Fellowship Fantastic

by Greenberg, Martin H.

  “Here.” Owen handed him his tunic, leaving himself with only a pair of rough brown breeches. “It’s long enough to cover your—”

  “Thanks.” Finn put on the itchy wool garment, stitched together by the holy sisters for the refugee children. “I’ll give it back later.”

  “Keep it. Sir Luther gave me an extra one with the coat of arms of Saint Mathias on it. I’ll get some breeches for you tonight, but we better not go back to the abbey now. Nagel will catch us for sure.”

  Finn pulled the tunic down. The rough material chafed against his bum and he raised an eyebrow at Owen. “Hey, what were you doing outside the Barber’s shack?”

  Owen grinned. “I figured you’d do something stupid, and we’re supposed to watch out for each other. We’re almost brothers, you know?”

  Finn’s stomach growled. “Brother, I don’t suppose you have any food?”

  The boys laughed and Owen explained, “The holy sisters won’t feed us again until sunset. They wanted to get rid of us while they deloused the dormitory, and they won’t let you in with that hair on your head.”

  “I’m not going back anyway.”

  “You’ve been hiding out for two days!”

  “The farmers feed me and the dogs for killing barn rats.”

  “You can’t stay out there forever.”

  Finn rolled his eyes.

  “Everyone misses you, especially Lynn.”

  A needle of guilt poked into Finn. “Where’d the gang go?”

  “To the river. To find lunch.”

  “Those carp taste like mud.” He thought about stealing some eggs from Widow Tillwell’s coop, but Owen would probably object.

  “The fish taste better than the rats you catch.”

  Finn sighed. “I know a perfect place to find trout. Nagel will never find us and it’s just a little ways up the Little Iden, by the road to Ashkirk.”

  “But Deacon Nethers said not to go near the road. Bandits and such.”

  “Who cares? There’re lots of trout and big crayfish. Aren’t you hungry?”

  Owen nodded, then chuckled. “Just be careful.”

  “Why?” Finn’s brows narrowed.

  “You don’t have any breeches on and that thing looks like bait.” Owen laughed and Finn couldn’t help but smile—then he punched Owen in the arm. Hard.

  Owen ran to get the others, while Finn and the dogs headed for their meeting place at the marshy area outside of town. He snuffled at the swampy air and let the cool mud on the shore soothe his bare feet. His raw backside ached. Just when he was going to sit in the mud Owen and the gang arrived.

  The kids, ranging in age from six to ten, almost all held crude fishing poles as they marched behind Owen. Finn hadn’t seen any of them since he’d been hiding out and was surprised at how excited he was to see them, even though he barely recognized them with their bald heads and newly sewn baggy clothes.

  Trailing behind Owen came Lynn, Hazel, Brek, Gael, Lilly, Baird, Watt, Salty, Rhyssa, and little Tupper. Hazel squinted as she approached. “Finn, what happened to your breeches?”

  Finn wanted to say something witty to the ten-year-old girl, who once had had long beautiful raven tresses—often filled with leaves. But the sight of her stark white scalp with nicks all over it made him bite his lip.

  “They’re still making his clothes.” Owen winked at Finn.

  “Finn!”

  “Hey, Finn!” The youngest orphans, Brek and Tupper, both six, ran over to Finn to show him the tiny frogs they had caught. Tupper held up three miniature amphibians, each with a tadpole’s tail. “See my frogs?”

  “Look!” Brek dug a mass of gray worms and one little frog out of his pocket.

  Finn nodded his approval, then made eye contact with Lynn. Fuzzy nubs of blond hair shone in the sunlight. Finn remembered seeing strands of her hair in Nagel’s fireplace—Bloody Barber! Tear marks streaked through the dirt on her face and Finn decided Nagel would pay for cutting off her beautiful hair. At least she didn’t have many nicks on her freckled scalp. He hugged her close and remembered when he had decided to be Lynn’s big brother, when her own family had disappeared in the flight from the Tarnite soldiers. Plus, Pip and Fyse really liked her. The little dogs ran around her legs yipping. Lynn smiled and Finn took the ten-year-old girl’s hand. “Come on, Lynn. Let’s catch us some fish.”

  Finn guided the children toward the Little Iden and the fishing place, a bend in the river where the current slowed and flies swarmed. The kids put their poles into the green water and Finn wondered how many fish they would catch. Soon, half of the kids took off their barely stained clothes, and jumped into the warm water. The kids splashed and dunked each other, screaming with glee as they all frolicked in the shallows.

  “You’re going to scare the fish away!” Owen shouted, his child’s voice becoming deeper for a moment.

  Finn’s nostrils flared. “Nagel will hear us back in Ryeland if they keep this up. And the road to Ashkirk isn’t that far either.”

  The games and shouting persisted off and on and Finn kept an eye out for Nagel. After midday Pip and Fyse barked at something in the forest, but Nagel didn’t appear. Finn guessed it must have been a squirrel or maybe one of the barn cats that despised him and his dogs.

  Late in the afternoon, hungry bellies forced the gang of Tarnite children to man their poles in earnest. But still, no fish were caught.

  “Look what I found!” Lynn’s high voice made everyone turn away from the river.

  The little girl clutched a big clay honey pot against her body. She could barely lift it, and leaned backward as she waddled forward.

  “What’s in the pot?” Tupper asked, bounding over to her as Pip and Fyse pranced at her feet, wagging their little tails.

  “Honey.” Lynn licked her lips and plopped down the pot.

  Owen put his hands on his hips. “Where’d you steal it?”

  “I didn’t steal it!” Lynn’s face flashed with indignation. “I found it right over there on the path.”

  “Some farmer must have forgot it.” Finn swished away the flies. “Let’s eat it!”

  The kids squealed with delight and swarmed around the little girl, dipping their hands into the pot and licking the sticky honey off their fingers. Owen stepped in and made certain the younger ones got their share. Everyone was soon swallowing the sweet, syrupy nectar and joking about sticky fingers.

  “How’d we get so lucky?” Hazel asked.

  “Who knows?” Finn shrugged, letting Pip and Fyse lick his hands as he yawned. “I need a nap.” Finn almost forgot about his tender backside and closed his eyes. Moments later, all of the orphans lay down along the riverbank and fell asleep.

  Finn felt himself flying, then he slammed into something hard and wet. River water went up his nose as the ground shifted. He realized he was in the bottom of a leaky boat as two pointy sacks landed on him—then whimpered. Finn could barely open his eyes, but realized the sacks were sleeping children: Lynn and possibly Tupper. Owen lay beside them, apparently asleep, along with others in the boat, probably the rest of his friends.

  Pip and Fyse barked savagely from somewhere close by, and Finn tried to lift his head when a brown boot caked with river mud stepped beside his head. An older man with a shaggy gray beard snatched up a crossbow and loosed a quarrel.

  A dog’s shrill yelp made Finn shudder. “No!” Finn’s shout came out as a whimper. The barking stopped. Finn tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t move. “Pip! Fyse!” Finn could only mumble as the sweet flavor in his mouth turned bitter. Oars splashed into the water and he fell asleep as lethargy overwhelmed him.

  Finn awoke as his body crashed onto a bouncing wooden floor. The sound of horses’ hooves clopping on the ground and squeaking wagon wheels made him realize he was no longer in the boat. His hands were tied in front of him and his feet bound tightly together with twine. Owen and the other orphans lay in the wagon, similarly bound.

  A vague memory of barking surfaced in his
mind. “Pip! Fyse!”

  “Shut your mouth, or I’ll fill it with sand,” a shaggy-bearded man cloaked in darkness warned from the bench in front of the wagon.

  Panic filled Finn’s entire being as the wagon rumbled down a rocky road that snaked through the gloomy woods.

  “You all right?” Owen whispered.

  Finn nodded, but he wanted to vomit—or maybe cry. “What happened to . . . the dogs?”

  Owen shook his head.

  The crack of a whip made Finn shrink down.

  “They’ll never catch us,” the driver said, then whipped the horses again.

  Shaggy-beard nudged the driver with a dirty elbow. “Them Ryelanders wouldn’t give the ass end of a skunk for these Tarnite whelps. They’re not coming after us.”

  “Who are they?” Finn scowled at Shaggy-beard and the wagon driver—Whip.

  “Slavers.”

  “How’d they get us?” Finn asked, already knowing as waves of nausea spread from his gut.

  “Poisoned honey.” Owen shook his head and Finn dry heaved.

  Five men on horses charged out from shadowy trees. The wagon jerked to a halt, and the horses snorted with displeasure.

  “Celestrian soldiers!” Lynn shouted, sitting up beside Finn.

  Shaggy-beard and driver bellowed with laughter and Lynn withered.

  A man on a tall horse with braided red hair asked, “How many?”

  “Twelve.” Shaggy-beard glanced back. “Half are girls.”

  “Good catch.” Red-braid peered into the wagon, a hard smile on his ruddy face. “You two wait in the trees. We’ll ride ahead and tell the Tarnite soldiers what these will cost them. And don’t touch any of them little girls. Sir Maddox is buying, and you know he likes them unspoiled. But you can have one of them boys if you want.”

  The horseman snickered as Shaggy-beard cast a hungry gaze at the children. Red-braid and the other three rode off and the terrified kids stared at Finn and Owen. Finn wasted no time in trying to get his hands free. The slavers had bound his hands in front and he quickly set to work. Owen shielded him from Shaggy-beard and Whip as Finn easily untied his feet, then chewed on the twine, wishing his teeth were as sharp as the rats he hunted.

  The two slavers waited until the horsemen were long gone, then both made water beside the wagon. “Doesn’t matter to me,” Shaggy-beard told Whip, “they both squeal the same when I’m with ’em.”

  Shaggy-beard growled and shook the wagon, thrusting his hips against it. Lynn and Rhyssa began to cry. Tupper asked for his mother and Hazel curled into a tight little ball beside Owen.

  “What are they going to do to us?” Lynn sniffled as big tears fell from her eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” Owen soothed, “the twelve angels of the Celestrum will watch over us. Say your prayers and you’ll be safe.”

  Finn bit into his bindings, wanting to say the saints who had supposedly become angels weren’t going to lift a precious wing to help them. He knew the Ryelanders—probably Bloody Nagel—had sold them to the slavers. We’re on our own. No one’s coming to save us.

  Shaggy-beard stalked toward the back of the wagon. Finn stopped chewing at the frayed twine and held still.

  “This one’s a boy, isn’t it?” Shaggy-beard asked Whip, and seized Lynn’s leg, pulling her toward the rear of the wagon.

  “She’s a girl!” Finn shouted.

  Owen sat up. “Leave her alone.” His voice sounded like a man’s, not a skinny twelve-year-old’s.

  Lynn screamed as Shaggy-beard pulled her closer. Owen dove forward and grabbed Lynn. “Please, not her. She’s just a little girl. That man said take a boy.”

  Shaggy-beard’s eyes flared at Owen. “You want to take her place, boy?”

  Finn shredded the twine with his teeth, not caring if they saw him.

  Shaggy-beard dragged Lynn out of Owen’s grasp and let her fall to the ground.

  “No!” Owen shouted, and crawled forward on his elbows.

  “Don’t worry. You’re next, boy.” Shaggy-beard slapped Owen hard in the face.

  Finn tore his hands free and sprang out of the wagon, landing on the grass. Shaggy-beard put a foot on Lynn’s neck and pointed a dirty finger at Finn. “Don’t you run, or she’ll wish she was dead.”

  Finn found a fist-sized rock. “Shut your mouth!” He hurled the stone as hard as he could. It struck Shaggy-beard in the throat, staggering him.

  Owen leaped out of the wagon, his feet and hands still tied. He landed on Shaggy-beard’s back and wrapped his bound hands around the man’s throat. Owen pulled the twine as hard as he could and Shaggy-beard’s face turned red, the veins in his neck bulging.

  The driver laughed so hard he fell off the wagon bench.

  Finn sprang toward Shaggy-beard, who stumbled backward as Owen choked him. Finn knelt behind the man’s legs and the slaver tripped over Finn’s body and hit the ground, pinning Owen under him. Shaggy-beard pushed Owen’s arms away from his throat and rolled off the boy.

  Finn kicked Shaggy-beard in the groin and smashed an apple-sized rock into the slaver’s skull. He whirled around to see what the driver was doing, and spotted the man shuddering and gurgling on the ground as blood leaked out of his slit throat. A huge bald man in fur boots stood over the dying slaver. The man wiped the bloody razor on his deerskin breeches.

  “Bloody Nagel.” Finn dropped the rock beside Shaggy-beard’s body, stifling the urge to run away as fast as he could.

  “Bloody Barber Nagel.” The big man bared his three front teeth and stomped toward Lynn.

  “You betrayed your slaver friends?” Finn’s mouth hung open, wondering how much they had paid Nagel to help them.

  “I’m a hunter, you stupid boy. And the Deacons wanted you tracked down.” Nagel pulled Lynn up. She yelped as he sliced the twine binding her limbs.

  “They sent you . . . for us?” Finn couldn’t believe it.

  Owen stood, trying to catch his breath. “Thank . . . you . . .”

  Nagel cut Owen free and stared at Shaggy-beard. “He’s not dead . . . yet.”

  Finn noticed the man’s chest rose, despite the blood oozing out of his scalp.

  Nagel offered the razor to Finn. “Boy. You’re going to have to learn to kill men soon enough. Now cut his throat.”

  Finn reached tentatively for the blade, but Owen snatched it out of Nagel’s hand. Owen glared at Finn. “This man should face judgment in Ryeland. In front of the Deacons.”

  “Maybe so, but we ain’t in Ryeland.” Nagel’s eyes focused on Owen, who turned away and jumped into the wagon where he started cutting the other children loose.

  Horses on the road made Nagel duck behind the wagon. “They’re coming back.”

  Owen ushered the children out of the wagon, some of their hands still bound. Nagel lifted the little ones out and Finn herded them toward the woods. Nagel and Owen came behind and they all rushed into the forest as five horses arrived at the wagon.

  Nagel picked up Brek and Tupper, then carried them under his arms. Finn held Lynn’s hand and guided her through the brush, while Owen held Hazel’s. Nagel took the lead and they found the Barber’s brown gelding tied near a willow tree. Nagel lifted five of the smallest children onto the horse. “Hold on. And no one cry. You boys don’t let the others get lost.” He pointed at Finn and Owen, who ushered Lynn, Hazel, Watt, Baird, and Rhyssa through the forest.

  Nagel led the way through the brush; moonlight flashed off the hilt of a massive sword strapped to Nagel’s saddle. Finn recognized the two-handed greatsword, and knew it was taller than he or Owen. A stout crossbow also hung on from the saddle and Finn imagined shooting it would be like getting kicked by an angry plow horse.

  “Shhh.” Nagel raised a big hand and they stopped. Finn heard horses moving ahead of them. A lot of horses. Nagel crept forward, then came back with a foul expression and whispered, “Tarnite cavalry.”

  Behind them, a horse whinnied and a man cursed loudly. Faint torchlight appeared in the forest. Fi
nn’s heart raced.

  “Slavers. Come on.” Nagel guided them through the trees, away from the Tarnite column and the slavers. For two hours they tramped through the brush. Finn noticed the five exhausted children atop the horse had fallen asleep. Lynn was nearly asleep on her feet; eventually Finn had to carry her on his back for a while. She wasn’t that heavy at first, but his strength ran out when the forest opened up onto a burned field. Nagel marched them forward without mercy. Lynn kept up with Finn leading her along by the hand.

  Lightning flashed, then thunder boomed in the distance. Moments later, rain fell in fat drops. Finnch grimaced as Tupper and Brek began to shiver uncontrollably. Tupper nearly fell off the horse as cold, fatigue, and the residual effects of the poison took their toll. Finn poked Nagel in the leg and the big man turned.

  Finn craned his neck to stare upwards. “Listen, you heartless bastard. We’ve got to stop.”

  The hulking man scowled at Finn as rivulets of water ran off Nagel’s bald pate.

  “Finn’s right.” Owen’s voice didn’t waver.

  Nagel turned and kept marching, but he headed toward a razed homestead in the distance. The house was a pile of scorched timbers, but lightning revealed an intact barn with a patched roof and rotting walls.

  Finn entered the empty barn and sniffed a fresh rat pellet. “If Pip and Fyse were with me we’d clean all the rats out of here in one night.”

  Nagel frowned at Finn. “How long with one dog?”

  Finn’s heart pounded. “One?”

  Nagel sighed. “Your male one is dead.”

  “Dead? Fyse is . . .” Finn fought back the tears as Lynn hugged him. Brek and Tupper wrapped their arms around Finn and Hazel sobbed. After hugging them back, Finn stomped into one of the empty stalls. All of his friends hovered outside, but Owen held them back.

  Finn pounded his fists against the wood. First, Father doesn’t come back from the war with the Murhatans, then we lose our farm to the baron’s taxmen, then Mother and my sister are taken by soldiers. Now Fyse is killed by slavers? It’s not fair! This can’t be happening to me!