“Sorry boss,” Halog said. The man was collecting bowls from the former slaves.
Sherie just looked at the collar on the ground by Gorin and thought,
“They aren’t former slaves until this thing comes off.” Sherie gave her empty bowl to Halog on his way by. She picked up the collar and asked, “What are we gonna do with this?”
Baxin looked over and said, “Someone will take ‘em out into the woods and bury ‘em while we break camp in the morning.”
“Shame. Seems like we could make some coin selling ‘em,” Sherie said.
“Maybe, but we gotta worry about having ‘em until we offload ‘em. And how are we going to explain where we got ‘em?” Thedo said.
“Right,” Sherie said as she looked at the slaves sitting in the tents. “You,” she pointed to the brunette woman in her tent. There were four women total.
“Me, milady?” The women asked, shrinking away.
“Yes, you. C’mere, I want to try to get that damn collar off of you,” she said irritably.
“You don't have to call her ‘milady'," Baxin told the woman.
“Don’t tell her that, I liked bein’ called 'milady' for once in my life!” Sherie said.
Thedo and Halog laughed at that. Baxin gave them an irritated look, and they quieted.
Gerald sat near the fire with his bowl of stew and said, “Bring her over here, I’ll help as much as I can.”
“Right,” Sherie said, and brought the woman over. They sat down, and she stuck the pick in the lock. She kept in mind what Gerald had told her, and tried wiggling the pick and getting the lock to pop open. Gerald advised her while she worked.
This was some frustrating work she was finding. She listened to the lock, trying to get it to give her more secrets while she fiddled with it. After Gerald finished his meal, he brought another man over to work on his collar with his other lock pick.
Then, when Sherie's frustration had become nearly more than she could bear, the unlikely happened; the collar unlocked and popped open.
“I did it, Gerald! Look!” She exclaimed, grabbing the collar and thrusting it into the air victoriously.
“Great, Jirai! Tomorrow night, we’re gonna find out if it was beginner’s luck or not,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Thursday June 14th 1612th year of the First Great City Traveling
They traveled down the road the next day after breaking camp. Sherie had a hard time sleeping, last night, without drinking anything. She was awakened twice by her flashback dreams from Vox. She had a hell of a time getting back to sleep. She was feeling it now, her ass was dragging. No amount of coffee was going to help with it.
To keep herself more alert, she asked Gerald how they were stealing the slaves in the first place. First, he corrected her, "We aren't stealing them, we're liberating them." Then he told her to ask Baxin about it since he knew more. According to Baxin his mother would fake the death of ill slaves and hide them until they had enough to make a run. That was pretty smart in Sherie's opinion.
“So, how do we get paid for this? There can’t be any real money in just setting them loose, can there?” She asked.
“When we get them to the drop-off, they pay us. There are a lot of people that give money for this. Most of them won't get their hands dirty doing it, but they don't mind tossing coins in a hat to help." Baxin replied.
It was the afternoon now, and the hot sun was beating down on them. She chewed on some dried salted beef and washed it down with water.
She’d learned several things by chatting with Gerald and Baxin. The other gents were nice, but not knowledgeable enough to satisfy her curiosity.
One thing that had been bothering her, was why were the slaves gagged? According to Gerald, it kept them from squealing when something unexpected happened, like a Legionnaire tapping a barrel with a baton. The six slaves that were still wearing their collars were packed away in the barrels again this morning.
“That makes sense,” she thought.
The other three slaves rode on the wagons, wearing cloaks that had been packed just for them. When they encountered other travelers, Gerald told them that these folks were walking and he’d offered them a ride.
While they rode, Sherie had time to think about things. Time she wished she didn’t have.
Vox haunted her thoughts, just as it haunted her dreams. Thoughts of the man who saved her life. And died in front of her. That huge man Bryce, she could vividly remember burying her head in his chest while he stood.
She knew he would never be hers, it was just her turn. She had intended to treasure the time she had. She knew he had a wife and child. He had told her the truth of it when she’d asked.
“Then why are you with me?” She’d asked him. “What do you want from me?”
“Why? Well, you’re here and I can understand you. What do I want? Nothing more than what you want to give me,” he’d told her.
She felt like such a damned fool as the tears rolled out of her eye. She wiped them irritably, hoping no one had seen them.
She watched the woods roll by as the open wound inside her came out for air. She swore she could even smell the man at this moment.
She tried hard to shake these thoughts. She wouldn’t be able to continue if she couldn’t let go of them.
Monday June 25th 1612th year of the First Great City ...in for a gold
Sherie proved to Gerald that her picking that lock wasn't a fluke. Over the next two days, they were able to get the rest of the collars off of the slaves. She had only been able to unlock half as many as he did, but according to him and the other men, her accomplishment was nothing to mock. As a reward for her hard work, Gerald let her keep the lock pick and told her he'd try to get more money for her if he could. He emphasized that he couldn't promise her anything, though.
One of the most striking things about traveling with the newly freed slaves was how inept they were at just talking to another person. They would automatically defer to anyone, even their fellow slaves that weren't wearing collars. Baxin and Gerald helped them learn when to give basic respects in the way a commoner would, so they wouldn't stand out. Most of these people had been born as slaves and knew no other way.
Well, Brina hadn't been born a slave obviously. She actually spoke fairly normally, but she hardly spoke at all. At first, she had thought the woman was stuck up, but when Brina actually did talk to her one night in their tent, she told Sherie her story.
The poor woman’s child had died after she had given birth, despite Doctor Zanna’s best efforts to save her. It was all she could do to keep from crying while she laid there made up to look like she had died in childbirth. She told her it was the worst pain, trying to be quiet when her owner came in the room to see her that way. Sherie's heart went out to the woman.
Sherie had made it a point to try to raise the despairing woman’s spirits. She had lost a lot, but she hadn’t experienced this particular loss. It seemed to help her, by focusing on another person’s problem. This way, Sherie didn’t have to think about her own pain so much.
They had passed through two small Holds over the last week or so they had been traveling. Sherie couldn't remember their names now and was surprised to learn that they actually were Holds. She guessed that there were fewer people living in each of these pathetic little backwaters than the number of people remaining at the battle's the final charge. Heck, that was probably more than both of those little Holds together.
They had camped just outside of the small holds each time they encountered one, though. It was safer for them that way. While they hadn't encountered any bandits yet, Gerald assured her it was only a matter of time. She took the time and picked up her own horse so she could scout ahead and come back at her leisure. She liked it much better than being at the mercy of the wagon's slow movement.
She had filled one of her saddlebags with grain for the animal and also bought two more water bladders, exclusively for alcohol. She needed to get some sleep, and the onl
y time she seemed to sleep worth a damn now was when she had drank a good amount.
After they’d reached the first hold, Gerald told her; “It’s time for you to buy your own damned pipe, woman!” Sherie laughed, and asked “Why? Yours is as good as any I could buy!”
When Gerald shook his fist and cursed at her, she’d laughed heartily. Then she bought a pipe, some cleaners, a few different tobaccos and some matches.
During the trip, Sherie, Gerald, and Baxin had all been sparring after they stopped each night. Gerald showed them a few really mean techniques for controlling and putting people down easily. She had only learned three distinct new things, but he also helped them both with their overall technique. She knew now that she was better than she had ever been before. She was sure she could probably fight someone with their first tier of mastery and hold her own.
In hand to hand, anyway. Gerald told them that hand to hand was the basis for all techniques, though. By mastering this, they would improve their melee weapon skills as well.
Sherie had finally gotten the knack of striking her targets solidly at a distance without her right eye, too. She felt so much better after she figured it out. She had to adjust it depending on how far away from her target she was. It reminded her of the blackboard figures the drill instructors had used to train them in controlling a house with two soldiers. The way they used cones to illustrate the field of view of each person. They had drilled quite a bit on taking an area with just one other person, making sure to never overlap their vision so they could cover more area quickly without leaving any blind spots.
She had to adjust her aim on an angle consistently based on the distance, much like the vision cones the instructors had used to demonstrate. Gerald had congratulated her, and when she showed him what she had figured out, he was impressed.
“Good girl. We’ll need all of our bows when our luck runs dry,” he told her.
“Are you expecting a problem?” Sherie asked.
“I’m always expecting a problem. And we’ve already done everything we can do to make sure we’re ready. You bein’ able to use your bow is going to be nothing but good for us,” he told her.
They had been able to see the mountains in the distance since they left Fenel Hold. But now they were riding on the road as it was being squeezed beside the river by the huge rocks. Instead of having to go down a bank to the Sina River, they were right next to it. The river carved its way through the rock of the mountains here, and the road had been carved out above it a few yards.
They didn't talk as much here, and when they did, they talked more quietly. The way their words echoed through this canyon was unpleasant and potentially dangerous. If they were careless, they could be heard for miles. They had been traveling through the pass for two days. The road was much narrower here, and sometimes it would be difficult for her to ride her horse beside the wagons because it was so slim, so she rode ahead.
The first night they had to make camp without the tents; there was simply no place for them to stake them into the rock. They had to empty their water skins into a trough that Gerald had in the front of the first wagon so the horses could drink. In fact, Sherie, Halog, and Thedo took every skin they had, filled them and relayed them into that trough so they could fill the damn thing. There was no way they could get the horses down the steep stone path that went to the river without breaking their legs.
None of them slept worth a damn that night. The second night was better since they could actually stake their tents out. In this area, there was soil beside the carved rock road. There were evergreen trees growing out of the soil sporadically. There seemed to be trails going off into the mountains. Sherie could tell that Gerald was becoming nervous here.
“What’s wrong?” She asked him with concern. She finally had this mount broken in well enough for her to control it with her knees. She filled her pipe while she waited for his answer.
“There’s a mountain tribe here. They will raid travelers, but they will usually give you a chance to bargain for passage. I’m just keepin’ an eye out for ‘em,” he told her seriously, scanning the landscape.
“Why hasn’t someone rooted them out?” Sherie asked, appalled that bandit raids like this would be allowed.
“Legion has tried a few times. They haven’t been able to find them. They get ambushed, and they have traps all along the paths for the unwary. I heard they lost a hundred men the last time they came into the mountains here,” Gerald told her.
Sherie lit her pipe then pulled her bow, knocking an arrow. She held the arrow with her fingers while she smoked her pipe. Her eye roamed over the rocks and the evergreens poking up from the ground.
There was nothing to be seen, though.
That night Sherie slept restlessly. The dream started out well enough. It was a vivid memory of being with Bryce. The kind of vivid that would have left her toes curled when she woke up if it hadn't gone bad. Then, when she climaxed, he smiled at her in the dim candle light of the inn room, and his head fell off of his shoulders. His life blood welled from his neck and started choking her.
Then she woke up coughing and felt like she was still choking.
“Are you alright?” Brina asked her quietly in the darkness of the women’s tent.
Sherie just sat there and breathed heavily. She felt around for her weapons belt in the darkness, grabbed her bow and quiver. She gathered everything except her saddlebags and walked outside. Brina followed her.
Sherie walked quietly and tapped Halog on the shoulder. He was startled and grabbed his sword. She whispered, "It's me, Jirai. Go to sleep, I've got this."
“You took first watch, though," he said.
“I can't sleep anyway. You might as well get some sleep," she told him.
“Right. Baxin’s next. Wake him when the sky starts lightening,” he told her.
“Ok,” Sherie said, and sat down with her back to the small fire, watching the sparse woods.
Brina sat down beside her, huddling under her cloak. Halog got up with a yawn, and went to his tent.
Brina asked her, “Why do you sit with your back to the fire? Won’t you be warmer if you turn around?”
“Maybe,” Sherie said, taking a drink of the whiskey in one of her skins. “Want some?” She offered the skin to Brina.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking a stiff swig. She gasped and sputtered. “It has been so long since I’ve drank, do you have water?” She asked.
Sherie pulled the water skin off of her and handed it to Brina without a word.
She took a drink from the waterskin while Sherie took another drink of the whiskey. They sat together in silence. Sherie packed a pipe and lit it with a slender branch from the fire. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness again.
“When was the last time you drank?” Sherie asked, not so much because she cared. It was more because she didn’t want to think about what had woken her up.
“I’m not sure. What year is it now?” Brina asked.
“What do you mean, what year is it?" Sherie asked flabbergasted Brina would ask such a ridiculous question.
Brina giggled lightly before Sherie heard her choke back tears. “Look, I wasn’t trying to make fun. I was just surprised you’d ask me that,” Sherie told her.
“When you're a slave, there aren't any calendars for you to look at. You can't ask questions or anything without being yelled at or hurt. I honestly don't know what year it is," she wept quietly.
Sherie felt like a real heel now. She said, “Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea. It’s 1612, ok?”
“By the spirits, I can’t believe it. I’ve been a slave for six years!” Brina wept quietly.
Sherie knew she should feel bad for her, but she didn't. Yes, Brina had a tough draw in her life, but so had she; it wasn't like feeling bad for her was going to change anything. She sucked on her pipe and watched the woods.
Snap. Sherie heard the noise clearly, and it came from the darkness, not from the tents.
Br
ina started speaking, “The last time...”
“Quiet!” Sherie hissed as she stood up and knocked an arrow. Brina stopped speaking, but Sherie could feel the confusion and hurt coming from her.
“Take cover, quick!” She ordered the former slave before she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Everybody up! Someone’s in the woods! Get up you rabble!” She promptly ran to the big rocks ahead of her for cover.
Sherie could hear the men stirring, but not before she heard a bowstring twang. The arrow sliced through the air near her and penetrated one of the tents. She heard a man's cry come from there.
She looked over the rock as much as she dared, but she couldn't see anything out there in the darkness.
She could hear a gruff voice come from the woods shout, “If I find out who fired without me say so, I’ll be givin’ em a red ring around yer neck to remember it by!”
Sherie could hear the sound of boots approaching from the tents, and the muffled cries of a wounded man.
She heard Gerald’s voice ring out, “Jirai! What have we got?”
She looked back and could see him behind the sheer rock face that the road had been cut out of. Instead of answering, Sherie simply pointed to her eye and nodded in the direction of the woods. She then ran forward to the wide pine on her left from the rock she'd been at. No arrows twanged from bows as she did.
“You’re not a bad looking woman!” The gruff voice yelled from the woods.
Gerald came forward to the rocks Sherie had just left. Halog and Thedo were by the rock face Gerald had just run from. She didn’t see Baxin.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Gerald called out.
“I’m the man that has you outnumbered, that’s all you need to know. What do I want? I’ll take your women. How many do you have?” The gruff voice yelled.
“Just one, and she ain’t for trade!” Gerald yelled back.
“Now, now, lyin’ ain’t gonna get you anywhere with me, trader. We saw the other one with her. What are you hauling?” The gruff voice yelled.
Fugitive: A Prequel to Spirit of Magik Page 7