by Sam Ferguson
Jonathan stood there, defiantly holding the letter out for the postman even long after the man had left Holstead. He didn’t know what to think, or what to do. When his arm finally tired of holding the letter out, he let the envelope fall to the ground beside the bundle. It drifted back and forth until it struck the dirt, barely touching the bundle with one corner.
The boy turned and walked the empty road back to his home.
The sun had descended by the time he reached the cabin. Pa was sitting on the rocking chair out front, waiting for Jonathan. He waved when he caught sight of the boy. Jonathan wanted to wave back, but his brain was too overrun with anger and fear to send out the proper command to his arm. His feet trudged on, slowly propelling him over the dirt road to the porch one step at a time.
“I heard the news,” Pa said as he rose from his chair. “I thought to come and get you, but then I figured you might need some time by yourself.”
Jonathan stood at the base of the stairs to the porch, staring blankly at the ground.
“Your grandmother doesn’t know yet, I haven’t figured how best to tell her.” Pa crossed the porch and moved to sit on the wooden steps. He patted the step next to him. “Sit,” he instructed.
Jonathan turned and lowered himself down. He hung his arms over his knees and stared at a small, black rock in front of him.
“I know how you feel,” Pa said. He put an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and gently pulled the young man closer. “It isn’t an easy thing, and there isn’t anything that will ever make it better.” Pa sighed, allowing a few seconds of silence to separate his words. Then, he looked to Jonathan. “I can say that you will be able to live with it, in time. The feeling of loss never subsides, but you will get used to it.”
Jonathan shirked Pa’s arm off and shook his head. “Jason is alive. He isn’t dead.”
Pa sighed and cleared his throat. “Jonathan, you have to—”
Jonathan cut him off. “No!” Jonathan growled. “I don’t have to accept it. It isn’t true. Jason lives. I feel it in my bones.”
“Think of how long it’s been since you last got a letter,” Pa said. “Jason wouldn’t just let time pass without sending word.”
Jonathan jumped up and pointed a stern finger at his Pa. “No. I know he is alive. Maybe he can’t write letters where he is. Maybe he is so far in The Warrens that he has no way of sending letters to me, but he is alive!”
“Jonathan!” Pa shouted angrily. “He is dead! He is gone, just like your father. He is dead, like the thousands and thousands before him who ventured too deep into the Quags. Stop this foolishness. It’s time you understood, time you recognized and acknowledged what has happened! If Battlegrym has been taken, it is because everyone in the Murkle Quags has been killed.”
Jonathan felt a rage boil up inside him like he had never felt before. He stormed past his Pa, pulling away and pushing through when Pa tried to stop him with an outstretched hand. He ripped the door open and went straight to his bed. He grabbed his field pack and shoved a few clothes into it.
Pa was only a few paces behind him, yelling and yammering about Jonathan’s stubbornness, but Jonathan didn’t pay him any heed. He continued to fill his field pack and then he reached for his bow. That was when he saw Pa’s hand. Pa grabbed the other end of the bow and refused to let Jonathan take it.
“Let it go!” Jonathan said. “I have to go and get Jason!”
Memaw appeared behind Pa, one arm folded across her chest and the other up to cover her mouth as tears flowed down her face. Pa shook his head and, quick as a bolt of lightning, slapped Jonathan upside the head with his other hand. Surprised, Jonathan released the bow. Pa took out his field knife and severed the bowstring in half. Had the bow been strung completely, the arms would have snapped forward, but as it was always stored properly, with the string relaxed and attached only to the top limb, the bow did little beside shake a bit as the string trembled under Pa’s knife until the blade cut through.
“Pa!” Jonathan cried out. “Stop!”
Pa didn’t stop. He raised the bow high over his head and brought it down on the hard floor so that a piece of the bottom limb snapped off. Then he threw the bow on the bed. “You are not leaving,” he said. “I will have no more of this foolishness. I have lost enough sons.”
“I am your grandson not your son!” Jonathan shouted angrily.
Pa bristled, taking a half step backward and fuming through his flared nostrils. “Whatever you are, I am not going to lose you too. Go to bed. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Pa turned and escorted Memaw back to the table area. He glanced over his shoulder at Jonathan with a disapproving scowl and a promise to thoroughly chastise the young man. But none of them would discuss the matter in the morning. Jonathan knew where Pa’s bow was kept, and he slipped out into the night as quietly as an owl leaving the nest in search of a mouse. He neither said goodbye nor left a note. He just vanished into the darkness, like the Ghosts of the Quags.
Chapter 6
Jonathan traveled by the road to the southwest. In his anger, he hadn’t had the presence of mind to gather any coin for the journey. He filled his stomach by hunting hares alongside the road as he traveled. With the cool, early spring air, there were no berries or fruit to be had yet, but he was able to find more than enough meat to sustain himself. Hares were easy to clean and cook, and each one lasted him more than a day even with the long trek.
By the time he arrived in Haytham, a small town roughly one hundred and fifteen miles from Holstead, he had collected four rabbit pelts. He had skinned each animal carefully, hoping that the furs might provide him with a bit of coin to make the rest of his journey somewhat easier.
He turned to the north side of the road and walked along the wagon tracks that cut through the dirt road into the center of the town. The homes here that lined the road were made with stone and wood. Most of the buildings were one story, but a few of them were as tall as two. The roofs were made with finely cut shingles and shakes. Patches of brighter shingles revealed the recent patches made in some of the roofs as the spring thaw had set in while bits of stubborn snow clung to whatever shadows they could find to avoid the sun.
As was the case in Holstead, most of the men in Haytham were gone. Women filled the streets, carrying wood, food, or other wares back and forth. There were a few older men, but not many. Jonathan had to wonder then if his furs would sell at all. Still, Haytham was a larger settlement than Holstead. It was worth trying. Perhaps he could at least barter them for some bread if he couldn’t find anyone willing to part with money.
He continued along the road until he came to a cross section. A large general store stood on the opposite corner from where he stood, an inn was located on his right, and a pair of houses sat on his left. The fourth corner was bare.
Jonathan shook his head and kicked the dirt for his bad luck. The bare corner was where the market had once been. Jonathan had come to Haytham a few times over the years when they couldn’t sell all of the hay from Pa’s fields in Holstead. They had always been able to sell their surplus in Haytham’s market.
Now there was nothing. It was as if the market had never existed.
Jonathan pushed along toward the general store.
He stepped out of the way as an older woman came out from the store with a basket filled with bread and potatoes. As she turned to nod her thanks to Jonathan, he saw she held some sort of wrapped package under her other arm. A hint of red and white flesh hung from under the package. It was pork, by the look of the color.
Jonathan moved into the store and a loud bell rang as the door struck it.
Sacks of flour were stacked half a man high directly in front of him. Off to either side of the sacks were narrow aisles of wooden shelves filled with glass jars and small wooden boxes. Jonathan moved to the left. Jars of peaches, pickles, pears, and beets filled the upper shelves while the lower shelves held crates of small, red apples, garlic, and potatoes. A nearly empty crate
held a few onions, but none of them looked good enough to eat anymore. He looked down the aisle to see another set of shelves on the back wall of the store. A few loaves of bread sat in neat rows there.
Jonathan’s mouth watered and he marched over to the bread.
A movement to his left caught his eye. Jonathan turned to see a red haired man walking toward him.
“What can I do for you, son?” he asked.
Jonathan pointed to a loaf of bread. “How much for a loaf?” he asked.
The red haired man eyed Jonathan and then his thin lips stretched into a smile. “Five coppers for one, or two silver for three.”
Jonathan nodded. It was a fair price, albeit more expensive than back in Holstead. A loaf there would only cost four coppers, and that was assuming Memaw didn’t just make it at home as she usually did. Still, a hare’s fur should easily fetch two coppers, even in Haytham. If the shopkeeper would go for it, Jonathan might be able to bargain for two loaves with his four furs. He turned and surveyed the walls around him. “Where do you keep the furs?” Jonathan asked.
“Furs?”
Jonathan nodded. “How much for a rabbit fur?”
The shopkeeper shook his head. “Afraid I don’t have any,” he replied. “What with all the younger men gone south, there hasn’t been much hunting around these parts. Perhaps if you came back later, we might have something for you.”
Jonathan smiled and pulled his field pack around and opened the flap. He pulled out the four furs and hung them over his left arm. “I have four pelts here,” he said. “How about a trade?”
The shopkeeper eyed the pelts and then shook his head. “I don’t need rabbit fur.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Well, you just said that you have no furs. I thought we could help each other. You can have the furs, and I can take some bread.”
“One loaf,” the shopkeeper said.
Jonathan shook his head. “No, they are worth two coppers a piece.”
“Two coppers is what I would charge for them,” the shopkeeper said.
Jonathan looked at the bread and then back to the shopkeeper. “If you were willing to throw in a third loaf for free if I had eight coppers, then surely you can give me a loaf and a half. That way, I get six coppers worth of food, but you get eight coppers worth of pelts. We both win.”
The shopkeeper grinned and started to chuckle so much that his belly shook. “Done.” The shopkeeper moved to the bread and gathered up two loaves while Jonathan moved to set the pelts out on the wooden counter. He was careful to lay each one out so that the shopkeeper could easily see they were quality pelts.
Jonathan then opened his field pack and shoved a few things around inside to make room for the bread. He turned toward the shopkeeper but was stunned to see the man holding out two complete loaves of bread. He looked up to the smiling man curiously.
“You made me laugh, that’s worth another half a loaf,” the shopkeeper said with a wink.
Jonathan graciously took the food and slid it into his bag. “Thank you,” he said. He then turned and left the store, eager to get back onto the road.
He journeyed for another day and a half before he came to a fork in the main road. The branch leading due south would take him to Rynder, a large city within a hundred miles of the expanding quags. If he continued south west, then he would reach Lehemat. Either way, he would need to turn south at some point if he was to reach Fort Sym. That would be the final city where he could stock up on supplies before heading into the Murkle Quags.
As he stood thinking about which road to follow, his mind drifted to the Murkle Quags themselves. He hadn’t taken much time before to think about going there. Sure, he had often daydreamed about being beside his brother, but the thought of actually going to the quags by himself was something different. Pa’s warning words tried to push their way into his mind and cast doubt over his plan, but Jonathan was resolved. His brother was alive, and he needed him. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew he had to find him.
He looked back toward the northeast. He wondered if Pa was out looking for him. Jonathan had a significant head start, but what if Pa was able to get a horse? Surely if Mortimer had been willing to lend money before, then perhaps Pa could make a new arrangement.
That settled it.
All of the recruits went to Lehemat. From there, they received their orders. Even the new recruits this last time had to go to Lehemat before going to Fort Sym. Pa would most certainly be headed toward Lehemat if he was indeed following him.
Jonathan broke out into a light jog, turning south toward Rynder.
He couldn’t risk being found by Pa now. Besides, even if Pa wasn’t after him, it was entirely possible he might be swept up by some officer in Lehemat and put to task. He couldn’t chance that either. He had to be free enough to do what he needed to do.
Rynder was three hundred and fifty miles to the south. If the road stayed even and there were no mishaps along the way, Jonathan figured he could make the journey in about seven days.
The first two days were entirely uneventful, dull even. Jonathan trudged over the flat dirt road as it rolled up and down over small hills and wound around larger hills. Occasionally there would be a stream along the way, providing Jonathan with fresh water. A well maintained wooden bridge stretched over each body of water he came to.
As the sun began to set upon the third day, Jonathan saw something off in the distance to the east. He couldn’t quite see what it was, as his view was obscured by a large knoll, but when he came around with the bending road, he stopped suddenly when he realized there was a group of soldiers erecting large tents a couple hundred yards off the road.
Jonathan thought it best to move along. There was no need to catch their attention, and they wouldn’t have any information about his brother. The young man moved to the opposite side of the road and began jogging along, hoping that he could pass them without notice.
His hopes were in vain.
Jonathan rounded a bend toward the east and nearly felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw a trio of riders approaching him on the road. Jonathan thought to hide, but there was nowhere to go. The grasslands around these parts offered little cover. There had been an elm tree just off the side of the road, but that was at least twenty yards beyond the grassy knoll behind him.
“Oi! You there, come here!” one of the soldiers shouted.
Jonathan looked at their armor, noting the black and red crest on the center soldier’s shield hanging and swinging over the man’s left leg.
A second soldier pulled a bow and set an arrow to the string. “Didn’t you hear him? He said come over here, boy!”
Jonathan’s eyebrows drew into a tight knot over his nose. He instinctively held his hands out in front of him. “I don’t mean anyone any harm,” Jonathan said.
“Come here!” the third soldier shouted.
The soldier in the middle dismounted and began walking toward Jonathan with a determined gait. The other two soldiers remained behind, on horseback. The archer kept his bow trained on Jonathan. The other held firm to his sword and looked all around, scanning the nearby hills.
The young man could barely breathe. What could they possibly want with him? Wasn’t it obvious that he was only a boy?
“I said come here!”
Jonathan’s feet finally reacted and moved him closer to the soldier walking toward him. Fear gripped his stomach as the man drew his sword and scowled menacingly at Jonathan. Something felt very wrong about all of this.
The soldier walking toward him was about thirty yards away, but he was closing fast. The two on horseback were another ten behind that. Jonathan glanced to the archer, and then to the swordsman on foot. Their faces were so cold. Jonathan saw nothing in the men’s eyes but anger. The thought occurred to him that maybe they were deserters, or possibly bandits that had killed real soldiers and now used their uniforms.
Could he outrun them to the camp of soldiers?
His eyes flicked up to the bow.
The string wasn’t pulled all the way back yet. The archer was just holding it, with the arrow pointing in his direction. Jonathan’s feet stopped. He stood still and his muscles tensed.
“Why you stopping, boy?” The swordsman on foot growled and raised his sword threateningly. His clanking armor stifled his movement. Perhaps Jonathan could outrun them to the camp. If he could neutralize the archer… No that wasn’t necessary. All Jonathan had to do was neutralize the bow. Jonathan jerked his shoulder around and flipped his bow over to his left hand.
“Hey!” the swordsman shouted as he began sprinting with his sword held high. Jonathan kept his eye trained on the archer as his right hand shot back and pulled an arrow from the quiver.
The archer stood in his stirrups and pulled his string back.
Jonathan nocked his arrow and drew it back with amazing speed. The two of them fired their arrows at the same time. Jonathan then tucked into a roll to his left. The archer’s arrow sailed past and landed in the ground. Jonathan’s arrow hit precisely where he had intended, severing the bowstring and rendering the bow useless.
Jonathan then nocked a second arrow and fired at the swordsman’s sword. The arrow bounced off the steel with hardly any effect whatsoever on the weapon, but it caused the swordsman to flinch and halt in his run as he ducked for cover, giving Jonathan enough time to jump up and run away.
He sprinted for all he was worth up a grassy knoll, sliding his bow back over his shoulder so it would no longer hinder his running. The swordsman’s clanking armor could be heard as he ran after him, scraping and slamming together. Then it stopped. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin on his face, but the smile was short lived.
The two soldiers on horseback were charging directly for him.
Jonathan redoubled his efforts, his speed fueled by fear and adrenaline. The grasses whisked over his boots as he zipped down the back of the grassy knoll. He turned slightly northward. There was no way he could make the camp, but he could make the elm tree twenty yards away.