“This isn’t good.” Anton surveyed the soil. “This mud’ll show every print for days.” Jessica nodded, the worry in his voice echoed her own grim thoughts.
The days melted into each other. The warm spring sun beat down on the wayfarers. In the evenings, Jessica described Earth, then Anton would talk of his travels around Esparia and her northern neighbor, Marone. It had been up in the furthermost reaches of the continent where he had first found blue persite, just a rock, glowing in the snow.
Once he tried to explain the dimensional specifics of Transmirian spirals, but when he started into particle physics and blue persite sorcery and the Channels of Gonta, she gave up trying to understand. He seemed to derive great pleasure in expounding his insights, so she politely listened, ooing and ahing where she thought appropriate. Jessica grew fond of the great man protecting her. She found him to be without guile, a straight forward individual.
After the evening meals, Jessica peeked at the edges of Varnack’s wound. No purulent oozing or signs of infection contaminated the area. He never complained, so she basically left well enough alone. Each night the mighty canine stood watch. He grew stronger with the passing of every uneventful day.
When they traveled, Jessica entertained herself by keeping track of the wildlife and noting any new flora. One day, they passed close to a small herd of elephant sized bovine animals. She had seen several herds from a distance, and up close she thought they resembled gigantic, hornless cattle. Several of the gentle creatures looked up from their grazing, but seemed unperturbed by the strange riders passing by. She wondered if they tasted anything like beef.
After five days of unvaried terrain coming and going, Jessica wondered if the grasslands would never end. Toward midafternoon of the sixth day, a few long-needled trees appeared on the horizon. Brushing up against one of the branches, she was surprised to find the needles were feathery soft. Once she spotted the first trees, they quickly multiplied, and by early evening a lush forest lay ahead. Unlike the arbors of the Southern Greenland, tall and pole-like, this woodland boasted fat, Christmas-tree-shaped firs ranging from mere saplings to gigantic seventy foot behemoths. Anton did not stop until they were well into it.
After finding shelter at the base of one huge granddaddy which was surrounded by a dense growth of eight-foot-high saplings, Anton deposited Varnack next to Jessica, then went to tend the horses. With a bit of sunlight remaining to the day, Jessica decided to give Varnack’s wound a thorough inspection.
“Varnack, I think it’s time to replace the bandages on your leg. You haven’t mentioned anything about it for two days now, so let’s have a good look at it.” She untied the sleeves to the arm bandages and took a deep breath to strengthen her stomach against what she might find. She removed the fern placed there a week earlier. It had shriveled into several mustard-pink fragments. To her astonishment, the wound showed dramatic improvement, more than she could ever have imagined. The flesh mended together over the previously exposed bone. Only an inch more to go and the gash would be completely filled in, but without scar tissue. New muscle was generating. Already, wisps of fur were growing at the healed edges of the once shredded flesh. Using a gentle hand, she probed the area, checking Varnack’s face for any sign of pain. When he did not wince, she knew all would be well.
“You’ll have some great stories to tell your kids.” Varnack licked her hand, and then his injury.
Anton knelt beside her. He poked at the crumbling fern, then gazed at her with interest. “How did ya know to use this plant on the wound?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. Pure instinct. I somehow knew it was the right thing to use. I broke it open to let the white sap drip into the hole, then placed the rest of the fern on top. As you can see, I used my shirt sleeves as the bandage.”
Anton nodded his approval. “Ya did good. Ya saved his life.” He patted her on the shoulder.
For the first time since leaving the cave, Anton built a small fire. “Our food is runnin’ low,” he announced. “But, tomorrow we should find quite a bit in the forest. We’ll travel more in a true north direction. Ya’ve probably noticed I’ve been avoidin’ hoffles. Yer red hair is a sure sign yer a Protector. This color isn’t common here. In fact, no one but our family, I mean the Liedias, not Saylons, has red hair. Cause of Haesom ‘n his boys bein’ bright redheads, this color was known as the Protector’s color. I don’t know who’s friend or who’s foe right now, so I don’t want to take any chances.”
“I understand. Where are we?”
“This is Feather Forest, named for the trees. We just passed through the Rocky Plains.”
As they unrolled their respective blankets for the night’s rest, Jessica took measure of her kin. “Uncle Anton, I didn’t tell you everything that happened at Vorgen Hoffle.”
He squirmed into a comfortable position on his blanket. “I’m listenin’, Jessi.”
She told him about rescuing Karree’s husband back from the brink of death and healing his fatal wounds. “Karree called it the Salupathic Gift. I don’t understand how it happened. I only know I wanted this man to live, then power, like life itself, traveled through me to him. It put me into a coma for two days. Scared me, Uncle.”
Anton remained silent for a long time. Jessica thought he had fallen asleep, so when he finally spoke, she jumped. “Larone has the Salupathic gift. It’s what makes him such a great healer. He’ll be the one to explain it all to ya. I don’t understand it myself, but the power comes from Edia ‘n from the Expanse of Gonta. It’s not scary, but ya need to respect it.”
As with the previous nights, Varnack sat guard while the other two benefited from some much needed sleep. Having a keen sense of hearing and smell, Varnack made a better night watchman than Anton. He would know if someone approached long before Anton could hear.
The first rays of light breaking through the firs awoke Jessica. She hopped up and stretched. Growing accustomed to sleeping on the hard ground, she felt well rested this morning. The first few days she awoke stiff and sore, but today, her muscles were relaxed and pain free. Anton had also just risen, so Varnack, relieved of duty, laid his great head on huge front paws and closed his eyes.
“Let me help with the horses this morning, I’d like to learn how to care for them.”
“All right.” Anton handed her Web’s lead rope. He showed her the pads, the bridles, and the saddles. He explained the function of each, then showed her how they fit on the animals. She copied his every move and followed his directions precisely. Soon her horse stood ready for travel.
“One more thing,” he added. “Everythin’ comes off in the opposite order we put it on, ‘n when that’s done, we wipe the animals down with this,” he reached into a second pack attached to his saddle and pulled out a brush, “like this.” He pretended to brush down the horse with a few strokes.
Jessica had never observed Anton care for the horses in the evenings. Her task was to help Varnack, so this was the first time she had seen the brush, and gaped hungrily at it. “A brush!” she cried out. “You have a brush?”
Anton stared at her, staring at the brush in his hand. “Yes,” he said slowly. Her sudden and unusual behavior obviously startled him.
“Uncle Anton…give me that brush.”
His mouth opened, then closed. “Is there a spell on it?” He actually managed to whisper. He did not move a muscle.
With his hand frozen in mid-air, she walked over to him and plucked the instrument from it. “It’s a girl thing,” was all the explanation he received, and turning on her heel, she began picking out the horsehairs. When she finished, she used it to start detangling her own long mane.
For the first time since Jessica met her uncle, he burst out in full, hearty laughter, his voice echoing through the forest. Shaking his shaggy head, he gave her a huge bear hug, then placed Web’s reins into her free hand. “Well, Varnack,” he turned, still laughing, to the large golden hound, “how ya doin’ this mornin’?
&n
bsp; Still putting the horse brush to good use, Jessica listened to the response and translated. “He’s much better today and wants to walk for a while.”
“All right,” Anton agreed. “Just let me know when yer tired. I’ll go slow cause ya’ve been up all night.”
Within five minutes they were ready to go. True to his word, Anton went at a much slower pace so Varnack, following behind on all four feet, could easily pick his way through the light underbrush. Jessica gave her mount a free rein while continuing to work at her long, matted hair. She realized Anton still chuckled, but it didn’t bother her. So, maybe she was a little vain, she conceded to herself, but she couldn’t stand the tangles any longer. Anyway, it was good to hear her uncle laugh. He’d been so serious and so tense, he deserved a little respite. If that was at her expense, then she didn’t mind. Besides, she held the brush up and admired it as if it were the most precious thing in the entire world, she had a brush. It took her two full hours to completely comb through her red tresses.
The sun blazed directly overhead in the clear, azure sky when Jessica’s inner clock let her know it was time for lunch. She was about to suggest a short break to Anton, but an incapacitating, unexpected sense of foreboding forced her silence. Confused by the unexpected onslaught she tried pushing it away, but the foreboding quickly deteriorated to a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, abruptly giving her the urge to vomit.
“Anton!” she screamed. “Danger!” Reacting instantly, he yanked back on his horse and dove to the ground, his sword in hand. Jessica followed his example just as five arrows went zipping through the air. She remembered him telling her, whoever was after them did not want her dead, so she slammed herself into Varnack, forcing him onto his side and shielded him with her body. From the corner of her eye she realized Anton was hit.
“Varnack, stop squirming,” she hissed. “Play dead! You can’t fight arrows.”
A mock show of grief was needed to set a trap. “Oh, Varnack!” she wailed loudly. “They’ve killed you!” She flopped over to Anton, crying louder than ever while making a quick assessment of the wound in his back. Blood flowed from an arrow lodged deep in his left shoulder. It hit at an angle, penetrating the flesh exposed at the edge of the chain mail vest. He stared, unblinking straight ahead. His chest did not rise and fall.
“Anton?” she sobbed in real fear. Sensing rather than hearing the attackers approach she tensed. For all her years of self-defense training, Jessica had never actually put her knowledge to use. She had been in a few competitions, but did not enjoy fighting for the sake of the sport. With nerves on edge, she frantically tried to remember the moves she had been taught.
Her back to the assassins, she continued to make a fuss over Anton, while searching for something to use as a weapon. Spotting a small log beside Anton, she focused. At the instant someone touched her, she lunged for the log. Grabbing it, she turned and sprang at her attacker.
The Elitet wore a mask, only his dark eyes showed through stitched, round holes. He did not jump fast enough to dodge the log in her hand. She threw her whole body into the force behind the blow aimed at his head. One down.
The four others rushed in. Relief flooded through Jessica when both Varnack and Anton jump to their feet. Anton’s wound went deep and his back was saturated with blood. Two of the Elitet were on him, their blows aiming to kill. Jessica’s worry turned to the Trigal hound. She knew the long walk in the woods, coupled with little sleep the night before, had drained a good deal of his strength, leaving him much weaker than normal.
She twisted away from her own attacker and flew at the one thrusting his sword at her friend’s chest. She sunk her teeth into his raised sword arm with all the power her jaws held. He yelped in surprise and pain.
From behind, an Elitet seized her hair, jerking her around. She twisted in his grasp and kicking with her leg, connecting with his groin. Adrenaline pumped through her as never before. He fell backward into a spike-leafed bush, but managed to keep his hold on her hair, pulling her down with him. Using her elbow, she jammed the bony point into his ribcage. This time, the man’s grip slackened and she wrenched free, leaving a thick clump of red strands intertwined through his fingers.
Varnack fought beside her. Fresh blood oozed from his paw, but the Elitet received slash wounds of his own. He jabbed at Varnack, the tip of his sword disappearing into the animal’s side. With her right shoulder lowered, Jessica ran at the attacker and smashed into his back. The blow knocked him off center.
Before she could catch her breath, her adversary bolted back. He grabbed her by the neck in a crushing grip, then brought his fist down into her face. The blow made her head reel and her legs buckled under her. Darkness tried to close in, but she fought it, wanting to stay conscious. Her arms were wrenched behind her body so forcefully she thought the bones were going to break. The Elitet threw her to the ground and smashed her face into the dirt. His knee ground into her back, forcing the breath out of her lungs. She gasped for oxygen.
All at once, the weight on her back was gone and her arms were free. Two men dressed in blue and silver had joined the fight, quickly evening out the odds. An older man fought at Anton’s side while a younger one battled the Elitet who had held Jessica. She immediately recognized him as one of the two Saylon Dorset survivors she had seen in her video game incident at Mark’s house many nights earlier. A black shrouded body lay in a heap beside Varnack, a bloody mass where his throat should have been.
“Varnack!” She crawled to where he had collapsed. His left shoulder was slashed to the bone, as was his right paw, and a hole at his side dripped red where a sword point had penetrated the flesh. Searching for something to stem the crimson tide, she tore the shirt from the fallen attacker.
A man lay at Anton’s feet. Anton’s sword dripped with blood. Beside Anton, the older man leaned on a red-stained sword, his lifeless opponent sprawled beside him. They watched the younger warrior disarm the last attacker, the one who nearly broke Jessica’s arms. Momentarily, her attention shifted to a deep-red sash about the Elitet’s waist, then back to the young man. He raised his sword to finish the enemy off.
“No,” Jessica cried. “Don’t kill him. We may need him.” The young man hesitated. His mouth was drawn down at each corner, his jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck were taught, causing the veins to bulge and pulsate with each heartbeat. His gaze was fixed on the black robed assassin. Quick as lightning, the Elitet pulled a concealed knife and lunged, but faster yet, the older rescuer threw his own dagger with pinpoint accuracy. The Elitet fell dead, his hand still gripping his blade.
The only sound in the forest was the heavy breathing of the three standing men. Jessica turned her attention back to Varnack. She ripped the shirt in her hands into several long strips and bound up his wounds. Anton sank to the ground. He neither uttered a sound nor winced when the elder rescuer dug the arrow from the back of his shoulder. The younger man went from enemy to enemy, checking life signs on each. When he came to the one Jessica had hit with the log he announced, “This one’s still alive.”
“Bind him tightly,” the older man ordered. “Elitet take a suicide vow.”
Having never killed anyone before, Jessica felt relief that the man lived. The thought of taking another life caused a shiver of horror to run the length of her body. She knew how sacred life was. ‘Thou shalt not kill’ was a premier command in all cultures since the dawn of time. However, she now knew, if forced, she could take a life, but not to save herself. No, never for something as selfish as that. She thought of Varnack, Uncle Anton, and the innocent villagers of Vergan Hoffle, the children. For them she could do the unthinkable. To save them, she could kill in the heat of battle. She shuddered and put the thought to the back of her mind.
Turning her doctoring attentions to Anton, she held her hand to his wounded back. The hole left from the arrow was the size of a quarter, and blood continued to drain from it, but no air whizzed out. “Man, you must live right. Your lung’s not punctu
red.” She rinsed the wound with water from her flask, then folded a large piece of black cloth and placed it firmly over the opening. She secured it with a second bandage wound around his shoulder and back.
The two men in blue moved the bodies of the four dead Elitet through the trees beyond Jessica’s sight. When they returned, she addressed the older man, “Are you wounded?” She scanned him for signs of blood.
“No, I am unhurt, Protectoress.”
Too concerned with his wellbeing, Jessica barely noticed his use of the title. She crossed to the younger man. Blood stained his upper arm. “Sit down,” she commanded, ripping his sleeve away. She cleansed the slash mark with water, and using the last of her black cloth, bound his arm. “Any place else?”
“No, My Lady.” He stared at her. Under his gaze, she became mindful of her own appearance. Touching her hand to her face, she felt it moist and sticky. Bringing the hand down, she was shocked at the sight of her own bright red blood. It took a moment to realize her lip was bleeding.
“I’m surprised my nose isn’t broken as well,” she mumbled and searched the ground for something to wipe her face. The elder warrior tore a piece of shirt from the bound Elitet, then brought the cloth to Jessica. He fell to one knee before her and when the younger man joined him they simultaneously touched their left fists to their foreheads and then left breasts.
Taken aback by the soldiers’ actions and the realization of who Reese was, Jessica was uncertain how to react. She looked to Anton, hoping for some guidance. He formally addressed her. “Protector Jessica, may I introduce General Ophir, commander of the Esparian Security Academy at Ider Hoffle ‘n his companion, Lieutenant Reese, grandson of General Gammet, commander of the forces at Saylon Dorsett.”
Realizing something needed to be said, she stammered, unsure of what words to say, “Thank-you,” was the best she could come up with. But then quickly added, “I think we would have been lost without you.”
The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1) Page 15