10 – The Raft

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Draft 1 – Updated 23 OCT 2025 (C010/D001)

Humans called it: the tithe. One in ten children were set aside at birth for the good of the colony. It happened immediately, sight unseen, gender unknown. Where they were taken was never revealed. They were simply swallowed into the Company’s inventory.

This was the compromise that ended the war. The Company gave up their right to enslave non-humans; human communities gave up every tenth child. God’s Lottery, the Church called it. In exchange, the slavers kept their chateaus, the merchants kept their shops, and the farmers kept their farms. Most importantly, wives kept their husbands and husbands kept their sons. The elves withdrew. Conscription ended. Property stopped burning. People stopped dying.

Children set aside were raised by the Church until their fourth birthday when they were assigned to an occupation stream and placed in a baby family. By age six their training had progressed sufficiently that all but the most difficult set-asides were declared as vendable. This meant they were eligible to be plucked from their baby families, coffled to a slave market, and sold to one of the great households of the fiendling city states.

The set-asides were the most lucrative part of the slave market for the Company because they brought the highest price. But they were not the only slaves available. The children of slaves, for example, were automatically vendable, even without training. Disobedient children of non-slaves could also be sold, if their parents chose to sell them. And then there were the cast-offs: unadopted orphans, unfaithful wives, lazy apprentices, and convicted criminals.

The entire system was voluntary. The disobedient could avoid slavery through obedience, the unfaithful through fidelity, and the criminal through righteousness. Those who wished to avoid losing children to the tithe could pay a compensatory fee. The Company even made loans available to those with the means of paying them back. 

To their credit, a handful of families in the colony could boast of never having lost one of their name to slavery. The Ducots, for one example. The Hilmers, for another. But most either wanted to cast someone off or chose to spend their money on things they valued more.

Unfortunately for the children just waking up from their first sleep in Elora’s grove, few were born into families who qualified for Company loans. And the few who were, were no longer wanted.

Protected from the night air by a porous wall of thorns, and warmed by two small coal fires, the children slept well and woke hungry. The wall was gone when dawn came and their fires had burned down to near ash, but the food they’d brought with them remained. 

As was her habit, Ivy woke first and added coal to the fire around which the girls had gathered. When that was done she offered some coal to the boys who were also beginning to stir. 

“Thank you,” said Groomer, the oldest of the boys. “Do you know if we have assignments?”

Ivy averted her eyes, shook her head no, and went quickly back to her place at the girls’ fire. 

Groomer, who’d hoped for a moment that he had found an ally, realized that he was still alone. As the oldest of the set-asides in his parish, he was accustomed to taking a lead with the younger boys. This situation was obviously different from their situation at the orphanage, but he fell back on the comfort of old habits nonetheless. After adding the coal to the fire and passing out rations, he addressed the other boys.

“I know I have no authority to tell anybody what to do” he said, “but I don’t think we should just sit around waiting for Master to get back. He might think we’re lazy.”

“What do you think we should do?” the goat herd asked, nodding in agreement.

“There is a pot,” said Groomer. “We could find water for the girls to boil. Maybe look for coal or gather wood.”

“I’ll come with you,” volunteered one of the boys.

“Me, too,” added two others.

Five of the nine boys left the shelter to follow a path leading down the slope toward the river. The remaining four boys looked at each other uncertainly.

“Do you think we should look for food?” Gardner asked the boys remaining in the shelter. “We don’t have much.”

The boys shrugged. “We need to do something,” one suggested. “Can’t just sit here doing nothing. The master will be upset.”

The four of them looked around and decided that, since the other boys went down the slope, they should go up. Each took their threadbare blanket and wrapped themselves as warmly as the tattered items allowed against the morning chill.

Groomer’s group headed down the slope and soon encountered a cliff overlooking the river. They recognized it from the previous day. They knew that turning right would take them back up the mountain to the fallen everwood which was clearly too dangerous a spot for collecting water. So they turned left, hoping that the cliff would diminish and drop down to the river’s edge. 

Unfortunately, this did not happen. The drop to the water continued to be sheer. Eventually, they reached a dead end where a creek running through a pasture behind a farm entered the river below. Thus thwarted by the mountainous landscape, Groomer’s group headed back up the slope toward the rock shelter.

Meanwhile the boys who left the shelter in search of food had better luck. Less than a hundred steps from the shelter, in a small clearing, they found an old vegetable garden. Little grew there—a single large asparagus and a dense cluster of rhubarb—but next to it they found a crude door covering a small cave that appeared to be a root cellar. Inside were some empty barrels and a small burlap sack sitting alone on the floor.

“Are we allowed?” one boy asked another about the sack before them.

Nobody knew the answer. It smelled like food. Their bellies ached for it. But they knew the price that slaves paid for taking things that belonged to their masters.

“Let’s keep looking,” said Gardener. “There must be mushrooms.” So they continued up the slope in search of food that was permissible for slaves to eat.

Autumn scrambled up the fallen everwood and turned down the narrow ledge that followed the mountain’s curve. He had spent the night visiting farms in the area and was running a little late. He was confident that the children were safe in the grove, but he had no idea how long children slept and was not sure how they would feel about waking to find themselves alone. As the trail bottomed out and began to rise again, Autumn encountered Groomer and the boys who were returning to the rock shelter.

“Good morning, boys,” he greeted them. “Are you looking for me?”

“Yes, sir,” Groomer replied, bowing his head in unison with the other boys. “Kind of.” He appeared flustered. “We’re looking for water,” he admitted. 

“Of course.” Autumn winced, wondering why the boy was so loud, as he carefully shook off an everwood beetle who had landed on his sleeve. “You’re human. You need…so much…water. I should have filled a barrel before I left,” he said, pondering the effort that would be required to keep nineteen human children hydrated. “Let’s get everybody together and go up to the tarn.”

“Tarn, Master?” asked Groomer, perplexed by the new word.

“It’s a pond, honey,” Autumn explained, frowning at his designation. “It’s up the mountain a little bit.” He would address the other issue later, he decided, silently.

When Autumn and the boys reached camp, they found the girls doing their best to tidy the rock shelter. The blankets were folded in a stack near the back wall. The remaining coal was neatly piled. They were using everwood branches to sweep the floor. The moment their eyes fell on Autumn, their heads bowed and their work paused.

“Good morning,” Autumn bubbled. “I’ll bet you’re thirsty?”

The girls looked at each other sideways in surprise before nodding their heads in agreement.

“Follow me,” he smiled, beckoning. “I’ll show you where to find water.”

As the group made their way uphill, they encountered Gardener’s group who fell in with them. About a hundred steps later they topped the grade and reached a plateau. Several dozen steps beyond that, the grade dipped sharply down into a dip at the center of which was a tiny alpine lake.

“This,” Autumn said, swirling 180 degrees, arching his back, and raising his arms, “is Elora’s tarn.”

The children were wide-eyed at the sight of the water-filled trench stretching out before them. It was a few dozen paces wide and maybe three times that long. To their immediate left was a steep slope. Water trickled down to shaded rocks in several places, steadily filling the tarn with melted glacier water. Trees rimmed the rest of the shoreline, coming nearly to the water’s edge.

“Are those dogs?” Shep asked, pointing at some animals gathered on the far shore of the tarn. 

Autumn spun around to see what he was pointing at. “They are otters,” he announced. “They live here, too.”

“Otters?” the smallest asked.

Autumn considered how to describe an otter to someone who’d never met one before. “They are…kind of…like dogs, Kitty,” he explained, “but they live in water.”

“Do they bite, Master?” Kitty asked warily.

Autumn bit his tongue. Later, he insisted to himself, adding that to a list of things he needed to discuss with the children. “If someone tries to hurt them, they will bite. But they will always try to run away first.”

“What are they doing?” Kitty was puzzled. Every face was curious. Necks strained to see.

“They are probably playing,” Autumn smiled, delicately plucking a tiny everwood beetle from Kitty’s hair and blowing it from her palm. “Unless they are hunting or sleeping, otters are usually playing.”

Kitty looked genuinely puzzled by Autumn’s response. She knew that masters played and that they sometimes played with their pets, but it never occurred to her that pets would be allowed out of their pens to play with each other.

“Would you like to meet them?” Autumn asked her—and the group in general.

Some children nodded yes; others were terrified: no. Some had no idea what to say as they stared in wonder at the large brown creatures playing on the far side of the tarn.

“They look bigger than dogs,” Shep frowned, as much a warning as an observation.

“I’ll tell you what,” Autumn said. “Y’all have a big drink and I’ll go over and talk to them.”

Nobody moved. Everybody seemed frozen in place. Gawking at the tarn with expressions of disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” Autumn asked. “What did I say?”

“Don’t we have to boil it first, Master?” Ivy asked.

“That’s a very good question, honey,” Autumn cooed. “But this tarn is loaded with purification stones. Elora put them there herself. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

Most of the children appeared skeptical. Kitty, however, stepped immediately to the shoreline, fell to her hands and knees, and began sucking water from the surface. A moment later, Groomer joined her. And as Autumn left the group to approach the otters, each of the children either went to the shore to have a drink or stood behind others waiting their turn.

Autumn had learned otterish while training here with Elora. She had watched as the human aspirants in her cohort struggled with the language. So she was aware of the potential for miscommunication should the children interact with this family without a proper introduction.

To human ears, otterish consists of indistinguishable squeaks and a confusing variety of trills. This is because humans are—in animal terms—very poor listeners. Otters, like most forest creatures, both make and hear a larger number of sounds than humans can generally perceive. 

These sounds—both audible and inaudible—combine with their facial expressions, body language, and whisker positions, to form a complete and complex language. Elves, who have an equal claim to the otters as creatures of the forest, are able to hear every sound otters make. They can also reproduce them. Therefore it is not all a difficult task for elves to learn their language and communicate with them.

For the safety and convenience of everyone, Autumn thought it necessary to explain to the otters that this large group of noisy children posed no threat and would likely be sharing the tarn with them for some time. Since otters do not stake an exclusive claim to any woodland feature, be it tarn or otherwise, they did not consider this unreasonable. And before Autumn was even finished explaining the situation to them, the otters were eagerly calling the children to come and play.

“Please,” Autumn begged, as the children looked on curiously, unaware that they were being called. “These orphans are not of the forest and do not know the rules. They are kind creatures but they are not very smart and will not be able to communicate anything but the simplest of ideas to you. If the children do something to break the rules,” she implored the raft, “it should be understood that the breach is one of innocence rather than intention.”

The otters, who valued their own children and family playtime as the two most important things in life, took pity on the orphans and welcomed them immediately.

Kitty, Groomer, and Ivy were the first brave enough to join. They watched the over-sized otters slide down a smooth slope to a smaller tarn below and then bound back up to the top. The otters, whose skills at play are surpassed only by their ability to charm, soon coaxed everyone over to watch and the tarn rang with childish laughter so loud that it made Autumn cringe.

As the group grew in curiosity, size, and volume, the otters doubled their efforts to coax the children to join them on the slide. The first to agree was Groomer. Stepping carefully into the middle of the channel, he attempted to sit and slide down feet first. Unfortunately, the purchase was slipperier than he imagined. He fell hard with a violent splash and ended up going down mostly sideways. The orphans gasped at his initial slip and then howled as he stood in the lower tarn shaking the water from his hair.

Kitty was next. She managed to execute a perfect slide that impressed even the otters. A short while later, everyone was involved. The children took turns sliding down the polished rock face and plunging into the lower tarn. Even Autumn joined the fun. After sliding down once, he remained knee deep in the pool, making sure that everyone reached the bottom safely. 

As morning turned to late morning, the otters started talking about going down to the river to catch some fish. This reminded Autumn that human children, like otters, also needed to eat regularly.

Soon after, the otters said their goodbyes and swam to the far end of the lower tarn. From there, they descended a rocky slope down to a creek that curled back to the foot of the cliff before passing through a pasture and joining the river. Autumn made his way back to the upper tarn, helping some of the children who were struggling with the slope.

Kitty and Groomer lingered, fascinated by their new friends, watching them bound and roll and play their way down to the river. A noisy conspiracy of ravens, reinforced by a yacking tribe of aggravated magpies drew their attention to the dense woods across the creek.

“What are they so upset about?” Kitty asked the older boy.

“Could be an owl.” He shrugged. “Or maybe a haint.”

The last option caused Kitty’s eyes to widen and gooseflesh to form on her forearms. 

“It’s the Devil’s Beard,” Groomer said, taking her hand and helping her up the slope. “As long as we stay out of it, we’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” She looked over her shoulder with fearful eyes. 

“I’ve heard the masters talk about it in the stables,” he explained. “They all say the same.”

“Master—” Ivy was addressing Autumn as they reached the top.

“Now hold on a minute, please.” Autumn clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. The time had come to address the issue. “I believe I have asked y’all…more than once…not to call me Master.”

Ivy froze. Heads bowed. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

“I’m sorry.” Autumn cringed at the awkward way he’d brought this up. “I…I…I’m not…cross. I didn’t mean to…frighten you.”

“That’s how we are supposed to address people we don’t know,” Ivy explained, blushing.

“Everyone is Master, ” Kitty said meekly, “unless they’re a servant.”

“Oh, honey,” Autumn drew the child into his arms, hugging her, before holding her out at arms length again and looking into her eyes. “I am not your master,” Autumn explained. “You’re not my servant. Not anybody’s servant. You’re…just…a child.”

Kitty looked down, shaking her head slowly side to side, trying not to cry. 

“But Mas…”—Groomer caught himself—“We are servants.” Autumn couldn’t imagine how he could have said anything more sincerely. “God wants us to be servants. He chose us to serve,” he explained. “We are the Blessed Tenth.” The other children nodded. “If we don’t serve…if we aren’t obedient…He won’t invite us into heaven to be with our families again.”

Autumn surveyed the faces of the children, absent-mindedly shooing away an everwood beetle that was flitting around his face. He didn’t know how to respond. They must be so confused, he thought. So…overwhelmed…after the past few days. He didn’t want to add to their stress. He wanted to reach out and hug them, each of them. He wanted to tell them that they were free and swear to them that they would never again be slaves. But he knew it was too soon. 

“Everyone, please,” he announced, putting his hand over his heart. “My name is Autumn. And I am your friend. I am not…your master.” He paused for a moment, sorting the words in his mind. Choosing carefully. “Where you came from. It was…different. Here…in this grove…there are no masters…we all serve each other.”

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