by Jamie Day
“In the forest north of Taylor’s Ridge,” he answered, “where you brought me.”
“What day is it?”
“The first night of Sun Season, after the fire.”
I sat and discovered that my body ached as much as my head did. My moaning must have escaped my thinking, because Ethan reached around me to prop me up. I took a large breath of air, but it didn’t help the pain—although my lungs felt better.
“There’s a cave nearby,” I said. “It will be a safer place to rest.”
“I know,” interrupted Ethan, “I found it.” He shuffled away from me.
“Can you find it again?” I asked. “I’d like to go there.”
He started to answer, but paused as the forest went eerily silent. Then he leaned close and whispered. “I want you to see something.”
I shivered. For the first time, I missed something I had lost in the fire, a warm sweater. I folded my arms and held them close, but no relief came. “Can it wait until morning?” I asked. “I’m exhausted.”
“I know you’re tired,” he answered. He grabbed one of my hands and pulled, attempting to lift me. “This is something you’ll want to see.”
My head hurt again. I didn’t understand what my brother was saying and forest still felt oddly quiet. “Why must I see it now?”
“I think I know who started the fires.”
I forced myself up and followed Ethan through the trees. He was fast and nimble, dashing ahead of me, only to return and guide me in the dark while insisting that we continue faster. I wanted to rest—I needed to rest—but I was also eager to see what secret my brother had discovered.
As I stumbled over rocks, bushes, and tree limbs, I saw a small orange flicker ahead, separate from the distant flashes from the west—the remnants of the fires that had started our flight. We crept close enough to the light that I could clearly see the details of it source. Large and flaring, the fire teased me with the promise of warmth and comfort. It blazed in the center of a small clearing. Around it, a dozen men sat on rolled logs. Some of the men faced us. One of them spoke.
“Cael?” I was startled.
Ethan covered my mouth and hushed me. As he removed his hand, he lowered a branch in front of us, allowing a better view. “They’ve been here all day. I’ve watched them. That’s where I got the bread.”
“Ethan, those are men from the village. They probably lost their homes in the fires.” I pointed at the tiny home nestled between trees at the edge of the meadow. “That’s where Cael lives. We’re on Owen Dorsey’s land.”
Ethan returned the branch with the grace of a stealthy cat and knelt low. “They were talking about the fires,” he told me. “They were laughing.”
“Did they say who started them?”
I saw my brother’s head shake. “I couldn’t get close enough to hear everything. It was too light. I only caught parts of what they said.”
“Then—” I caught myself speaking too loudly and lowered my voice. “—then why did you bring me here? This is where they kept the bandit.”
Ethan held a finger to his lips and motioned to the opposite trees. “I’ll sneak over there, closer to them. I want to hear what they’re saying.” Before I could protest, he disappeared.
I kept watching the fire, eager for the nonsense to end, and apprehensive of the man once held captive in the smokehouse hidden in the dark. If not for that danger and my brother’s warning, I would have gladly introduced myself to the men and joined them near the flames. Cael was my friend, and he could help us. As the shadows bounced, I caught tiny flashes of Ethan’s hair as he worked between the trees around the meadow. When he neared the men, snapping branches and a yelp announced my brother’s position. Startled, the men leapt from their seats and grabbed scattered weapons from the dirt around them. One of the men grabbed a bow. My stomach twisted as he armed an arrow and drew it back.
I stood up and yelled, “Don’t!”
A red feathered arrow flashed across the flames before my world went dark again.
Morgan
The world was upside down, shaking. Someone large carried me over his shoulder. A rotten stench covered the back of his tunic, but I couldn’t turn away to escape it; I was helpless. My wrists were bound. Quelling an impulse to yell, I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. My head felt like a giant fist had struck me from behind. Its throbbing rocked me so hard I felt as if I would pass out again. The walk continued, but not for long. My captor dropped me and I saw we were at Owen’s dock at the lake.
Then something scratched at the air like shrieking hawks. The sound was hideous and penetrating. I wanted to cover my ears, but the ropes around my wrists kept me from reaching. I searched the darkness and tried to understand what was happening. I caught a glimpse of someone dragging a flat-bottomed boat along the gravel. When the boat met the water, the screeching stopped.
Several men stood around me. I couldn’t see their faces and their voices weren’t familiar. One man grabbed me under my arm and lifted me to stand. It seemed so easy for him. He tossed me as if I were a child. I had no defense for these ruffians.
“Get her in the boat,” said someone else. The strength of his voice scared me so much that I winced from the sound. “Then toss the boy into the other one.”
I heard a splash and turned toward the lake. Black and rolling, it reflected the stars, but spoke only of death. As someone shoved me forward, I remembered Sean’s fate.
“No.” I dug my feet into the gravel. “I’m not going.”
The other men laughed. Another push, only harder.
“Stop!” I turned to face my attacker; he was short and grinned back at me with broken teeth. I didn’t know him. “Untie me, now,” I ordered. “Or my father and the Elders will hear of your treachery.” It was a blind threat, since I doubted these men knew anything of the Elders, but I was desperate.
The men laughed in a way that told me threats weren’t helping. “You should do what she said,” said one of them from behind me, “I’ve seen the Elders of Aisling. They’re dangerous.”
Again, laughter.
“No, fear her father,” said another. “Is that him, behind you?”
I glanced back, only to realize the man’s dangerous tease. Determined to ignore their taunts, I clamped my mouth tight and glared at them, trying to identify who they were.
“Go on, faerie, get in the boat. We won’t hurt you.” The short man’s voice was dirty and cruel, but he was overconfident.
When he shoved me a third time, I kicked him in the stomach. It wasn’t a normal, human kick, but one that I had always feared from my horses. I had been kicked by a filly once, and had learned never to walk behind her again. I applied that same motion to the man and heard him sprawling back into the arms of several others. Their casual chatter turned to shouts, but I was already running into the darkness, away from my captors. Despite the element of surprise, I had no chance. Before I had gone a dozen steps, my hair was jerked roughly, pulling me to my knees.
“You’ll get in the boat, faerie.” A fist struck my stomach.
I doubled over and vomited. There was no air and no water, only the taste of blood filled my mouth. My body shook in uncontrolled torture as my stomach felt like it had been shoved through my back. Several men lifted me and tossed me into the boat. My head struck something hard, but I didn’t lose consciousness. I wished that I had.
The stars watched helplessly while I cried to them. I had never been in a boat before and the feeling was nothing like I had imagined it would be. I had always thought of floating lightly, like a tiny blossom carried by the wind. This journey on water was the opposite. I felt heavy and low. Each lurching shove made my head rock with dizziness. I vomited again and held my bound hands over my stomach to fight its wrenching. The distance was further than I had expected; the northern edge of the lake had always appeared so close, but this had seemed like an endless crossing.
With a jolt that struck me as hard as my initial fall, we re
ached the shore of Morgan. The men tossed their oars away and a dozen hands grabbed me and threw me over the side of the boat.
Cold never felt so cruel. The icy fingers of the lake gripped me and pulled me toward the bottom. I kicked frantically for momentum, but without my hands, I was sinking. My feet hit sand. I thrust my legs deep into the gravel to propel me back to the surface. When air met my face, I sputtered, gasped and then spat at the men who sat on the shore laughing at my pain. No one came for me. Instead, they watched and ogled while I stepped slowly from the water and onto the beach.
They seemed like the type of men that had never known honor. I recognized their faces, not by acquaintance, but by their wanting, and quickly realized prudence in this place would be my only friend. I lifted my head and flipped my hair back, hoping to look calm. I needed to look confident or they would see me as their victim. Then I saw my brother passed out on the beach.
“Ethan!” I yelled, ignoring my attempts to distract the men. I ran to his side and tried to turn him over, but my body was weak and my hands still tied.
One of the men shoved my brother, forcing his face upward. Ethan was cut across the chin and his eyes were shut. His chest heaved, allowing me to see there was life inside.
“Please, let me help him,” I said, turning to face the mob and offering my hands. “He’s my brother.”
“Then you’ll follow us,” said the man who kicked him. He grabbed my wrists and lifted me to stand. “You’re in danger here. Do you know what happens to faeries in Morgan?”
The eruption of laughter from the other men shoved terror into a place deep inside of me. These men were hideous, but right; I was in danger here. Long ago, during the wars with Morgan, several faeries had been taken captive. When the war ended, their tortured bodies were sent on boats back to Aisling. My mother had cried when she told me the story many years ago, and the tears in Raisa Bannon’s eyes when she confirmed it to me said I was never to mention it again.
I obeyed and followed, fearing the fate from the stories in my memory. Someone had tossed Ethan over his shoulder and carried him with us. We crossed the beach and entered a thick, overgrown trail. There, the men’s laughter ended, quickly replaced by controlled whispers that amplified my terror.
The ground was uneven and, more than once, I stumbled and fell to the dirt. Blood trickled down my face and drained into the corner of my mouth. It was warm and disgusting. I stopped to wipe my face with the sleeve of my gown, but someone shoved me forward, knocking me to the dirt again.
“Stop it!” I yelled. “Stop.”
“You’d be silent if you knew the danger you’re in,” whispered a man close to my ear. His stagnant breath lingered on my neck. “Believe me, you’re safer with us. Keep moving.”
“Then don’t push me,” I scolded back. I wanted to turn and face the man, but he stood so close, so menacing. I could only face the darkness ahead and keep walking.
We continued along the trail, stopping at the warning sounds of night hounds, only continuing after someone decided it was safe to proceed. The men were foul and the dark company added to my terror. Small rodents brushed my ankles as they scurried past and into the trees. They gave no warning and there was no escaping their touch. A couple of the men tried capturing them, but their sport ended when we arrived at a clearing in the forest, next to a stone home. One of the men shoved his way inside the front door while my host with heavy breath held me back.
“You’ll wish you could bed in there,” said the man, wryly. “Your fortune is this way. Go on.” He shoved me toward the side of the house.
There, an intoxicating combination of rotting flesh and manure overwhelmed the air. I gagged once but thankfully didn’t vomit again. With nothing left to spill, my heaves had become violent coughs. Still, the stench was there, stinging my eyes and burning my nose. Flies joined the ruined place, buzzing their claim to whatever lay dead nearby. There was no sensory escape from the filth and the darkness and the men.
We kept walking and, although the smell didn’t leave, it faded in comparison to a moment earlier. Deep in the trees stood a tiny smokehouse. Near it, a small fire flickered. A hooded man stood and greeted one of my captors. They spoke briefly in hushed tones and then motioned toward the structure.
The man at my back shoved me to the ground. Another one tossed Ethan towards the smokehouse and kicked his limp body through the small opening. With laughs and vulgarities, the men ordered me to follow. I feared the hole, but accepted my fate away from these demons and crawled inside.
Captivity brought a welcome scent and I savored the smell within. Charred hickory reminded me of my home, the one that lay in ashes across the lake. I took a deep breath, and then another, inhaling refreshing wisps of memory.
The men’s voices faded as some of them walked away. They called this place the camp, and a few of them intended to stay. I leaned over Ethan and listened to his breath, trying to measure his injuries. His yawning sighs told me that he was only unconscious. He would wake in the morning pained and bruised, but considering the treatment we had just endured, it was a promising discovery. His wounds would heal.
The light from the fire flickered through tiny gaps between the wood, allowing a partial view of our prison. We weren’t on soil, there was straw under us. A pile of blankets lay on the far end of the smokehouse. As I reached across my brother to grab one, the pile moved and someone moaned.
We weren’t alone.
I covered my mouth, stifling my yelp with the side of my fist because my hands were still bound. Terrified, I watched the shadow move. At first, I could only see the man’s dark eyes penetrating the night. When he leaned forward, I saw the blue in his shirt.
The Enemy beside Me
Screaming, I scrambled back out of the opening of our prison, but striking blows from the men outside met my legs. I cringed and rolled back into the smokehouse. There was no escape. I lifted my bound hands and gnashed at the ropes with my teeth. They were rotten and soiled, but I needed to free my hands. I needed something to fight back.
“Don’t touch me,” I warned, clambering against the wall opposite Darian. “I’ll kick you. You know I can kick you.”
Darian watched me and didn’t speak. Then he coughed. It was a hideous, wheezing roll that seemed to carry his insides through his breath. I knew the sound and understood that he was injured.
“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at Ethan.
I leaned toward my brother. “Stay away from him.” My fear chattered in my teeth.
“Is he dead?”
“No. He’ll be okay. He’s only unconscious.”
“Then he’s lucky.”
Darian didn’t move. In the wavering light that managed its way into our prison, I saw the terrible wounds that were keeping him from assaulting me. His face was bruised and dark. Soiled bandages covered his right arm. His shirt was covered with a rusty stain from his shoulder down to the end of the sleeve. He coddled his arm and held it close to his chest. As I stared, I wondered what other injuries the man was enduring. Bruises didn’t make a man cough like he did. A speck of pity crossed my thoughts and vanished. Darian was responsible for Sean’s death. I glared at him and continued chewing on my rope.
“Would you like some help with that?” he asked. “My hands are free, I can untie you.”
I shook my head insistently and cowered back again. The emotional impact of my actions suddenly caught up to me. I should never have left my parents. Had I listened to my mother, I wouldn’t have met the awful men outside and Ethan would be safe at home. There was no home anymore. I lowered my head and bawled into my fists. I didn’t care that Darian was watching me. Given the smallest of chances, I was certain that he would finish what he had been trying. I couldn’t escape; the men outside were watching and the fount of my fears sat across the room. No matter what I did, it seemed, I was certain to die.
~ O ~
When I awoke, sharp rays of sun speared their way across the smokehouse and struck th
eir dismay against the crooked boards. I normally welcomed mornings, but rising in this place meant an uncertain future, one that scared me more than anything. Ethan was sitting but didn’t speak when I lifted my head. Instead, he pointed across the tiny room. Darian sat against the opposite wall, eating a green apple.
I watched my enemy close and surveyed the room for something to eat. I was hungry, starving in fact, but was more worried about Ethan. “Are you hurt?” I whispered.
Ethan shook his head. He was watching me, but kept glancing back at Darian. Did Ethan know who he was? Did he know the man’s terrible secret? I found a pile of apples wrapped in a blanket in the center of the room. When I grabbed one, Darian broke the silence.
“Be careful,” he told me. “I tried to pick the good ones, but most of these are rotten. You’ll want to check first.”
I glared back at him. What good was the word of a thief? I grabbed an apple and bit into it with emphasis. “Ew!” I spat out the sour piece and threw the apple across the room. That’s when I realized my hands were no longer bound. “Did you do this?” I asked Ethan.
My brother shrugged.
“I told you not to touch me.” I snapped my words, aiming them sharply across the room. “You’re despicable.”
“I told you to check your apple first.”
Darian’s retort sparked a rage that I hadn’t known since the last time I had faced him. I growled at him, fueling the hate in me that I felt preparing to erupt. The man was wounded, but I could still hurt him. I could even kill him if I needed. There was no need to hold back anymore.
“Rhiannon, are you okay?” Ethan’s words had a soothing affect on my nerves, like the way my mother’s stroking hand on my father’s neck had always calmed him.