In a panic, Preta’s eyes widen. “No, no, no…”
Yaz screams and reaches back and touches Nala’s leg.
Another arrow zips past them and sticks into the cart’s wooden side.
With fury in his eyes, Yaz whirls around and tracks his mark. He raises his bow and releases arrow after arrow.
The cart turns west on the main road, and Deet grips Yaz’s arm. “Stop, don’t shoot all the arrows. We need to save some.”
Preta nudges Nala’s arm. “Nala? Nala? Nala?” Tears flow down Preta’s cheeks. She gazes up at Yaz. “Yaz, Nala.”
Yaz’s limp arms and hands drop his bow. In shock, his body rocks back and forth with his hands on the back of his head. With a blank face, unable to rationalize what’s happening, he stares at Preta. Tears form. He screams in fury and pain at the sky, his body shaking. Yaz, quivering, lowers his head and collapses on top of his older sister, weeping and burying his head deep into Nala’s chest and holding her in a tight embrace. “Nala…”
STRENGTH TO MOVE ON
Deet nudges Yaz’s shoulder. “I need you, get your eyes up front.”
“But Nala,” Yaz says. “Deet—Nala.”
Deet cracks the reins. “I know, but there may be more coming.”
Yaz pushes off Nala and hides his face in his palms. He lowers his head to his knees and his body shakes uncontrollably.
“Eyes up, Yaz, eyes up,” Deet says.
Agna pulls Preta off Nala’s legs. “Don’t look.” She places a sheet over Nala then hugs Preta.
“She’s not gone,” Yaz says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s not gone, she can’t be gone. She’s not gone.”
Deet cracks the reins again, and Berta skips, picking up her hooves.
Preta pushes away from Agna and buries her face in her hands which quickly fill up with tears. She inhales the pooled water, making her snort. Her head twitches away from her palms. “I just—what have I done? This is all my fault.”
Agna rests her hand on Preta’s back, trying to comfort her. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is my fault. If I wasn’t late that night or didn’t go to the forest, the light—”
“It was beyond your control,” Agna says, pulling Preta in tighter.
Preta snorts. “I just want it the way it was. How can we go on?”
Yaz gently rests his hand on Nala’s covered body. “Grandpa, Lurrus, and now Nala, you damned well are going on. And we’re gonna get them all, I promise you.”
“It’s hard,” Agna says, “I know, believe me.”
“Yaz, get up here with me,” Deet says.
Yaz wipes the tears off his face and looks straight ahead. “Where are we going?”
Agna leans into the front seat. “We can’t stay on the main roads, they’ll catch us.”
“We need to get to the split,” Deet says, “and make them choose between the three paths. Separating them is the best shot we have and it will better our odds.”
Yaz grabs his bow. “And then what do we do?”
“Then we ditch the cart and go on foot, and we make for the Rivers through the Yelton.”
“The Rivers?” Agna says. “When I said off the road I didn’t mean we travel through the most dense and dangerous forest on the island. Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
Deet nods going over the scenarios in his mind. “They’ll be hard-pressed to follow us into the Yelton. And if we get through we may even gain a day, even on foot.”
Agna grips the bench. “Yes, but—”
“But nothing. We’ll pass through the Yelton Forest and then make our way on to Bielston, then on to Iinia. We seem to have an endless amount of professional killers on our trail, so we’ll take our chances with the Rivers, and that’s final.”
Yaz slams his bow against the wooden bench. “I want them dead.”
“Me too, Brother. We’ll get our revenge someday, but right now we need to regroup and get your sister safe.”
“How long to the split?” Preta says.
“At this speed, maybe an hour. Though Berta can’t keep this pace up for much longer.”
“How far behind us do you think they are?”
“I don’t know, they were at the cottage, so I imagine someone’s tracking us right now. Considering his resources, Lomasie and the others are probably not far behind.”
“What about Nala?” Yaz says. “We can’t leave her alone.”
“Let’s just get to the split and get into the Yelton before we worry about Nala. Preta, keep your eyes open for any bad guys sneaking up behind us.”
Preta rustles through the weapons and grabs a bow. Focus and anger replace Preta’s sadness and guilt. Her sweaty hands grasp the coarse shaft. “Bring them on, they killed Nala and Grandpa and Lurrus.” Preta squints to see farther.
Shadows from the trees mark the winding road as the cart zips along.
In the distance, she makes out a small blur.
A single rider approaches as the road curves. Then it disappears.
“Deet, I think I saw one on the last stretch. At least eight to nine hundred paces back.”
Deet yanks the reins and the cart comes to an abrupt halt and veers to the left and off the road. “Agna, take the reins and move the cart up the road around the bend and hide it in the underbrush.”
Agna nods and crawls into the front seat.
Deet hops off the cart and looks at Yaz. “Brother, you want blood?”
Yaz follows Deet to the ground and lands on his good leg. “My bow, Sis, and grab yours too.”
Deet points to the other side of the road. “Yaz, take up position in the trees and I’ll take position on this side. Preta, go with Yaz.”
Yaz hobbles to the tree line with Preta’s help. “This is far enough,” Yaz says, turning around and surveying the area and the avenues of approach. “This will do.” He points at a large pine tree. “Preta, stand ten paces beyond the tree and watch for them coming.”
Deet, in position behind a dense pricker bush, signals to Yaz by waving his hand.
Agna and the cart disappear.
Yaz slowly nods to Preta, trying to calm her. “Aim center mass, Sis, center mass.”
They both ready arrows.
Preta doesn’t blink; her every breath amplified.
A man wearing a black suit with a grey armband rounds the bend, riding his horse.
Preta raises her bow, draws, and releases.
Arrows fly toward the rider.
The praetor jerks back on the reins, realizing his error.
The horse rises onto its back legs, its front hooves run in the air.
Two arrows strike center mass at the same time, and the praetor flies off the horse’s back.
Yaz places his hand on Preta’s shoulder while pointing in front of her. “Walk along the brush until the road straightens and tell us if you see any more scum coming.”
Preta scampers with purpose through the trees and vines.
Blood stains the sandy-brown dirt as the praetor lies dead on the ground.
Deet is out in the open pulling the praetor’s horse into the trees. He ties it to a branch and runs back to the man. He drags the praetor by his black boots, the dead man’s scull bounces and scrapes on the dirt and gravel until he’s off the road.
Preta gets to the bend, and sees nothing, no sign of movement. She waves to Deet. “Clear!”
Yaz hops toward Deet but nods at Preta. “Stay there and keep on the lookout.”
Deet mounts the horse and rides down the road toward Agna. A couple minutes later he’s back and hops off the horse. “Preta, come here.”
Preta leaves her spot and sprints to her brothers.
A minute later, Agna rounds the bend with the cart.
Deet rifles through the praetor’s black uniform and fishes out a thin silver card, the size of a playing card, and on the center, a golden owl and lightning bolt are embossed on the metal. Deet holds the card up to the sun and light reflects off the shiny surface.
Preta’s curious eyes narrow as she reads the words underneath the symbols. Acue—Level 7—diplomatic immunity throughout Iinia and allied states.
Deet scowls and glances up at Preta. “Get in with Agna and don’t look back.”
Preta climbs into the cart and looks back.
Deet and Yaz strip the man naked down to his underwear and place him with arms and legs spread wide in the center of the road.
Yaz grimaces and carves a word in the dead man’s bare chest.
Yaz eyes Preta, silent, dead inside.
Preta turns away, her eyes find Agna’s, unsure of what to feel or say.
Agna gently rests her hand on Preta’s leg and squeezes.
Preta rests her hand on Nala’s head, stroking her sister’s soft hair.
“Let’s go, I’ll drive,” Yaz says, pushing Agna to the side with his bloody hands.
The surroundings darken as the cart weaves through the dense forests and hills.
Deet catches up to them riding on the praetor’s horse. “Go ahead and wait for me at the split. I’ll keep them far enough off you if they follow. After thirty minutes, if I’m not there, you know the plan, Yaz.”
“Got it, Brother, be safe,” Yaz says.
And they stare at each other for a few more seconds, having a conversation without saying another word.
Deet’s horse skids to a halt, pivots, and gallops off in the opposite direction.
Preta sighs as she watches her brother ride away and out of sight.
THE YELTON
“We’re here,” Yaz says, bringing the cart to a stop.
Preta gazes ahead at a three-way split in the road.
Yaz points. “To the left, west and south to Fickton and Nivton. The middle, the most direct road to Bielston through the mountains and the safest passage around the Rivers. To the right, the road to the northeast coast, to Kirkton—our road.”
“We don’t go to Bielston?” Preta says.
“No, we go to the right, to Kirkton. After about an hour, we’ll ditch the cart and head into the Yelton, then on to the Rivers. If all goes well, it may cut a day off our journey because we bypass the mountains and the Long Road.”
Preta looks at Agna. “Why don’t you think we may not make it through this forest?”
Agna pats Preta’s thigh. “Many dangerous creatures and bandits inhabit this part of the island, not to mention the terrain is thick and unforgiving.”
“Why don’t we just go to Kirkton and sail to Iinia from there?”
Yaz shakes his head. “Because we have less of a chance to find a ship. Ships to Iinia come in and out of Bielston almost every day. But Kirkton? Maybe one or two a month. It’s too much of a gamble.”
“So they’ll know we go to Bielston.” Preta says.
“They don’t know our plan, so we have the advantage. There are only so many places we can run and hide on this island, and I guarantee they’ll send a team down each road, but they won’t follow us into the Yelton. Bielston is a big city, and once we get there we can blend in amongst the people. But the key is we get there. On the Long Road through the mountains there are to many spots for ambush.”
“Then what about Lomasie? Where do you think he’ll go?”
Yaz shrugs. “Don’t know, probably Bielston to wait for word. It’s what I’d do.”
“Have you or your brother ever been to the Yelton or the Rivers?” Agna says. “I’m not sure you realize what you’re getting your sister into, the dangers in this forest and on those waterways is real and can’t be taken lightly just to make up a day.”
Yaz looks up to the sky as a geese flock squawks and flies overhead. “When we were kids, our father brought us to the edge of the Yelton for a hunt, though it was many years ago. But either way, the Yelton and the Rivers is our path now, so get used to the idea.”
Preta sighs and turns around, looking down the road they just traveled. “Where’s Deet?”
Yaz puckers his lips. “He’s late, and we need to go.”
“Hey, why did you cut the praetor and leave him in the road?”
Yaz’s lips quiver. “It was a message, that if they follow us there will be gruesome consequences, and that we’re capable of anything.”
Preta nods. “I hope Deet is okay. Yaz, we can’t leave him, we’ve already lost too many today.”
“We’re not leaving him, Sis. He knows where to meet us next. It’s time we go.”
After an hour traveling on the Kirkton Road, Yaz halts Berta and maneuvers the cart off to the side. He hops off and strokes the horse’s neck. “Good girl, Berta, you did real good today. Preta, pack the essentials; weapons, food, water, and cloth. I’ll rig Berta to carry Sister.”
Preta and Agna pack and place their things on the road.
Yaz points to a slight crease in the thick evergreens. “Pile everything by the path.”
Preta squints and can barely see the signs of an overgrown trail.
Yaz unstraps Berta and leads her behind the cart. He wraps Nala with the sheet and ties her with twine. Yaz grabs his leg as he grimaces, picking up Nala. “Agna, help me. I don’t want to drop Sister.”
Agna shuffles over and helps Yaz lift Nala, placing her on top of Berta.
The horse flinches, not used to the weight on its back.
Yaz strokes the side of Berta’s neck while he whispers into her ear. He straps Nala to the horse with the reins.
“Both of you, help me with the cart. We need to hide it in the brush. Preta, you push. Agna, help me pull.”
Preta gets in place.
“Push, Preta, push—pull, pull, pull,” Yaz says, straining and clinching his teeth in agony.
Preta grunts and digs her feet deep into the soft sand and pine needles and pushes. Her feet creep forward one inch at a time. After a couple minutes of exertion, her legs burn and wobble.
Yaz steps away from the cart, out of breath and hobbling. “Enough, that’s far enough, here’s good.” He chops small branches with a hatchet. “Both of you, cover the cart with whatever you can find, and hurry.”
Preta scrambles around the forest’s edge, picking up loose debris. She strategically places it over the cart, blending the cart in with the surroundings.
“That will do,” Yaz says, “we’ve already wasted enough time here. Let’s get back to our gear and go.”
“So we’re not waiting for Deet?” Preta says.
“He knows where to meet us, we need to move, now.”
Agna places her hand on Preta’s back. “Listen to your brother.”
At the other side of the road, Preta eyes the camouflaged cart, only the cart’s wooden posts, which she painted white many years ago, are still visible.
They make their way onto the overgrown path, Yaz in front, Preta in the middle, and Agna in back guiding Berta.
“Agna, keep a lookout behind us,” Yaz says.
Preta follows Yaz, who is leaning on a long stick on the same side as his bad leg.
“You came here with father?” Preta says, trying to imagine her father’s face, which is all but a faded memory and she can barely recall the slightest detail.
“Yeah, when you were five or six. This is the edge of a hunting reserve before it transitions to the Yelton. We traveled this same path to our hunting camp. We have a couple hours to go until our rendezvous point with Deet.”
Preta struggles along, her legs tired, and her feet catch on vines crossing the path. She rips her legs through the vegetation, each step an excruciating struggle. After an hour, Preta’s stomach grumbles, reminding her she’s human.
The sun is setting, and a light drizzle descends from the yellowish-lavender sky.
The path opens to a clearing and Yaz stops. “Here we are. You two, put your stuff over by that big pine tree underneath the branch, it should keep it dry. Agna, tether Berta on the other side of the clearing.”
Preta strips off her gear, and she crouches down to sit.
“Not now,” Yaz says to Preta, “no t
ime for rest. Collect firewood, a lot of firewood.”
The drizzle stops, and Preta forges deeper into the woods and collect sticks. Scattered about the area, rusty tin cans, soiled mushy paper, and other discarded items from many years of camp use.
Arms full of small logs and sticks, Preta makes her way back to the clearing.
Yaz is hunched over placing rocks in a neat circle around a shallow pit. He stands up and groans from the leg pain. “Bring the wood here, Preta, and start a fire while I put together a shelter.”
Preta drops the sticks and logs, and she scrapes together twigs and pine needles, making a loose bundle of kindling in the fire pit’s center. She stuffs a small oily cloth ball the size of an acorn under the twigs. Preta strikes the flint with the knife over the bundle, and sparks fly off, igniting the oily acorn, and Preta drops more kindling on top of the flame. The twigs glow orange and white and shrivel with faint black smoke rising from the pile. On her knees, she balances small sticks on the flame one at a time in a pyramid configuration. She leans into the flame and gently blows at the base. The flames grow larger, and she places more branches on top.
The wet branches crack and pop from the heat. Thick yellowish-white smoke fills the clearing. She inhales the dank, mossy pine, coughs, and blows back onto the flames, breathing the fire to life.
A few feet from the pit, Yaz places large sticks over a low hanging branch, creating a lean-to with the open end toward the fire. He sits with another groan and gingerly shifts his bad leg. “Now it’s time to eat and rest.”
Preta removes bread and meat from a basket and passes it to Yaz and Agna.
In the dark, they gaze at the fire in silence.
Preta raises bread and meat to her mouth while her eyes focus on the glowing embers and dancing flames. She eyes Yaz, who is doing the same, in his own conversation with hell.
Preta’s gaze falls onto Agna, her blank face appears to have no emotion as she stares through Preta.
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 16