Slave's Gamble

by Jay Stonesmith

  She chewed on her lips. Hopefully, leaving the village would be easier.

  "It was charnroot," Merisca said.

  Ordella looked up at her. "What?"

  "In the soup. It wasn't taringe, it was charnroot. Tastes very similar. Grows near beech trees."

  "Oh, right," Ordella said.

  "Chegg, the cook,"—Merisca pointed over to the firepit—"said that he'd be happy for me to work with him. Says I just have to speak to Flynn about it."

  Ordella studied her friend's face. She seemed genuinely excited.

  "Just like the Warren," Ordella said. "Except with better food."

  "I hope better food isn't the only difference between here and there," Merisca said. She moved her hand from left to right in front of her. "Look around you. These people are happy and relaxed. When did you ever see that in the Warren?"

  Ordella didn't answer. Merisca was right, of course. But just because its people seemed content, didn't mean Oakhaven wasn't a prison of sorts in its own right. What happened to those who wanted to leave?

  Merisca reached into her pocket and looked Ordella straight in the eyes.

  "Mention of the Warren has reminded me.” From her tunic she removed a dark, thumb-sized object and passed it to Ordella. "This belonged to your grandmother."

  The item was wooden and heavy and was shaped a bit like an unopened pine cone that had been flattened, wide at its base then narrowing to a peak. At the thickest end, a small hole had been drilled through the wood.

  Ordella ran her fingers over its surfaces. The wood was very hard and bumpy. She held it up and turned it in the firelight. It was covered with a series of notches and carved patterns.

  "Your grandmother made me learn by heart what I'm about to say to you. She was adamant that I was to repeat her exact words."

  "This is what Gwenith would tell you if she were here." Merisca cleared her throat. "This belonged to your father. I have kept it safe all this time, so that, when the time was right, I could give it to you."

  Ordella pictured her grandmother speaking the words that were coming out of Merisca's mouth. Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes.

  "There's more," Merisca said, putting her hand on Ordella's knee. The Islander took a breath and continued.

  "I do not know what it is. Your father never told me, but it was important to him. When he went away to fight, he left it for your mother. When she was killed by the Kelsharlans, I took it so that I could pass it on to you." Ordella started to sob, clutching the wooden object to her chest.

  "Just one last bit to go," Merisca said. "I hope you can forgive what I did. I am proud of you and I will always love you. Make a new life for yourself and find your father. In my heart I know he is alive. Do not waste your second chance. Live the life you were meant to lead."

  Thoughts careered through her mind, smashing against one another. She closed her eyes and cried. Merisca put an arm around her shoulder.

  Why hadn't her grandmother just given it to her herself? Her brain strained to make sense of everything. Because then she would have known her grandmother was planning something. She'd had to go to Merisca, but that meant...

  Ordella pushed Merisca's arm away.

  "You knew what my grandmother was going to do." Ordella jumped to her feet. "You knew, and you just let it happen." She was vaguely aware of people turning around. "You knew, and you did nothing."

  Merisca stood up. "Gwenith wasn't a child, Ordella. She knew exactly what she was doing and why she had to do it."

  "But you could've talked her out of it." Her voice was wild and ragged. "You didn't wield the knife like Billy, or put the knife in his hands like Skerrick, but you're as much to blame for her death. You could have stopped it all before it even started."

  Merisca stared at Ordella. "That's not fair!" she said. "It wasn't my decision to make. Your grandmother came to see me after she'd spoken to you. She could see no other way to make you leave. She'd already made up her mind, and she made me promise to go with you and to look after you. So here I am"

  "Oh, how very noble of you," Ordella said. "I'm sure that the chance to escape from the Warren didn't come into it at all. In fact, I bet you probably put her up to it." She stepped over the bench to stand closer to Merisca. "And all this time I thought we were friends."

  "We are friends, Ordella." Merisca's voice was measured and calm, but her eyes still burned bright. "And that's why I'm going to forgive you for the hurtful things you've just said to me."

  "Well, we're not friends anymore," Ordella said. She turned on her heel and marched toward the archway, ignoring the whispered comments from the benches as she thundered past.

  The cool evening breeze goose-pimpled her skin. She clenched the gift from her grandmother tight in her hands. The chiseled indentations dug into her palms, but she didn't loosen her grip. She welcomed the pain. It was the only thing keeping her in the present, the only thing stopping her from dropping to her knees and drowning in a sea of desperate memories.

  She clenched her fist tighter. The object's sharp edges pushed further into her skin. Ordella winced. She deserved the pain. She'd lost her grandmother, and now she'd lost Merisca, too.

  Twelve

  Ordella bowed her head and walked in the direction of the sleeping platform they'd been shown to that afternoon.

  Oakhaven was almost totally shrouded in darkness, but she could just about make out the edges of the path in the dim flickers of light escaping from the outside room she'd just fled.

  With every step, the noise from the dining space became more distant, and, by the time Ordella had reached the base of the tree that she believed supported her platform, the chatter and laughter had been almost completely drowned out by the rustle of leaves and the creak of branches high up in the trees.

  Ordella paused at the foot of the tree and ran her fingers over the rough surfaces of the wooden object her grandmother had left for her.

  Should she try to leave Oakhaven tonight, or stay for a few more days and wait for a better opportunity? If only her grandmother was here. She'd know what to do.

  Ordella took a deep breath and stowed the strange wooden object in the pocket of her green tunic. She nodded to herself and pushed back the hair from her face.

  She might be dressed like an Oakhaven villager, but she didn't belong here. Merisca might've been won over by their fragrant soup and the people's happy demeanor, but Ordella couldn't risk becoming a prisoner again. Oakhaven might turn out to be an idyllic place to live, but staying here wasn't going to help her discover what had happened to her father. It wasn't going to help her keep the promise she'd made to her grandmother.

  Ordella followed the path between the sanctuary oaks. Surely there'd be a boundary fence or ditch at the end of the row, and then it would just be a matter of lying low for a while until evening turned to night, then moving off into the forest.

  If Hob could be believed, the Owls were out there keeping watch over Oakhaven, but surely they'd be focused on detecting those trying to enter the village, not those attempting to leave. And they couldn't be monitoring every part of the forest, especially when the sky turned black.

  "Ordella." A man's deep voice called out from the gloom behind her.

  Startled, she whirled around.

  It was Jereth. His face wore a smile, and his right hand was clasped around a mug.

  "It's a bit dark for a walk, isn't it?" he said.

  Ordella looked down at her feet.

  "Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to march you back."

  He took a swig of his drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  "I saw you arguing with Merisca and then I watched you leave. I thought I'd better follow you. Make sure you were alright."

  Ordella didn't respond. His story sounded plausible, but it was just as likely he'd been sent by Lera to make sure she didn't escape.

  "I know you want to leave Oakhaven," Jereth said. "And believe me, when I first arrived, I felt
like I was a prisoner, too."

  Ordella glanced up and raised an eyebrow. Jereth waved away her unspoken question with a flick of his hand.

  "I'm not here to bar your way," he said. "I just want to talk to you."

  He took another gulp from his mug then tipped out what was left onto the path.

  "The Border Wood has changed. Since the villages were burned, and the Gilmarian patrols stopped completely, it's become a dangerous place to travel, particularly alone. You've already come across Kelsharlan soldiers, but they're not the only threat you have to worry about. Bands of brigands now roam the paths, displaced from their former homes, desperate and hungry. And mountain lions, rotclaws and wolves have become emboldened since the villages have gone and strayed beyond their traditional haunts."

  Jereth put his hand on her shoulder.

  "I'd urge you to stay," he said.

  Ordella pushed his arm away.

  "I can look after myself. I've survived in the Warren, I think I can manage a walk through the woods."

  The soup sat heavily in Ordella's stomach, and her hands grew clammy. Hopefully, she'd sounded more confident than she felt.

  "But you don't even have a weapon," he said. "You won't be able to keep everything at bay by throwing stones at them. At least let me find you a bow and teach you how to use it."

  "I know how to use a bow," she said. "My father taught me when I was a little girl."

  "Good," Jereth said. "Then you should prove to be an excellent student." He smiled. "I'll call for you in the morning."

  Without saying another word, he turned around and started to walk back towards the center of the village.

  Ordella watched him stride up the gentle hill. He didn't turn back once, as if he'd said his piece and that would be enough to change her mind. Well, she'd show him.

  She straightened her tunic and took a step downhill, then abruptly stopped.

  What in all Ellusia was she doing? Jereth might be arrogant, but he didn't seem to be lying about the Border Wood.

  Ordella bit her lip. She hadn't thrived in the Warren by taking unnecessary risks. No. She'd toed the line when it made sense and only chanced her arm when the benefits made it worthwhile, or when there was simply no other option. So why was she getting drawn into acting differently on this side of the wall?

  Pride. She curled her hand into a ball. She'd allowed her pride and anger to cloud her judgment. An image of her grandmother on the Warren's floor pushed its way into her mind. She couldn't afford to act rashly. She'd made a promise to her grandmother and, even if it took her the rest of her days, she would see the quest through to the end.

  Ordella turned around and faced the line of sanctuary oaks.

  Jereth was right. She was much more likely to survive her journey with a bow in her hand and a quiver full of arrows.

  With one hand in her tunic pocket, her fingers wrapped around the wooden object that'd once belonged to her father, she walked back to her sleeping platform.

  Thirteen

  A pale arrow fletched with bright yellow feathers thudded into the post at the foot of Ordella's hammock. It quivered for a moment and then fell still.

  "Ordella!" Jereth called out in a half-whisper from the forest floor below her sleeping platform.

  She rubbed her eyes. The sky was cloudy, and the sun's light was only just beginning to brighten the forest below.

  Ordella swung her legs over the side of the hammock. It swayed backwards, twisting the fabric and spilling her onto the wooden boards. She swore, rubbed her knees and then stood up.

  She peered over the rail. Jereth was holding his bow in his left hand, and in his right, were two arrows. He had a bag slung over his shoulders, and there was a hide-wrapped bundle at his feet.

  "Good. You're up." He slid the arrows back into the quiver he wore at his belt. "I'm here to give you your first lesson."

  She closed her eyes. Why couldn't he just give her a bow? She didn't want company, least of all his. After all, he was the reason she was still in this stupid place. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

  "Ordella," he said again. His voice was deep and had the tone of someone used to giving orders and being obeyed in return. "Come down. I'll meet you by the wood stack." He pointed over his right shoulder. "Be quick."

  *****

  Jereth sat on the edge of a huge pile of stacked logs, his bow and packs beside him.

  "It's about time.” He hoisted his bag onto his back and thrust the other package towards her. "Take this."

  The bundle wasn't heavy, but it was an awkward shape and Ordella had to adjust her grip on it a few times before she was able to hold it without it slipping.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "You'll see," he said. "You'll see."

  He looked her in the eyes, a faint smile parting his lips. "It's a place you're going come to know very well."

  Ordella smiled and nodded.

  That remains to be seen. If I can find a way to escape, I might not be here for much longer.

  The path led them to an open space surrounded by silver birch, small sanctuary oaks, and beech trees. Around the perimeter were six large bails of bundled twigs, their circular faces painted in rings of white, blue and yellow, with small red circles in their centers.

  The floor of the clearing was covered in thick grass, and out of the green sprouted dozens of wooden poles. Some were only as high as Ordella's ankles, but others reached up to the top of her head and beyond. And they'd been painted too. Most were yellow, but some of them were blood red or a deep blue.

  She laid down the bundle she was carrying and ran her hand across the surface of the nearest post. It was smooth as if the wood had been sanded and polished.

  Jereth leaned his bow and packs against one of the poles near the edge of the clearing and motioned for her to come and join him. She hefted the hide-wrapped package and set it down next to him.

  "Go and stand by that red one over there," he said, pointing to a thigh-high post a few yards off in the middle of a clump of yellow ones.

  Ordella picked her way through the pillars and turned to face him.

  "Catch," Jereth said, throwing something at her with a flick of his right hand.

  It was a stone, but she saw it late. It was heading straight for her face. She shimmied to her right and stretched out her left hand. A sharp pain jarred across her palm, and her whole arm was forced back, but the stone had stuck. She clamped her fingers around it and gathered it in. She glared at him.

  "Now place the stone by your feet."

  Ordella let it fall from her hand and it came to rest by the big toe of her right foot.

  Jereth nodded towards the nearest of the painted bails.

  "In a moment, I want you to pick up the stone and throw it at that target over there. Aim for the red circle in the center."

  Ordella took a breath and focused on the target. It wasn't too far away. It was a throw she could make.

  "Go!" he said.

  Ordella scooped up the stone and flung it in one motion. The stone flew straight and true, striking the bale in the middle of its red-daubed center. She smiled and turned to Jereth. Surely he'd be impressed by that.

  He nodded as if he'd expected her to make the throw.

  "Fast and accurate," he said. "You didn't have to think about it, you just did it. You didn't need to consider how you were going to pick up the stone, how you were going to grip it, how far you were going to cock back your arm, nor when you were going to release it. Your instincts took over, and you just threw it." He stared at her. "That's what it's like for me when I'm loosing an arrow. I don't have to think about it. From quiver to target, it's all one action. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Now, it wasn't always like that. When I first learned to use the bow, I was like a baby picking up a pebble for the first time. I had to master all of the stages in turn, so that one day, when I was ready, I could put them together into one fluid action, hitting a target wi
thout thinking."

  He picked up the bundle she'd carried from the village and started to untie the lashings.

  "You will have to go through this too, Ordella. Today, you are the baby with the pebble."

  Her brow wrinkled. She was much further on than that. Hadn't he listened when she'd told him her father had taught her back in Rittle? She stared at him but held her tongue.

  Crouched over the bundle, Jereth undid the last knot and pulled back the material to reveal a bow. It was already strung and was bent in the same serpent-like shape as his. Jereth's bow was much smaller than the ones her father and his friends had used back home, but the one he'd just unwrapped was even smaller still. It wasn't even as large as the bow she'd practiced with when she was a little girl.

  Jereth passed it to Ordella.

  "This, like mine, is inspired by horsebows used by the tribes in the plains around the city of Arilja, across the sea, way to the east of here. It isn't carved from one piece of wood like the bows from these parts. It's made from several different timbers, strips of horn and sinew glued together. It gives the bow strength, and power and speed."

  Ordella studied the bow's limbs. Paler at the tips and dark in the middle, she could hardly see where the different types of wood joined together. She pulled back the string. The bow flexed much more than she was expecting. She glanced at Jereth.

  "Don't worry," he said. "It's meant to do that. It won't break."

  He handed her a quiver full of arrows. Their flights were cut from the same yellow feathers that topped his, the arrows that had brought down the Kelsharlans in the forest. She slung the quiver's belt around her waist, pulled it tight and fastened the buckle. Jereth reached over and adjusted the position of the quiver, then took a step back.

  "Good," he said. "Now show me how you nock an arrow."

  Holding the bow in her left hand, Ordella reached down to the quiver. She grasped an arrow and started to draw it out. The angle was wrong, and the arrow's pointed head scraped against the leather on the inside of the quiver, preventing her from pulling it out in one movement. She wrenched it free and brought it to the bowstring.