by Marie Daye
She turned around and he was thrilled to see anger burning in her eyes, the minor incident with the stable had brought some life back to her. She reached back and he prepared himself mentally for her slender hand to bash him across his face, instead her hand made full contact with his horse’s rump and the pitiful thing squealed before bolting down the road. Eskil held onto the reins and the saddle as tightly as he could, but the choppy gait the horse was lopping at made it impossible to stay on. He bounced out of the saddle and onto the ground, hitting the stone cobble road with a loud thud. He groaned and looked up, his horse slowing to a stop near him and Libelle in the distance just climbing onto her tall stallion.
She rode up to him, a mocking tone in her voice now. “What's wrong?”
She laughed and urged her horse into a walk as Eskil pushed himself up. He brushed himself off and climbed back into his horse's saddle, kicking the gelding’s sides so it would move forward. He clumsily held its reins, confusing the beast with his pulling and yanking of its bit. His feet were hanging in the stirrups and the more he kicked, the more the horse said no. The gelding snorted and stood still, not moving from its claimed spot.
Libelle turned her stallion around and returned to his side. “Not so easy is it?”
He glared at her, “Not so easy controlling a beast with a mind of its own.”
She frowned at him, “You're not supposed to control the horse. You're supposed to ask it, and with enough trust it will listen to you and answer.” She leaned over and pulled the reins from his hands, giving plenty of slack to the horses bit. The gelding chomped down onto the iron in its mouth and stretched its neck out and lettings its head down.
“You're taking in too much rein. Hold the leathers loose, keep slack in it. You should be able to feel his nose through the leathers, but you should not be pulling on him. Keep your feet deep in the stirrup, push through your heels and keep your toes pointed up. It will help with balance.” She pushed on his knee, then demonstrated with her own foot. “Rock in your seat, sit back and rock with your hips. Don't bounce, you will only exhaust yourself and destroy his back. To turn left, pull the reins over his neck like so-” She pulled the right rein over its neck and the horse turned its head to the left, its foot following.
“To turn right is opposite, like this. To slow down or stop, pull back: but do not yank on the reins. Any sound horse will send you flying. Tap with your heels into his sides to go forward, do not kick. If you ask him, he will listen.”
Eskil stared at her like she had three heads and spoke in tongue, everything she had just explained to him made little sense. She didn't smile at him, but held his gaze as she lightly tapped her horse's side with her heels and the stallion moved into a gentle trot. She turned him with light motions of her hand, the reins touching its neck with little pressure. Her stallion was well-trained, soft in the hand. He looked down at his bulky gelding and lightly nudged his heels into its side and the gelding walked forward.
“Good.” Libelle said. “You will figure it out by nightfall, we ride until dusk. Then we will make camp. We have three days ride ahead of us.” Her horse trotted forward, its movements were graceful and she hardly moved in the saddle. His horse clumsily loped after them, crashing him around in the saddle. He hoped he would figure this out before nightfall, otherwise he was in for a rougher ride than he thought.
Eskil groaned as he slowly lowered himself out of the saddle and onto the ground, his legs felt weak: like they would collapse out from underneath him. His back was sore and his groin was throbbing from being tossed around in the saddle for several hours. Libelle was watching him from the ground, kneeling over a collection of twigs and dry grass. She was organizing larger pieces of lumber around the small kindling and above it. She had found several stones even before he had managed to climb down from his horse, making a circle around the fire she was preparing.
He half expected her to light the fire with her flint, but instead a spark lit from her hand: she held a bundle of dried grass to it and waited until the material came to life with an orange blaze. The magic that the elven race possessed was rare, and only a handful of her kind was gifted with the abilities she possessed. She stuffed the kindling in with the rest of the kindling and gently blew on it. Within minutes, the fire was fully lit and the wood crackled as the fire ate away at it. He sat down next to its warmth with his black wolf skins wrapped around his shoulders.
He was sore and exhausted, wondering how the she-elf had energy left in her. Being a mortal was quickly proving to be harder and harder. He crossed his legs underneath himself, then crossed his arms over his abdomen when a loud rumble echoed from his stomach. Libelle looked at him surprised, her brows raised and the light from the fire flickering in her eyes.
Libelle stood up and silently returned to her horse's side, unlatching several leather straps before pulling the saddle and blanket from its back. She turned and did the same to his, setting both saddles on a nearby downed tree. She tied both their horses to small trees with long leads, fetched one of the bags of oats, and sat down by both their heads. Each horse nuzzled her hand as she scooped a small amount of oats into her palms, taking her time feeding them. She sat quiet and content for a long time, stroking their manes and tickling their lips as they ate from her hands.
She tightened the strap around the bag and set it down by their saddles, then rummaged through another bag and removed some of its belongings. He stretched his tired limbs when she sat down on the opposite side of the fire from him, she was unwrapping something from a cloth that smelt somewhat good. Libelle looked at him, assuring herself that she had his attention before tossing a half loaf of bread, then a portion of dried meat. He stared at it, then back at her. Watching as she took a bite of tough meat and grinding it up between her teeth. She sipped water from a small pouch, then took a bite of bread. He watched her for a moment, then repeated her gestures and filled his stomach with a bland meal.
She rolled a saddle bag up and set it down by her side, pulled her ghostly wolves pelts up against herself and laid down on her side. Her knees were curled up tight against her chest, her thin fingers holding the furs close.
“You should get some sleep.” She said.
He sighed and leaned back on the tree he was near, “Yes, we should. However, I’ve never slept like this before. It’s a bit interesting…”
“What is?”
“Seeing the world from this view.” He stared up into the clear sky, counting the rising stars lazily. “It’s been a long time since I just stared at the stars, a long time since I’ve just sat here and done nothing.”
Libelle looked like she was about to laugh, “What else is there to do besides look at the stars and think at night?”
“Sleep.” He shrugged.
She shook her head and then was silent to him again, her expression growing calmer as the evening progressed. Her blue eyes looked silver, eerie as the flickering flame mirrored in her eyes. He watched her for several minutes, even tossed a few more logs onto the fire as he did. Slowly, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed and she drifted to sleep.
“It would be easier to hate you Libelle, if you didn't look like that.” Sigh.
Chapter Six
Morning came faster than either individual cared for, their eyes opening to the blinding morning sun. Libelle sat up first, kicking dirt into the smoking embers and gathering her things up. She lightly brushed and saddled both horses before Eskil had even gotten to his feet. He moved slowly, like an old man would as he walked towards his gelding.
He patted the horse's neck with a yawn, feeling exhausted was not normal for him. Where had his energy gone? Libelle opened a bag and pulled out a large loaf of bread and dried meat. She broke the bread in half and handed him his portion. Then pulled to strips of meat out of the wrapping and handed him some. The same meal as the night before… he hoped this wouldn't be an everyday occurrence.
“We eat and ride.” She said, returning the supplies to the saddle bag and climbed onto her hor
se's back. She waited until Eskil did the same, his muscles were stiff and unfamiliar with riding: he was going to be sore for days. Once he was in his saddle, Libelle leaned forward and handed her stallion a small chunk of her bread. The horse's thick lips flapping as it chewed away on the tough dough. Seconds later she was walking her stallion down a stone path, silently eating her bread and dried meat.
Despite his attempts to bicker with her, Libelle remained quiet the entire day. They rode in complete silence until it was nearing dusk. She found a small clearing along the path that was close to a small creek that she said was plentiful with trout.
Like the evening before, she collected small stones and built a circle around her growing fire. Tossing larger pieces of wood onto it as it grew in size and warmth. She removed the saddles and brushed down each horse before venturing out into the thick brush and returning with long straight sticks. She pulled a knife from her boot, sat next to the fire, and began to slice thin amounts of wood from one end of each stick: forming sharp and pointed ends to them. She collected the wood in her arms and walked towards the creek, Eskil slowly following her as he rubbed his sore back with a groan.
She kicked off her boots and rolled up the leather of her pants while he watched her, all of her motions were fluid and all actions taken with some sort of intention. She stepped into the creek with one of the sharpened sticks, and then stood very, very still. Eskil started to speak and she held a finger up to him. He grumbled, then sat down along the shore line and stretched his arms and neck.
Libelle suddenly thrusted the stick into the water, laughing and a smile forming on her face. She held her stick up, on the end was a relatively large trout skewered on the end. She waded through the water to where he was sitting and handed him the stick.
“Dinner.” She said.
Eskil stared at the fish that had went limp, shrugged and took a large bite from its scaly and fleshy body. He grumbled with a mouthful of raw fish when she pulled it away and snatched it from his hands. A look of humor was mixed with disgust at him with wide eyes and narrowed brows.
“What?” He asked, swallowing the first bite of his meal. “You said it was dinner, I am eating.”
She shook her head “No! It’s raw, you need to cook it first!”
She gagged, setting the speared trout in the grass next to him before grabbing another pole and returning to the deeper water. She easily speared four more fish before exiting the stream and walking back to the fire. Again, Eskil followed behind her and sat down by the fire across from Libelle.
Libelle used the same knife she used to sharpen the sticks to de-scale the trout. The one he had taken a massive bite out of she held up, gagged again and shook her head. She pushed the sticks through the fish’s mouth, before stabbing the stick into the ground where they hovered above the fire. He heard the water on the fish sizzle, the meat slowly turning colors as the fish began to cook. She placed more wood onto the fire, and waited patiently while their dinner cooked.
Several minutes later she pulled one of this fish from the fire and handed it to him, it was the one that he had taken a bite from earlier. “Now you can eat, it’s cooked and the meat is not raw: it will not make you sick.”
He accepted it from her, and sniffed the now cooked fish. “Make me sick?”
“Yes, people get sick from eating raw meat. Wrecks your belly for days.”
He snorted. “You mortals are so weak.”
She shrugged, “If you see it that way, fine. But just be thankful I was kind enough to get you something other than bread and dried meat. Finish eating, then get some sleep. We are leaving at first light again.”
Libelle ate two of the cooked trout before leaning up against a tree and wrapping her pelt around herself. She shut her eyes, and within minutes she was asleep. Eskil stared at her while finishing the last few bites of his third trout, sighing as his belly felt full and he didn't have to taste meat and stale bread for the evening. His morning meal was surely not going to be as satisfying.
He set more logs into the fire before laying down and resting his head against his saddle, sighing while staring up into the night sky. He layed there with no specific thoughts in his mind, the sky was now completely dark with thick clouds: the stars were not out like the evening before. He sighed again, resting his forearm over his head where it rested on his scaled horns. He was exhausted, and he wanted sleep: so sleep he shall have. Closing his eyes, he was asleep within moments. His mind blank, his dreams forgotten, he would wake in the morning.
The sounds of screaming pierced Eskil’s ears as he opened his eyes to the dark sky. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up groggily before looking upwards in the direction that Libelle was supposed to be sleeping. Instead she was sitting up, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression livid. Her brow was creased, and she had a clear frown on her lips; her finger tapping her arm as she stared into the fire.
Behind her sat a rough looking man, his clothing filthy and his stench rancid. He held a blade to her throat and was muttering something to another man who stood beside them. He glanced around, taking in the situation. There were several men standing around the fire, more were standing beside unfamiliar horses. There were three women kneeling on the ground to his right, their hands bound behind their backs. They were wailing, tears streaming down their face as they pleaded with the dirty looking men.
He went to sit up when one of the men seemed to notice he was awake, his disgusting hand latching onto his horn and pulling him onto his knees. “Look here boys, we have ourselves a fancy little devil. What are these horns of yours, eh? What sort of devil are you?”
Eskil growled, but did not offer a clear response. These must be the bandits Libelle had mentioned. She was right, he would not be able to do anything to defend himself against these men. The more his anger boiled, the more he imagined ripping the man's heart from his chest: the more he felt a static-like pain tickle throughout his body. If he were to attack these men, he would be writhing in pain before they even began to slice into him.
He glanced around again. There was one man kneeling beside Libelle with a long blade against her thin throat, pressure from the sharp metal was causing her skin to turn red. Another man stood beside him, talking to the group of two men who were enjoying the warmth of their fire. Another man was squatting next to the three women, toying with them, and chuckling while they flinched at his touch. Three more were standing by the horses going what he had to assume was their ‘loot’ from their raids. Then there was the bastard who still had his grungy hand twisted around his horn. They were drinking the piss that men called ale, laughing and seeming to have a grand time.
Nine men in total, nine potential threats; he was completely, utterly helpless. Libelle was remaining still, her expression growing more and more frustrated: her tapping finger growing louder and faster in pace. Her patience was getting thinner with each passing moment, and she was more than likely calculating her every move in this distasteful situation.
The man standing beside him yanked his horn upwards and pain radiated through his scalp. He leaned down to speak to Eskil, the stench of rotting teeth wafting from his mouth as he spoke. “What sort of beasty are you then? Eh? Answer me!” The man released his horn and kicked him squarely between his shoulder blades, sending Eskil dangerously close to the hot embers. He caught himself with his hands before his face made contact with them, wanting to spin around and tear the man's head from his shoulders.
He glanced up at Libelle whose eyes were now tightly closed, her lips thin and tight as she chewed on her lower lip. She was still tapping her finger, and he could see a vein begin to pulse near her temple. He went to push himself up, but the man kicked him down again. He used all his mortal strength to hold himself up above the flames, while the man repeatedly stomped down onto his back while laughing.
“Huh? Tell me what sort of beast you are! Tell me!” He laughed, accepting a drink from one of his foul comrades as they began to laugh. The man re
peated his question several more times, still stomping down onto his back. Eskil gritted his teeth, looking back up at Libelle whose eyes were still closed. Why was she not doing anything? He stared at the knife that was against her throat, a small droplet of blood was forming at the tip of the blade. The man was carelessly holding her life in his hands, it was unacceptable.
Her life was his to take. Eskil ignored the sting as he grabbed a handful of glowing embers and turned, throwing them into the man's face as he did so. The man yelled out as the hot embers made contact with his face, but his scream was quieted as Eskil wrapped his hands around his throat. For a moment he felt satisfaction when his large hands coiled around the man's throat, he was seconds from taking the mortals life. All too soon however, he felt the same agonizing pain erupt through himself. He stifled his own scream, his hands releasing the mortal’s neck and he collapsed to the ground panting.
The man began coughing while the others all laughed at him, as soon as he recovered he cursed. “You filthy bastard!” He massaged his throat. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Eskil fought the urge to vomit as his stomach twisted in knots as the man's foot collided with his abdomen, the kick sending him into the air before he collapsed onto the grass. He coughed and groaned, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He looked at Libelle again, her eyes were open now and she was staring at him. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were tracking him.
Was she watching to see if he would kill the mortals? Would she sit there idly and let the men beat then kill him? What of the mortal women, what would she do about them?
He grunted when the mongrel of a man kicked him again, once more in the abdomen and then his face. He heard all the men begin to laugh when he tried to push himself up again.
“Blasted milk drinker.” The man cursed, kicking him again across his temple.
Another man laughed, “Humph, while you have fun with that horned beast, I think I will have some fun with this one.”