by M. C. Elam
“You called me a witch woman. That’s the one thing you’ve said that is true. I am a witch woman. If you dare touch me, that prideful member, about which you so fondly boast, will swell like a rotten melon in the field. When the poison seeps from you like black piss, you will scream in agony. Come ahead, Luther, if you dare.”
He made a kind of snorting sound into the darkness. “Ah the likes of you be not to my taste, woman. Get on back to the fire, and don’t think you can go sneaking off in the night now we be out of the bog.”
Evangeline captured his gaze and held it with her own. It didn’t matter if he believed her or not. She smelled fear in him and knew she had squelched his yen. She turned, gathered her wet clothing and spread the pieces over a low tree limb close to the fire. “Keep your distance, Luther. If I can send wolves into the night, I can call them back.”
He settled a blanket across his shoulders, squatted over Jonas’s travel bag and rummaged around until he came up with a few strips of dried meat. He threw the bag toward her and ripped off a piece a trail meat. She kicked it away with her toe and moved to the other side of the fire where the stumpy arms of one of the river oaks curved close to the ground. She perched on the widest of the branches, wrapped the ratty blanket around her bare legs, and pulled her cloak closer.
“Witch woman too good for the ground when she got her a tree, I guess. Just like a cat she be, claws and all. Humph. Bitch woman be more like it. Think she got old Luther scared off.”
Evangeline didn’t answer. She tightened the laces of the vest closed over her breasts and found a more comfortable position. In a little while, Luther stopped the tirade and dozed. Sally had plagued her all day. She didn’t know what might become of the mare once Luther got them to the slave auction. She’d seen King Ian’s maps of Lawrenzia. Brendemore was close to the river, just the other side of the plain. King Peter Brenan’s stronghold sat on high ground, at a point overlooking the city. If her calculation was correct, they would reach the city late tomorrow or the next day. Sally was old, far beyond her prime. She’d bring nothing at market, and Luther was all about coin. He would dispose of her the first chance he found.
“Poor shy, Sally, she whispered. “I’ll take you away before he has the chance.
Certain that he slept, she climbed out of the tree. She tested her clothing, found everything warm and dry, and folded the items into a neat bundle. Luther had left her shoes beside his gear. Her feet were icy cold and ached when she took a step, but she couldn’t risk waking him. Barefooted she went to fetch the mare.
Sally stood near Luther’s horse. Evan removed the worn saddle and noted how much thinner the mare was in the time since they had started across the mountain. At least now, with the long grass, she would have a full belly. A sore spot where the cinch had rubbed looked as if it might fester, and Evan brushed her hand over the spot. The wound sealed, and the proud flesh turned serene. She rested her head against Sally’s warm side. Tears stung her eyes. She wiped them away. The gesture held a furious resolve.
“Wait for me, Sally girl. I need those shoes.”
Silent as a great cat she inched toward Luther, retrieved the shoes, and took his travel bag as well. He had hoarded what food remained, and she might need it. Luther stirred and changed positions. His eyes didn’t open, but she knew his sleep was shallow. Any movement might awaken him, and she would lose the opportunity for escape. He wouldn’t be so careless a second time. She backed away from the firelight and into the shadows at the edge of the camp. Her bare foot bumped a rock, and it rolled across the ground. She bent to pick it up. It felt solid in her hands. The rock was heavy enough to put him out for long hours. She searched her soul for enough courage to bring it down on his head and silence that snore. His jaw dropped, and he sucked in another breath, stopped, took in still more wind before expelling it with that same moist gurgle. What right did he have to sleep that way while her heart beat a panicky song that threatened to burst straight through her chest? What damnable right? She let the travel bag slip from her shoulder and started toward him.
His breath caught and held. A colossal snort roused him enough that he closed his mouth and shifted position. Huddled under a worn blanket, his meager bulk reminded her of a giant sow’s bladder gone empty. His thin face, composed of vague features shrouded beneath a pasty skin, no longer seemed menacing. She had proved his lack of backbone earlier. She exchanged the rock for her shoes and backed away from him. She wondered if dawn would find her sorry that she spared him.
She found the folded pile of clothing where she had left it, tore a hole with her teeth at the waist of the chemise, and ripped off the bottom half. She stripped off the vest, pulled the blouse over her head and shirred the drawstring at her neck. She put on the vest and laced it up the front. Her linen pantalets felt better against her skin than the stiff leather britches. The britches were too big, but cinched over the pantalets they fit better and did not rub her skin raw. She stepped into her shoes, laced them to just below the knee and moved through the shadows to find Sally.
“Good sweet Sally.” She stroked the mares muzzle and patted her neck. Nothing stood in the way of her escape. She could mount Sally and slip into the night. She could take Luther’s horse and if he woke, he’d make poor time on foot. The path was open. All she had to do was go. Tears stung her eyes. She felt the black pearl shrouded in its protective cocoon throb and covered it with her open palm. A weak light made a reddish glow through the skin of her closed fingers. Nothing so bright as the golden fire that enveloped her when she opened a portal, and nothing so prominent or encompassing as the fire that had surrounded her when she healed Marcus. Only a weak little light that brought a voice like clear water into her head, a voice meant for her alone. Not her teacher or friend, not the soul of Hawk, nor the swift whispers of the shine protected inside her womb. The voice that stretched across the miles came from the heart of Lawrenzia. She stroked the mare a final time and stood away from her.
“I can’t go with you, sweet girl.” The mare took a step. “Go!” Evan whispered. Sally tossed her head and disappeared into the night.
23 - Jem’s Tale
When a rider topped the rise above Baline, Jem knew it had to be Marcus. Mama had set him to watch four days after the messenger left with news that Lady Evan and Mistress Annabelle got themselves took by the dark men. Falmora be a long way off. He knew that for certainty. Pa had took him there a time far back before he disappeared. Jem guessed the journey be round-a-bouts a two months. Course that was a stupid thing to even think, but according to Horace Runderly, Jem was a stupid boy not to have got out of that inn and run for help. Two days come and went. Then that white wolf Lady Evan held so dear come leading Mistress Annabelle home. She told how Lady Evan be alive but headed straight into the devils own land. That be the way she put it, least ways. Mama nearly clubbed him when she heard, but old Horace had staid her hand since he already had him one egg shaped lump swelled up fat and proud above his eye. Instinctively, he touched the spot and winced even though the swelling had disappeared soon after.
Near out of breath, Jem crossed the commons at a speed nothing short of miraculous, slammed open the outer door to the inn, and rounded the corner of the wind wall into the common room. About that time, the rope that held his britches cinched at the waist let go, and they fell to his ankles. Down he went with a grunt.
“Mama, Marcus be coming down the road. Mama?”
Jenny emerged from the kitchen behind the long bar. Flour covered her hands, and one unlikely patch marked her brow where a loose strand of red hair had slipped the confines of a ruffled cap. She took one look at Jem, shook her head and put her hands on her hips.
“I expect you’d be wrong, Jem Miller. Be a week at least before the messenger finds him.”
“Nay, Mama, I be sure. Saw him plain. It’s him all right, on that big Baron a his. Riding hard, too. You’ll see I be telling it true.”
Jenny came from behind the bar and approached her son s
till splayed like a fish out of water on the wide plank floor. One flour-covered hand grabbed him by the back of his homespun shirt.
“Get on up then and pull your britches back where they belong. You be a spectacle, boy, a pure spectacle.”
Jem righted himself and stepped clear of her grasp. She didn’t look any too happy with him, and he didn’t want a clout for his trouble, especially when he knew he’d told true about Marcus. “I swear I saw him, Mama.”
“Then get down to the smithy and fetch Horace Runderly. If it is Marcus coming, he’ll want to be speaking to Horace and Annabelle right away.
***
“Mama sent me for you straight off, Horace. I saw Marcus coming and run in to tell her. Likely he’ll be to the inn by now.”
Horace doused the pot hanger he was shaping into a bucket of water and steam spiraled skyward.
“That glows all pretty like, Horace.” The boy pointed to the tongs still heating in the forge.
“Aye, it do glow. Burn clean through to the bone if you touch it. Better get on back from there. You sure it be Marcus you saw. Seems pretty quick for him to make it back from Falmora less he was already on the road or something.”
Jem pushed his toe around in the dirt beside the forge. “Why won’t no one believe me. I seen him true enough. Don’t know how he come so quick, but it’s him.
“All right boy. I’ll be along fast as I can.”
“Mama said she bet as how he’d want to hear all Annabelle had to tell, too. Think maybe he can wake the old man up. Mama’s been tending him ever since it happened. He don’t even make a whisper.”
“Mayhap. Marcus be a smart fella. Go on now. I’ll be along. Expect Marcus’ll want someone to tend Baron. Get on with you now. He’ll want talk with you, too.”
Jem perked at the mention of the horse. Marcus had promised he could act as groom and care for Baron as long as he did a good job. His heart was set on it. Gave him more chances to see what was under that mask. Mama shamed him for trying, but it be a pure mystery and one Jem meant to solve. Why, Marcus even ate with that thing hanging off his face. Week after Lady Evan took them in and put Mama to work she’d caught him prancing around the wood pile with a piece of linen tied around his own mouth. Scared him half to death telling him what become of boys sticking their noses into business that didn’t concern them. Told him those stories about how one old king somewhere lopped off the noses of snoops and fed them to the hogs. Wasn’t no king of Ascalla though, so Jem didn’t worry much. Besides, he thought as how he saw Lady Evan wink at Mama when she sent him off to finish his chores.
That was a real happy time for him and Mama. They’d been near to starving when Mama brought them into Baline that day and asked for work. First thing happened was he got him a bowl of stew didn’t have no bottom to it. Every little bit when he’d got her almost eaten down, along come Lady Evan filling it again. Mama taught him never to waste food, but that day he turned a little scared he couldn’t eat all she gave him. A heap of milk, too, warm and straight from the cow like as not. Next thing was a bed softer than any he remembered. He fell hard asleep, clear into the next day when Mama come. Threatened to roll him out on the floor if he didn’t wake up, and get on out of the loft to thank Lady Evan for what she done. He remembered how she smiled and told him he’d not be hungry again, least not as long as she had a place.
***
Horace was right as rain about Marcus wanting someone to take care of Baron. Poor old Baron, Jem found him out front of the inn with his head hanging low and wheezing in and out like he’d been rode into the ground. Marcus never would have done such a thing if times wasn’t bad. Jem knew that for sure. He started to take a hold of the horse’s reins. Meant to lead him off where he could rub him down and give him some good mash and a long drink. Before he could make for the stable, Mama and Marcus come out of the inn, both looking straight-arrow right at him. Mama took hold of Baron and headed off with him to the stables, and Marcus took hold of him. He ushered Jem straight inside and set him down at one of the big round tables meant for patrons. Jem felt all itchy sitting there and kept looking back around to see if Mama was coming to boot him out of the chair.
“I be counting on you Jem, boy. Tell it slow.”
“You mean about the night the dark men took Lady Evan? I saw most all of it only, Mama, she don’t know just how much. I be too scared to tell her I saw it all.”
“Good. I need to know all of it.”
Jem twisted in his chair again looking for his mother.
“Mama said how these chairs be for patrons and not the likes of me. She catches me I be in a heap of trouble.”
“Not today, boy. Today the chairs be for you and me so as you can tell me what happened that night.”
“Marcus, this place going away now, Lady Evan’s not here?”
“What do you mean, going away?” Marcus tried to keep a tone of exasperation out of his voice. He sensed the boy’s trepidation and knew if he didn’t ease him along, he’d never get the full story.
“Lady Evan, she told me one time as to how me and Mama’d always have a place long as she did. Now the dark men took her off she got no place.”
“Don’t be worrying about that one little maybe. I be keeping this place for Lady Evan. Annabelle and your mama be in charge of keeping things up till we get Lady Evan home again.”
If Marcus said it was so, that was good enough for Jem. He’d work hard as he could saving Baline ‘til Lady Evan come home, harder even than he worked before. Talking to Marcus about important business scared him some, but if remembering that night was the way to get her home, then he’d do that, too.
“Got me a way of remembering things. I close up my eyes and see pictures right off in the distance about how it was. Then I remember everything.” Jem bent his head sideways. Marcus’s mask sat a little twisted, and Jem thought he might just get that look-see he’d been waiting for, but Marcus noted the movement and straightened the linen cloth.
“You do what you need, boy. Just don’t leave anything out.”
***
Jem closed his eyes and thought. He saw a dark man in his head, creeping around the edge of the room and taking a seat far off from the rest. It was late the night he come clumping in without cleaning the mud off his feet on the boot rail. Jem guessed as how that man made a mess of dirt for him to sweep, just when he’d got shed of chores, too. The other one, scrawny looking no account fella, walked in his shadow not saying much. When Jem ambled over like he was supposed to and told them what victuals be left for supper, they gave him mean looks, and he knew something be dead wrong.
“Went up to Mama and told her I thought they be mean buggers. She just ladled out the stew and took it on over to them. Thought maybe I should tell Lady Evan, but she’d gone to her bed.”
“What about Melendarius?”
Jem glanced toward the loft where he knew the old man lay. “They’d finished off the stew and called for another pint when Melendarius come in and sat down by the fire like always.” Jem tried to think and shut his eyes tight marking time to put how it happened in order. “Melendarius hollered,” he said, “Hollered and told Mama to go on home. Said he’d lock up when the gent-a-men finished their pints. Mama be tired-out. On her feet since first light. She was happy to go and told me to sweep up before I come after.”
He turned quiet then, afraid the next part might make Marcus wail him and thought hard about a way to skim over some of it. Small in stature he began slipping lower in the chair. Must be some kind of way around telling how it was all his fault, but nothing came to mind. Even if it did, he swore to tell it all.
Marcus gave him a gentle shove. “You scared to tell me?”
Jem dropped his head and tossed it back and forth in a slow rhythm. “I be scared cause it was my fault. I got no way to change it, and I be sorry for my part”
“You best say what you mean, boy, and don’t waste time getting it out.”
Mama didn’t make him wash much si
nce winter come unless he got to stinking. It was witches-tit cold and the creek froze solid except for the holes he chopped when he tried netting some of those black, whiskery fishes that slogged down close to the bottom. One thing she always did hold with, though, was him scrubbing his hands and face come morning even though the washing bowl had an icy skim across the top. He hated the first all out splash of that water, purely hated it. When she’d sent him to watch for Marcus, he’d spent a couple cold nights camped out on the road to Falmora and was none to clean without that morning dousing. So when his eyes turned big and wet and tears spilled over, they made tracks like the markings on a map across his grimy cheeks.
“Stop that bawling, Jem. Your fault, how’s that?” A hint of impatience edged Marcus’s voice. “Look right here.” He pointed to his face. “Right in my eyes and tell me true. I’ll know you leave anything out.”
“They was bad men, Marcus, bad. They pounded the table calling for more ale. Melendarius told them serving time was over and then he offered the stables. Said they could hold up there ‘til morning. The dark man, he was the biggest, just laughed at that and said how he thought they’d stay put.” Jem drew a shaky breath. “I commenced sweeping out the entry and heard it all plain. When I come back around, I went to clean the table and stow the pints. That was when it happened.” He looked straight at Marcus as though the gaze between them told the story without words.