Not that I much noticed or cared. There was little difference between the hard floor of the wagon and that of the ground. And in the cage, I didn’t have to have my wrists bound together, so all in all, I found it preferable.
With no cover from the trees, the days turned very hot and very long. From its rising to its setting, the sun shone down on me, and there was no shade in which I could hide from it. My skin reddened and burned.
The folding spell took a lot from Anazian now, and we had to stop twice each day, instead of once as previously, for him to meditate.
The third day from the forest, during one of these stops, I heard the distant sound of hoofbeats. I debated whether I should interrupt Anazian’s meditation or not. He could no longer use the privacy that had been afforded by the trees, but he typically walked quite a way away. That hadn’t bothered me until now, when the approach of horses brought back sharply the memory of what had happened last time we’d been overtaken in a similar situation.
Whether it was a coincidence or he, too, heard them coming, he strode up to the wagon just as the riders came into view. My heart leapt in its first fearful reaction in days when I recognized the purple and scarlet uniforms of the Royal Guard.
They reined in and, much to my surprise, greeted Anazian as if he were a friend. There were three of them, all officers with plumes in their helms. One asked how his mission went, and they all laughed when he made a motion toward me. I flinched from their glances. After all, I’d spent months on the run from them, and having them looking at me now made me feel exposed and vulnerable, as if I were naked.
Anazian offered them food for themselves and grain for their horses—as recompense for his troubles, he’d taken extra supplies from the thieves, so we had some to spare—but they declined, saying they expected to reach their station before nightfall.
“See you in Penwick, you old magician, you,” one of them called after they’d said their goodbyes. Then they spurred their horses into a gallop and were gone even faster than they’d come.
Once they were well beyond hearing, Anazian muttered, “I’m neither old nor a magician, you fool,” and the venom in his voice surprised me.
That evening as I cooked our meal, I remembered my resolve to try to get information out of the mage, a resolve forgotten after the episode with the thieves.
Trying to make it sound like inconsequential chatter, I asked, “So those Royal Guardsmen were friends of yours?”
That roused Anazian from his lethargy a little. “Friends? I hardly think so.”
“Oh.” I waited a bit, then went on. “They seemed to know a lot about your business, so I thought they must be friends.”
He laughed lightly. “If you must know, my ‘business,’ as you call it, had to be made known to the Royal Guard to ensure safe passage on the king’s roads. I would prefer it had been kept secret, but the decision wasn’t mine.”
I let it drop at this point. Although tired, Anazian wasn’t as weak as he’d typically been the first evenings of our journey. Perhaps he was getting used to the routine; perhaps four meditation sessions a day kept him from being too weak to think straight at the end of the day. Whatever the reason, I thought it prudent not to push my luck too far. Besides, with two short questions, I’d received enough answer to give me something to ponder: the Royal Guard knew what was going on.
Or, on further thought, perhaps they didn’t. I could well imagine they’d been told a lie. Still, the fact that they knew who Anazian was didn’t bode well. After all, less than three months ago, he’d been in hiding with the mages. How could he have become so well-known in such a short time? Then I chided myself. He hadn’t suddenly turned traitor overnight. It was something that had probably been in the works for years.
Early the next morning we came to a crossroads. Three large bundles lay in the middle of the junction. Anazian stopped the horses and went to examine the bundles. With a laugh, he dragged one to the side of the road, and now I could discern the shape of a human body. One dressed in purple and scarlet. Twice more he dragged a body aside and, when the roadway was clear, turned back to the wagon.
A bird flew up just then, and Anazian removed a message from a tube tied to its ankle. It came over and perched on one of the bars across the top of my cage while the mage read the message. He stood still for a long time afterward, staring off into the distance.
After awhile, he stirred himself and walked over to the cage. He beckoned me to come closer. I did, and he reached through the bars, grabbed the wood collar, and pulled me toward him, forcing my face to press against the branches.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” he said. “Do not think to mock me. Do you understand?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but assent seemed the wisest course. Unable to nod, I had to speak. “Yes, yes. I understand,” I squeaked.
“Very good.” He pushed me away so hard that my head struck the other side of the cage, making my ears ring.
All day, I pondered this sudden change in his mood. I had done nothing, said nothing out of the ordinary. What had that message contained to make him so angry? From that moment on, he became completely unpredictable.
“I am taking you to join the circus,” Anazian said. I stared at him in disbelief.
It was the day after the incident at the crossroads. He’d let me out of the cage that morning only long enough to relieve myself. Then he’d given me just a single cup of water before we got under way. It was now afternoon, and we were stopped in the roadway about a mile from the first village we’d come across. I felt sick. My muscles ached and my head swam. I could hardly see or think straight.
So when Anazian said something abut the circus, I thought I must be hearing things. When I didn’t react, he reached through the bars of the cage, which gave enough that his upper body came through, too. He grabbed the wood collar and pulled me toward him; had he jerked it any harder, he might have broken my neck. That thought seemed to occur to him, too, and he stood for a moment breathing heavily but not letting go.
When he seemed to have got himself under control, he took a leather strap and tied one end of it to the collar and the other to the upper frame of the cage. My heart sank. With only two feet of lead, I wouldn’t be able to sit, much less lie down.
“Now,” he said, “the story is that you are a wild girl, raised by wolves. You can’t even talk. I’ve captured you and am taking you to Penwick to join the circus. Play your part well, or there shall be ... consequences. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Do you understand?” he repeated through clenched teeth.
“Yes, I understand.” I was never sure anymore when he wanted me to speak and when to stay silent. He’d struck me across the face this morning when I’d answered a question aloud, and my lower lip was split and swollen. Well, at least that would help me look wild.
I got through the next humiliating hour by pretending the whole thing was an elaborate game dreamed up by my brother, the practical jokester. It was actually just the sort of thing he would’ve come up with, and I imagined one day laughing with him over the story. That hopeful thought sustained me.
Since he wouldn’t fold the land as we passed through the populated area, Anazian sat on the wagon and drove it. As we entered the village, people stopped what they were doing and stared. I could well believe that a person in a cage wasn’t a sight they saw every day.
Children gathered round and followed. A large, mean-looking boy threw a stone at me. It hit one of the branches and bounced harmlessly away, but when Anazian ignored him, others picked up stones to throw, too. Some made it through and hit me, one striking me hard in the eye.
I snarled and growled at the children, and not all of it was an act. I yipped when the rocks hit me, which made the children laugh and try even harder. Anazian’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
/>
It took fifteen minutes to get to the village square. By this time, adults had joined the throng.
To my horror, Anazian stopped the wagon at the square. How long did he think I could do this? Why couldn’t he just keep going?
A man stepped out of the small crowd. “Beg pardon, sir, but what’s this about?”
Anazian leapt from the wagon. He dug into one of the crates and pulled out a club, then stepped close to the cage. “Well, good sir, I’m glad you asked.” His voice took on the quality of a circus barker’s. “Come closer, those who dare, and see a sight you’re not likely to see again. This here is Wolf-Girl. Never until three days ago had she seen the sight of a man.” He struck at the bars of the cage with the club. My cue. I played my part, putting my heart and soul into it—a performance that would’ve made Breyard proud.
A few of the braver boys stepped nearer, and I reached out at them, fingers poised to scratch if they came close enough. A few of the women screamed, and one grabbed one of the smaller boys and pulled him back to safety.
Anazian explained to the villagers that he was taking me to the circus, and they nodded in agreement that that was the best thing for a freak like me. He baited me with the club again, and again I responded with a volley of barks, howls, and grunts, straining at my lead until my neck really did hurt.
When the crowd felt they’d been sufficiently entertained to contribute a few copper coins in exchange, Anazian struck the bars one last time, then climbed back into the driver’s seat and clucked the horses into action.
Once we were well clear of the village and the children who’d followed us were left far behind, Anazian stopped the wagon.
“That was well done,” he said as he untied the lead. “You’re going to have a black eye.”
As if I didn’t know. It had swollen shut already and added its pain to everything else. I just wanted to sleep, but that, of course, was denied me as the wagon trundled along.
I lost track of the passing days after that. I did what Anazian told me to do when he told me to do it. I played at being Wolf-Girl. I ate when given food, which was seldom enough. I drank when given water, which was only enough to keep me alive. I answered Anazian silently or aloud as he seemed to wish, and on the occasions he chose to strike me, I reacted with suitable submission.
I began to think my memories of my family and friends, of magic and maejic and red dragons, were all a fevered dream. My only reality became this grey, torturous existence.
One night, Rennirt found me. He had been a lord on Stychs, corrupted by magic power. He stood before me now, dark-skinned and handsome, his green eyes boring into mine. Then the image blurred, and instead of Rennirt, a small man stood before me, a silver blade glittering in his hand as he sliced fine lines into my face. I screamed in agony as blood dripped down. Hadn’t once been enough? Why did I have to relive it again?
I awoke in a panic. My breath came in uneven gasps, and my heart pounded loudly. Something trickled down my neck. Then I remembered that I wasn’t in the black of Rennirt’s underground cell. And the dampness wasn’t blood but only tears.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. By mid-morning, the temperature had soared. I asked Anazian for water, but he didn’t reply. Not knowing whether he’d not heard or was just ignoring me, I didn’t ask again.
All day, I cooked under the hot sun. Sweat poured off my body, and places where skin touched skin began to chafe. My lips cracked and bled, but I couldn’t stop licking them. Mama’s voice no longer whispered to me.
Anazian didn’t make me play Wolf-Girl anymore. I suspect he knew I couldn’t, not even if he beat me. I was vaguely conscious of him getting water down my throat, and I grew curious why he didn’t just let me die, since he seemed so intent upon it. That was in one of the few lucid moments I had in those last days.
Then finally a day came when the mage covered the cage with sheets of cloth. For a short time I came to myself and wondered with bitterness why he’d waited so long to allow me to have shade. But soon it became stifling and hard to breathe. Perhaps the time had come to bury me. That would be good.
My Son~
I have just received your latest missive, and I fear I must caution you against complacence. Much is at stake, and all could be lost if you fail now.
You must resist any sympathy toward the girl. For our plan to succeed, you must be harsh. Harden your heart; be cruel; beat her if you must. It is imperative that she fear you.
I have promised her to you, should she survive her coming ordeal. She will be yours, to wed, or to bed, or to enslave in your kitchen, whatever you choose. I care not, only bring her in accordance with our plan.
My son, I look forward with delight to our impending reunion. All these long years I have missed you. To finally see you again—I count the days.
~Your Father
I woke up feeling groggy but comfortable. I opened my eyes, and it was like being inside a cloud. Everything was white and gleamed with the soft golden glow of sunlight. The air was cool, and a fresh breeze blew through the room.
“Ah, awake at last.” The voice was deep and musical. Not Anazian’s.
Feeling too weak to sit up, I turned my head toward the voice. An old man sat in a chair facing me. His silvery grey hair and incongruously black beard were trimmed short and neat, giving his face a very precise appearance. His green eyes twinkled at me. He wore a black shirt and trousers of fine linen, and he had several jeweled rings on his fingers, plus a gold torc around his neck. He must be very rich indeed.
“Where am I?” My own voice was weak, scarcely more than a whisper.
“Shh. You’re safe now.” He picked up a cup from a small stand and leaned forward. “Drink this, then rest more.” He held the cup to my lips and helped me to drink the cool, delicious water.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and fell back to a dreamless sleep.
When I next woke up, the light had a pink cast to it, though whether that was because it was sunrise or sunset, I couldn’t tell.
The chair next to my bed was empty and pushed back against the wall, but I heard the rustling sounds of someone else in the room. I felt stronger now and sat up, expecting to find the elegant old man, and was surprised to find a woman instead. She was looking out a wide window through which the pink light flowed. I cleared my throat to get her attention, but she didn’t respond.
The room was as beautiful a one as I’d ever seen. The four-poster bed was made of rich, dark wood, and the bedclothes were a crisp, brilliant white. The walls, also white, were decorated sparsely with a few pastel paintings. Even the stones of the fireplace were pale in color. A sturdy table with two pink-upholstered chairs stood beneath the window.
I no longer wore the disgusting, filthy shift that Anazian had made we wear without letting me wash it even once. Now I wore a luxurious sleeveless nightgown whose soft fabric caressed my skin. The pale blue of it contrasted sharply with the deep red of my arms, burned by the long days in the sun. The scrapes and bruises I’d acquired proved that it hadn’t been some lingering nightmare. But now I was clean, and my skin and hair smelled faintly of lemons. My face felt puffy, and my nose hurt to the touch and was peeling, while my lips were dry and cracked.
The woman at the window turned and looked at me just as I reached for the pitcher to pour myself more water. She broke into a smile and rushed over to take care of the task herself.
“Thanks,” I said, giving her a smile that split my upper lip.
Her deeply wrinkled face fell, and without a word she reached into a pocket of her apron and pulled out a small jar. This she opened and after dipping in a fingertip, spread a salve of some kind onto my lips. They stung for a moment. Then I drank the water, and I could practically feel my insides absorbing it.
The old woman went to the door and stepped out, closing it behind her. I poured my
self more water and considered going over to the window to look out, but I decided that getting up was too much effort. For now, I wanted only to relax in this unexpected haven.
The woman came back, and I tried to start a conversation with her. “I’m Donavah,” I said. She smiled and nodded, then went to the wardrobe. “What is this place, can you say?” No answer. Well, the man hadn’t answered that question, either. I tried another. “How long have I been here?” Still nothing.
She came over with a tray that had legs and set it over my lap. “So is it suppertime or breakfast?” She must know the answer to that. But all she did was nod and smile. Then she sat in the chair. At least it wasn’t facing me anymore, so I didn’t have to sit there feeling awkward with her smiling at me and saying nothing.
After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, there was a tap on the door, followed by the man who’d been here before. He carried a tray of food and used a foot to close the door behind him. The woman leapt to her feet and relieved him of the tray, and, setting it on the table, began to move its contents to the tray on my lap.
The man smiled, and I again caught the twinkle in his eyes. “I see you’ve made a friend of Nilla.”
“Nilla? That’s her name? She didn’t say.”
“Oh, dear. Of course you couldn’t have known.” He repositioned the chair so that he could face me and sat down in it. Now he wore a sleeveless purple embroidered tunic over his black shirt and trousers, looking even more elegant than he had before. “Nilla is deaf and mute, so she couldn’t answer your questions.”
“Oh. I see.” My face reddened.
“Well, eat your meal, and then we shall have a bit of a talk.”
There was a thin broth with bits of carrots and potatoes floating in it, plus some thin, crisp wafers of bread that weren’t quite like anything I’d ever seen before. There were also two slices of proper bread along with butter and marmalade, and a bowl of early fruit, sliced and sprinkled with a dusting of sugar. Everything was delicious, but I didn’t feel much like eating, and the man had to coax most of it down me. He made a child’s game of it that had us both laughing by the time I swallowed the last bite.
SummerDanse Page 6