these men killed others so ruthlessly, with no remorse or second thoughts? Kolbin had killed the boy so easily. It hadn't affected him at all, and here Matthew was, haunted for murdering a murderer. It didn't make sense in his mind how it could make sense in theirs. The Overseer hadn't seemed surprised that Matthew had killed one of his men — in fact, he didn't even seem to care, and Matthew was beginning to wonder if he had wanted and expected Matthew to kill him. How was it that they murdered and didn't care, and Matthew killed a man and lost a part of himself he couldn't get back?

The chill had nearly consumed the Warmth, and Matthew couldn't find any way to revive it.

They walked on and on, only stopping for rests when too many people couldn't continue. The entire day was filled with sweat and exhaustion, ghosts from Matthew's past chasing him in broad daylight. When the night came, so did an icy wind. Matthew was the coldest he had ever been in his life, trembling and shivering so uncontrollably that Umair found a blanket for him. It hadn't helped. By the time morning came, Matthew was so cold and stiff he wasn't sure he could even move. It took a whole hour of walking before his teeth stopped chattering.

They approached the mountain slowly; the forest drew nearer on the right until they walked into it, soon surrounded by a scattered handful of trees the wagons bumped around. Englecon Mountain loomed over them like a king, standing proud as if knowing it was the only one of its kind. It was rocky, but trees grew on it all the same, stubborn as nature often was. A river lay at its base, snaking around the south side and continuing on to cut Desmond in half — at least, that's what Umair said. It was only when they drew near to the river that Matthew realized they were going to cross it.

Icy fear gripped him. He stopped short, watching as a group of men dropped several trees across the river. What were they doing, making a log bridge? It seemed like it. The carts wouldn't be able to cross that.

It was decided: the carts would travel upstream several miles to where there was a bridge. The slaves and the rest of the overseers would cross the river on the logs.

Matthew was thankful that Umair didn't push him to cross right away. They stayed near the rear, watching the other slaves cross. Matthew kept expecting someone to slip and fall, or the logs to tip and throw someone off into the fast current, but things ran smoothly. Matthew caught sight of Oceania and Sabine as they crossed, holding hands to keep their balance. He could breathe again when they made it safely across.

"Come on, kid." Umair was nudging him toward the water.

Matthew didn't move. He could barely breathe. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of voices, to the sound of the river as it bubbled and splashed. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, there was a rational explanation for his fear. It was more than just being unable to swim. The truth was that Matthew was completely and utterly terrified of water, and all he had to blame it on was something in his childhood he couldn't remember.

"Kid." Umair was pulling on him now. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I-I..." Matthew hated admitting it. "I just... I don't like water."

"Water? That's what you're afraid of?" Umair frowned, the creases between his eyebrows deepening.

Matthew swallowed hard, staring down at the water just feet from him. It raged and bubbled. Of course, it had to be a rushing river. One fatal step on those logs and he could be sucked in and under, swept away into oblivion, never to breathe again. The very idea of that created a knot in his chest and made it hard to breathe. His heart beat in quick, sporadic thumps that vibrated his whole inner being.

Umair clapped his free hand on Matthew's shoulder. "You'll be fine. It's just some water. It's not even that far across. Come." He tugged on Matthew's chain, drawing him closer to the logs. Matthew tried not to breathe so shakily as he stepped up onto the log after Umair. He followed the man's example, shuffling along sideways; with his hands cuffed, he couldn't put his arms out for balance, and he grabbed the chain that locked him with the man, relying on Umair's balance to keep his own. Beneath them, the water raged. Matthew could feel its spray on his feet. He tried not to see it, putting his eyes on the log instead. Terror consumed him. He knew he wouldn't breathe properly until he was safely on the other side. It was like he was already being suffocated by the deadly water.

"Hey, you're doing it!" Umair encouraged, and Matthew risked a glance up at the man. Umair seemed totally relaxed. They were only about halfway across, but the man already looked triumphant. "See? I told you it'd be fine. When I was little, my brother—"

My brother...

Those were the last words Umair spoke. In one second, one fatal misstep, Umair slipped and crashed into the water like a rock. Before Matthew could think, he was yanked off the log after Umair. He hit the water face first.

It felt like a concrete floor. It was freezing, sending a shock through Matthew, rendering him thoughtless and motionless. Then his mind clicked and the panic surged through him, and he fought the water, his chains, struggling to get to the surface. He found the bottom instead, his knees scraping the rocks and tearing his pants. He spun and tumbled, carried along with the current at a terrible speed. He didn't know what was up or down. He couldn't breathe.

Air! He surfaced, gasping and choking, unable to see. He was dragged down again. The water roared in his ears. He couldn't think. He collided with something hard. Everything went silent for a terror-filled moment.

"He fell in! Matthew fell in! Matthew!"

Matthew resurfaced, his ears ringing, his head aching as if it had been split open. Water blurred his vision. Someone was yelling his name.

"Matthew, swim!"

I can't, he thought frantically, wearily. He slipped back under the water, unable to keep his head above it as the current carried him. His limbs were frozen numb. The Warmth was nearly gone. He couldn't think right. His chained hands limited any sort of freeing movement. He knew he was drowning, and somehow, the fact didn't bother him as much as it should have. Maybe, finally, he could leave. Leave this life, this world. He'd finally be free. And... maybe he'd see his family again.

It wasn't to be. He hit a partially submerged log, and he managed to grab it. The water rushed around him, trying to suck him along with it as his chain tugged hard on his arms. Umair was still in the water, feet ahead of him. Matthew's head was just above the water, and he could barely see. He couldn't feel the man struggling. His aching, dazed mind couldn't comprehend what that meant.

"Matthew! Hang on!" Turning his head, he saw Oceania standing on the shore several yards away. Two other guards were with her, reaching a branch out for him to grab.

He had no energy. With one last struggled breath, he slipped beneath the water, unable to hold his head up.

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged up onto dry land — they had managed to hook his chains and pull him and Umair to shore. Matthew struggled to breathe, choking on the water in his lungs as he watched the guards kneel over Umair, trying to resuscitate him. It was a dull, aching feeling inside Matthew that told him they wouldn't. Oceania crouched beside him, hand on his shaking shoulder. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard, images in his mind he couldn't properly decipher. Black, ice-cold water, choking, unable to breathe, unable to get air, someone yelling at him to breathe, breathe!

"He's dead," one of the men said quietly, straightening up and standing back from Umair's drenched, limp body. Matthew stared, his chest heaving, his heart racing, his mind aching. Umair, with his near smile, his hope.

Dead. Always them and never me.