by Dave Skinner
“Shawn’s death is not on your head. It lessens his memory for you to say so. Shawn, Nefty, and Afra were trueones. They knew what was expected of them. Following you blindly was not on the list.”
“Forgive me, Mara. You are right. I hid a seed inside me, and it has grown to a weed. Will you tell me where I am? Who saved me?” He collapsed back to the bed.
“We are with Gaylan’s and Rese’s caravan, six wagons strong. You owe them for your life. Well, it was Tom and I who found you in a back alley in Barterville. Four men were kicking you to death. We got you away, but it was Gaylan and Rese who gave you protection. We have travelled for half a moon up the Bonanza River road from Barterville. You have time to recover some strength before we have to leave the caravan.”
“Leave? You have a different destination to the others?”
“Yes, further on we leave the others to head inland, away from the river. Wagons have gone missing in the wild country. Tom and I, and now you I suppose, are to look for the reason. You are our responsibility until you are well enough to be on your own.”
“And I appreciate it, believe me.”
“Are you strong enough to sit-up?” Mara asked.
“I hope so.”
Working slowly, he pulled his body to a seated position beside the raised tailgate of the wagon. She wiped the sweat from his brow and found a place to sit on the opposite side of the wagon bed. Over the next moon they spent most of their time there. Inside at first, but fresh air, plenty of good food, and the potions Rese forced into him, saw them tailgating outside sooner than many had believed possible.
A Traveller’s caravan is a living thing. Men and women moved in, out, and about the wagons. Tailgates remained open and are the locations where living occurs. People walked, sat, visited and moved on. Ran sat at first, but eventually he was walking more and more each day, which was important because before the moon finished waning, Tom, Mara and Ran were on their own, travelling the narrow forest roads that spoke of frontier.
Now, no longer in the company of the other Travellers, they shared all the tasks of wagon life among them. Ran was almost ready for it. The second morning a wheel had slipped into a hole. They had to manhandle the wagon to get it moving again. Ran slept early that night, but slowly he got stronger. By new moon he was doing an equal share, which was good, but it also meant he still had a long way to go; he had been capable of more than his share before he became a drunkard.
“I will hunt,” Tom announced as the sun started sliding down the sky. “You should reach a river crossing with a good campsite towards the end of the day. I will meet you there.”
“Be safe,” Mara called as he disappeared into the woods.
“He seems like a good man, Mara.”
“He is, but I am surprised to hear you say it. You ignored him at home in the village. Did you dislike him?”
“No. I ... he ... his name makes me laugh, and whenever I talk to him I think about it and end up smiling and laughing for no reason. I act like a fool.”
Her brow furrowed. “Tom is not a funny name.”
“But T’Tom is. His formal name makes me laugh—sorry, it just does. It sounds as if his name is being spit out. His parents should have considered that.”
The wagon arrived at the campsite in the late afternoon. Tom failed to show. They took turns watching for him through the night.
Mara touched Ran’s shoulder to awaken him the next morning. “I will look for Tom,” she announced.
“No, I will go. You stay with the wagon. If he is hurt when he arrives, he will need your skills.”
“Then you should be on your way. I am worried.”
He pulled on clothes, boots, and took up his weapons. “I will stay on the port side of the road for the trip out and use the starboard side to return.”
“Is port left or right?”
“Sorry, the last years were spent on water. Port is left.”
“How far will you go?”
“As far as where he left to hunt yesterday. I will be back before dusk. If he is still missing, we will go further afield tomorrow, but that we shall do together. Stay alert.”
He entered the trees. She listened, hearing two, then three sounds that should not have been heard. He is still not what he was before.
***
Ran’s body was soaked with sweat when he returned to the camp that evening. He was exhausted and looking forward to a warm meal and a drink. A drink. He turned his mind away from that thought. To dwell there was trouble, the first step in a downward spiral from which escape might not be possible. He always had a large capacity for alcohol, but it had been controllable. Now… now his body and his mind cried for it.
How he had gotten to this point he could barely remember. There were hazy memories from what seemed like years ago. He remembered standing on the wharf where the Red Witch had been docked and realizing Manda was gone, leaving his possessions flung across the dock. He remembered turning to fighting for prize money. He remembered being approached by the two fight promoters, Snark and Crane, and the countless fights that followed. Memories got hazy after that. He always celebrated the wins, and they were all wins until he became bored. Then he celebrated the losses. Then reasons for celebrations were no longer required. Snark and Crane had left him, or maybe the partnership ended differently. He had a vague memory of an argument over money and a fight. He might have killed them. The memories after that were few, and what he remembered was bad, a time better forgotten.
Ran stopped in the trees at the edge of the campsite. Something was wrong. The wagon was gone. He crouched in the brush and waited. The campsite was deserted; uneasiness crawled up his back and tensed the muscles it found there. After some time, he crept off to his right trying, despite his exhaustion, to move silently. Working his way around the campsite took until dusk. He had found no one waiting in ambush, but tracks spoke of where several watchers had stood for a time before entering the clearing, the trail they had made when they left was beside the wagon tracks. Mara’s footsteps were not among them.
In the last light of day, he entered the camp. He recovered a ground sheet and blanket from beside the cold fire, as well as some cut vegetables. Mara must have been sitting there to prepare a meal. The tracks around the fire pit told him she had left with the strangers. The items left behind suggested it was not voluntary.
Ran spent the night beneath a large cedar tree at the edge of the clearing. It offered an unobstructed view of the campsite while hiding him from detection. Stretched out on his blanket, he drank water and made a cold meal. As he ate, he considered possibilities.
Mara might leave with strangers if they brought news of Tom and he needed her help, but why had they stood hidden, watching the camp. Why had he not seen her footprints moving from the blanket to the wagon? Travellers were welcomed wherever they went. He had never heard of a caravan or an individual wagon being attacked or bothered. The entertainment, crafts, and skills offered by Travellers were highly valued, especially in rural areas like this. He had been out of touch with his fellow Tawshe for some time now, more than a year he was certain, although the exact amount of time was lost in his failed memories, but he was sure that Mara would have said something if attitudes towards Travellers had changed so significantly. She had not. Neither had Tom, but they had left the main caravan and headed up this trail alone. He cursed himself for not asking for more information about the missing wagons. Travellers were gatherers of information. If there were rumours of something strange happening up this way, there was a good chance that they had come to investigate. He cursed again, angry for not asking, mad at Mara and Tom for not volunteering more, but mostly sore at whoever had taken Mara away.
His exhaustion won out over his anger, smothering it enough to allow him to sleep, although fitfully. When morning arrived, his body had recovered from the prior day’s exhaustion. In the predawn light he circumnavigated the campsite again. Finding no additional evidence of watchers, except for the spot wher
e a large cat had paused for a time during the night, he returned to the tree. Ran made his possessions ready for travel, secured his weapons about his person, and set out to find Mara and Tom.
Chapter 4
Mara heard a commotion and laughter from behind the wagon. The wagon stopped, as she raised her head to look over the tailgate. One of her captors, the youngest one if her guess was correct, had tripped and fallen. The other two were laughing at him. Scar face, who seemed to be the leader, walked back from his position at the front of the wagon. The laughter stopped.
“Can you not walk, brother?”
“I tripped.”
“He was dreaming about the girl instead of watching the path,” one of the others said.
“I like her hair,” the young one said as he climbed back to his feet. “Never saw hair the colour of sunshine before.”
The leader reached out a hand and helped the young one to his feet and then knocked him down again with a resounding slap. “Bide your time, Blair. It will come soon enough.” His glare took in all three. “Keep your minds on business.” He turned and walked away. The reins snapped, and the wagon jerked forward.
The six men had come upon her quietly. Her first sign she was not alone was the odor. They had good woodcraft, but their hygiene offended. She had never heard of Travellers being accosted before, so she was unprepared when they answered her greeting with a stunning blow to her head. When awareness returned, she was in the back of the wagon, bound hand and foot, the rawhide strips that secured her hands so tight that both were swollen and tingling. Sinking back below the tailgate she continued trying to tease the knots loose with her teeth while she berated herself for being an idiot. She should have expected trouble, especially after Tom went missing, but at least Ran would come.
Afternoon shadows had lengthened when the wagon stopped again. The tailgate was released, and she was pulled out. Rough hands grabbed and twisted her face about. A heavy man with long scraggly hair and beard examined her. “Isn’t you a beauty?” he said before pulling a knife and cutting her hands and feet free.
“Thank you,” she said.
With a hand on her shoulder he slapped her across the mouth. “No talking.” He turned her about, felt her arms, legs, and breasts. “Throw her in with the others,” he ordered.
She was half dragged, half carried to the door of a small log structure located off to the right. The door was opened, and she was pushed inside. The first thing she noticed was the odor of unwashed bodies, then from one side, the stench of an overfull waste bucket. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, the bodies of men and women sprawled around the base of the walls became evident. All looked gaunt, except for one who she recognized as Tom because of his clothes. His face was so badly beaten that she would never have guessed it was him. Another look around told her that all suffered from physical abuse.
She went to Tom’s side and knelt on the dirt floor. He smiled at her, showing broken teeth. One eye was swollen shut, and his lips were so split and swollen that she could hardly understand when he spoke.
“Ran?” was all he said.
“Free,” she whispered.
“Good, then the Mother has not deserted us completely.”
***
The sun was well past its apex when the sounds found Ran’s ears. He moved carefully through the trees until he could see their cause. At first glance he thought he had happened onto a farmer clearing his land, but the first whip slash across a worker’s back cleared up his mistake, then he recognized Mara’s blond hair. The details clarified after that: four men carrying whips, two others closer to the trees carrying bows, ten prisoners, six men and four women. The men were struggling to remove a large stump. One woman stood by, holding the reins of the horse being used to aid the effort. The other three were further away in the centre of a plowed field, on their hands and knees, tending crops by pulling weeds. All the prisoners looked abused. While he watched two were whipped for not pushing hard enough. When a prisoner had to use an axe, one guard took up a crossbow and kept it aimed at the axe wielder.
Ran worked his way around the clearing, but just before he reached the bowmen, the prisoners succeeded in removing the stump. The guards wasted no time getting the group moving down the length of the field, unfortunately away from Ran’s position. He followed as quickly as possible, but by the time he reached the farm the last of the prisoners was being pushed into a small log building. Before the door was closed, a big, pot-bellied, hairy man came out of a larger log house. He yelled something to the guards. The one by the prison door said something to the prisoners. Shortly, Mara appeared. She was dragged out and pushed towards the main house. A bar was dropped across the prison’s door.
Ran had seen seven men so far. Too many for him to kill in an open fight considering his present condition, and he had no way of knowing if there were more. Tonight he would reconnoitre. Tomorrow he would kill.
He watched the house until the lights went out. No guards were set. No food was delivered to the prisoners, and Mara did not return. In the deep of night, Ran crept around both buildings and through the barn. He found three Traveller’s wagons. Mara’s and Tom’s was still in the barn, most of its contents had been removed. The other two were broken husks left to rot behind the buildings. He found a root cellar with an abundance of supplies, including some he recognized from their wagon. The main house had only the one door as did the prisoner’s shed. Ran used his knife to dig out some chinking at the back of the shed. A short whispered conversation with the prisoners assured him that the wagon would be needed to get all of them away. Freeing them now with Mara still in the main house would be pointless.
The following morning, Ran watched as the prisoners were fed from a large kettle that Mara carried to them. The food was dished out onto their hands. Eight men stood around the front of the main house and watched the prisoners eat. The food was gone in a short time. Ran, hidden in the barn, was close enough to hear one of the men order Mara to take the kettle back, but not close enough to hear the comment another one said to her as she neared the door. That one was laughing when the kettle struck his head. Four were on her immediately while two drew swords and threatened the other prisoners. She tried to fight, even managed a few blows, before she was knocked down. They beat her then. Pulling her up by her hair, knocking her back down, over and over, until they were kicking her where she lay. Finally the older man told them to stop. He had them lift her up. She still had enough life left in her to scream when he shoved his knife into her. As he stepped away, Ran’s arrow entered his throat.
Ran shot two more before they made it to the house. The four inside were yelling at the one Mara had downed with the kettle, telling him to move. Ran shot him in the back as he stumbled to his feet. His screams added to those coming from the other two.
The prisoners were helping each other to scramble to the side of the house. Ran recognized Tom as he came up to them.
“Can you shoot, Tom?”
“Yes,” Tom replied. The surprise at seeing Ran and the anguish of watching Mara stabbed held tightly on his face.
Ran handed him the bow. “There is only the one door and no opening on the sides or back. Shoot anyone who tries to leave. Let the wounded continue to scream.”
Ran walked over to the side of the house and lit the wooden pail full of straw he had placed there. When it was burning well, he flung it up to the thatched roof. The thatch was dry, so it caught easily. He had found only two wooden pails during his prowling the night before, but by the time he had used both, the roof was burning well. He moved around the house and took up a position beside the front door.
The men attempted their escape just before the roof collapsed. All four carried swords. They died. Tom killed one, Ran the others. Even in his diminished condition, Ran was still an efficient killer.
With Tom’s help they threw the dead and wounded into the burning cabin. Their screams sounded for a sort time.
For Mara they built a separ
ate funeral pyre.
***
The next morning Ran watched as the wagon full of supplies and Travellers disappeared down the cart track.
“Are you not coming with us, Ran?” Tom had asked.
“No, my direction is north. The south holds nothing for me. I have heard tell of a high road to the top of the world.”
“That sounds like a lonely trip.”
“Yes,” Ran had answered.
Now he shouldered the pack containing his supplies. The top of the world was as good a destination as any. Being alone and travelling was all he wanted. It had been pleasant to have Tom and Mara for company, but companions were not a responsibility he wanted anymore. People died when he was around. It was better to be alone. He stopped beside the remains of Mara’s funeral pyre.
“Mother,” he said to the wind, “if you listen, understand that here is one of the Tawshe. Receive her back into your being. Mara, our people will know of your death and deeds.” After another moment he turned towards the north. Somewhere to his left lay the Bonanza River while ahead was North Lake. Eventually he would need to cross one, if not both, but for now he would think of nothing. He would bury the turmoil he felt over the death of his squad mates, bury his uncertainty about life, and leave it all behind. His attempt to drown his doubt in drink and drugs had not worked. Maybe being alone was his destiny.
Chapter 5
Tears were streaming down Adel’s face as she ran out of the meeting house. It hurt to hear people say that Grandmother’s abduction was her fault. She had not told that Blackheart person about Grandmother’s special gift. Sure, she had told the other man from the time before, but she had not told anyone since Burton had asked her not to do it. I should run away, she thought, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked out across the harbour and the breakwater to the sea beyond. The thought of travelling across the sea scared her, as did any thoughts of leaving the village, but all morning there had been a feeling sitting in her stomach, urging her to do something different.