The Long Journey Home (Across The Lake Book 2)

by Doug Kelly

  He shuddered at the question and the horrible condition and impending fate of these innocent children surrounding him. He quickly shut his eyes to make it go away, but it did not. He could smell the perfume with which the merchant had doused the young girls. It made him sick, but his exhaustion was overwhelming and he went unconscious just moments after closing his eyes. Then the nightmare came.

  The horrible images of those little girls, painted like prostitutes, mixed with the recent mental pictures of the battlefield that had deeply stained his memory. The flag boy’s face came to him in the dream, too. He had to relive seeing the young boy die, choking on his own blood with an arrow through his throat, and a wooden toy sword at his side. The young boy had wanted to be a hero. Someone had given him a flag and a wooden sword and told him to run across the battlefield. In the dream, or nightmare, Aton could hear the boy cry for his mother. Then the scene changed and he thought that he felt the sting of the black cat’s claws again, after he had leaned on the hollow log. This time, in the nightmare, it was not the angry mother cat emerging from the hollow log. It was the merchant with his boot knife, and the sharp blade had cut Aton’s hand. The slave trader wanted Aton’s silver coin again and offered to exchange one of the blind kittens for it. In the nightmare, Aton tried to run away, but he could not move. Then he tried to scream and his mouth opened, but he was mute. He could not get away from the slave trader who had eerily crawled out of the hollow log. Aton tried to show the evil man that his pockets were empty by turning them inside out. After seeing that he had no money, the merchant cut the heads off the newborn kittens. Aton woke with a start and screamed “No!”

  Aton quickly sat up, still delirious from sleep. He turned to see that the man driving had craned his neck to stare at him with one squinting eye, before turning back around to face the road and the lazy horse trotting along at its own slow pace. Aton blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. The sun was a little higher now. He had slept for a short time and felt better; his mind was starting to clear, but not his conscience. The nightmare that had awakened him was still fresh in his mind. He remembered what the merchant had done in the dream. He winced at the thought, and then remembered the slave trader had called the young girls his kittens. Aton rubbed the scars on his fingers that the black cat had given him in an effort to protect her young. She would have fought to the death for her offspring, even against a comparative giant like Aton. Reflecting on the nightmare, he thought that maybe the wagon was like the hollow log and the captive young girls were the blind kittens. He realized that he needed to stop this horrible man at the reins, and help the children. Without a second thought, Aton rose to his feet and turned toward the driver. He was going to kill the traveling merchant to protect the young girls from a horrible fate. His principles gave him no choice. At that moment, Aton went back into another battle trance. The tunnel vision of combat returned. He focused on the slave trader, who was watching the slowly passing road. Aton took small, shuffling steps forward on the cart as it bumped along the trail. The sun was low enough, that as he moved forward, the man saw Aton’s shadow thrust toward him just as Aton lunged headlong to attack his foe with a chokehold. Aton got his right forearm under the merchant’s chin and pulled back just as the man leaned over to grab for his boot knife. The thud of Aton’s body knocked the slave trader’s reaching hand away, so he did not get the blade. As Aton felt his forearm pull back and cut off the evil man’s flow of air, the merchant reached back and began to claw at Aton’s forearm. As Aton pulled firmly back, locked his right arm in place with his left, and leaned back even harder, the man began to wheeze for oxygen. The slave trader’s eyes were wild, red, and desperate as his arms flailed frantically. The traveling merchant fell back and Aton wrapped his legs around the front of the driver’s body and hooked his heels between the merchant’s thighs. With a savage grunt, Aton tightened his forearm again and felt the man’s trachea crush. The body went limp. His opponent stopped breathing. Aton let go, and the flaccid body rolled onto the planks of the wagon’s floor. The old horse continued down the road like nothing had happened.

  When Aton looked up, his trance and tunnel vision started to subside. Then he heard crying and noticed tears. He could not tell if it was from joy or fear, but the former captives had nothing to dread from him or the lifeless body at their feet. This nightmare was over. Aton reached into the dead man’s pocket, got his coin back, then retrieved the boot knife and cut the ligature from each girl’s bound wrists. They were free.

  “You don’t need to look at him anymore,” said Aton, as he kicked the dead body onto the road. It landed in a contorted position.

  Pent up emotion poured freely from all the girls. They cried as they hugged each other tightly.

  Aton put a soft hand on the shoulder of the tallest girl; the one he thought was the oldest. “Do you know how to get back to your village?”

  She shyly answered, “Yes, after the next stream we have to get on the road that merges to the left. Our village is very far away. We don’t have any food.”

  “I’m going to Acadia. Are you saying we have to turn before Acadia for you to get to your village?”

  “Yes, but Acadia is closer than you think. It’s not a far walk; I’ve seen its walls before.”

  “The wagon is yours at the next stream, and you can have this coin, too. Use it to buy food.”

  He put the knife in his pocket and held up the coin for the girl to take. As she took the coin, he noticed that his hands were still shaking from the struggle, so he gave her the reins and sat at the front of the wagon, head low, and thought about what he had just done, killed a man with his bare hands. He had done it after renouncing war and the senseless violence that came with it. He called himself a hypocrite, but knew that was the least of his worries. Distancing himself from that body he had kicked to the trail was what he needed to do, and he especially did not need to meet any of the soldiers who had recently thrown him from the battle camp. Distance was what he needed right now, and the horse in front of him was delivering that order in slow motion.

  Later that day they arrived at the fork in the road; to the right was the path to Acadia, and the other direction would begin the journey home for the young girls. He jumped out of the wagon and wished them all well. They left him with confused smiles and timid waves of goodbye. He ran from the path and found a level spot behind a large tree in the woods. This refuge in the thicket was close enough to hear travelers pass, but distant enough to prevent curious eyes from seeing him from the dusty trail. Sleep overcame him again and a blanket of nightmares draped over his unconscious mind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time that dawn arrived, Aton woke and continued his walk to the city of Acadia. No one else was around, just him and clouds of road dust churned from his weary footfalls. His body was still stiff and sore. He was still hungry and thirsty. All of that caused him to lumber along like an old man. As the sun rose higher, he saw shacks on the right side of the road. He was close to Acadia; he was sure of it. The disheveled cottages were evidently those of servants or workers employed on a nearby sugarcane plantation because an elegant homestead was visible. A short while later, his stiff muscles loosened a little, so he was walking slightly faster. He was pleasantly encouraged by the site of a landmark that indicated his destination was close, and that increased the speed of his steps. Beyond that, just past Acadia, he would soon reunite with his boat, and he hoped his meager stash of food was still there. His food supply was a question mark in his mind. The woods were teeming with rodents, and he had not taken any special precautions to secure his stash of dried provisions or the leather purse that contained the five silver coins that he had acquired as a prize for winning the archery competition at the spring festival. He cherished Esina’s handwritten note in that pouch more than the small jumble of coins crammed into the dainty leather bag. Her love for him was priceless, and he regretted leaving home more and more every day, but misfortune had already cast the dice that had det
ermined his fate, so he had reluctantly run away.

  Before he went to his boat, there was one thing he felt that he had to do. He wanted to see Hauk the slave and convince him to escape from Acadia while the town was nearly vacant and his master was still terrorizing the walls of Kern with Grinald. He felt that after having served in such a menial and degrading capacity during his stay with the warlord’s sieging forces, he had never felt so dishonored and humiliated in all of his life. Hauk had been a slave for all of his life, and Aton could not understand how that man tolerated an existence of eternal servitude, held as chattel.

  Aton’s clan had slaves, and in his comparative experience, his family treated their slaves better than other clans had, but the concept of slavery had always bothered him. Throughout his life and across the region in which he had lived, slavery was a very common practice; all the clans considered it normal, but the concept had caused Aton a moral dilemma. He had not completely endorsed the idea, but he was also not a person who could change a custom even if he wanted to take a stand against it, so he had tried his best to remain indifferent, but was still never immune to its stigma. On his first journey through Acadia, Aton had felt embarrassed of the reaction he had after Hauk had told him that he was a slave. The man had graciously opened the home he lived in and shared his roof and food with Aton, who had repulsed him after he admitted that he was a slave, and for that, Aton was ashamed. From that moment, he had silently promised himself to always object to that type of human bondage. Aton was ready to go back to where he had seen Hauk and convince him to escape, even though it would risk both of their lives. He wanted Hauk to be free. That resolution shook the rust from Aton’s machinery, and he went toward the city at a quicker pace. He looked like he had a purpose, but he also appeared tattered and torn, like a rag doll.

  A short time later, he approached Acadia, where the old woman’s ferry was across the channel. In his present condition, he could not pass through the town without attracting attention. He briefly considered waiting until dark, to travel under cover of night, but he soon noticed that the town still appeared as deserted as it had his first trip through, so the actual risk of unwanted attention was small. By the time he reached the city streets, his head hung low as he searched for Hauk’s home. No one there knew of his humiliation at the hands of Grinald, but it was the same to him as if they did.

  He recognized a few buildings, some roads, and several homes from his previous visit. Using these landmarks, he plodded down a familiar street and continued his search for Hauk. As he went down an empty lane, a stray black dog shyly approached. He cursed the mangy animal, and shooed it away for fear of getting fleas or lice. With its tail between its legs, the dog retreated to the shadows of an alley, whimpering.

  —— —— ——

  After the asteroid impact, starvation had forced the dogs, like the cats, out of the abandoned cities and into the fields, where they perished in incredible numbers. There was no one to feed them. If they could not find food for themselves, they starved to death, or if they could not stand exposure to the elements, they died, especially in the northern part of the continent, where most froze to death during the cold depths of winter. Like the cats, those that survived crossbred into types suited to their new environments. Few domesticated breeds remained.

  Of those canines that survived, two feral varieties evolved. The brown dogs roamed the open plains with the gray wolves and coyotes, and were a scourge to the shepherds and hill people when tending their many flocks and herds. The black dogs inhabited the forests and marshes. They were just as black as the feral cats of the woods.

  The brown dogs of the plains hunted in packs and were an aggravation of any herder of livestock, because unless an enclosure protected his animals at night, the packs were certain to attack. Not satisfied with killing enough to satisfy their hunger, these dogs tore and mangled flesh for utter delight, and would destroy many times as much as they could eat, leaving the torn carcasses of their unfortunate prey on the field. If these dogs happened to be hungry, the herds or flocks were never safe during the day. To protect the animals, two or three dogs, descendants of those that remained domesticated, usually accompanied wandering shepherds. These domesticated dogs were of such great size and strength that the brown dogs, coyotes, and even wolves cowered in awe. However, at night and when feral dogs traveled in large packs, starving and motivated by their great hunger, not even a hill person’s trained guard dogs could stop a ravenous pack of these nocturnal predators. Despite the bison’s size and strength, these brown dogs of the plains would relentlessly chase and finally pull down the largest bison in order to eat them. Even horses had fallen victims to their tireless thirst for blood, although horses were not usually their first choice of prey. On occasion, a man of the hill tribes might see signs of their presence, and then perhaps may not even hear a bark for as long as a cycle of the moon. That uncertainty in the case of the brown dog was a curse to the hill people, because after not seeing or hearing anything of their nemesis for such a long time, their alertness relaxed in spite of their prior experiences. Suddenly and unexpectedly, while they slept, the brown dogs of the night disseminated their herds and flocks.

  Black dogs of the forests and marshes usually did not attack people, and a hunter in the woods could hear their bark in every direction without fear. They were short, much smaller than a coyote, and only hunted rabbits and other small game. The black dog was an opportunistic scavenger, and it sometimes feasted upon the carcasses of dead animals, which they usually found almost picked clean by other stealthy carnivorous foragers. Because of this, they had grown accustomed to the habitats of people, and prowled in the evenings through the garbage, scurrying away from unfamiliar noises because they were extremely timid. They rarely ventured far from the dwellings of humans, although they would accompany an army on the march. They roamed around the forests or swamps without an apparent home or any appearance of attachment to any location.

  —— —— ——

  The home Hauk lived in was just ahead, and Aton was close enough that he could see someone outside of it. Hauk’s master was a wealthy merchant and the home’s masonry showed it. The house was two stories tall with walls made of stone and mortar. The stone was a light color and uniform size. All the shutters were open and the light breeze made the curtains flutter outward through the open windows. The chimney was almost flush with the peak of the gable roof, and tendrils of white smoke drifted up and disappeared with the afternoon breeze. The gentle wind was coming toward him, and it carried the aroma of cooking food.

  To Aton’s relief, the man outside the home was Hauk, but he had his back turned to Aton’s approaching footsteps. In front of the home’s open front door was a covered porch the length of the house. Near the porch, but in the street, Hauk was practicing his swordplay. The sling was gone from his arm, but it appeared that his injury still lingered because the slave soldier’s movements were not strong and swift, not for an experienced man of battle. After a few thrusts and slashes against the imaginary enemy in front of him, he stopped, let the tip of the sword rest on the dirt street, and rubbed the pain away from his shoulder with his free hand. His head hung low, like Aton’s, because Hauk knew he was not ready for battle.

  Hauk’s master had sent the injured warrior a message to meet him at the battle camp. The warlord’s second siege at the town of Kern was going to be the final battle of Grinald’s campaign of war this year. Hauk’s master wanted everyone he commanded to be ready to sack and pillage. Those recurring battles, sieges, and conquests were not so much for wealth as they were to display obedience to the warlord. Hauk’s master was wealthy from trade, not war, and he did not need the plunder of battle. Grinald did, but what the warlord really needed most of all was obedient and loyal followers, and his subjects needed a common enemy to unify them. With a mutual adversary, Grinald could keep clan leaders occupied, and that increased his political stability.

  For a man who functioned as a soldier and securi
ty guard for his master, Hauk knew that if he could not do these tasks anymore, he was useless to his owner. He was worth more as a runaway slave for the reward than an injured slave was worth at the auction. He truly believed his master was going to send him into the fever pitch of battle, to his death, to get rid of him. His owner was a shrewd merchant and understood profit and loss. If Hauk could not fight, then what purpose could he serve? An injured warrior slave was a liability. Deep in his mind Hauk was preparing for death, although he did not want to admit it. He was so focused on the pain in his shoulder that he had not heard Aton approach.

  “Hauk. I’ve returned.”

  Like a well-trained warrior, Hauk spun around, sword ready for the fight. In the same instant he recognized Aton, he winced from the pain in his shoulder, and the tip of the sword went to the dirt again.

  “You must be getting better,” said Aton. Words of encouragement were all he had to offer. He had left Acadia a poor beggar, and that was how he returned, hungry and destitute. He knew he was going to plead for food again, from a slave. His humiliation was intolerable.

  “Aton! I’m surprised to see you.” Hauk shifted his grip on the sword to the hand of his better arm and tried to move his hurt limb at the shoulder, in circular motions, to work away the stiffness and pain. “Yes. Yes, I’m better. Soon I’ll be at the walls of another sieged city. I’ll leave tomorrow, so I’m going to eat a large meal tonight. You must join me again.”

  “I haven’t had real food for days.”

  “I warned you to be careful of what you seek because you might find it.”