by M. C. Elam
The fire must have burned out since not a whiff of smoke reached Annabelle’s nose, and she couldn’t catch a gander of her own feet in the dim light. That boy had earned a pure licking soon as she kindled a new blaze and stacked the peat. Odd that Jenny hadn’t built it up even if that young rapscallion did shirk on it. Not fair, she supposed. Jem wasn’t much more than seven seasons, and she had seen him and Jenny put in days that would wear a grown man to a nubbin. She felt her way along the corridor and rounded the corner into the great room.
Lady Evangeline stood beside the hearth. In the low light, her expression held the look of pure fright. At first, the significance of that stare and rigid posture didn’t register. Then she glimpsed Melendarius. The old man lay limp as a crumpled sack at the bottom of the loft stairs. Annabelle had just enough time to think that maybe she should have waited for Horace to walk over with her when a clout on the head sent her reeling.
***
She came conscious tied across a saddle. A dull pain pounded the back of her head and ground straight through her skull. Still groggy, the smell of horseflesh and male sweat seemed misplaced. So did the raw sting of the ropes that dug into her wrists. Every jostling bounce made the pain in her head send a signal straight to her spine. She tried to shift positions.
“Crone’s awake. Hold up whilst I set her walking.”
“Bout time, I’d say. We got a far piece ahead before we reach the arch.”
She felt the rope come free, and a rough hand shoved her off the horse. One knee found a jagged stone that claimed a chunk of flesh and turned the soft snow bloody. The pain in her knee added to the misery in her back and head.
“Get up, whore, or I be taking a lash to your arse.”
Annabelle tried but fell back. An arm came about her waist and helped her stand. Someone brushed the snow from her skirts and settled her shawl around her shoulders.
“Ceri’s here Annabelle. I’ll help you walk.”
“See she don’t hold us up, or we’ll leave her to the jackals.”
Annabelle recognized Lady Evan and limped along beside her. A length of rope around Evan’s waist pulled her behind the last horse. Her skirts were a sodden mess of mud mingled with the stench of horse droppings, but she appeared unhurt accept for a bruise on her cheek.
“Lady…”
“Shush, as you love me, call me Ceri.” Evan’s voice came in such a low whisper Annabelle had to lean close to hear.
“They be the same ones come through Baline a fortnight back?”
“Hush, not now.”
They made slow progress over the snowy trail. Neither man paid much attention to them. Evan thought about telling Annabelle to slip away. She was not tethered, and they might not miss her. Might not, but if they did, what then? They could back track faster than Annabelle could flee. Evangeline didn’t want to think about what they’d do if they caught her. She centered her mind on Melendarius. Her inability to picture him or walk through his mind terrified her. She tried to call upon the Mother, but felt no answering throb from the black pearl.
The pearl, did she still have it? She wasn’t sure. Her skin was so cold that she couldn’t feel it inside her chemise. She wanted to touch it but knew if they saw that she wore something so fine, they would take it from her. Tonight then, in the dark while no one watched. Without meaning to, she did call the pearl, and it began to glow against her skin. A warm aura grew from the center. She turned her thoughts away and felt the heat fade.
“Ceri, I be all in, can’t walk much farther.”
“You must.” Evan gave her shoulders a little shake. “One foot and then the next, Annabelle, it’s nearly dark. They’ll have to stop soon.”
***
“You’re not thinking about giving our vittles to them whores, Luther?”
“Got to keep them strong if you want a fair price. We carry them down to the slave pens puny and pale, they’ll not be worth so much.”
“Feed them yours then. I got me a hunger tonight,” said Jonas.
“Aye, and I’ll lower your cut of gold,” Luther turned back to the cook pot and ladled a scant mug full of barley broth.
Jonas drew a dagger from his belt and lunged. Evangeline gasped. Though she had no desire to see either of them take another breath, the one called Luther at least meant to keep them alive. He twisted on his heel and dashed the steaming broth straight into the face of his attacker. The dagger fell, and Jonas dropped to his knees.
“Blinded me, you sack of dung.” He grabbed fists full of snow and buried his face in his hands.
“Shut that pie hole before I cut your throat. You turn a hand to me again and it’ll be the last you turn to any man.” Luther ladled another cup of broth. “Take it.” He shoved the cup toward Evangeline. “And don’t get any ideas I favor the two of you over Jonas there. All I care about be the coin you’ll fetch when we get you down the mountain.”
Stony silence replaced Jonas’s claims of blindness. He gathered an armload of brush from the low scrub growing along the trail and piled it next to the fire. The skin on his cheeks and nose had taken the worst of the drenching, and he continued to apply snow until the sting stopped.
The place where they camped was no more than a widening in the trail. One sided butted against the mountain. The other gave way to a deep chasm. The steaming broth they sipped took away the chill but not for long. Icy fingers of cold whipped along the ridge and stirred the snow into whirling funnels that swallowed them in its embrace. The two women huddled together for warmth. Luther left the fire and took a ragged blanket from his pack. He tossed it toward them.
“Take off them boots, the both of you.”
Neither moved.
The flat of his hand crashed into the side of Evan’s head. “Do like I say.”
They shed their boots, and he picked them up. “Don’t expect you’d get far without these. Now move your arses over by that fire. Frozen corpse won’t fetch a copper where you’re going.”
He was right about one thing, if they didn’t get closer to the fire, they wouldn’t last the night. Luther didn’t bother to tie them. Without boots, any concern he had that they might escape vanished. Evangeline willed her eyes open until the men slept. When she was sure, she reached inside her chemise and found the pearl.
“Lady Evangeline,” Annabelle roused.
“Ceri, remember. I am Ceri, the innkeeper’s daughter. Call me Ceri, like you do when there are strangers about.”
“Those men be the same ones Marcus tossed out on they ears for trying to pick a fight with the men folk. Think you they snatched us for a payback?”
“No, I don’t think it’s paybacks. I think they watched and waited for a chance to abduct someone for the slave markets in Lawrenzia.”
“That black hole that swallowed my boys. No, we can’t go there.”
“It’s the only place beyond the mountains.”
Evangeline closed her fingers around the pearl. Where was the pulse-beat of the Mother? The smoky mass lay silent. Her mind sought Baline, the Inn, Melendarius, but the pearl remained dark. The only warmth in the gem came from her body, not from the Mother’s light.
“What’s that, miss?”
“Nothing, just a trinket I don’t want them to steal.” She opened her hand.
“A beauty of a thing. It be one of them, I bet.”
“One of them?”
“Queen’s Pearls. They’ll steal it sure if they see it.”
“Aye, they would, but I’ve no place to hide it.”
Annabelle reached into the pocket of her skirt. “Got a bit of something in my pocket.” She held out a needle and a card of thread. “My mam taught me to carry mending thread and a button or two. Open a seam in the neck of your chemise. I’ll bind it inside.”
They huddled under the blanket while Annabelle stitched a little pocket inside Evan’s chemise. “Safe now, Ceri. I don’t know a man what fondles a lady’s chemise. Reckon they be more interested in what’s beneath.”
“You reckon rightly,” Evan said. She cringed at the idea of Luther or Jonas touching her at all. “What else do you carry in those pockets?”
“Bit of braided hemp and some scissors be all.”
“Let me see the scissors.” She put out her hand and Annabelle handed them over. She opened the blades and felt the edge. “Good and sharp. Hide them well.” She passed them back. “How much rope?”
“Enough to lead a cow home.”
“Enough to tie around our waists?”
“Aye, enough for that and some to spare.”
“Tie one end around your waist and give me the other.” Evangeline did the same.
“Makes me feel a little safer about the ice.
“Me too,” said Evan.
“When they see we got it, they’ll ask where it come from. Might find the scissors.”
“If they ask, let me answer. I’ll say I had it. Then maybe they won’t search you.”
“But the pearl?”
Evangeline looked frightened and reached for the little bulge in the neckline of her chemise. “I can hardly feel it. Don’t worry.”
Evan pulled one arm from her fur parka. “Here, Annabelle, slide in here close and put your arm through the empty sleeve.”
They tucked their heads under the blanket. The heat from their bodies served to warm the side of them turned away from the fire, and they dozed.
***
In the morning, Luther returned their boots. “Get out in front, crone. If anyone goes over the edge, you be spare coin. Arch can’t be far now.” His laugh came loud and cruel. Annabelle stood up and Evangeline with her. Luther noted the tether. “Where’d you get that?”
“From my pocket,” Evangeline spat.
Luther raised an eyebrow.
“I use it to tether the cow for milking.”
“Tethers two cows now, don’t it?” He snorted a vulgar laugh and shoved her. “Get moving.”
The wind whipped up with first light. It scattered most of the snow and revealed inch-thick ice on the ledge. They could better see the trail, but the ice made climbing treacherous. Their best pace amounted to a slow creeping shuffle that tested the surface for safe footing. Jonas followed leading the horses, and Luther brought up the rear. Frustrated by the slow progress he shouted commands to move faster, but the wind blew them back in his face.
“Guard each step before you plant your foot,” said Evan.
“Aye, miss.” Annabelle tried, but a little farther along she froze in place, afraid to move.
“Get going you hag,” Jonas shouted, “I’ll sting your arse with my nines.”
“Leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s afraid?” Evangeline took another step and another. “The mountain,” she shouted. “Cleave to the mountain.” Evangeline passed her and took the lead. “Step where I step.”
Twice Annabelle slipped and recovered her footing, but when they came to a place where the trail led around a sharp outcropping. Evan stopped.
“Once I’m around, you won’t be able to see me. Stay put until I tug on the tether.” She didn’t wait for Annabelle to answer. Terrified of the height, she turned her face to the mountain and tried to ignore the chasm a few feet away. The trail must be wide enough to accommodate horses, and if it was wide enough for them, she reasoned it was wide enough for her. If not, why would Luther and Jonas choose it? Maybe they miscalculated. What was the arch? What if they chose the wrong trail. She had to let go of notions like that. Think about her next step. Think about one obstacle at a time. For what? Death on the mountain might be preferable to what lay ahead. A strong kick followed by a gentle flutter renewed her resolve. Floating in safe fluid darkness, the baby had changed position.
Angry clouds spun up from the north to shroud the towering peaks. A heavy surge of new snow soon covered the ice making their footing even more treacherous. Evangeline rounded the rocky curve and disappeared from sight. A few more steps brought her up short. The rope that tethered her to Annabelle pulled taught. Freezing wind stung her nose when she tried to breathe, and the shallow attempts made her lightheaded. She covered her mouth with one hand and drew in a few deeper breaths.
She gave the tether a gentle tug and felt the tension ease. Annabelle was moving. Long minutes later, the woman appeared. Exhaustion made her breathing heavy. Much more and she’d collapse. Evan tried to slow the pace and give her a chance to recover, but the effort resulted in miserable failure when Luther took the lead position.
“Dragging your feet? I’ll teach you.” He bound Evangeline’s hands. “Step it up or I’ll drag you.”
“I got the back door now. Ride my mount right over them lazy whores they don’t get along,” said Jonas.
Luther looked around at him. “Never mind about them. Just get your own arse moving. We got the arch ahead.” He gave the rope a vicious jerk that made Evan stumbled. “Get moving.”
A little farther forward the trail leveled off giving them blessed relief from the steady climb. Annabelle panted for breath behind her, but the tether kept slack, proof the woman held her own. They had crossed the timberline miles below, and the air at their current altitude was thin. By the time Luther called a halt the calves of Evan’s legs burned, and a nagging pain cut her side. Even her teeth ached from gulping the frigid air.
“What we stopped for?” Jonas yelled.
“Arch ahead. Take a rest and then we’ll cross.” Luther pointed.
“Can’t see it from here.”
But Evangeline saw it, a steep ice covered rock arch that grew out of the trail and disappeared in whirling snow over the chasm.
“That’s the arch? We can’t cross that.”
“Scared are you. Just keep your head about you,” Luther snorted. “Arch be plenty wide enough for man and horse. Not a bad crossing in good weather.”
“And now?”
“The devil’s own hand’ll tell about that.”
She had barely caught her breath before Luther jerked the rope, and they started across the arch.
“You best lead that nag of yours, Jonas. Skittish as all get out on solid footing. That arch be pure ice by now.”
“I can tend my own business, Luther. Kept up this far.”
“Just telling you.”
“Well, don’t.”
Evangeline tried not to think about the shear drop a few feet away. The blowing snow obscured her view, which was probably just as well. The altitude and thin air made her head spin. She felt as if her body might pitch forward any second. She thought of the bell tower at Falmora Cathedral and the day Hawk dared her to climb to the top. The narrow steps had no railing. The passage closed tight around her, and the steps were so steep they disappeared in the dark. When they reached the place where the bells hung, Hawk had planted his feet on the edge of the walk-around, grabbed the rope, and swung out over the opening. She remembered how the sound had exploded in her head, how she had crouched in a corner shouting for him to stop. The echo had lingered long after he realized how afraid she was and led her down. She’d refused to hear his pleas that she forgive him and stalked off. How mad she had been that day and for days after until he coaxed her out of it with his boyish grin and promises that he’d never take her there again. Funny she should think of it now, think of Hawk.
They neared the crown of the arch, and whether she wanted to look or not, her eyes sought the edge. Thick veils of snow obscured the view. Luther jerked the tether. What if he lost his footing? Tied together, he would drag her and Annabelle over the edge. Maybe the tether was a bad idea after all. What would it feel like flying over the edge? Would she have time to think more about Hawk and the bell tower; time to wonder if he did go again, even though he promised he wouldn’t?
Lost inside her own head, it took a second for her to realize that the horse Jonas rode was in trouble. Luther stopped, and she nearly walked into the back of his mount. Annabelle knocked into her and both of them fell on the ice. Evangeline twisted around in time to see the horse sidestep, once, twic
e, three times before its front legs splayed wide. Jonas flew headfirst from the saddle. His skull split on impact, and his body hurtled over the edge. She waited for a crash when his body smashed into the ground, but there was nothing but the sound of the wind.
“Stupid beggar. Told him to walk that nag over.” Lucas walked to the horse. It struggled to rise and then settled back on the ice. He unfastened the packs and searched them. “Scab-faced son of a goat held out on me. He has victuals aplenty. Must’ve picked up what he could back in that inn of yours.” He kicked at the horse for good measure. “Off your prat.” He watched it struggle and finally manage to stand. He gave it a shove meant to send it closer to the edge.
“Wait! Let it find its own footing, please,” said Evangeline.
“Now just you mind your own business or you can go down behind her.”
“But you can sell the horse. What difference can it make to you if she follows on her own?”
“Nag’s not worth more than a few coppers.”
“Dead she’s worth nothing.”
Luther considered. “Might get a little more for her out by the bog. Peat cutter’s always looking for cheap nag can pull a sledge. A-right missy. Best we be getting a move on. Wind be tuning up again. Dung heap can follow or not.”
Evangeline gathered in the tether. Annabelle hadn’t made a sound since they started across the arch. Her face was blue with cold, and her lips looked frozen shut. Ice crystals had formed under her nose, but she made no effort to dislodge them. Her eyes looked bloodshot from staring into the wind without blinking.