by David Hair
‘Sorcerers give me the creeps,’ she told Bess, which was certainly true. ‘That’s all.’
‘But you still came?’
‘Couldn’t let you go off without a midwife, Bess, you and all the other lasses who’ll end up carrying before this is done.’ She sighed. ‘Better go see what his Lordship wants.’
Bess gripped her hand. ‘What’s goin’ on inside me, Kem? Gimme truth, not sops.’
‘Truth is, I don’t really know. Could be a problem, or could just be stomach gripes or whatever. Time’ll tell – but I can deal with most things. Hold steady, girl. We’ll get you through this.’
Kemara extricated her hand, rose and went outside the tent, where Raythe Vyre was listening to Ronno Shapple. ‘My wife is nae right,’ the trapper was saying. ‘We got tae get ’er back tae civilisation and a real healer.’
‘Real healer?’ Kemara grumbled as Elgus Rhamp stomped up, a sour look on his face.
‘You must be joking, Ronno,’ Raythe replied. ‘We’re two hundred miles from Teshveld, let alone anything approaching “civilisation”. We aren’t going back, and that’s a fact.’
Ronno’s face was anguished. ‘I should’nae ha’ come.’
‘You’ll get the same care, here or in Teshveld,’ Raythe pointed out, not unkindly. ‘There was only ever me and Kemara – oh, and the governor’s physician, who never tended the likes of you anyway.’
‘Aye, that’s as maybe, but we cannae move ’er. You got tae stop the caravan.’
‘We’re not stopping for one sick woman – nor man, neither,’ Elgus Rhamp rasped. ‘Gerda’s Teats, if we’d been doing that, we’d still be ten miles out of Teshveld with the governor’s troops massing round us.’
‘But we’re not,’ Ronno snapped back. ‘We’re in the middle of bloody naewhere and the scouts all say the back trail’s empty. What’s a day or two for a life?’
‘It’s a precedent we can’t afford,’ Rhamp retorted.
Raythe noticed Kemara and asked, ‘How is she?’
‘Her belly’s stirred up and she’s feverish and there’s a pinched nerve in her back, at the least. I can’t say more than that at the moment.’
‘See?’ Ronno exclaimed. ‘Can ye look at her, Raythe?’
Kemara bridled, but Raythe was already saying, ‘Kemara knows more about healing than I do, especially when it comes to childbirth. I have every confidence in her.’ He turned to her. ‘What’s your diagnosis?’
‘Best case, she’s hurt her back and got a fever. Worst case, her back is gone and her unborn is distressed and feverish. I would like to keep her here for a day or two.’
Rhamp went to bark something at her, but Raythe raised a hand. ‘Elgus is right, we can’t stop for sickness. Can you tend her while we move?’
‘Not if there’s a real problem.’ She dropped her voice and turned her head away from Ronno. ‘It’s not impossible she’s miscarrying. Move her and we risk losing her and the child.’
Raythe sighed. ‘All right, so what if I assign guards for you and you catch us up once she’s right?’
Kemara bit her lip, trying to think it through. The surrounding land was inhospitable, but even though they’d seen no sign of human life here, that didn’t make it safe. Wolves roamed in packs and there were likely to be mountain lions and bears. And while she was devoting all her time to one patient, she’d be neglecting the dozen other pregnant women, not to mention the daily array of broken limbs, diarrhoea and myriad other vexations plaguing the caravan.
But right now, Bess needed her most.
‘If you can handle the healing for a couple of days, then I think it is for the best,’ she told Vyre. ‘Making Bess move right now would be torture for her.’
‘I have men I can spare,’ Elgus Rhamp put in.
Kemara watched the mutual lack of trust play out in the eyes of Raythe and the Pelarian knight. When Raythe glanced at her, she thought, Not Rhamp’s men – not after what Osvard did.
Clearly understanding her fear, Raythe said, ‘I’ll assign Jesco and a couple of hunters.’
‘It’s important that my people contribute,’ Rhamp said gruffly.
‘Then you should have made your son keep his hands to himself,’ Kemara snapped.
‘When are you going to get over that, Healer? My lad came off worst.’
‘And if he hadn’t?’
‘I’d’ve made amends.’
‘There are no amends for what he tried to do,’ she shouted at him. ‘Don’t you get that?’
The Pelarian gave Vyre an exasperated shrug. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said pointedly.
‘Elgus, your lads have taken Osvard’s side to a man,’ Raythe pointed out. ‘I’m not alone in hearing whispers of “setting things right” and “eye for an eye”. I’ll not be imposing anyone unwanted on Mistress Kemara.’
Rhamp drew himself up to his full height and growled, ‘You speak grand about building trust, Raythe, but you’re all talk.’ He stomped away.
Kemara let out her breath. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve been trying to build bridges with him, but I’m getting nowhere,’ Raythe muttered. ‘I sympathise with Bess, but we can’t afford to leave anyone behind, or get too stretched. We’ve been lucky so far: empty lands and decent weather have meant no one’s tried to turn back, but it would take just one deserter to get back to Teshveld and start talking and we’re all screwed.’
She didn’t have to like it, but he was right. ‘So the men you’re leaving are more to make sure we keep coming than to protect me,’ she observed.
‘No, your safety matters,’ he reassured her. ‘Take a day and a night and try to resolve this, will you? But no more than that. Do your best – but remember, the most important thing is that no one goes astray.’
Then he looked around, trying to see who was hollering his name. ‘Ah, there’s Vidar – that’ll be the scouts’ report. I have to go.’ He faced her and said softly, ‘Be safe, and good luck.’
Then he hurried away.
An hour later, the Shapples’ wagon, her own cart and the three guards who’d been assigned stood on a wide plain at the edge of a sea of pines watching the clouds blowing in from the coast twenty miles away. They were alone, and miles from help.
*
Shut inside the tent to avoid the drizzle, time seemed to drift, the minutes measured by Bess’ pained breathing in between bouts of uneasy sleep. Kemara brewed herbal teas and other elixirs to ease the pain, massaged and manipulated limbs and provided what comfort she could with constant murmuring conversation and encouragement.
It was mentally exhausting.
Outside the tent, she dimly heard Jesco Duretto, Cal Foaley, a weathered, lupine man who she gathered was something of a legend among the hunters, and a young tyro called Eidan Marr come and go. Sometimes rain sleeted in, then it would suddenly give way to sunlight blazing through the tent flap. Ronno came and went, mucking around with his children, Benji, five years old, and Kan, who was three, in that distracted way men had when forced to do something they considered a woman’s task. But he cared deeply; that was clear in his agitation and the way his voice cracked a little each time he asked for news.
Around evening, smelling food, she crawled out of the tent, stretching and wincing at the way her joints cracked from the hours spent kneeling or squatting by the sickbed. It was dusk and the rain had finally blown over, leaving clear skies. The planetary rings arched above, almost close enough to touch.
‘How is she?’ Jesco asked, looking up from the spiced vegetable mashcakes he was cooking; the other two guards were out of sight. His long flintlock was loaded beside him and he was sitting on a saddle beside the fire. Sunset was imminent, the slow descent into night well underway.
‘Asleep.’ Kemara yawned and stretched again, feeling her muscles pop. ‘Where’s Ronno and the bairns?’
‘Fetching more water from the stream over the way,’ Jesco replied, pointing north. ‘Foaley’s off down the back trail and Eidan’s watch
ing at the edge of the trees. We’re pretty sure there’s nothing on the coast side to trouble us.’
‘Any sign of trouble?’
‘Foaley reckons there’s wolves about: that’s why he’s gone scouting behind us.’
She gazed about. The horizons were wide here at the edge of the plains, although the sea was out of sight behind coastal hills. The snowy peaks to the northeast scraped the clouds.
‘I’m a little surprised no one lives out here,’ she commented. ‘It’s really beautiful.’
‘Koh nomads use these plains as winter grazing, but they’re away northeast of us by now, behind those peaks there. Come winter, they’ll be back – but trust me, you don’t want to be caught by them.’
‘But none right now?’ she clarified.
Jesco shook his head. ‘Their migration cycle is sacred to them, so you won’t see the Koh back here until autumn.’ He glanced towards the stream. ‘Here’s Ronno and the lads. Good timing. This food’s about ready.’
With the two hunters still away, they fed Ronno, Benji and Kan, while Kemara wolfed down her own food and readied a mashcake for Bess. Then young Eidan hailed them from the trees, waving cheerily as he emerged. The sun was about to touch the western hills and the clouds were limned in red and gold.
He was still a hundred yards away when Jesco suddenly shouted, ‘Eidan, run—!’
Only then did Kemara see that dark bipedal shapes had detached from the gloomy trees and were racing towards the young man. Jesco grabbed his flintlock as Eidan broke into a panicked run.
She squinted, trying to make out what was pursuing him – then Jesco’s long-barrelled gun cracked, belching flame and black smoke, and one of the pursuers threw up his arms and dropped to the ground. But the others were closing in, making weird braying noises.
‘Oh Gerda—’ Kemara heard herself gasp as Jesco frantically reloaded.
Eidan, realising he was about to be overtaken, spun round, whipping out his blade.
‘Ronno, grab a weapon,’ the Shadran snapped. ‘Kemara, get these lads to the wagon.’
The trapper shouted at his boys as Eidan drove back one attacker with a series of slashes, but another was closing in on his flank. Then Jesco’s gun blasted out another gout of flame and that second attacker roared and spun away, clutching a shoulder.
Eidan whooped, cut down his foe then turned and came pelting back towards them, while the attackers – seven or eight hairy, unkempt men clad in ragged uncured pelts – hesitated, perhaps deterred by Jesco’s marksmanship.
The young hunter burst away from them, running hard—
—but even as Kemara shouted a warning, one hurled a javelin—
—that slammed into Eidan’s back, sending him ploughing into the turf, transfixed through the back.
Oh no—!
‘Boys,’ she shouted to Benji, who was holding his younger brother’s hand and backing away, ‘get in the wagon – now!’
Jesco was cursing as Ronno fumbled an arrow into place and fired wide.
Kemara collared little Kan, hoisted him over her shoulder, then grabbed Benji’s hand and ran for the wagon, her heart pounding. She recognised their enemy now: wild men, known as ferali, who were surging towards the stricken hunter, howling triumphantly. Jesco fired again and another went down, but the rest fell on Eidan. Their primitive clubs rose and fell, then three of them dragged Eidan away, while Ronno, babbling in terror, shot wide again.
A few seconds later, the ferali had vanished into the trees, taking Eidan’s body with them.
Kemara swallowed bile as she thought about what that meant. ‘Stay here,’ she told the boys, glaring them into obedience, then running to the tent.
‘What’s happening?’ the pregnant woman demanded. ‘I heard shots.’
‘There’s ferali out there,’ Kemara hissed. ‘Can you move?’
Bess clutched her breast. ‘Where are my boys?’
‘In the wagon, and that’s where you have to be,’ Kemara told her. ‘Sorry, but we have to move you.’
Bess groaned, but she obeyed, fear for her family outweighing the pain. Kemara heard Jesco’s gun bark again as she helped Bess crawl from the tent, then hauled her to her feet. She threw an anxious look towards the forest, where she could see ferali were still milling beneath the trees. Another was crawling for cover, wailing thinly.
‘Stop shooting,’ Jesco told Ronno, who was too scared to shoot straight; he’d already wasted half his arrows without hitting a thing. ‘Hold, man!’
Adrenalin pouring through her, Kemara helped Bess hobble to the wagon and hoisted her into the back with her sons. Jesco was close behind, pulling Ronno with him, and just in time, for a volley of arrows suddenly sleeted from the trees, only just missing them as they ducked into cover. Kemara’s mule and the horses, Jesco’s Boss and two other riding animals and the two big draught beasts, were tugging at their ropes, but perhaps the ferali wanted the animals alive, because so far they hadn’t targeted them.
What if they rush us again? Kemara wondered.
‘Mistress Kemara, have you ever fired a gun?’ Jesco called, his voice doubtful.
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
The Shadran grinned. ‘Excellent. Eidan’s pistol is in his saddlebags.’ He indicated a pile of gear, halfway to the horses. He looked calm, despite their precarious position.
‘I’ll take it,’ Ronno blurted.
‘You stick to your bow,’ Jesco answered. ‘Hit something and I might reconsider.’
The trapper hung his head, scowling and ashamed.
‘Go on, Kemara,’ Jesco urged. ‘I’ll shoot if they break cover.’
Kemara nodded, then ran for Eidan’s gear and swiftly located the small wooden-handled pistol from under the canvas cover, along with his powder and shot. She glanced towards the pines, saw nobody emerging and decided she’d load before returning to the wagon.
Now, how did this go? Powder – ram – ball – ram again.
It’d been two years ago, in another life entirely, a fleeting respite on the road. She thanked that benefactor now, if not for all that he’d done. But she was partway into the routine of loading when one of the horses whinnied and she turned to see someone was standing among the beasts, loosening their tethers.
She froze – and so did he.
The ferali was clad in just a loincloth; he was holding something that was more butcher’s cleaver than sword, discoloured by rust and old blood. He was lean to the point of skinny, but corded in muscle. His straggling beard and hair were filthy and the only pale thing about him was his eyes, so burned by the sun was he. Even across the thirty yards between them, she could smell his rank, humid odour.
Then he screamed, scattering the beasts, and roared towards her.
Dear Gerda—!
Reflex took over and she muttered, ‘Ball . . . ram . . .’
He launched himself at her, that brutal blade raised to strike, as she wrenched back the hammer with both thumbs and from barely three feet away, jerked the trigger.
The gun roared, bucking in her hand and jarring her wrist – and the ferali was slammed backwards. Her eyes were dazzled by the flash and her eardrums reverberated, blotting out all other sound.
Blood splashing from a crater in the man’s sun-blackened chest, he stumbled backwards, clutching the wound and gasping for air, while she overbalanced and found herself sitting in the wet grass and staring at him in shock.
He fell, choking, and died in front of her, his despairing face etching itself into her future nightmares. She realised she was breathless and dazed to the point of fainting, but somehow she found the strength to reverse the rammer, thrust the brush down the barrel to clean it, then bite open another twist of powder and reload.
Only then did she think to look back, and found Jesco watching. He gave her a casual thumbs-up, then turned his attention back to the woods, while she scanned the grass for other attackers.
Seeing none, she tentatively called, ‘Beca—’
&nb
sp; Being a mule, Beca ignored her.
Every nerve jangling, she crept towards the beast, petrified in case anyone else was lurking in the grass. Beca baulked when she grabbed her reins and hauled, but then – miracle of miracles – she came, and the horses followed. She led them back to their camp, her heart thudding in her chest at every step.
‘You all right?’ Jesco called.
‘Aye,’ she replied, and she was surprised to find she really was: she felt vividly alive, every nerve awake and her senses on overload. ‘Aye, I’m fine.’
I killed a man – but I’m fine.
She tethered the animals to the wagon, then hoisted herself up beside Bess, who was grimacing and clutching her belly with one arm, but she was holding her sons against her with the other and looked as calm as could be expected.
Kemara flashed what she hoped was a reassuring grin. ‘You okay?’
‘Of course,’ grunted Bess, then she whispered, ‘Kem, you’ve got blood on you.’
Kemara looked down and saw splattered scarlet spotting her bodice. ‘It’s not mine.’ She scanned the plains, then trained her eyes on the forest, which was now descending into darkness. There was no sign of the ferali, but they were surely still out there.
Unless they’ve taken poor Eidan away to cook him. Her hand suddenly began to tremble and she shook herself angrily.
Ronno darted to the side of the wagon and grabbed at his wife’s hand. ‘We shouldn’t have come,’ he moaned. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘We’re going to be fine,’ Kemara told him.
‘No, we’re—’
‘Shut it, Ronno,’ Bess growled. ‘We’re here and we’re staying.’ She looked at Kemara. ‘Give us a moment, will you, Kem?’
Kemara was grateful to clamber out. Staying low, she ran to Jesco, who was huddled behind his saddle beside the fire. The handsome Shadran flashed her a grin. ‘Good work. How’re they doing?’
‘Bess is good. Ronno, not so much.’ She glanced around and wondered aloud, ‘Where’s Cal Foaley? Shouldn’t he be back by now?’
‘As I hear it, if anyone can look after himself, it’s him.’ Jesco peered along the barrel of his gun, frowning. ‘We’re losing the light and there’s a good number of those bastards left. If they rush us under cover of darkness, we’re screwed.’ He pulled a sour face. ‘It’s exactly what they’ll do, if they can still think things through.’