by Ann Boelter
And her father—had he returned home? His fate had never been determined. Jarl swore he was not among the bodies, but Altene had sworn he was dead. Who was right? Someone had built the skygrave for Ruga. It had to be her father. If it was not, then her older brother, Lothor, might be chief. He would do well in that role, but between his responsibilities there and his new family, he would have little time for her. She would need to start thinking of starting her own family.
Her own family. A husband. Children. With the gods’ choice behind her, she would be expected to choose again; she knew that. And while the gods’ choice was never questioned as far as timing or suitability were concerned, second choosings were given no such leeway. It was not acceptable or practical for a chosen, but unmarried woman, to remain alone. She would be expected to choose from among whoever were the most qualified available men in the tribe at the time, and she would probably be expected to do it fairly soon. Her imagination moved on to sharing a tent and furs with a nameless Teclan warrior. She felt ill.
You must push that from your mind and focus only on your journey. Your thoughts are all twisted and backwards. Jarl has done this to you. Lack of sleep has only made it worse. Once you are home and rested, there will be no more doubts. You will be back among your people where you belong and everything will be clear again. One day you may even look back on this confusion with a smile. Look back to the time when some mysterious magic had ahold of your senses, but you were able to fight through it.
Nena prayed it would be true. It had to be. The gods had shown her the path to escape and then ensured she was successful. Surely, had she not been meant to do this, her plan would have failed. Comforted by that, she refocused her thoughts on the long journey ahead. She was doing the right thing. She just had to make it home.
When the scout reported they were still not gaining on her, Jarl slammed his fist into the map in frustration. He was running out of time. Her hard ridden trail was clear to follow and he knew where she was going. Like the flight of an arrow, she was headed straight for the Teclan mountain stronghold. If she made the Bloodcliff Gates, she would be lost to him.
“She’s moving too fast, Jarl.” Tryggr pointed out the obvious. “Even with the child. They are lighter than armored men, and our horses started out tired.”
“I don’t want excuses,” Jarl snapped.
“They’re not excuses, Jarl; they’re facts,” Tryggr exclaimed. “You used to be able to tell the difference when you weren’t thinking with your cock.”
Jarl’s eyes flashed with fury, but Tryggr wasn’t backing down this time.
“Go ahead. Glare at me. You haven’t kept me around this long because I blow smoke up your ass, and I’m not about to start now. If you wanted someone to fan your soft woman follies, you’d have brought Gunnar instead. You knew I’d tell you the truth. That’s why I’m here and he’s not. So when are you going to start listening to me?”
“Not today.” Jarl rolled up the maps and strode to his waiting horse. “Mount up,” he called over his shoulder to the other men and put the stallion back on Nena’s trail.
The report from the tracker the next day was worse. Though he had pushed them even harder, they had lost more ground. Jarl did not understand how it was possible.
“What do you want to do?” Tryggr asked after the tracker had left.
“Keep going.”
“For what? We’ll never catch her now before she makes the Teclan stronghold.”
“We keep going.”
“What are you hoping for, Jarl? That after how many miles she suddenly changes her mind and comes back to you? Or that her horse breaks a leg, and she’s waiting for us to pick her up by the
carcass? Who gave her that fucking horse anyway? Besides, she’s got a second horse now. She could just ride it.”
Jarl remained silent.
“And when we get to the Bloodcliff Gates, what then? Will we keep going then, too?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jarl, these men have shown many times they are willing to follow you to their deaths, but never before was it a suicide.”
“Send a messenger back to Gunnar. Tell him of our plan, and that he is to proceed to the port and make the exchange with Piltor—or with the other traders, if any have been found. If we do not meet him there after four weeks, he is to divide the treasure, and send all but three of the ships and The Treasure Huntress home, before it is too late for them to make it. He can decide which other three stay.”
“You said to tell him our plan. What exactly is our plan that you would like me to tell him?” Tryggr asked.
“Just send the fucking messenger,” Jarl snarled, his patience at an end.
Jarl didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have a clue of a plan. He knew Tryggr was right. He knew they would never catch her. She was so far ahead now, even if both of her horses broke legs and she and the girl had to walk, they would probably still make it through the gates before he could get to her. So why did he keep going? Why didn’t he turn around?
Because he couldn’t.
Because he could not imagine his life without her now.
Because he could not just give up and let it end this way.
Because since becoming a man, he’d never wanted for anything he could not have. Many believed it was because the gods favored him. Jarl thought that reason was as likely as any other, and he could not imagine the gods would deliver him such a treasure only to yank it from his grasp.
His thoughts were interrupted by an odd heavy sensation in his lungs and chest that signaled an impending change in the weather. He glanced up at the clear sky. There were no dark clouds on the horizon and no wind—no physical signs of a storm, but Jarl knew one was coming. Years at sea had taught him how to feel them.
Nena stood in the calf-deep water, holding both horses as they grazed on the tender water grass. The horses would have preferred to remain on dry ground but the dark green stems were a Teclan secret, packed with concentrated nutrition that enabled a horse to perform better with less feed. The second horse was already considerably tucked in the flank, but the mare seemed no worse for wear.
Nena looked at the girl, curled up on the bank, sound asleep. She rubbed her own swollen tired eyes. They had ridden hard for many days now, yet the girl had never once complained. Nena thought back to the day before, when she had glanced back just as Exanthia was about to fall from her horse. She had stopped and pulled the exhausted girl up behind her on the mare, and led the second horse for the remainder of the day. Exanthia had slept soundly against her back, her arms wrapped around Nena’s waist, her hands clasped in front, held securely there in Nena’s grip.
Nena looked at her now with fondness and respect. She was strong. She would make a good Teclan. Her life had been ripped asunder, but she had never once complained. Nena felt bad she’d been unable to provide her with more support. It had not been intentional. Initially she’d been too driven and focused on their escape to offer the girl much comfort. Now she was too exhausted. When they made it home, Nena vowed to make it up to her, to lavish her with the attention she was unable to give her now.
Nena felt her eyelids closing. She fought to keep them open, but they seemed to have weights attached to them. She felt for the chunk of root in the pouch tied around her waist, but did not pull it out. Not yet. She was afraid of how it would make her feel. She knew the root would keep her awake, but also knew there would be a significant price. She had only tried it once before as a young warrior in training. She and the other trainees had been kept up for three days straight, then given the root and pushed for another two. Even now she remembered vividly how it had made her heart race uncomfortably in her chest. How it had drained every bit of strength from her body and took her days to recover. She did not want to experience that again—not if she could help it. The short catnaps she’d been able to take had been sufficient so far.
In the mountains, the cold water would have helped to shock her awake, but this water was a s
oothing tepid temperature. Her earlier determination to focus only on the journey faded, and Nena’s exhausted mind drifted to another time in the warm water with Jarl. His offer to teach her to swim and then his retraction. She smiled at the circumstances preceding that retraction. What was he doing now? Life in the camp after a battle was always relaxed and easy for several days. Or would they be moving again? Toward her aunt’s village that hopefully was no longer there?
He’s probably sharing his furs with Altene at this very moment.
Nena tormented herself with the vision of Jarl and Altene together. Of Altene nestled in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder. Of Jarl’s fingers absently caressing her skin.
If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t be running. Wouldn’t be pushing yourself, the child and the horses, to the brink of collapse. You know in your heart—Jarl is coming for you.
The thought pained her almost as much as the vision of him and Altene together.
Even if that were true, he’d only be coming to recover a prized possession—just as he would if someone had stolen his stallion or the tiger hide. If he does, in fact, follow you, it is only because you are a valuable slave.
Her inner voices had waged this war for control of her heart many times, but no matter which one was victorious, she always ended up in the same place—as Jarl’s slave.
THUNDER CRACKED ABOVE them, so close and so loud, it seemed as if the clouds were being ripped apart over their heads. Nena felt Exanthia flinch behind her and wondered if she had done the same. The storm had threatened them for hours, blasting them with wind and shocking them with lightning, but so far the rain had held off. It wouldn’t be long now, though. Nena could smell it.
When the first scattered drops hit them, Nena looked ahead and saw the main body of the storm for the first time—a black wall of water bearing down on them from the south. They were headed straight into it and had maybe a few minutes before the deluge reached them. She glanced around one last time for any cover in the near vicinity, but none was to be had—as she had known there wouldn’t be. She regretted her earlier decision to not detour and seek shelter in the forest to the west. At the time, without knowing if Jarl pursued them or not, she’d felt she could not afford to take the risk and add the extra miles to their trip. But she’d had no idea then of the size of the approaching storm.
Nothing could be done about it now, other than to keep pushing forward toward the Bloodcliffs of the mountain. It would be miserable travel, but there would be plenty of time later for rest and comfort. Nena halted the mare and pulled Exanthia’s horse up alongside. Without dismounting, she untied the travel hide from the girl’s saddle and shook it open.
“It’s about to get very wet,” she said over her shoulder to Exanthia, her voice raised to be heard above the wind, even though the girl sat right behind her. “There is nowhere to stop here that will provide any protection for the horses, so we’ll keep going. This should keep us dry for the most part.” She pulled the hide over the two of them. Meant to be used as a tent, the hide was soft and pliable. It draped down over the legs of both riders on the sides, and half of the mare’s hindquarters in the back. Nena tucked the front lower edges, where they split at the mare’s withers, under each of her thighs, pinning them against the horse with her legs.
She gave the hide a gentle test tug. It held. It should work as long as the wind continued to blow from the front. If it changed direction and came from the rear, they would have to roll the back under Exanthia for her to sit on. Satisfied, Nena gathered the two sides of the hide together under her chin with one hand, leaving only a small hole for her face. She held the horse’s rein and the edges of hide together with her other hand, midway down her stomach. She was ready.
The first soaking blast of water temporarily blinded her. She blinked hard and tightened her grip on the hide. The mare balked and tried to turn around, not wanting to face the onslaught. Nena pushed her forward. Water squeezed between the hide and her face, running down her neck and arms. Soon her entire front was soaked. She could still feel Exanthia’s warmth pressed up against her back.
“Are you dry?” Nena twisted her head inside the hide and yelled.
“Yes, I am fine,” came the girl’s muffled reply.
As the wind and rain whipped around them, the few scattered landmarks quickly became invisible. Nena lost her bearings and stopped, unsure of what to do. She could continue to head into the wind and hope it remained coming out of the south, but if it shifted in the darkness, she could end up going the wrong way. She had to think. The river! The shallow river flowed almost all the way to the Bloodcliff Gates and, though she could no longer see it, she knew it was still somewhere to her left. If she rode along the water’s edge, it would keep her heading in the right direction.
She turned the mare and strained her eyes to see ahead, but saw nothing of the river until the mare’s hooves splashed into deeper water. She steered the horse back to the soggy bank and continued south. Battered by the storm and using only the river to guide them, they rode for hours. Even with the wet and cold, Nena felt her eyes closing. She had pushed her body to the point where it would no longer obey. The short catnaps she had managed to take along the way were no longer enough to keep it going. Her body demanded sleep—real sleep, but she could not stop now. Nena reached for the pouch at her waist and pulled out the root.
She hesitated.
Her head nodded forward. She jerked it back upright and lifted the root to her lips. She bit off a small piece and felt her lips and tongue go instantly numb.
“It’s about to rain like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock.” Tryggr shouted his warning to be heard above the wind. “We should set up the tents now and let this storm pass before it’s too late.”
Jarl stretched his neck from side to side and glared at the dark clouds bearing down on them.
Tryggr rode up next to him, but still had to yell. “Come on, Jarl. You know it has to be done. We can’t track her once this hits. We won’t be able to see a damn thing.”
“Tryggr is right, Jarl.” The tracker joined them. “It will be dark soon anyway; with the rain and no light, her tracks will be impossible to find.”
“And tomorrow? Once this storm passes, will there be any tracks left?” Jarl shouted.
“Probably—yes. She’s riding hard and has made no attempt to hide her tracks so far. They will be washed out but there should be enough remaining to follow,” the tracker affirmed.
“Even if there’s not, it’s not like we don’t know exactly where she’s headed,” Tryggr added. “Since she left that village, she hasn’t deviated an inch from a straight line to the Teclan mountain.”
Jarl didn’t respond though he knew they were waiting for his decision. He hated to stop for multiple reasons. He hated the feeling that he was standing still while she was drawing further away. He hated the coldness of his furs without her. He hated the emptiness of being alone—something he had never experienced before. Nights were always the worst, and it kept him in the saddle every day for as long as possible.
“She won’t be able to ride through this either, Jarl. She’s heading straight into it. She’ll have to stop, the same as we do,” Tryggr nudged.
Jarl nodded, though he wasn’t happy about it. “Pitch the tents. And make sure the horses’ picket lines are extra secure. We’re in for a rough night, I’m afraid.”
“You heard him, boys. Make camp and make it quick. Thor’s about to pay us a visit.”
Jarl rolled out his own small travel tent while the others rushed to do the same. This was the first time they had needed them since leaving the main camp. Jarl was pounding his last tent stake into the ground when Tryggr returned.
“Um...what do you want to do about her?” he asked, nodding toward Altene.
“Set up a tent for her,” Jarl said.
“I didn’t bring a tent for her. I assumed she’d be sleeping with you.”
Jarl looked up at him annoyed.
“Well, why else does a man bring a woman along with him on a trip like this, if not for his comfort at night?” Tryggr defended his decision.
“I brought her to translate if we needed it, or to explain any strange Dor customs or items we might come across.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” Tryggr complained. “You said travel light, so I did.” He glanced back at her. “She can’t stay out in this.”
“It’s your mistake, so you fix it,” Jarl responded.
“Fix it how?”
“However you want, Tryggr.” Jarl went back to pounding the stake. He was still convinced Altene had played a part in Nena’s escape. The thought of having her in close proximity to him all night was not the least bit appealing.
Tryggr grumbled something under his breath and moved toward Altene.
“Um, I made a mistake in the tent count,” Tryggr shouted to her as another harder gust of wind hit them.
Altene only nodded and pulled at her pack.
“The weather is about to be unfit for man or beast out here. I...um...have my tent and it’s large enough for two. You can put your sleeping furs there tonight—next to mine—not mixed up with mine. Just to be clear.”
“That would be much appreciated, Tryggr,” Altene yelled back at him. “Gratitude, yet again.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “It was my mistake, after all, and I had to set a tent up for myself anyway, so it was no extra trouble. And I’m probably the only one who has a tent big enough for two...because I’m big, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” she agreed.
“I think I just felt the first raindrop. Here, let me have your pack. I’ll get soaked if I have to wait for you to carry it.” Without waiting for her to accept, Tryggr hoisted her pack and her saddle onto his shoulders and strode off toward his tent.
Altene followed him, but paused at the tent flap to cast one last glance at Jarl. He was standing outside his own tent taking stock of the makeshift camp. She smiled and waited for his eyes to find her, but when they did, they were cold and his gaze didn’t linger. Her smile fading, Altene turned and ducked inside Tryggr’s tent.