A cold wind swept across the rocky landscape, chilling Sarah to the bone. The stubby gnarled pine trees swayed with the wind, taunting it to try and knock them over. They looked like most other things here in the wastelands: tough and defiant. Sarah was tough, but she had lost her defiance long ago. Defiant slaves didn't live long. The coyote Sarah and the others were working on was going to be tough eating, but it was the best they could do until the rest of the barbarian tribe returned with the spoils of the fall raids.
A burst of wind whistled through the nearest pine. One of the younger slaves groaned in anguish. Her hands were numb from the cold and the coyote blood made her skinning knife slippery. If their barbarian escort had heard the slave, she didn't show it. The barbarian had killed the coyote, a simple task for a young teenager, such as herself. She could have left the slaves to deal with the kill and returned to the village, but it was nice to get away sometimes from the constant war training. Yargma, as she was called, believed that she thought too much. Her people were doers, not thinkers, and their goddess, The Sword Mother, first welcomed those who died honorably in battle. Those who died of oldness were not guaranteed a place with her in the afterlife.
Yargma shook her head. Again, this was too much thinking and worrying. The afterlife would attend to itself. One of the slaves caught her breath at the barbarian's movement. Yargma was an imposing figure, even in relative youth. She stood nearly six feet tall and she would continue to grow for the next few years. Her hands and arms were thickly muscled from wielding the heavy two-handed sword that was her birthright. Her head was bald except for the top knot that all the young ones kept. When she was of age, the top knot would be shaved off and her head ready to bear the tally of all those she killed in battle.
Yargma remembered seeing a friend getting her first death mark tattoos: small black skulls, one for each human killed in battle. Her friend was fiercely proud of those marks and had gone off to war again this year boasting to Yargma that she would have a hundred more when she returned. But it was well into November and the tribe had not yet returned. Perhaps... No! She would not even entertain the thought that something had gone wrong. Barbarians were the best fighters in the entire world. She shook off the thought and another slave caught her breath, fearing that Yargma was angered.
Sarah tried to make eye contact with the two trembling slave girls. She caught one of their eyes and looked meaningfully down at the coyote carcass. The message was clear: get back to work or there will be reason to fear Yargma's punishment. One of the girls immediately bent her head over the animal and slightly nudged the other, who also returned to work.
When the coyote was gutted and skinned, Sarah called to Yargma, in barbarian, telling her they were ready to head back to the village. Yargma turned back to the slaves and the coyote and grunted. Sarah and the older of the two young slave girls hoisted the coyote off the ground. It was bound to a long pole between them and swayed when they walked, making the rocky ground even more treacherous. The youngest girl carried the skin and skinning knife, terrified to be the last in the procession, but equally as frightened to be close to the barbarian.
Yargma climbed down from the large rock she had been standing on and led the procession across the barren landscape. It was at least two miles back to the village, but they would make it before nightfall. Before they were a half mile away, the vultures that had been patiently waiting above the scene descended on the coyote entrails. The ash grey sky had been solid and unrelenting all day long. Now, as they walked back home, a hint of pink colored the clouds just as another gust of wind whipped at the slave's skirt. She stifled a whimper when Sarah glared at her. Sarah had long ago given up on the skirts of her birth people and now wore pants and a tunic, as she remembered the men wearing. And, while she didn't shave her head, Sarah's hair was close cropped to keep it out of the way. Kaelin, on the other hand, refused to give up the skirt and long hair she brought with her two years ago.
They walked on in silence and Sarah tried to remember how many days it had been since the tribe had gone out raiding. It seemed like they should have returned by now, but she was probably just misremembering. Sarah tried to remember how many raids they had been on since she had been with the tribe. Fourteen? Fifteen? Then she smiled as she realized just how old she was. At twenty-four or twenty-five, Sarah was the oldest of the slaves and older than many of the warriors that went on the raids. With luck, she would live another ten years, maybe more. Even Yargma was younger than her at thirteen years old. As all barbarian women did, Yargma went bare chested, even in battle, so it was clear to all that next year, Yargma would join the others on the raid.
The reached the outskirts of the village, tucked under a few of the taller scrub pines in this part of the wastelands. Yargma ran ahead to tell the others to stoke the fire for cooking dinner. Sarah had done some estimating in her head and guess that the slaves would probably get one hind quarter and some of the back. Like the barbarians, the wild animals of the wastelands tended to be bigger and fewer in number than those in the farm lands south of the village. Sarah and the other slave hoisted the carrying pole up onto the waiting Y-shaped posts near the fire. They then retreated with Kaelin back to the slave tent. One of the barbarians would tell them when they could come eat.
Walking back to the tent, Sarah took Kaelin's trembling hands in her own rough ones, trying to warm them up. She took the skinning knife and pelt from Kaelin and handed them to Gabriel, the other slave girl, who took them reluctantly. "Poor Kaelin," said Sarah, rubbing Kaelin's hands to warm them. "Maybe they will bring back some gloves this year."
Gabriel scoffed and hurried away from them to the tent, her head bent low against the cold wind. Kaelin whimpered again. "How do you do it, Sarah," she asked, tearfully.
"Do what, dear?" asked Sarah.
"How do you stay so positive?"
Sarah blinked and then laughed. "I guess because it has been worse than this before." Gabriel looked dubious. "It's true," said Sarah. "One year, several years before you got here, it rained non-stop for two months." Gabriel dropped her hands in surprise.
"You must be joking," she said. "It never rains here! That's why nothing grows." Sarah nodded in agreement.
"True, that's usually what happens, but it honestly did rain all through November and December. There is nothing colder than a heavy December rain. It rained all day, then froze at night. The next day would be just warm enough for it to rain again." Sarah turned suddenly serious as she recounted the story. "Some of us didn't make it that year. I think three slaves and one of little ones died."
Kaelin shuddered in cold and horror, firmly believing that she would be one of the ones who died this year. At least it wasn't raining. "Oh, I'm sorry Kaelin," said Sarah, "that wasn't very helpful, was it." Kaelin shook her head and two tears spilled onto her cheeks. Sarah rubbed Kaelin's arms to warm them and guided her into the slave tent to wait until it was their turn for dinner.
The tent grew quiet when Sarah entered. She always thought it was silly, but the others looked to her as their leader. Even Gabriel, who hated this place, the barbarians, and everything about this life, deferred to Sarah. There was an unspoken hope that, if Sarah had lived this long, maybe she knew something that was keeping her safe. The others just hoped that, whatever it was, it rubbed off on them and kept them alive. There was a bright fire burning in the small fire pit in the tent and the other girls and women were gathered around it, warming up after working outside all day. Kaelin hurried over to it and warmed her fingers. Sarah went to her mending basket and began work on the winter cloak that had been damaged early last spring.
The quiet talking around the fire resumed. Mostly the ladies talked about their homes before they were taken, or what they would do if they escaped. By and large, they steadfastly refused to talk about what they had done today, or yesterday, or last week. Somehow, by talking about the present, they would be admitting to themselves that they were gone for good from their birth lands. Sarah smiled sadly and turned to her mending.
Clothes were hard to come by for the slaves. The Bigs had their animal skin loin cloths and matching cloaks in winter, but they shunned knitted or woven fabrics for themselves. They would still take them on raids, so that their slaves wouldn't freeze, but only if it occurred to them, which it often did not. Girls usually started out in the clothes they were taken in, refusing to let go of them, like Kaelin. They held onto the fabric like a security blanket, tying them to the civilized world. Eventually, the girl would grow out of those clothes and inherit something else. This could be a very emotional exchange. Not only did the girl not want to give up her own clothes, even if they were painfully small, but often the inherited clothes were available because the previous owner had died, sometimes gruesomely.
Sarah looked over at Kaelin, sitting teary eyed by the fire, and thought she could probably get another six months out of her clothes, then she would simply be too big for them. Gabriel looked over at Sarah and asked, "ugh, how can you work on that? I get sick just looking at that cloak." Sarah said nothing and went back to sewing. The cloak was black wool and was one of the nicer winter cloaks the slaves had, but one corner of it was ripped to shreds and stained a reddish brown color under the black. The last slave to own it had tried to escape and had been mauled to death by a coyote less than a mile away from the village. Well, almost to death.
After hearing the distant shrieks in the night, the leader of the Bigs, Morga, had roused Sarah and they ran out of the village looking for the source. They reached a cluster of stubby pines and something dark heaved out of the dark towards them. Sarah instinctively dropped to the ground and curled into a ball. Morga swung her enormous sword easily and knocked the charging coyote to one side, severing its head from its body. Without waiting for the body to stop twitching, Morga called to Sarah and she approached the other dark form on the ground. Sarah was trembling with adrenaline, but managed to stumble after Morga. The girl had just turned seventeen and looked up at Morga and Sarah with absolute terror in her eyes. Her mouth and nose were freely running with blood and a huge bloody gouge in her chest told Sarah all she needed to know. Morga saw them too and pursed her lips for just a second. Then, she stood up and cut off the girl's head. Sarah fell backwards in shock and heard Morga utter a prayer to the Sword Mother to help the heathen girl to find her way back to her own god.
Sarah remembered all of this as she carefully stitched the tears in the corner of the cloak. Pain and death were constant in this place, but the memory of the girl's eyes always felt like a weight on her soul. Sarah was helpless to save the girl and she knew that, but it still weighed on her. She felt as though it was her duty to protect the other Takens from the world. Sarah smirked; she admitted to herself and the others that they were slaves, but the word was too final for some of them. So, they had taken to calling themselves the Taken, since they were taken from their own world against their will. To Sarah, it never made sense to pretend to be something you were not. Pretending they were free women in temporary bondage ignored the facts. Maybe Sarah felt as they did once; she had been proud and willful when she first arrived, but as the years pressed on, she let go of the past.
Morga's voice announced the end of dinner in a loud and heartfelt prayer to the Sword Mother, thanking her for the bounty of the meal. The girls around the fire stopped talking and waited for Sarah to make the first move towards the tent door. Some of their restraint was respect for Sarah, but most of it was fear of being the first one out of the tent. Sarah put down her sewing and nodded to the girls to follow as she led them out towards the cooking fire.
The day was dusty and hot. Little boys played in the road, kicking an air filled ball between them, their laughter filling the air. A few girls played a more sedate game: tossing a stone into a square drawn in the dust in front of them and hopping towards it on one foot, then two feet, then one again. The sounds of a blacksmith's shop hung in the air as did the smell of horse dung. The children didn't seem to mind it.
One of the little boys stopped kicking the ball and waved at the newcomer. Unlike the other boys and girls, his pants and tunic were pure colors: black and white, not the dirt colored brown that most of the other children wore. He carried himself like the royalty he thought he was. One of the girls playing hop scotch also wore a dress of a deep forest green. The boy in black and the one who had approached him talked earnestly for a moment, pointing at the girl in green. She did not notice, but some of her playmates did. They said nothing.
"Hey you! Little girl!" called the boy with black pants. The other girls tugged the girl in green's sleeve and pointed at him. She scowled with all her might, but held her tongue.
"Little girl," he called again, "I'm talking to you! Don't you know it's polite to answer your superiors when they call?"
The girl in green flushed with anger, but steadfastly refused to be riled. Some of the other girls snickered, and others looked exasperated. Maybe he would get sick of this game and go away, she thought.
It was the boy in black's turn to scowl. That haughty little nothing! How dare she! Everyone else answered when he called, even his mother. But, he refused to be the one to approach her. "Come here, little girl, I have a secret to tell you." He had no such thing, but he knew she was curious by nature. He stood with two or three of his friends, watching her, waiting to see her reaction. "Or, are you too young to understand me?"
The girl in green stomped her foot down, sending a cloud of dust swirling about her black leather boot. Her face was red and her fists balled. "Mikal, you know very well that I am ten years old and that you are only just turned eleven. What gives you the right to call me a little girl?" she shouted at him. Both the boys and girls stopped their games to watch. This was not the first time they had fought, but watching a girl stand up to a boy was always a little daring. If they had been proper children (according to their parents), they would have simply walked away, so as to not sully themselves with this uncivilized child.
The boys around Mikal looked at him, waiting for his answer. It was his turn to flush slightly. But, he remembered the manners instructor his father had been sending him to. He should not lower himself to her level, but make it clear that she is in the wrong, both to her and to all those around her, so they might learn from her example. That was the responsibility of well-bred men, so he said. So, Mikal made himself relax and give a soft laugh. "Sarah Taylor, is that any way to speak to a man, especially one of my stature? I think you should apologize for your rudeness."
The boys around Mikal laughed and a few of the girls decided this was too daring for them, so they hurried off away from the group. Sarah fumed, but she had promised her mother she would try to be good, especially today. The other girls looked at Sarah, and one even motioned that she should apologize, just like he said.
"What's the matter, Sarah?" taunted Mikal. He felt his moment was arriving. She was holding back, so it would only be seconds before she either shouted back or ran off towards home. Either would be fine with Mikal. "Oh, are you saving your apologies for the father of the boy you're to marry?"
That pushed Sarah over the edge. She flung the skipping rock in her hand towards Mikal's head with impressive accuracy and hit him above his left eyebrow. He screamed in pain and threw his hands to his face as blood began running down his face, bright red on his fancy white shirt. The other boys watched Mikal fall to the ground, clutching his face. They looked up in time to see a dark green blur tackle Mikal and begin pummeling him in a cloud of brown dust. The other girls had scattered back to their homes, as had some of the boys. This was getting serious and none of them wanted to get into trouble. Sarah rained her fists down on Mikal, yelling, "take it back! Take back what you said, Mikal!"
Finally getting over his initial shock, Mikal started fighting back, pulling Sarah's hair making her screech with anger. They tussled a little longer until Sarah started kicking and landed a glancing blow on Mikal's privates. That made him lose all control and he punched Sarah in the eye.
About this time, both Mikal and Sarah felt themselves being hoisted off the ground and away from each other. Garval, the town blacksmith, had wrenched them apart with his brawny arms and held them above the ground, thrashing out towards each other until they realized what had happened. When they stopped flailing, Garval set them down, but kept ahold of them.
"What do you think you're doing, Mikal? Punching a girl like that? Is that any way for a proper man to behave?"
"She started it," bellowed Mikal, throwing his hand to point like he was throwing a punch.
Garval looked at Sarah. "Is this true?"
"He was making fun of me!" cried Sarah in her defense. "He had no right!"
Sarah's mother and Mikal's nanny hurried to the scene as soon as they had heard the commotion. They were covered in brown dust, except where it had turned to a reddish brown mud in their sweat and blood of Mikal's cut. Both of them looked ready to fight again at a moment's notice, but it was beginning to dawn on them just how much trouble they were in.
Garval sighed. He looked up at Mikal's nanny and gently pushed Mikal in her direction. "You need to teach this one that punching a girl is never okay, even if 'she started it'." The nanny nodded and bent to tend to Mikal's still bleeding eyebrow. He looked at Sarah's mother and said, "and you need to teach this little fireball to be a lady." Sarah's mother's angry look softened when she looked at Garval and she merely nodded. She took Sarah's hand and hurried back to the shop.
Garval watched them both go. The boy was a handful, no doubt, but he had a good head and a good heart in there somewhere. He suspected that Mikal's mother coddled him too much and that his father allowed it. Time would tell, but Garval suspected that Mikal would turn out alright. Sarah he was less sure about. She was a strong girl, both in body and in spirit, but she had to learn her place in the world if she ever hoped to be accepted. Strong women were a good find, like his own wife, but they simply could not function in their society with that kind of behavior. Garval shook his head and headed back to his own shop. He hoped they would both learn something today.
Sarah hurried along, hanging her head, as her mother led her by the hand into the back room of the shop. The half-used bolts of cloth and partially constructed outfits cluttered every surface. The loom and spinning wheel were tucked into a tiny space under a maze of thread spools. Sarah's mother dropped her hand in the middle of the room and retrieved the cane from over the back door. Sarah gulped and lifted the back of her skirt. She got five strokes for the incident. By the fifth, she was biting her lip and unsuccessfully fighting back tears. The most she had ever gotten was ten, but it was never pleasant.
Sarah's mother replaced the cane over the door and stood in front of Sarah. Her own outrage was evident. "Tell me the truth. Did you start it?"
Sarah fidgeted. "Well, he was saying all sorts of-"
"Did you start it?" repeated her mother in a raised voice.
Sarah dropped her head even further. "Yes," she mumbled.
Sarah had no idea how much pain she caused her mother. She nearly broke down in tears at that admission. She loved that Sarah never lied to her, but she was as unruly as a young foal or a wild animal. Sarah's mother steeled her heart and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Sarah, you must learn to behave. Not all men are as understanding as blacksmith Garval."
Sarah's eye was beginning to swell and blacken and she could feel it. Her mother continued. "Assuming Levin will still have you, you will be betrothed soon. You must obey Levin as you would your father. Hopefully, you will obey Levin better than you obey your father, since we see where that has gotten you."
Sarah wanted to crawl up into the attic and die. She knew today was important and she had messed it up. Her father had gone to the next town to escort Levin and his father back to their shop and introduce Sarah and Levin. If Levin accepted Sarah and her father accepted the dowry, then they would be betrothed, and married when they were of age. She had to win Levin's approval and she couldn't do that with a black eye and a soiled dress. Tears were running down her dirty cheeks, leaving streaks in the dirt. "I'm sorry, mother, really I am!" she pleaded.
Her mother wanted to pull Sarah to her and hug her until all the pain went away. But, the child must learn, and she wouldn't learn if she was coddled. "I hope you are. You will go get cleaned up and then you will stand in this spot, not moving from it until you are called for. Is that clear?" Sarah nodded her head, still looking at her shoes. "Yes, mother."
The day dawned cold and clear over the village. Sarah woke just before dawn and stoked the in-tent fire with another small log. She left the tent and retrieved the left-over coyote meat from where it was hanging out of reach of raccoons and other pests. The other slaves and the Bigs were also rousing from sleep, each going to her own task. Gabriel and Kaelin hauled empty buckets out from beside the slave tent and trudged down the path towards the small spring nearby. The spring was the reason the village had been built on this spot as water was difficult to come by in the wastelands.
Morga gathered Yargma and the other older barbarian girls together and they jogged off into the rocky wastes for the morning's war training. They would return mid-morning with an animal to eat for lunch that Sarah and the others would prepare and cook for them. Very occasionally, the Taken would hunt as well as prepare the animals for meals, but hunting made fair war practice, so it was usually done by the young Bigs.
Sarah warmed the left-over coyote meat and reserved the largest portion for Yooma, the elder of the barbarian women. She would rise from sleep a bit later than the rest of the camp. An old barbarian was something almost unheard of. Life in the wastelands was fraught with danger and it was far more honorable to die in battle than it was to die of an accident or of oldness. But, Yooma was highly respected because she had survived years in battle and life out here for so long.
She emerged from one of the tents and smiled at the coyote meat Sarah had set aside for her. There were two other barbarian women still left in the village this morning, besides Yooma, as they were both with child. Yooma would take the meat to them and check on their babies before allowing them out for some exercise. A normal morning workout for them would have been too vigorous for the babies, so Yooma made sure the instruct them every morning on what they could and could not do, lest their egos get the better of them in the night. Once she was satisfied that the babies were in good shape and the two women had eaten, she let them go at a very slow jog out to where the war practice was.
Yooma smiled after them. She remembered when she had been the young, impatient mother, ready to be done with the carrying and to get on with the fighting. Since her fighting days were over, Yooma had grown a top knot of hair again, but kept the rest of her head bald, like children kept their hair. The skin of her head was dark with the death mark tattoos. They circled around her head, down her back, shoulders, and arms. Even her bare breasts were tattooed. Age and her less demanding exercise had lessened her muscles a bit, but Yooma was still an imposing figure and at least ten times stronger than Sarah.
The camp was quiet now with the bustle of early morning routine subsiding. Gabriel and Kaelin had returned with the water and were combing their hair and washing their face and hands. Sarah carried away cold ash from the fire pit, leaving the hot coals for the next fire. Wood was also scarce here, but there was a large herd animal that left droppings that could be burned, once they were dry. Sarah had never learned the names of these animals. When standing docile, they were huge, but looked harmless enough, even with the long pointy horns. When running as a herd, they made a sound like nearby thunder and were terrifyingly powerful. Sarah had seen rocks crushed nearly to dust under their hooves, to say little of a mere animal, human or otherwise, that got in their way.
As Sarah carried the ash bucket past Yooma, she thought she heard the barbarian praying. There had been a lot more of that recently, but Sarah had never been close enough to hear what they were praying about. After Sarah had passed, Yooma grunted to herself and retrieved her sword from beside her bed. Once armed, she left the village, heading further north to where the men's camp was. It was only half a mile from the women's camp, and they were the same village, but this was the barbarian way. The men and women led separate lives except in sex and war. It was unusual for women to go to the men's camp and vice versa, but not unheard of.
Yooma had debated even going, but things were getting worse. The tribe had been gone far too long. They should have been back before now. One of the male slaves saw Yooma coming and ran to alert the elder of the men's camp, Ymorog. Like the women's camp, it was deserted at this time of day except for the slaves and the elders. Ymorog met Yooma at the edge of the village and they walked away from both villages to talk.
"It has been too long, Ymorog," began Yooma. "The snows will be here any day and still the tribe has not returned."
Ymorog grunted. "I know. We have been discussing what to do about it for a few days. What say you and Morga?"
Yooma looked off to the horizon and thought about how to word her response. She and Morga had discussed it, but Morga thought she was overreacting and that the tribe would return soon enough. She had not forbid Yooma to speak of it with the men, but it was unusual for even and elder to act without the blessing or agreement of their leader. Yooma finally said, "we have not reached any conclusions."
Ymorog grunted again and it was his turn to be silent while he considered his own response. His arms, head, and torso were tattoos just as Yooma's were and they stood at nearly the same height. Ymorog didn't wear a top knot of hair, but kept his head clean shaven. It was his right, as it was Yooma's, if she had wanted to. Ymorog gripped the handle of the dagger in his belt in concentration. He was slightly younger than Yooma, so he did not feel comfortable about admitting, even to himself, that the tribe might not be coming back.
"Nor have we reached any conclusions," he said finally. Yooma heard the stress in his voice and knew that the same unheard of conclusions had silently been reached by the men as well. She grunted.
"Well then," she said, "I will take this consultation back to Morga." She stopped and saluted Ymorog in barbarian fashion, her arm across her chest, her hand in a fist. "Fight and die well, my friend." Ymorog returned the salute and they parted ways back to their respective camps. Once the snows came, there could be little room for argument. Never in all the history of the tribe had they ever returned after the first snows. Yooma would wait until then to bring it up again.
Sarah was helping to prepare the wild boar the Bigs had killed for roasting when Yooma returned to the village. She went immediately to her tent without a word. The other slaves always kept their heads down around the Bigs, but Sarah noticed it and noticed the direction she had come from. There was no reason for Yooma to come from that direction unless she had been to see the men. It had happened before, but rarely. She knew that they had been discussing the tribe's late return, but she could not see in Yooma's actions if anything had been decided.
Kaelin seemed to be feeling a little better today. It was cold, but the sun helped warm things, including her deft hands as she skillfully cut away the tough boar skin. She gave quiet curt instructions to the others helping her: pull here, hold that, not yet, but it was out of concern for her craft, not out of fear or rudeness. Sarah had always admired Kaelin's skill and was glad that it seemed to bring her some small comfort. Sarah's own skills were of limited value here; sewing was needed, but spinning and weaving were not. Besides, Sarah had spent over half of her life here in the wastelands and she doubted whether she could remember how to spin, even if she was given the chance.
The boar's skin let loose with the final tug Kaelin instructed them to make. She would take the hide from here and clean it further while Sarah and the others arranged the boar on the spit for roasting. The sun had passed noon when they got the fire going under the boar. It would roast for most of the afternoon. That was the benefit of coyote, thought Sarah, it could be cut up and roasted in chunks more easily than these enormous boars whose dense muscles really required the long slow roast. But, boar had the advantage of being extremely tasty.
Some of the slaves went off to fetch more water, others went back to the tent to mend or sleep. Some went to help Kaelin and still others joined Sarah in harvesting the bones and sinew from the coyote carcass from last night. There were nine other girls besides Sarah, and most of them were from small towns like Sarah was, or from farms along the path the barbarians took through the south lands. The bones could be used for stirring or striking, burning (once they had dried), or made into small buttons or fasteners. The sinew could be stretched and dried and used for tying or sewing when there was thread.
The day wore on and the war practice Bigs returned for dinner. The dinner passed uneventfully as did the evening. Just before falling asleep, Sarah thought she heard Yooma and Morga arguing, but she couldn't be sure. That night, the first snow fell.
It had taken some pleading on the part of her father, but Levin and his father had accepted Sarah and her dowry. Sarah was now betrothed to a boy she had only met once. She hadn't like him at all. He was pale and mean, looking her over like a horse. She half expected him to want to see her teeth. "Do you talk, little girl?" he had asked. Sarah knew she shouldn't mess this up, no matter how much she disliked the boy. "Yes," she replied. Their fathers were walking around the tailor shop that was Sarah's home, talking about it and the betrothal.
Levin made sure his father wasn't watching then he leaned into Sarah's face, looking her right in the eye. "That's good," he said. "Because I will need a wife that acknowledge my orders and tell the servants what to do." He sniffed at her. "Taking a mud bath, little pig?" he sneered. Then he leaned back and continued his quiet appraisal until his father returned to hear Levin's answer. "Well, my boy, what do you think?" Levin looked at Sarah with an evil twinkle in his eye. "She's not very pretty, but she seems sturdy enough to bear many children. I accept." Levin's father smiled at him and less so at Sarah.
Sarah wanted to strangle Levin at that moment for she knew the comment was a calculated insult at her mother. Sarah's mother had only borne two children, the second one died shortly after birth. Though they tried and tried, Sarah's mother never conceived another child. And it was because their only child was a girl that the dowry was so large: the entire tailoring shop and the agreement that Sarah's mother and father continue to work there, for Levin's father, for the rest of their lives. Girls were not as valuable as boys and only children were seen as just shy of a curse on the families that married with them. Sarah knew all of this and her shame for her parents was matched only by her rage at this mean little boy she would one day marry. Levin and his father stayed for a late lunch, but returned to their own village later in the afternoon.
For two weeks, life continued as usual. Sarah forgot about being betrothed and, now that it was done, she almost felt relieved that it was over for now. It would be another three or four years before they were properly married. Until then, she could be herself, with her parents and her friends and their quiet village.
Then, the barbarians came to her village.
Sarah had been helping her mother bring baskets of carded wool down from their home above the tailoring shop when they heard the first commotion. Sarah's father said, "stay here" and ran from the shop. Sarah remembered being excited more than scared. Maybe some nobleman was passing through town with his entourage. The smell of dry wood and the feeling of soft wool against her hands comforted Sarah. She felt as though nothing could possibly go wrong while she was safe and warm here with her mother. When Sarah's father returned wide eyed, she felt a little trepidation. Her mother asked, "what's wrong?" Her father said only, "hide. Don't come out, no matter what you hear. And bolt the door when I leave."
He searched for his hunting rifle and Sarah's mother barely kept her panic in check. Sarah had never seen her like that before and began to fear that whatever was out there, it wasn't good. Sarah's mother spoke to her father in hushed tones so Sarah wouldn't hear. Then they embraced and kissed deeply, but quickly. Her father left and Sarah's mother bolted the door, using the long metal bar they kept to bar the door, but had never used.
Sarah watched her mother move with her usual speed and efficiency, but when she turned to Sarah, her eyes were full of tears and wide with terror. Sarah burst into tears and dropped the wool basket on the floor from where she was sitting on the stairs. She ran to her mother and buried her head in her long skirts. "Momma!" she cried, "what's happening? Where's daddy going? Why are you crying?"
"Quickly, Sarah, open the hatch behind the counter and go down to the cellar," said her mother in clipped tones to keep her voice from cracking. "I'll be right behind you. Go!" Her mother shooed her in the direction of the shop's counter and Sarah ran towards it, heaving the heavy wooden hatch open and peering into the darkness. The noise outside was now getting louder and more obviously sinister. People were screaming, and animals were panicking. Sarah thought she could smell wood smoke, but it smelled wrong, like someone had dropped a roast into the fire and was letting it burn there. Sarah's heart was racing, thumping like a caged animal, but her vision was clear with the kind of clarity that only fear can produce.
Sarah looked down into the darkness of the cellar again, not wanting to go down without her mother, but she also wanted to do what her mother told her to. Sarah put one foot on the cellar ladder and was turning around to put another one in when there was a loud thump and cracking noise at the shop's front door. Sarah screamed in surprise, but muffled herself; her father had said to hide, and you can't hide if you make noise. Sarah's mother emerged from the back room with her largest kitchen knife and a water skin. She tossed the water skin down the hole and said through gritted teeth, "go!" Sarah didn't argue and scrambled down the ladder, waiting for her mother's figure to follow.
Instead, a second loud thump and cracking noise came from above Sarah. The door's frame had given way, sending long splinters of wood and the iron bar flying through the shop. Her mother screamed and then said in her strongest voice, "get out! Get out of my shop!" Sarah's descent into panic was complete. She had never heard her mother yell like that. Sarah flew up the ladder and peered around the corner of the counter. Her mother brandished her kitchen knife at the largest thing, man or beast, that Sarah had ever seen. It was human shaped, but it was at least a foot taller than blacksmith Garval, maybe two. Its skin was almost black with markings of some kind and its only clothing was a loin cloth. Its scowl was terrifying and Sarah knew this was a barbarian she had heard about. But, in her limited experience, they were like ghost stories: evil creatures that might get you if you're bad, but not real.
Sarah's mother stood her ground for the split second it took the barbarian to raise its sword and cut the small woman in front of it in two. Blood sprayed instantly, soaking her clothes and spilling onto the floor. The blow had been so quick that she never had a chance to cry out. Her arms went limp, sending the kitchen knife spinning across the floor, as she crumpled into a heap. She was dead before she hit the floor.
Sarah screamed like a banshee. Her terror and rage pushed her from behind the counter into a headlong run towards the thing. She started flailing with her fists, trying to hit it, screaming incoherently the whole time. A big hand backhanded her, like a horse flicking at a fly. Sarah stopped screaming then only because all of the air had been knocked from her lungs. She lost her footing from the force of the blow and went tumbling gracelessly across the shop's floor, coming to rest near the front door.
The barbarian looked for anything of value and found it in the large bolts of cloth against one wall of the shop. He grabbed five bolts in one large hand and turned back towards the ruined front door to take the spoils to the cart where they were collecting things. Sarah's head was spinning from the lack of air and from smacking it off the wall. She was trying to get her bearings when a big, bare leg came into her field of vision. Sarah vaulted towards it, biting and scratching, all fear forgotten in her rage. The barbarian walked a single step with her, dragging the small girl over the threshold of the shop and into the dusty street. He shook her off with a flick, sending her tumbling head over heels back towards the door to the shop.
The air was filled with black smoke and the screams of villagers. Many of the houses and shops in the village were on fire, including Garval's smithing shop. The adults of the town were no where to be seen. The large figures of the barbarian horde were all around, crashing through doors and into storage sheds. They grabbed anything and everything that looked useful and tossed it onto the cart. There were four frightened horses attached to the cart, nervously stamping and neighing, but they were securely tied together and one of the barbarians was holding the reins to keep them from bolting. Behind the cart, a barbarian woman was tying the hands of older children and teenagers together and to one another. The string of humans was attached to the back of the cart: human spoils of the raid. The children behind the cart were in various degrees of crying and shock. Some were wailing and crying for all they were worth, others were staring straight ahead, glassy eyed and not moving.
Sarah tumbled to a stop in a cloud of dust. Before she could shake herself free of her dizziness, she felt herself being hoisted into the air. She kicked and flailed, but the owner of the hand lifting her up just laughed and shook her slightly. The barbarian holding her yelled something to the one who had killed her mother. It was a deep, guttural sound, but playful, as if this whole situation was funny somehow. Sarah kicked with renewed vigor, but the hand dropped her by the other children. Her legs didn't catch her and she landed hard on her behind. That was the final straw and Sarah's age won out over her rage and her will to hurt those who had hurt her. She started crying and wailing for her mother and father. This sent the other children and teens in the collection into a new fit of their own crying.
By this time, most of the screaming and commotion in the village had stopped. The only movements remaining were the business-like motions of the barbarians as they plundered the village. The children tried to hold hands and Sarah hoped that this was all just a terrible dream.
The snow made the village quiet, even with the morning's usual commotion. The cooking fire took a little coaxing to get blazing again, but soon it was heating up left-overs for the pregnant women. Yooma left her tent, as usual, and came to collect the food. But, instead of wordlessly retrieving it, she paused and looked down at Sarah who was brushing snow off the pile of wood and animal dung they used for fire fuel.
"Garah," said Yooma. They had never been able to master the letter "s".
"Yes, Yooma," said Sarah, in barbarian.
"Gather the slaves. Today we hunt for large game." With no more explanation, Yooma turned and walked back to her tent. Sarah watched for only a moment and then ran to comply. Large game must mean those enormous herd animals. If the war practice was to hunt those, it must mean that the tribe was digging in for the winter. One of those would feed the village for a month; two plus the occasional coyote or boar would see them through the heart of winter. Maybe she hadn't imagined the arguing she heard last night.
Sarah entered the tent and took a count of who was inside. Given the cold and the time of day, most everyone was there except Gabriel and Kaelin who would be returning with some water. "Gather your hunting gear," said Sarah. "The Bigs are hunting large game." The slaves' hunting gear would be skinning knives, small hatches, larger bags and litters for hauling the meat and skins back.
"What?" said Penny. She was sixteen and had been there long enough to realize just how unusual this was. It had only happened one other time in Sarah's memory. The raiding party had come back with weapons, armor, cloth, and the like, but had not gotten enough food that year. Sarah didn't understand the barbarian code of honor then, but she gathered that that was a major failing of the leader of that raid. Raiding was not just ingrained in the barbarian ways, it was also a very practical need to support the village in the harsh wastelands of the north. The tribe had gone hunting in February that year when it was clear that the supplies of the raid were running short. Since it was only November, and the tribe had not yet returned, this was tantamount to an admission that the tribe might not return. Both the admission and the tribe not returning were frightening prospects.
Sarah nodded to Penny. "The Bigs are hunting large game. I know what this means. It means that if we don't hurry, they may decide we don't want to eat. So, let's go." The girls scrambled to their feet and quickly got their things. Sarah grabbed her own skinning bag and headed down the path to the stream, hoping to catch Kaelin and Gabriel on their way back. The others would get the heavy litter and haul it to the war grounds.
Sarah jogged down the path, nimbly hopping through briars and over rocks. When she spotted the two girls trudging up the hill with the water, she called to them. "Gabriel, Kaelin. Give me the water and run back to camp. Get your hunting and skinning gear. Then, Kaelin, you go to the war practice grounds. Gabriel, wait for me at the tent so we can fill the water skins." Sarah's demeanor made even the argumentative Gabriel compliant. They nodded and ran up the hill with as much speed as they could muster. Sarah shouldered the harness and walked as quickly as she could without spilling the water they went so far to get.
When Sarah arrived back at the village, the other Taken had already left for the war grounds where the men and women of the tribe would meet before the hunt. Gabriel was there, with her supplies on her back and the empty water skins ready to be filled. She and Sarah quickly filled the water skins and headed off towards the war grounds themselves. Sarah took one last look at the village; it was completely deserted. It was eerie to see it so quiet and empty. Even in the quiet of late morning, the village was never totally still.
The war grounds were a large, relatively flat area of the wastelands about two miles from the village. The size and layout made it a good choice for holding fights where others could observe them. It was large enough to allow a full-scale mock battle or to have several smaller groups training at once. The hunt would take place miles beyond the war grounds, still further to the north where the herd animals roamed. The slaves would cross the ten miles or so to the plains of the wastelands with the Bigs. Then, they would wait while the Bigs set out in smaller groups to corral and kill the herd animals. Once one had fallen, the slaves would move in and do the work of cleaning it for transport back to the village. The beasts were too large for the slaves to carry or even pull, so a barbarian would have to do that.
Sarah and Gabriel jogged along the path and made good time to the war grounds. The Bigs were splitting into the groups they would hunt with. They trained at hunting the herd animal, but since it was almost never needed, this was new to most of the Bigs. Also, the last time this had happened in Sarah's memory, most of the able-bodied fighters had been among them. This time, the hunting groups were children too young to go raiding, women carrying babies, the war teachers, and the elders. Sarah was glad she didn't have to decide on the hunting groups.
The other girls who had arrived before Sarah and Gabriel were standing quietly and a little nervously to one side of the area, trying to disappear into the rocks. The male Taken were doing something similar on the far side of the area. Here, more than in the village, the Taken felt out of place. This was where the fighters came to train and most slaves never ventured here.
Morga and her male counterpart were calling out names and finalizing the hunting groups. They seemed to be trying to balance experience with youth, strength with speed, so that there was always someone in the group who had some idea of how to lead and those with enough speed to act on those decisions. It was still late morning. The travel to the hunting lands would take until midday. Sarah hoped they could kill something, deal with it, and return to the village before nightfall. They hadn't brought any blankets or sleeping skins. The light dusting of snow from the night had mostly melted in the sun, but there were patches still remaining, reminding Sarah that winter had all but arrived.
When the hunting groups were decided upon, the village leaders called for the great war cry to start the expedition. It started slowly, like a prayer or a chant, low and rumbly. Then, it built in intensity and volume until the area exploded with thirty full body shouts. Kaelin actually flinched at the end. Few people ever heard that sound and lived; those of the Taken might have heard it just once before.
The hunting groups streamed off to the north at a fair jog, which for a human to match was a sprint. A few of the girls started to panic, but Yooma came over to the slaves and hoisted the heavy litter onto her shoulder like two twigs. "You all follow me," she said to Sarah. Sarah translated for the others, but when Yooma struck out at just a walking pace, they were relieved that they didn't have to sprint ten miles.
They made the entire journey in silence. There was too much uncertainty in these new events for the Taken to be very chatty. The rocky hills rose and fell, occasionally twisting around stubby evergreen trees or thorny shrubs. The sky had clouded over with light grey clouds, making more snow seem unlikely, but it did make the air seem ten times colder. The males, being escorted by their elder, were a few paces ahead of Yooma, but they also seemed too unsettled to talk much.
Around midday, the rocky hills settled down into rocky knolls and then into rocky plains. Here the scrubby pines gave way to tall, thin grasses, but the thorny shrubs remained. Some of the hunting groups were already engaging one animal they managed to separate from the herd. The others were running behind, beside, and in between the rest of the herd, trying to pull another one away without being trampled. From this distance, they could see everything but hear nothing.
Sarah had no way to judge whether things were going well or badly, so she waited for Yooma to tell them what to do. Apparently, things were going badly, because when Yooma surveyed the battle, she cursed and said, "stay here. If they charge you, run." Yooma then set off at a run for her own hunting group.
The groups that had one of the beasts by itself seemed to be running it in a large circle or meandering route, keeping it away from the herd and tiring it out. The enormous barbarians looked like children next to these beasts as they ducked and darted away from the vicious horns and pounding hooves. A cloud of dust was rising from both the lone beast and the rest of the herd as the Taken lost sight of them behind a small rise in the ground.
Eventually, the beast's movements began to slow. It would still dart with amazing speed, but it was noticeably slower and moving in a smaller circle chasing the Bigs with its horns. On some signal that Sarah couldn't see, the Bigs descended on the beast with swords and spears, taking the large animal to the ground in a cloud of dust. Sarah thought she could hear the victory cry in the thin, cold air.
Since she didn't know the battle plan, Sarah decided to stay where she was until the Bigs told them to go deal with the kill. Soon after the beast had fallen, one of the almost-of-age Bigs jogged towards them. Not knowing that Sarah could speak barbarian, he pantomimed the slaves going to get the beast. Sarah nodded and led the group to the fallen beast. It was further away than it looked. Even at a jog it took some time to get there. Once the beast had fallen, most of the rest of the Bigs went to see how the other groups were faring and, if they were feeling lucky, try to fell a third.
Up close, the beast looked just as scary as it did while running. Its hide was covered with short, shiny black hairs that lay down, except around where its neck met its shoulders which was covered with slightly longer, coarser hair. Its horns were long, straight, and sharp; the would become valuable tools. Its eyes were rolled back into its head in death, and its tongue lolled out of its open mouth. Just below the mouth, a dark red gash was oozing blood onto the already red ground.
Sarah said, "Kaelin, you start with the head, the rest of the girls on the hooves. You men, start with the stomach and throat." The male slaves didn't have a problem taking Sarah's directions and the beast was large enough that they could all work and not get in each others' way.
"Wow," said Penny, "this thing is huge. I would hate to face one alive." They worked in silence a bit longer. Then Gabriel asked, "what do they taste like when they're cooked?"
One of the men responded, "did you ever have cow meat?"
"Of course!" laughed Gabriel.
"And, did you ever have deer?"
Gabriel shook her head. "I have," volunteered Kaelin. "It's more mild than cow in some ways, but sweeter, I think."
The man nodded. "Fair enough. This beast tastes like cow crossed with deer. It's really strange."
Sarah started to say, "stranger than horse?" but the only time horses were ever eaten was on the way back to village after being Taken. So, they all probably had, but it wasn't something they wanted to talk about.
One of the girls asked, "how are we going to roast this whole thing? A fire big enough would burn down the village!"
"We'll smoke most of it," said Penny. "Roasting will get us maybe a week's worth. The rest we'll smoke."
"If we had salt," said Kaelin, her mind lost in her work, "we could cure some of it." Sarah looked at the oldest of the male slaves, Kenrath, and he nodded. The rest of the slaves became quiet in thought. They didn't have salt because the raiding party had not returned. Kenrath's quiet nod meant that there had been some arguments on the male side of the village, too, on this topic.
Kaelin worked deftly, cutting the hide away while keeping it intact. When she freed it from the beast's head, the men cutting near the throat cut up to meet her. Sarah was happy to let her direct the rest of the skinning while Sarah took her part of the grunt work. One of the men said, "where did you learn to skin so well? My father taught me, but he was a farmer, so skinning was just a means to an end."
Kaelin looked embarrassed and flushed bright red. She had forgotten that there were men around. Everyone in the women's camp took her skill for granted. "It's okay, Kaelin," said Sarah, "no one thinks it's wrong." Kaelin looked at the beast and said, "my father thought his girls should know as much as the boys about this stuff."
"He was a tanner," continued Sarah, obviously to the relief of Kaelin who went back to working on the tough neck skin. Sarah said, "that's one profession where you really care about the quality of the hide once you get it off the beast. I guess his preferred methods were traps so that the only damaged skin was down near the hoof or paw where it was going to get damaged anyway."
The man nodded. Kaelin's father had taken a risk in teaching a girl the traditional male skill of skinning and tanning. But, his reasons, at least according to Kaelin, were to make her a more desirable bride. A woman who can only sew and cook has little to offer a farmer or a tanner, but Kaelin had been trained in a host of other useful trades. The training her father had given her made her uncomfortable, but admitting that she had no other dowry made her miserable. Sarah had seen that deflecting the discussion from Kaelin's knowledge to her father's, or to the trade in general made her a bit less self-conscious.
They got the hide loose from the visible side of the beast. Now, they would remove the meat in manageable chunks, taking any bones or hooves that they wanted. The rest would become food for the vultures that were already circling overhead. The Big who was watching over the slaves stared off towards where the other hunters had gone with a longing look in his young eyes. He understood duty, so he knew he couldn't leave, but he longed to be with his tribe and his older brother, filling up with the thrill of battle. He was only seven, but already his muscles were large and well-defined. In two more years, he would carry a long sword like his brother. They only got the big two-handed swords when they turned twelve. Waiting was hard, but his training was far from complete, so he had to be patient. It would do no good to die in his first battle without slaying any humans; the Sword Mother would not consider that a worthy death, even if it was in battle.
Sarah motioned to the boy to come help the slaves move the beast onto its other side. The side facing up was now stripped of meat. With his help, they managed to tip the thing over and begin again on the other side. When they had nearly finished, the boy grunted to them and took off at a run for the figure approaching them from the direction the hunters had gone. Sarah watched him go and wondered if they had killed another beast. Just then, a wail of pain reached their ears. The boy had fallen to his knees on the ground, his hands over his head as if beseeching the sky to help him. The other figure laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and began shouting to the Sword Mother.
The Taken looked up from their work, falling silent. The looked at the Bigs and then looked at Sarah. Her eyes were hard and her lips were pressed into a thin line. "Sarah?" asked Kaelin, "what just happened?" Sarah didn't take her eyes off the boy and said, "his brother was killed in the hunt." A murmur when through the Taken.
"How do you know?" asked one of the men.
Sarah turned to look at him. "They're praying to the Sword Mother to let him enter the afterlife." She went back to finishing her work on the carcass of the beast with renewed vigor. They would finish this beast and there would be food for a while; the boy's death would not be in vain.
It was early spring. Sarah had been a slave for four years. She had replaced the dress she was Taken in with a tunic and a skirt that another slave had outgrown. The past winter had been especially hard: cold and long. The piles of snow around the village were melting into little rivulets of water flowing every which way. The Bigs were eating near the cooking fire and Sarah had gone to get more fuel for the fire.
The night was cold and cloudy, so the fire seemed especially bright. Being one of the nicer nights in recent weeks, the Bigs were taking their time with the meal, talking and sparring. Even the little ones were toddling around, wielding small sticks like swords and giggling. Sarah returned to the fire pit and was setting the wood beside it when she heard something move from the trees at the edge of the village. She looked up in time to see a giant coyote lunging across the clearing for one of the toddlers. It had cleared half the camp in two bounds, but Sarah was much closer to the child.
Sarah sprang from her position and yelled, "coyote!" in barbarian as loud as she could. She then tackled the toddler to the ground, wrapping herself around the child who was nearly half her size. She curled them both into a ball, protecting the child's head with her arms. She waited for the pain of the bite, holding her breath, but it never came. Instead, she heard the coyote spring off the ground as to make its final lunge and heard a sickening, wet sound, immediately followed by a heavy thump on the ground next to her. She felt the hot, sticky blood spray over her arms and face. She released her breath and opened her eyes to see that the charging coyote had been cut neatly in half by the large barbarian standing over her. The toddler in Sarah's arms was now over being stunned by the fall and began to wail in confusion for her mother. Sarah let the child go and sat up, trying to steady her breathing and her shaking hands before standing up.
There was some commotion in the camp, but it didn't seem to be centered around the coyote. Sarah was standing up when one of the Bigs grabbed her by her upper arm, pulling her towards the group of arguing women. Her heart pounded with renewed fear. Had she just survived a coyote attack only to be killed for hurting the little girl while trying to save her life? The toddler and her mother were standing beside Morga and two other Bigs. They were arguing two sides of something, but Sarah didn't hear what.
The barbarian pulling Sarah along stopped her in front of Morga and released her arm. Morga looked her over and frowned. "Did you tackle this child?" she asked. "Yes," said Sarah. A murmur went through the women. "But, I was only trying to save her life," she added in her defense. Another murmur, this one more intense. Morga looked at the women beside her who nodded.
"You understand us?" asked Morga, not completely able to keep the surprise from her voice.
Sarah looked up at the women around her. They were all she had known for the last four years, hearing them talk with each other, every day for four years. Sarah tried to keep her own surprise at bay. "Yes, I do," she said.
The group broke into talking now, a mixture of "I told you she could" and "I did not think they could speak our language" and "well, that's a surprise". Morga motioned for them to quiet down and they did so.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Sarah."
Morga tried this word: "karah" then "garah" and finally "shgarah". Sarah tried not to smile. "Garah is fine," she said.
Morga nodded. "Garah, you did a brave thing tonight, putting yourself between the coyote and the child. Well done."
Sarah actually blushed. She had acted without thinking, so the praise felt unearned. "Thank you." Morga dismissed her and the discussions among the Bigs continued. There were rumors, of course, and legends that humans could learn to speak barbarian, but they were believed almost as often as stories of Ymorg, the great traveller. Those legends told of a barbarian who had left his tribe to see the world and had learned many human languages while teaching barbarian to a few humans along the way. And, they knew that humans could learn to understand a few words in barbarian, like "fire", "water", "food", "go", "take", etc, just to do what they were instructed to. But, someone who could both understand and speak barbarian fluently was completely new to them.
Sarah sprinted back to the slave tent, not wanting to spoil the good graces she had with the Bigs by hanging around. The other Taken were at the tent door, watching the commotion. They opened the door wider when Sarah approached, ushering her in to tell them what had happened. Sarah sat by the fire and relayed the tale. For the first time since she had been Taken, she felt like she belonged. She knew her chores, she knew her role in this place, and now knew that the Bigs were fair. She wanted to toss her head back and laugh.
When she had finished, one of the girls asked, "why did you save the child?" Sarah looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean?" she asked.
The girl asking the question was older than Sarah, maybe sixteen. She kept her hair long, but tied back in a braid and insisted on wearing skirts. She looked serious and no one seemed to be taken aback by her question, except Sarah. "I mean," she said, "that saving one of those beasts is not worth your life. That child will grow up to kill hundreds of humans, taking more children like us as slaves. How can you save her life, knowing all of that?"
The girls looked at Sarah who turned scarlet with embarrassment. Sarah had never thought of the Bigs that way, even though she was probably right. "She's just a child," said Sarah quietly.
The girl laughed at Sarah, a dismissive laugh. The others laughed with her, deepening Sarah's shame. To go in minutes from feeling like she belonged to being the dumb little girl made her angry and sullen. "Well," said the girl, "maybe next time you'll think of that before you go diving in front of coyotes." The girls went on to talk about other things and Sarah slipped away to curl up on her blanket, facing away from the fire. She cried silently for what felt like hours. Just before the other girls went to sleep, one of them whispered, "it's okay, Sarah, I think you did the right thing." She patted Sarah's shoulder then settled herself under her own blanket. Sarah smiled sadly to herself and fell asleep.
When the Taken had finished stripping the large animal, Sarah motioned to the two Bigs. The adult took up the poles of the litter and hauled it easily while Sarah and the others jogged along behind. The boy joined them, tearfully, when they passed him. They marched along the plains in the direction of the hunting party. Eventually, they saw the group of Bigs, a few clustered around the other beast they had killed, and more of them around the boy who had been killed.
Sight of the group caused the young boy with them to stifle a wail. As they drew closer, the sounds of talking and chanting filled the air. The Taken and the man pulling the litter headed for the fallen beast; they could do their work while the village mourned.
When Sarah and the others had finished, she waved to Yooma to let her know. The litters they had brought could carry two beasts worth of meat and hide each. So, one of the litters was converted into a bed to carry the dead boy back home on. As before, Yooma and Ymorog stayed with the slaves and led them at the rear of the procession. But, since this was now a funeral procession as well as a hunting party, the Bigs walked. There would be a funeral pyre once they returned home. Only when it was strictly necessary were pyres built on the battlefield or somewhere other than at the village. Taking the boy home before releasing his spirit was the right thing to do.
Sarah noted that it would now be dark before they returned home and the smell of fresh meat would make the coyotes bolder than usual, but she had faith in Yooma and the others to protect them. The grey clouds grew darker and heavier and it was possible it would snow again that night. When the sun set, the two youngest slaves were given the hides to wrap up in against the cold. Sarah cursed herself for failing to consider that the hunt might take all day and that they would need blankets come night fall.
The Bigs marched along, with the young boy's brother leading the procession. The Taken jogged along behind them to keep pace. The land grew darker now, the once sharp outlines of rocky hills becoming mere blobs of presence, more felt than seen. More than once, Sarah thought she could hear coyotes sniffing and pacing them, deciding for the moment to strike, but none took the opportunity.
They arrived home at long last and the meat was tied up and off the ground. The funeral pyre would be built and burned tonight; it was customary to have it as soon as possible once returning home so that the spirit didn't lose its way. But, that was for the barbarians alone. Gathering fuel for the pyre might be slave's work, but this was a sacred rite that it was better if the barbarians performed it themselves. Sarah and the other Taken hurried into the tent and rekindled their own fire, wrapping up in their blankets and huddling together to keep warm. Eventually, the fire blazed warmly, a soft snow was falling, quietly tapping on the tent's roof, and the slaves fell soundly asleep.
The village slept late the next morning after such a long day and night. War practice could begin in the afternoon. Today, they would roast some of the beast meat and build the smoking tent to smoke the rest. But, Yooma had other plans for Sarah. They were erecting the smoking racks when Yooma called to her.
"Garah," said Yooma, more gravely than usual. "I need you to get together equipment and supplies for a long journey."
Sarah tried to hide her surprise. They couldn't possibly going to hunt the large herd beasts again. Sarah nodded.
"Gather enough food for three, water, hunting knives, and the like."
Enough for three wasn't a hunting party, and the funeral was last night, so it wasn't related to that. How strange. "Yes, Yooma," was all she said.
Yooma lost some of her somber tone and smiled slightly. "And, Garah, be sure to take your warmest clothes and cloak. It will be cold at night."
Sarah blinked in surprise. She wanted to ask what was going on, but she didn't want to anger the barbarian woman. Yooma simply smiled and dismissed her with a wave of her large hand.
Sarah spent the rest of the day packing water and supplies for a long journey. She took the time to finish mending the heavy woolen cloak with the bloodstained corner since that was the heaviest cloak. It had occurred to her that she had angered them in some way and they were taking her into the wilderness to kill her. But, they had killed slaves inside the village, so why should her death be special?
The other Taken noticed Sarah's change in activities that day, but they didn't think much of it. Sarah, as the oldest, was often chosen to perform special tasks for the Bigs. She pulled three days worth of meat from the finished smoked meats aside and wrapped them in an oil cloth tied with a piece of light rope. For water, they would need as much as they could reasonably carry and hope to find more along the way. Sarah hoped that for a long journey, the Bigs would be carrying some of their own gear, so she decided on nine skins total.
For warm clothes, Sarah had the thin leather boots she always wore, the same pants she was wearing, and the cloak. But, after remembering last night's cold march through the wastelands, she decided to add a second tunic over the one she was wearing. No one was using it right now, so she felt it was okay to take it. She considered taking a blanket, but she knew the Bigs had their own heavy cloaks they reserved for the very coldest weather and that they would use those as blankets, if necessary. Besides, she didn't want to carry the extra weight. If she ended up carrying all the water too, she might regret bringing so much.
That night, while the girls chatted quietly around the fire, Sarah just watched them. If this journey was going to result in her death, she wanted to appreciate all that was around her. She watched the interplay of their personalities, the care they showed for each other, and observed how much they had changed, or not changed, over the years. Penny had grown quieter. When she had first arrived, she was a little chatterbox, talking and talking and talking. Now she seemed to think a lot more. Gabriel had let her fear turn into bitterness, hating this place, the Bigs, and longing for the day when she was a free woman again. But, she remained scared enough to do nothing to get herself free.
Kaelin had started to mature in a strong woman. She was brave, but not impulsive. She was thoughtful and kind, but shrewd. She still blushed and giggled like a girl, but something in her quiet moments made Sarah think she was already an adult. It was Kaelin Sarah would miss most.
Sarah chided herself for thinking like that. It wasn't like Yooma had told her this was her last night alive. But, the thought of dying didn't frighten Sarah like it used to. She had had a full life. It was not a life she would have chosen, but she had made the best of it, and she had made a place here. All the feelings of belonging she had felt years ago, flooded back again. And this time, there was no snobby girl to tell her it was wrong.
Sleep came easily and Sarah woke before dawn. She rekindled the fires and prepared the breakfast meat for Yooma to take to the pregnant women. Morga came out of her tent and stretched. But, instead of taking her sword and heading for the war practice grounds, she pulled on her heavy coyote skin cloak. Then she strapped on her sword and a small pack. It dawned on Sarah that she was one of the three who would be traveling. Sarah jogged back to the slave tent as quickly as she dared and quickly put on the heavier tunic and the wool cloak. The other girls were waking up.
"What's going on, Sarah," asked Penny, sensing her urgency.
Sarah stopped and looked flustered. "I- We're-", she started. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "Yooma told me to prepare for a journey, so I did."
Kaelin looked up from her blanket. "A journey? Where to? When are you coming back?"
It was Penny who answered. "She doesn't know, Kaelin. I'm sure she would tell us if she did." Sarah looked gratefully at Penny and nodded at Kaelin. Then she surveyed the whole group, Gabriel tried to look bored, but couldn't completely hide her interest.
"You are all my friends, my sisters, and I love all of you. Keep each other safe and stay the strong, beautiful women you are today." Sarah hadn't intended on saying goodbye, but uncertainty was a way of life here and it was better to say goodbye and see them again than to regret having never said goodbye. A single tear rolled down Sarah's cheek. She wiped at it and picked up her pack. Without another word, she left.
She fetched the smoked meat in the oil cloth and tucked it in her pack. The water skins were heavy on her arms. The slaves gathered in the tent door to watch as the Bigs gathered around Morga. Sarah waited on the edge of the barbarian women and Yooma approached her. She was not dressed for travel.
"Garah, Morga is going south into the civilized lands to learn what has happened to the tribe." Sarah gulped. A long journey, indeed. Depending on the destination, that would take over a week, possibly more. "The boy who was killed on the hunt was supposed to have gone with you; he was the next oldest. We can't send the men's teacher with you, so Yargma is the next oldest and she will go with you." Yooma pointed to the young barbarian girl Sarah had hunted with before.
Sarah nodded, then she looked embarrassed. "Then.. why.."
"Why are you going?" finished Yooma and smiled. "No one else speaks both barbarian and human. Were they going raiding, it would not matter, but it is hard to gather information when all one has is a sword and the fear it produces." Yooma looked Sarah up and down. "You will be fine, I am certain. You are strong, Garah, and I will see you again." With that, Yooma saluted Sarah in the barbarian way, then patted her on the head with a fond smile.
Morga called for Yargma and Sarah to join her. Much to Sarah's relief, they each took three of the water skins from Sarah's arms. Once gathered and the water skins safely stowed, they started out on their journey, Morga leading, Sarah following, and Yargma taking up the rear, protecting their flank. The rest of the women waved until the party was out of sight.
The first day out was uneventful. The grey morning slipped into partial clouds by noon. Sarah watched as the outlines of clouds drifted over their heads and down the terrain in front of them. It seemed to jump up hills with incredible speed and fall harmlessly down the other side. Sarah's emotions were such a jumble that watching the clouds calmed her. She was going further away from home than she had ever been in the last fifteen years. They would have to traverse the wilderness that lay south of the wastelands before they reached the civilized lands south of that. That was frightening enough; the prospect of seeing other humans didn't even seem real yet.
While Sarah calmed herself by watching the clouds' shadows, Yargma was counting her steps, noting the way each one fell. Again cursing her overactive brain, Yargma had never been able to simply march along like they taught in war practice. Or maybe, she told herself, everyone else was doing exactly what she was. Only Morga seemed unfazed by this drastic shift in daily life.
As the sun was setting, the rocky hills of the wastelands had started to smooth over with more dirt on the rocks. The scraggly pines gave way to dwarfed, but denser, healthier looking pines. Morga chose a small outcropping, sheltered by trees, but not hidden among them. They built a small fire and ate some of the smoked beast. Maybe it was the setting and the excitement, but the meat tasted sweeter and richer than Sarah remembered.
With nothing to work on after supper, Sarah felt a little useless on this journey. But, the good food and long day made her sleepy, so she was happy to just lay by the fire and drift in and out of sleep. Yargma, however, could not drift off quite so easily. "Morga?" she asked, "can you tell us a story?" Sarah almost giggled. It had been years since she'd been able to lay idly by the fire and hear a story.
Morga's intense stare into the darkness softened slightly at the request. She nodded. "Have you ever heard of Ymorg, greatest of barbarian travelers?" It was a rhetorical question and Yargma grinned. Stories of Ymorg were some of her favorites; they were so much more varied than recounts of battles won or lost long ago.
"Well," continued Morga, "Ymorg was not of our tribe, but he was a good and honorable barbarian. Once, he had this honor put to the test in the deserts of the coast lands. A wealthy king from one of the coastal cities promised him a sizable reward if Ymorg would seek out and destroy the great two-headed snake that was terrorizing his lands. Armed only with his sword and the snake's last known location, Ymorg set off into the desert.
"It was hot. Imagine the hottest you have ever been and it was ten times hotter than that. Sweat poured off Ymorg's brawny shoulders as he plowed through the sand."
"What is sand?" asked Yargma. Having known only rocks and dirt her whole life, Yargma had heard of sand, but couldn't quite picture it.
"It is like snow that is made of tiny little rocks, or very loose dirt that does not pack down." Yargma nodded, imagining Ymorg trudging through piles of tan colored snow while being hot.
Morga continued. "He walked over many piles of sand, searching the horizon for any sign of the snake. For three days he searched, stopping only to sleep a few hours then continuing to search in the moonlight. Finally one afternoon, he saw the snake's tracks approaching a small village." Morga leaned forward towards her audience and continued. "The snake was longer than four women are tall and it had two vicious heads, fangs dripping poison, and forked tongues darting in and out of its mouths."
Yargma was enthralled, and Sarah was no longer drifting in and out of sleep but was listening intently.
"The snake moved silently, but the terrified villages screamed and ran from the hideous beast. The snake lunged down with one of its heads and swallowed a human whole. The other head darted down and sunk its fangs into a horse. The horse went wild with pain, pawing at the air for a second, and then fell over dead."
Morga sat back to gesture broadly. "Ymorg pulled out his sword and said, 'foul snake! In the name of the king, I have come for your heads!' And with that, he slashed at the snake's tail, cutting a deep gash in it. One of the snake heads lunged down at where he was standing, but cutting its tail was just a trick. When the snake head snapped down, he jumped to one side and cut off its head.
"But, his job was only half done. The snake reeled in pain, hissing and thrashing its tail towards Ymorg. The big bloody tail hit him square in the chest and sent him hurtling into the wall of one of the buildings. In the snake's distraction, Ymorg hit upon a plan. He ran up the backside of the snake and shimmied up its neck. When the snake realized what was happening, it flicked its head around, sending Ymorg flying through the air a second time. It would not be fooled a second time, so when it lunged at Ymorg this time, it kept is mouth open. Ymorg took his sword and, into the open mouth, he plunged his sword up into the snake's brain, killing it instantly."
"Wow," said Yargma.
"Once he had drained the venom and collected the fangs as proof for the king, he headed back to the city. He presented the fangs and demanded his reward. The king smiled and gestured to a group of scantily clad human women for him to take as his harem."
"Ugh," said Yargma, "that is just not right."
Morga nodded. "Ymorg tried to argue with the king, but he was steadfast."
"So, what did he do?"
"Legend says that he sold the women to a pirate crew and sailed with them for a while before going on to his next adventure."
Yargma shook her head. "That is some story. I hope I never see a snake with two heads."
Morga chuckled and soon they were all drifting off to sleep.
The next morning, the travelers at a small bite of smoked meat and set off southward again, marching in the same order. By noon, the sky was clear and brilliant blue. The trees around them were growing more dense as they went along and the ground was becoming much darker in color. After so many years in the relative open space of the wastelands, this many trees made Sarah feel crowded in. She thought she saw movement, constantly, out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned, it was just a bird, or a branch.
A few hours later, Yargma couldn't stand it any more. "Morga, when will all these trees go away? They press in from all sides!"
Morga chuckled. "It will get worse before it gets better, Yargma," she said. "This is the wilderness that is north of the civilized lands. We will be three or four days in this terrain, then it will open up to farmland."
"How can trees grow this close together? There is no room to breathe or stretch without hitting one plant or another!" When they had started out, there was no trail to speak of, but the ground was mostly barren as it was still quite rocky. Now, the ground was rich and fertile around the rocks, so plants of all kinds grew here. At least, they did in the summer; most of them were dead now from the killing frosts, but that almost made it worse. Rather than bouncing away when one pushed on them, they just fell over or tangled themselves around the travelers' feet.
"It will pass, Yargma. Imagine that we are on an adventure, like one of Ymorg's journeys." Sarah thought that Morga was being unusually kind to Yargma with that comment. Normally, whining was simply not tolerated. But, if she was feeling cramped, how must the giant barbarians feel? And, thought Sarah, even though Morga had gone raiding before, it had been several years and she may be feeling uncomfortable herself.
Yargma thought that Morga might be making fun of her, but she tried pretending it was like in a story. At first it felt silly, but it did seem to make the miles they walked a bit more enjoyable.
When night approached, Morga chose a spot to camp in that was as wide open as she could find. They built a small fire and ate in silence. Sarah was glad of the bed of pine needles covering the ground; after being such a clear day, the night was just as clear and much colder than the previous night. They fell asleep quickly.
In the night sometime, Sarah woke briefly because she heard talking. Lying still and listening, she realized that Morga was praying. Feeling like she was intruding, she tried to go back to sleep without listening, but it was no use. Morga alternated between chants for protection and heartfelt requests for guidance and safety. Sarah let the chants start to lull her back to sleep, when she heard Morga praying, "Goddess Mother, watch over Yargma and I as we travel into strange lands, and watch over Garah that she may help us discover the fate of our tribe." She began to chant again and Sarah shed a tear of happiness before falling asleep again.
The third day passed without incident, except for the weather. During the day, the sky began to cloud over, this time with heavy ominous clouds and distant thunder. Just before dark, the sky opened up and dumped torrents of cold rain on the forest. Even through the dense trees, rain was pouring down on the travelers. They took shelter behind a small rise in the ground and slept without a fire.
It rained hard all night long. By morning, the ground was a wet, muddy mess. Water was pooling and turning even open ground into a series of tiny lakes and rivers. Wordlessly, the travelers got up and set off again, though at a slower pace. Morga started to charge ahead with the same pace as yesterday, but they all kept losing their footing and slipping in the mud. Rather than risk injury, Morga slowed down, much to Sarah and Yargma's relief.
After several hours, the rain had not lightened in the least. Without warning, Morga motioned for everyone to stop moving. Sarah strained her ears, but she didn't know how Morga could hear anything over the sound of the rain. And then, several things happened at once. Morga drew her sword and started to move. Sarah thought she heard some kind of snuffling and thumping on the ground just as Yargma's arm reached around her and yanked her up off the ground and backwards. Then Yargma released her in mid-air and Sarah flew through the air for a second before landing on the ground and rolling through the muddy leaves to finally come to a stop several yards from where she started.
Meanwhile, Morga had landed one blow on the bear's tough hide, but it seemed unaware of the gash. As the bear started to rear back for another attack, Yargma brought her sword down on the bear's shoulder. It remained focused on Morga, however, and swung its large paw with terribly sharp claws at her midsection. Morga dodged it easily. Yargma tried again to stab the bear, but succeeded only in cutting through its hide on its chest.
That one it felt. The bear let loose a blood-curdling roar and turned on Yargma. She stood her ground and waited for its attack. The bear tried to claw across Yargma's body, but she brought her sword up almost in time to stop it. The bear's forearm hit the blade and Yargma wasn't quite strong enough to stop its movement. The claws ripped across Yargma's shoulder, tearing through her traveling cloak and into her flesh. It left large red slices across her shoulder and left breast. Though it hurt terribly, Yargma didn't make a sound. She instead moved with the blow and spun around to slash at the bear's exposed side, making another deep gash in its hide.
While the bear was distracted with Yargma, Morga was able to get into position. She drove her sword downward like a spike through the bear's spine where the neck met the shoulders. It dropped limply to the muddy ground with a final roar.
The rain continued to beat down, mixing the blood and mud. Yargma and Morga were breathing heavy from the exertion and adrenaline. Sarah stood up from where she had landed and retrieved some bandages from her pack. Although they were soaking wet, they would be better than letting Yargma's shoulder bleed. She handed the bandages to Morga and pulled out her skinning knife to harvest at least as much of the bear as they could carry with them. Cooking it would be a problem in this rain, but they had only two days of smoked meat left and at least three or four days to travel.
Morga took the bandages and wrapped up Yargma's wound. There would be time to discuss the short battle later. For now, she let Yargma feel the pride of victory and the pain of the fresh wound. Yargma's mind was racing, replaying her movements and her decisions. She was seeing the lessons from her teachers and applying them here. Although there was some thrill in hunting boar or coyote, this had been amazing in that regard. It was so sudden and over so quickly. Yargma felt absolutely alive. No wonder the tribe liked to go raiding! What must it be like to fight and defeat a trained human? Surely that was a greater challenge than a bear, and therefore a bigger rush.
When Morga decided that Sarah had collected enough bear meat, they headed off south again. By the time night fell, the rain had slowed to a steady drip, but the ground was still a swampy treacherous mess. They made camp and hoped that the next day would be dry.
The next morning, the sky was light grey, but the rain had stopped. They traveled south again. By Morga's calculations, they had lost half a day because of the rain. So, they should reach the beginnings of the farmlands by the very end of the day or tomorrow.
But, as noon approached, the thinning forest stopped abruptly and opened into a well-maintained field. The travelers stopped at the edge of the forest and stared. Sarah looked up at Morga and her brow was furrowed in thought.
"This is not right," she said. "This is far too close to be the civilized lands." Without another word, she strode out of the forest and towards the field. As they approached the field, they could see a small house and barn at the far edge, nestled in the trees. The field was empty now, except for the neat rows of muddy rain water that still had not soaked into the ground. Morga strode purposefully toward the buildings.
Sarah wasn't quite sure what to do. Her job here was to translate, but general speaking, screams of terror and battle cries needed no translation. But, trying to change Morga's mind could be dangerous to her own well-being. Yargma was excited. Here was the first time she would see humans, well, other than the slaves.
Morga marched on and Sarah jogged to keep up. "Morga, may I ask what your plan is?" asked Sarah in what she hoped was a suitably meek voice. Morga turned to Sarah and growled, "my plan is for whoever is in that building to tell me what they know of our tribe's fate."
"They might not know," said Sarah honestly.
"Then they will tell me all they do know," said Morga, "or I will kill them." At this, Morga set off at a run towards the house. Yargma ran with her, not knowing what else to do. There was no way Sarah could keep up, even at a sprint. Why was Morga acting like this? Surely she knew that charging up to the first house they saw wasn't going to have the answers she was looking for. She slowed down, hoping in vain that there was no one home. When the first terrified scream reached her ears, Sarah ran as fast as she could towards it.
The farmer was standing in front of his house, brandishing a hot fire poker and a kitchen knife, yelling, "get out of here, you filthy barbarians!" His wife was just inside the door, screaming and babbling incoherently. Somewhere a baby was crying. Morga had her sword drawn, as did Yargma. She shouted back, "where is my tribe, you soft little human?"
Sarah came running up and stood between Morga and Yargma. "Morga, please, he may not know!" The man looked curiously at Sarah for a second, but stayed focused on repelling any attacks with his poker. Morga roared and backhanded Sarah across the face, sending her stumbling to the muddy ground. "Just ask him, slave, that is why you are here," she shouted at Sarah.
The man tensed at Morga's shouting and the woman inside sent up renewed screams. Sarah stood up with her head still spinning from the blow and again stood between Morga and Yargma. "Sir," she said in human, "can you tell me if you've seen any other barbarians come this way in the last few months?"
The man on the porch almost dropped his poker and knife along with his jaw. He looked Sarah up and down, then looked at the two barbarians on either side of her. "Wh-what?" he finally managed. Sarah looked pained, fearing that Morga might think it was her fault the man was so slow to answer and kill her, or him, or both. "Have you seen any other barbarians in the last few months?" she repeated.
He blinked in surprise and looked at Sarah. "No, no I haven't."
"He has not seen them," said Sarah to Morga, in barbarian. "I will ask if he has heard rumors from nearby towns." Morga looked angry, but nodded.
Sarah asked and the man said, "no, I haven't heard anything this year, but we're kind of isolated out here." Sarah relayed this answer to Morga who considered it. Sarah thought she might kill the man just out of spite, but then she grunted and sheathed her sword. Yargma followed suit and the man lowered his poker. The screaming from inside the house had stopped, but the incoherent babbling started up again as uncomfortable silence fell across the outside of the house.
"Oh, woman! Put a sock in it!" yelled the man toward the house. Sarah smiled slightly and said, "thank you, sir. We'll be on our way now." To Morga she said, "we should go now." Morga nodded, turned and strode off with long, graceful strides. Yargma followed. Sarah nodded to the man and ran after them.
Morga headed back into the woods before returning to a southward direction. They marched the rest of the day in silence, finally making camp near a small rock outcropping sheltered by trees. After what felt like a week of being wet, Sarah was glad that her clothes were finally drying out. She gently probed the side of her face where Morga had hit her. Her eye would blacken, if it hadn't already, and her jaw was puffy, but it didn't feel broken.
It wasn't the first time she had been punished by a Big, but it was the first time she didn't feel like she deserved it. Other times, she really had screwed something up, but this time, she was trying to do the right thing. For the first time in this journey, Sarah questioned the wisdom in her coming along.
Morga saw Sarah testing her cheek with her fingers and cursed herself for losing her temper. Sarah was necessary for this journey and she had punished Sarah for doing exactly what they had brought her along to do. It was not just language that needed to be translated, but intentions as well.
Morga pressed her lips together. "Garah," she said, "I am sorry." Sarah looked up at her while Yargma pretended not to notice the conversation. "I lost my temper and I should not have hit you. You were right to try to stop me." Sarah nodded. "Next time, you will tell me how to proceed." Sarah nodded again and said, "yes, Morga."
The next day, they traveled south through the remainder of the woods and emerged into farmland just before sunset. Morga didn't like the idea of sleeping completely in the open, so they camped early on the edge of the forest. They tended to Yargma's wound, which seemed to be healing just fine and built a small fire for the night.
Sarah had thought all day about how to handle this particular conversation, but that didn't make it any easier to start. "Morga, how are we going to find information about the tribe? Do you know the route they were planning to take this year?"
Morga sighed. Apparently she had been thinking about this, too. "I do not know," she said after a few minutes. "I forgot that human lands were so... crowded, and yet isolated. I thought word of them would be everywhere by now."
Sarah looked into the fire. She wasn't even sure she wanted to take this approach, but it seemed like the most efficient way to get information. "Well, the greatest crossroads of information from other parts of the land are at Inns."
"What are Inns?" asked Yargma.
"They're like big houses where you can pay to sleep a night or two."
"Why would you pay to sleep there when you can sleep outside for free?" Yargma looked honestly confused.
"Not everyone can tolerate the temperatures outside in the winter," said Sarah. "And, not everyone who travels can defend themselves against wolves or bears." Yargma nodded.
Morga looked at Sarah, studying her face. "You do not like the idea of going to an Inn," she said finally. "Why?"
Sarah looked up at Morga. "The same reason they make a good place to get information means that we would be noticed. Many villages do not like barbarians and some have put bounties on them." All of this Sarah remembered from before she was Taken. The local Inn often had wanted posters for barbarians, dead or alive, but preferably dead. Sarah always thought it was a joke, like a wanted poster for the boogeyman.
"I see," said Morga. "What if you were to go alone? Would that be less noticeable?"
Sarah blinked. She knew the Morga trusted her, but that was quite a lot of power and trust to put into Sarah's hands. "I don't know." Sarah looked down at her hands laying idle in her cross-legged lap. "I may know the language, but I have not been in an Inn or around humans in fifteen years." She looked up at Morga. "I may be as noticeable by myself as I would be with both of you."
"She would be safer with us," said Yargma. "There is safety in numbers. And, while she is strong for a human, Sarah is not trained in combat, if anything should happen." Morga and Sarah were both impressed with Yargma's logic and quiet composure. Her brush with the bear seemed to have sobered her a little where the dangers of this journey were concerned.
Morga nodded. "Yargma is right. We shall all go to this Inn. You will ask the humans about the tribe and we will make sure you are safe while you do so." With that, the matter was decided. Sarah was nervous about the reaction of the towns folks to them just walking down the main street and into the Inn, especially given the reaction of the farmer from yesterday. But, it would be no use in arguing with Morga now.
The next morning, they woke early and headed toward the farm, hoping to find a road to lead them to the nearest town. Much to Sarah's delight, they avoided being seen by the farmer and followed the road for about an hour. As they approached the town, the road started to get a bit busier with people going about their day. Everyone who saw the travelers recoiled in silent horror, ushering children back inside and trying to move far away from them. To Sarah's surprise, no one screamed. Maybe it was the fact that they were walking into town and not charging into town with lit torches and battle cries.
Just as Sarah was beginning to think this was going to go more smoothly than she thought, a woman saw them and screamed. That seemed to be signal the others were waiting for. Suddenly, screams were erupting all around them and people changed from stepping out of the way to running out of the way. "What is going on?" asked Morga. "They have noticed us," said Sarah plainly. "We are just looking for the Inn!" bellowed Morga in what she believed was a calming tone.
Sarah shook her head. Yargma pointed to a building with an attached stable and a large sign. "Is that the Inn?" she asked, hopeful that she had guessed right. Sarah read the sign: The Blue Ox Inn. "Yes, that is the Inn." The started towards it. "How did you know?" asked Sarah. Yargma almost blushed. "If humans often travel by horse, then where they sleep would need a place for the horses to sleep, too."
"Good thinking, Yargma," said Morga, and Yargma did blush at that.
Morga pushed open the door, but Sarah touched her arm before she could duck under the door frame and enter. "Morga, let me go first. They will be alarmed like the farmer if you go first." Morga stopped and looked down at Sarah. She nodded.
Sarah stepped from the morning sunlight into the common room of the Inn. It was darker than outside, but it was well-lit with candle and fire light. There were four or five travelers in the room, eating breakfast, and a woman refilling their drinks. A few of them turned when Sarah entered and when Morga and Yargma entered, they all turned to look.
They made quite a sight. The barbarians were naked from the waist up, Morga was bald and covered in death mark tattoos. The wore only boots, loincloths, and their traveling cloaks. All three of them had deeply tanned, leathery skin from spending all of their time outside. Sarah was clothed, but in a ragged patchwork of cloth and leather. And, all three of them were still quite dirty from the two days spent hiking in the mud.
As Sarah raised her arm and started to ask her question, the serving girl screamed at the top of her lungs and dropped her tray. Sarah winced. This was not going well at all. "Ma'am please," she said in human, "we just want some information." But, it was no good. At Sarah's comment, she ran towards the kitchen, still screaming. Most of the men had stood up and were slowly backing away.
"Sirs, please, have there been any other barbarians through this area this year?" The innkeeper came out from the kitchen wielding a kitchen knife. When he saw Sarah, he stopped.
"What is this, then?" he demanded, looking between Sarah and the barbarians. Morga and Yargma rested their hands on their swords, but did not draw them.
"Sir," said Sarah again, "we just want to know if any other barbarians have been through this area this year."
The innkeeper started to say something, but it was one of the travelers who spoke. "Not here, I don't think, but a day's journey, maybe two, east of here there's a town. I think the town's name is Hemlock. They were attacked by barbarians several months ago. Why do you want to know?" The man was dressed in well-tailored, but well-worn clothes. His boots, too, were well-made, but had long ago lost their shine. His hair was shoulder length and wavy brown. He among the men in the common room had not moved when they entered.
Sarah looked at him. "We're looking for them," she said.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Have they not returned?"
Sarah was suspicious of this man. He seemed far too relaxed among all the other terror they were inflicting on the towns folks. The innkeeper watched the conversation; he seemed inclined to let it go on so long as only words were exchanged.
"No," she admitted, "they have not."
He furrowed his brow. "It is not likely that they forgot their way home." He looked at Morga and Yargma. "You may have to give them the bad news that they might be dead."
"How do you know I'm their translator?"
"Why else would you be here?" he asked. "You're not carrying any weapons except that skinning knife."
Sarah's hand went to the knife as he said that. He was right, of course, and very observant. Morga saw Sarah's motion and started to draw her sword but Sarah stopped her and shook her head.
"Do you know if they are dead?" asked Sarah.
The man shook his head. "No, I know only what I told you, that the town of Hemlock was attacked this year. Perhaps your answers are there."
Sarah nodded. "Thank you, sir," she said and turned to leave.
"May I have the pleasure of your name, miss?" asked the man.
"Sarah.. Taylor." She had to think to remember her last name, having not used it in so long.
"Sarah Taylor, I am Cerevin Ges. It has been a pleasure to meet you and your unusual friends."
Sarah looked at him and thought he was the unusual one. "Thank you," she said and turned to motion Morga and Yargma out the door. Out in the street in front of the Inn, several towns folks had gathered with clubs and pitchforks. They made no movement, but Morga gripped her sword tightly. Sarah saw that many of the faces in the crowd were scared, not angry.
"What is this?" Morga asked Sarah. "I am not sure," said Sarah.
One man from the crowd said, "we think it's best you leave town now, before someone gets hurt." Sarah looked over the crowd. There were maybe twenty men, most of them not much older than Yargma. She was certain that it would be the towns folks who would be hurt, but she didn't want to find out.
"We should go," said Sarah, in barbarian. Morga nodded. Slowly, they walked in a tight group away from the Inn and down the road. The crowd followed them to the edge of town and watched them until they were out of sight.
"What did you learn?" demanded Morga when they were outside of town.
Sarah recounted most of the conversation, leaving out the part where Cerevin suggested that the tribe might be dead. She would have to find a better way to broach that subject, even though she was certain that Morga had at least considered the possibility.
Morga grunted. "Then we shall travel east, to this town you speak of, and see what they know."
Sarah said, "next time, let us go into the Inn at night, when it is dark and there are fewer people around. And, pull your hoods up over your heads and keep your cloaks wrapped around you."
"And hide like thieves? Why?"
"If the town has just been attacked by the tribe, they will be even less tolerant of your presence than the last town."
A day and a half later, Morga, Yargma, and Sarah were waiting for dark outside the town of Hemlock. Many of the buildings in town had been burned recently. Some were being reconstructed, but others were not, their occupants having been killed. The town had a somber air about it; the attack on the town was little more than three months ago, so the memories were still fresh.
"If anyone tries to get your attention," said Sarah, "pretend that you cannot speak and point to me." Morga and Yargma nodded. With their cloaks drawn up close and their hoods up, they looked like large burly men who wanted their privacy, which was good enough for their purposes.
The inn in Hemlock was known as The Drowsy Drink Inn. It was slightly larger than The Blue Ox, but all of the windows on the first floor were covered over with wood. Shards of glass from the windows were still visible in the window frames. Their entrance into the common room of the inn was met with a minor stir, but nothing more. Sarah chose a table in the corner between the door and the fireplace. There were about ten men in the room, most of whom seemed to be locals. They looked Sarah and her large companions over, but didn't see much of a threat and went back to their meals.
A young boy, probably no older than eleven or twelve, brought them mugs of water. His hand shook as he put them on the table. Sarah knew that particular shake; she had it for six months after being Taken. As gently as she could, she touched his arm. He flinched then looked up at her. "Young sir," she said, "I need some information." The boy nodded and fled before she could say what about.
"I do not like this," said Morga under her breath. "This place feels wrong to me." Sarah motioned for her to be silent as the innkeeper approached. He drew up a heavy chair next to Sarah.
"The boy tells me you need information," he said. "I have all kinds... at various prices." This was not something that Sarah had anticipated. None of them had any money, so she hoped the information she needed was free.
"We're looking for the barbarians who came through here recently," she said.
He grunted quietly. "Come for the bounty on their heads? Well, as you can see, they were here three months ago, but they headed east when they left here, not north. I've heard reports they hit two other towns east of here, and that's the last we heard." He looked Sarah up and down. "You don't look strong enough to take on barbarians. Is that where these two come in?" he asked, gesturing at Morga's and Yargma's hooded figures.
Sarah smiled. "Something like that. Do you happen to know the name of the second town they hit? That appears to be our next stop."
The innkeeper began to look slightly suspicious. "Maybe. How much is it worth to you?" Sarah tried desperately to think of a way to get out paying anything. From somewhere in her memory were the bartering and negotiations that her father used to do. What would he say when someone would say that to him about something he was very interested in?
Sarah said, "not as much as you seem to think it is. I guess we'll be going, then." She made a move to stand up, but the innkeeper put his big hand over hers on the table, holding her in place. He also made a gesture to one of the men who had turned to look at them. He stood up and left the common room towards the kitchen. Sarah started to panic. She didn't know how to get out of this without a fight and she really didn't want that to happen.
"Sir, I've done nothing wrong and I'd like to leave now, so please release my hand." Morga and Yargma were half standing, ready to draw at a moment's notice, but trusted Sarah to tell them when it was time to fight. The innkeeper looked at her with contempt. "You don't have any money, do you? And, how is it that a woman is out at night with two big thugs, but not her man? What are you running from?"
Some of the men in the common room had gotten up from their tables and were approaching Sarah and the innkeeper. Sarah sat back down. "You're right, what's the rush? Let's have a drink," said Sarah. She was trying to get the men focused on something else. She reached out her hand to take the mug of water and lifted it from the table in a mock toast. "Cheers!" She drank the water with her eyes closed, hoping they would drink too, but they did not. Sarah was out of ideas, but it didn't matter.
With all of the men in the common room surrounding them, Morga and Yargma reached for their mugs to follow Sarah's lead, guessing that was the right thing to do. But, as Morga reached out her arm from beneath the cloak, the candle light clearly showed the many death mark tattoos on her hand and forearm. There was a collective gasp from the gathered men. Even the innkeeper was startled enough that he let go of Sarah's arm.
Sarah backed away from the men and said one word in barbarian, "fight." Morga and Yargma drew their swords and threw back their hoods to renewed gasps. Sarah drew her skinning knife. The men in the common room were not carrying weapons, so they hurled a heavy chair in the direction of the barbarians as well as a slew of curses. Morga knocked the chair aside easily. A few of the men were armed and began trying to engage Morga and Yargma in combat, but they knew Sarah's motives were defense, so they held back their own attacks. Sarah said, "door" and tried to start moving in that direction.
Then, one of the men grabbed Sarah's shoulder. She spun down and out of his grasp, thrusting in his direction with her skinning knife at the same time. He let out a surprised cry and doubled over in pain. Yargma deflected another chair attack while Morga defended against three swordsmen at once. As Sarah stood up to make another move towards the door, she felt the hot sharp pain of a blade cutting her left side. It cut through her tunic and blood flowed slowly down her side. She grunted in pain.
Morga heard this and let go of her restraint. She swung and easily decapitated the swordsman who had cut Sarah. Yargma followed suit and began attacking the men with vigor and a speed only youth grants. When two more men fell in the next second and a third one half a second later, the men realized they were out classed and fell back away from those deadly blades. Morga leaned down to Sarah, "time to go." Sarah held her cut side with her hand and started to open the front door of the inn.
At that point, Sarah felt a tiny prick of pain in her left arm and immediately began to get dizzy. Morga and Yargma saw Sarah stagger and then felt several small pricks of pain on their chest and arms. Morga reached up and felt something small at that point and pulled it out. It was a tiny dart with some kind of liquid on it that was not her blood. The room grew bright and blurry. They hit the floor, unable to move. Sarah's last thought before she lost consciousness was that, if the man she stabbed died, she could get a death mark, too.
Sarah woke to the sounds of Morga yelling her head off. As her vision cleared, Sarah realized they were in a very small stone room with no windows. There was a tiny bit of light coming from the lantern, beyond the barred door, in the hallway. Sarah pushed herself up into a sitting position and noticed that her hands were manacled together with a heavy iron chain. Yargma looked like she was still unconscious. Sarah also noticed that the wound on her side had been bandaged.
Morga yelled another epithet at the hallway. "Weak little humans, with your magic tricks! Fight me in single combat and you shall not get the best of me! Cowards!" She grabbed the bars and shook as hard as she could, her own manacles clinking against them. Next, she put her back into the door and slammed and pushed it, hoping to tear it loose from the walls, but it would not budge.
Sarah's head was pounding. She had no idea what time it was or what was planned for them. This had gone terribly wrong and she felt she was to blame. If she hadn't insisted on going to the inn, this would never have happened.
Yargma groaned and tried to sit up. Sarah moved to help her and Morga gave the bars a final shake before coming back to check on the others.
"Are you okay, Yargma? Garah?" she asked. They both nodded. She said, "we must get out of here, get our things and find the tribe. Nothing else matters."
Sarah looked miserable. "Morga, I am sorry. It is my fault this has happened. If I had not insisted on going to the inn-"
"No!" said Morga. "You are not to blame. The cowards who seek to keep us here are to blame and it is they who I will slaughter." She took a flying leap at the door, trying to kick it down, but it would not move.
"What has happened?" asked Yargma. "Where are we?"
"We are not sure," said Sarah. "We only woke a few minutes before you. I suspect we are in jail."
"What is a jail?" asked Yargma. But before Sarah could answer, there were sounds of doors being unbolted from one end of the hallway. Apparently Morga's yelling had gotten someone's attention. After another door was unbolted, Sarah heard quiet conversation in the hall. One voice was angry, but the other, obviously the one in charge, was calm.
Then, the voices came into view through the barred door. One man was dressed as farmers or innkeepers often were in a brown tunic, simple pants, and boots. The other man was dressed in a pure white shirt, black pants, and shiny black leather boots. The well-dressed man spoke first.
"You three have been charged with murder, varying in number and severity, but murder nonetheless. Since this town has no King's Court that would hear your trial, you will be kept here until you can be moved to the city of Calavash. That may be several days as the next caravan from this area doesn't leave for Calavash until then."
The man turned to leave, but Sarah said, "please, sir, this has all been a misunderstanding."
"Murder," he interrupted, "is almost never misunderstood, especially when there are dozens of witnesses."
"No, what I mean, sir, is that we were only looking for information when the innkeeper tried to keep us there against our will." She tried to see if she was reaching him or if he was even listening. "It was self-defense as we were trying to leave and-"
"Self-defense? Beheading innocent bystanders was self-defense? Or stabbing a man to death who only touched your shoulder? Ha!" His laugh was a short, sharp sound like a whip. "You are lucky that I am in charge and you will receive a fair trial. If others had their way, you would already be dead, hanging from the trees in the town square." He looked into Sarah's eyes, daring her to argue with him further. With that cruel look and glint of superiority, Sarah lost her composure and jumped to the barred door, extending her arm through the bars as far as possible, trying to grab the well-dressed man and wring his neck.
"Why you arrogant, pompous ass!" she yelled as he backed away from her arm. "Come in here or let me out and say that again and I will show you how a fair trial works, you coward!" She spat at his feet, still straining to reach him through the bars.
"Shall I knock them out again?" asked a voice from the shadows behind the commonly-dressed man.
The well-dressed man looked shaken, but angry; none of that was evident in his voice. "No, no, we don't want to waste the powder." He looked back at Sarah and scowled. "No food or drink until the caravan arrives to take them. That should make them manageable." He turned and walked away, the commonly-dressed man following behind him.
"Coward! Come back here and fight!" Morga joined Sarah in yelling at the men as they left, shaking the bars. Yargma joined them and they yelled until their voices were hoarse.
Finally, they gave up and sat down on the cold stone floor. "What did they tell you?" asked Morga.
"That we will be tried for murder in another city and they won't take us there for several days."
"Murder?" asked Yargma, "what's that?"
Morga said, "humans do not have honor the same way we do. They call all kills, even honorable ones, murder."
"What?" boggled Yargma, "that is ridiculous! The Sword Mother blesses honorable kills, so how can they be bad?"
Morga shrugged. "I do not pretend to understand the reasoning of humans, just some of their ways."
Sarah nodded. "Humans do not know the Sword Mother, so they do not know her teachings."
They were silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. Sarah was startled in hindsight by her reaction to the man's words. She had never really lost her temper like that before, but something in the way he looked at her, like a dog or a disobedient horse, made her want to throttle him. She was sure that, even without combat training, she was stronger and more nimble than he was. She was certain she could best him in a fight.
Morga studied Sarah while she was thinking. She had never seen Sarah behave like that before. She showed a fierceness that Morga believed had been squashed out of her after all those years in the wastelands.
"Why you?" she asked Sarah.
Sarah stopped thinking about her anger and looked up at Morga who was seated across from her in the cell. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Why do they hold you for murder? I saw Yargma take one man's head," she nodded to Yargma in approval, "but why you? Just because you were there with us?"
Sarah blushed and looked at the floor. "I stabbed a man who tried to grab me with my skinning knife. I guess he died." Morga nodded appreciatively and Yargma grinned.
"I think the Sword Mother considers that an honorable kill," said Morga. "Well done, both of you." Sarah and Yargma beamed.
They were uncertain how many days passed. The pure tedium nearly drove them mad. They would shake on the bars, yelling, and then sulk in silence for a while. After what was probably two days, Sarah started to feel the effects of having no water. Her head pounded non-stop and moving took greater effort than she ever remembered exerting. Yargma was the next to feel the effects. By the third day, Sarah knew she would die soon if she didn't get some water. Even Morga was starting to look glassy-eyed.
They heard the doors being unbolted and footsteps coming down the hallway, but they made no move to get up.
"Aww, not so fierce now, are you?" taunted the voice. Sarah looked up to see the commonly dressed man who had come down before. "Well, you're lucky. The caravan doesn't arrive for another two days and the magistrate, in his infinite wisdom, decided that you shouldn't die of thirst before then." He set down the three buckets he was carrying.
"But," he taunted, "you're going to have to beg for it." He cackled. "Little, dirty girls, come beg for your water!"
Morga looked at Sarah. "I do not like his tone. What is he saying?"
Sarah tried to lick her dry lips. "He wants us to beg for the water he has." Morga chuckled. "Exactly," said Sarah, "that is why I am still."
The man got angry that they didn't come running for the water. "Come on now, without this you'll die. And while I think that's a fine plan, the magistrate will fire me if I don't give you this water. So, come get it."
They made no move to get up and the man lost his temper. "Fine, you crazy barbarian bitches, have it your way." He picked up the buckets one at a time and threw them through the bars and onto each of the women in turn. "There! I gave you your water! And, you'll probably smell a little better, too, after that bath. Ha ha ha!" He laughed at his own cleverness all the way down the hall and up the stairs.
Sarah cupped her hands and drank as much water as she could from the ground and her clothes, while Morga and Yargma did the same. They would probably survive two more days until the caravan arrived. Before falling asleep, Sarah yearned for the simple fire and smoked meat of their journey down here.
Finally, the day came for them to be added to the caravan to Calavash. They were laying on the cell floor, weak from not having eaten since before they were brought here. The doors opened and footsteps sounded down the hall. Many more footsteps than Sarah had heard before. The well-dressed man and many of the town militia were outside the cell. The magistrate said, "the caravan is ready to leave for Calavash and take you with it. Are you going to come quietly?"
Sarah pushed herself up to her knees and then to standing, holding the wall to steady herself. "Why don't you come in here and find out for yourself," she said.
The magistrate looked over into the shadows beyond the cell door and said. "They're weak, so it won't take much." Sarah furrowed her brow and prepared to attack any guards that came through the door. Morga and Yargma followed her lead and stood up, ready to fight. Instead, Sarah felt a disturbingly familiar prick of pain and dizziness, this time from her shoulder. All three women fell to the ground, unconscious.
"Very well," said the magistrate. "Take them to the caravan and make sure they are well secured to the heaviest cart there is. I don't want them to escape." The men dragged the women's bodies out of the cell and up the stairs. The were not particularly gentle.
Sarah, Morga, and Yargma woke around the same time, a few hours later. They were chained, by the neck, to the largest cart in the caravan, as the magistrate had instructed. It was filled with grain and took a team of oxen to pull it. They were still wearing manacles as well, but their feet were free as they were meant to walk along side the caravan. Once awake, Morga got to her feet and tried to pull the chain loose from the cart. Failing that, she begin trying to knock the cart over. Yargma and Sarah helped her, but it was no use, the cart was just too heavy.
As they were trying to tip the cart over they heard someone yell, "they're awake now!" A few moments later a man riding a horse, came by checking the status of all the wagons and carts in the caravan. Finally, they heard the cracking of a whip from somewhere in front of them and eventually, the caravan started moving forward.
The man on the horse came back and slowed his horse by the three of them. "We won't be stopping on account of you lot, so don't fall or slow down or you'll likely be strangled by those chains. Not that I would mind." He rode off again and Sarah translated for the others. Morga was insulted, but after five days with no food and very little water, they were using all their energy to walk and stay upright.
As they were passing through the town of Hemlock, some people had gathered beside burned down buildings or those ransacked by the tribe a few months prior. They pointed at the buildings, wailed in mourning, and threw hateful epithets at the three women. Morga and Yargma didn't need a translation to understand. But, how could they explain to these people that raiding was just part of who they were? Just as farming and building cities came naturally to humans, raiding and fighting came naturally to barbarians. They felt they had nothing to apologize for, so the guilt the towns folks tried to lay on them just didn't stick.
The caravan proceeded out of town and southeast along the road all afternoon and into evening. Just before sundown, the caravan stopped and the cart drivers and most of the guards headed to the front tent where food was being served. Sarah was especially glad of a chance to sit down. She was used to jogging along behind the Bigs, but this journey had much more traveling than she was used to. But, it was Yargma who looked the worst. Her eyes were glassy and wide. She sat when she was told to sit, but she didn't look or act like herself.
Morga was concerned, but didn't know what to do, so she tried to ignore it, hoping Yargma would fix herself. Sarah touched Yargma's shoulder gently and asked, "what's wrong, Yargma?"
Yargma stared into space and said, "we are not going to make it."
Morga turned, as if to say something, but instead remained standing, staring off into the gathering darkness.
"Yargma, you are young, so you have one thing in your favor and one against," said Sarah. "You are young so you are strong. Even if they do not let us eat tonight, you will likely survive Morga and me. Well, me at least." Sarah smiled in what she hoped was a comforting way. "But, you are young so you are inexperienced. You do not remember, but when you were two, we had a very bad year. The food from the raids ran out before the heaviest snows."
Morga smiled to herself, still staring into the darkness. She remembered that year.
"The food ran out and the animals were hibernating, so it was very hard to find any to kill. Two slaves and one of the elders died that year from starvation." She looked at Yargma, hoping she was listening. "So, this is not as bad."
Yargma let herself smile slightly, but remained staring into space. Sarah fell silent, not knowing what else to say. The air grew chill and damp around them. It was then that Sarah realized they had not been given their traveling cloaks back since they were taken. In the jail, it didn't matter as much, being relatively warm, but out here, without a fire or their cloaks and they would freeze.
After a while, the talking and laughing around the campfire near the lead wagon settled down. Sarah had given up on getting their cloaks or dinner and instead sat next to Yargma, trying to share their body heat. A few minutes later, a man walked as close as he dared to the women and dropped their cloaks and some kind of roasted meat. He turned and ran back to the fire as soon as his job was done.
Morga retrieved the cloaks and the food. Yargma immediately started eating while Sarah and Morga put on their cloaks and then started eating. When Sarah was halfway done, Yargma finished and then pulled on her cloak. Sarah looked at Morga, then down at her own food. Morga shook her head and said, "Yargma, I cannot stand this human meal. Would you like the rest of mine?"
Yargma looked guiltily down at her hands, still greasy from her own meal. She nodded and Morga handed her the rest of her meat. "You must grow big and strong so you can lead our tribe to greatness, Yargma. Always remember that."
"Yes, Morga," said Yargma reflexively.
Sarah smiled sadly and continued her own meal. After dinner, the women fell asleep.
The next morning, a bucket of water was waiting beside them. They took turns drinking their fill. By the time the caravan was moving, they were feeling better than they had in days. Just as they were beginning to think the day's journey would not be so bad, the rain started falling. It fell slowly at first, causing the caravan to stop and all the grain carts were covered with oil cloth to protect it. By noon, the rain was falling steadily, though not as hard as the day in the wilderness. Still, the road became a muddy mess and so did its travelers.
The day proceeded like that and remained rainy into the night. There was no fire and the women were not given any dinner that night. They curled together for warmth against the cold, wet ground. The next morning dawned like the evening, cold and rainy.
After two more days of rain, the sky finally cleared as they were a day outside of Calavash. The last day of the journey, the man on the horse rode beside them and said, "be ready. The people of Calavash don't like criminals much, and they really don't like barbarians." He spit on the ground with the last word and Morga lunged at him, stopped only by the sudden jerk on her neck as she reached the end of her chain.
As they approached Calavash, Sarah could hear someone announcing their arrival. She doubted that a normal caravan would be so announced, so it was deliberate by someone, to make them uncomfortable or afraid. Morga heard it, too, and said, "stay strong, stay proud. We are barbarians!"
Sarah lifted her head and walked proudly beside Morga and Yargma. She felt much more like one of them than one of the pale, soft humans who came out to taunt them. They lined the streets to see the criminals arrive. Quite a sight, the women were, if possible, even dirtier than their arrival in that first town inn, nearly two weeks ago. They were covered in dried mud and Yargma's and Sarah's bandages had not been changed in that time, so they were dark brown with dried blood.
The people lining the street jeered and made noose-hanging gestures at them, or cut their fingers across their throats. Eventually, someone decided to throw a bit of horse dung at them. Sarah's first thought was, why would you waste fire fuel like that? She laughed at the thought. The man who threw the dung took this as an insult and goaded others into doing it.
By the time they arrived at the Calavash prison, they were covered in horse and cow dung as well as mud. The guard at the prison consulted with the caravan leader in the best way to transfer these dangerous criminals from the cart to the stockades. Finally, he said to the prisoners, "if you come quietly, you won't be harmed."
Sarah made a rude gesture at the man, to which the crowd responded with a growl.
"Fine, have it your way," said the guard, on the border of being bored. Sarah waited for the sting of the dart, but instead something heavy hit her head from behind. She blacked out before she hit the ground.
When Sarah awoke, she was alarmed to discover that she was alone. The cold stone floor and barred door gave her no doubt as to where she was, but she expected to find Yargma and Morga with her. She jumped up and went to the door, yelling for them. She was relieved that the iron collar had been removed from her neck. There was an angry red outline of it still left on her skin. The manacles, however, were still in place. Sarah shouted as loudly as she could, "Morga, Yargma! Where are you?"
A groggy voice sounded from the cell next to her. "I am here," said Yargma. "They took Morga first, since she was awake first."
"Took her where?" asked Sarah, beginning to notice the pounding in her head and the bump on the back of it.
"I do not know; I do not speak human," she said.
"What about this one?" asked Sarah. In human she said, "ah! Run! Barbarians!" and laughed.
Yargma chuckled. "That one I know."
Sarah didn't know how they had subdued Morga to get her out of here while conscious. She sat down in her cell and began to cry. It had been years since she had done so, but this seemed to warrant it. Sarah was growing more convinced with each passing day that the tribe had been killed. She didn't know how or by whom, but she felt certain she would never see them alive again. As she cried and contemplated this possibility, she began to chant to the Sword Mother to watch over their souls as they passed through the afterlife. She didn't realize what she was doing until she heard Yargma joining her between her own sobs. The chanted together, drawing strength from the repetition and the fire of life they still held onto, until the crying was done.
"Blessed is the Sword Mother," said Sarah.
"And strong are her followers," said Yargma. After a few moments, she added, "thank you."
Morga was returned to her cell a few hours later and Sarah saw how they had gotten her out. She was surrounded on all sides by guards, holding her at sword and spear point. One sudden move in any direction and she would be impaled on something sharp and deadly. The guards looked nervous, but not afraid. They had dealt with their share of barbarians captured by bounty hunters, even females, but experience had taught them to be more cautious rather than cavalier.
Once they left, Sarah asked what had happened.
"They took me to a very large room, with tiny, uncomfortable seats. Then, after a few minutes, an important man in black walked up some steps and sat looking down on the room. Then, another man with a very long scroll read something long and tedious for a very long time."
Sarah nodded. "They were probably reading the charges to the judge." Sarah knew very little about the King's Court. She had been in trouble when she was young, but not that much trouble.
"Then after all that, the small man in black said something, hit his desk with a tiny little mace, and then they brought me back here."
Sarah didn't know what to say. She could tell them nothing about the culture or the language that would help explain what was happening. She thought about apologizing again, but Morga had already told her not to. So instead she remained silent.
A few hours later, guards returned for Yargma. Though she was young, they took no chances with her and surrounded her with spears and swords, as they had done for Morga. She was not gone long and her story was identical to Morga's except that the scroll the man read was short.
By that time it was evening, so it seemed that Sarah would have to wait until morning to hear her fate. These jail cells were smaller, but more numerous and had tiny little windows. Through those windows, Sarah could see a few snowflakes falling. It would be snowing on and off in the wastelands by now, as they tended to get a foot or so and then nothing for weeks. She thought about the rest of the Taken, sleeping together in the slave tent, mending clothes, cooking, fetching water, skinning beasts. All of it, quiet, methodical, and... normal. This city, and even the few towns they had been through, felt so alien to Sarah. The sound of a cart wheel striking a rock scared her more than the growl of a coyote. She thought about the other Taken and the rest of the tribe and drifted off to sleep.
On the journey from her village to the wastelands, young Sarah Taylor was a wreck. She alternated between crying for her parents and defiantly declaring that she would never cry again. The other children and teens that were taken were of no help. They were either catatonic with shock or crying madly themselves.
However, after a few days of travel and it became clear the barbarians were not going to kill them every time they walked by, some of the teens began plotting their escape. They had seen the barbarians kill, so they knew it was no joke, but they refused to be helpless like this. The instigator of this plotting was Adrian. He had golden wavy hair, but was at least five years older than Sarah, so they had never really talked in their village.
When the barbarians would go off to make the evening meal, he would gather the children up and try to convince them of his plan.
"So, the important thing to note is that they have not yet harmed us," said Adrian.
"You doubt they would?" asked one of the older boys.
"Not at all," said Adrian, "but we don't know yet what is cause for being killed."
"I'd rather not find out," said another boy.
"You would rather be a slave the rest of your life than try to free yourself?" demanded Adrian. "And, make no mistake, that is the choice you are making. If you let yourself be taken by these beasts, then you choose to be a slave."
The idea of slavery was well known. Most towns had two or three, usually the wealthier families who inherited them or traded for them. Even Sarah's town had one. The boy Mikal with whom she used to fight, their family had a reddish-skinned slave from far away. The family had gotten him in a trade agreement with another town. Sarah knew on some level that the man could never be free, but it never really sunk in what that meant. Faced with it now, she wasn't sure she could give up her freedom, as limited as it was as a female. But, she was also scared of dying, so she didn't really want that either.
"I choose not to die," retorted the boy.
Adrian looked exasperated, as if they had been over this a hundred times before. "Look, what I'm saying is that, if we attempt an escape, but make it look like simple error, then, if we get caught, we feign ignorance and hope they don't kill us. If it works, we get away."
Sarah could hold her tongue no longer. "If you don't know what is cause for being killed is, how can you know that making a 'simple error' isn't enough to be killed?"
None of the boys responded, not because they didn't have an answer, but because they pretended not to hear. Sarah looked at them steadfastly ignoring her presence, growing angrier by the second. Just as she was about to start yelling at them, or at least start kicking, one of the boys said, "how do you know that making a simple mistake won't get us killed?"
Sarah wanted to throttle the boy. He had stolen her question! Worse than that, the other boys actually considered it when he said it and responded!
"I don't really know, but we've already hit upon a few," Adrian said and counted them off on his fingers. "Dropping something they hand us will get you a cuff, but not killed. Walking outside the path of the wagon, the same. Taking too long to relieve oneself, the same."
"And you think we can use one of some of these in an escape attempt?" asked one of the boys.
"I think it's possible," said Adrian. "We're all bound by these ropes, but they are easy enough to untie, it's fear that keeps us wearing them. So, what if we wander out from behind the cart, near some dense woods or a river, then untie the ropes and run?"
The boys looked at each other. "I think you're insane," said one of them.
"I think I'd rather be dead than a slave," said another.
Adrian smiled. He and the others who wanted to try it huddled up to think of hand signals and the like for actually making the attempt.
Sarah went over to where the other girls were sitting. "Are you listening to this?" she asked. "Insanity, all of it." One of the younger girls giggled and the older girls looked exasperated.
"We don't listen to men's talk," said the oldest girl, "and neither should you."
"Why not?"
"Because they don't listen to ours," she said, "and it's not our place."
"Our place?" asked Sarah. She had been taught to be obedient and respectful, but never that she had "a place".
The girl looked at Sarah pityingly. "You were never taught how to behave around men?" Sarah started to respond, but the girl plunged on. "That's not surprising, given your station in the village. Women must be seen, only when necessary, and never heard. Women must be proper and tidy at all times. Women will bear children and will rear the girls; the boys, after nursing, will be reared by other men. Women must not interfere with their husband's or sons' affairs. It's that last one where you are failing, my child. Women must-"
Sarah's fist hit the girl square in the nose, which blossomed with blood, and she shrieked like a banshee. The boys in their plotting thought they had been discovered and flinched involuntarily.
"That's a terrible thing to say!" shouted Sarah. "Women are not slaves, you know! And what did you mean by my station? You big... thing!" The other girls were holding the little Sarah back as she kicked and yelled at the other girl. By this time, one of the barbarians came back to see what the fuss was.
"Kak vaz danak kan yoog?" boomed the barbarian. He looked over the scene and Sarah stopped struggling. He looked at her and then at the girl with the bloody nose and started laughing. Then, he turned and left, still laughing.
The other girls glared at Sarah. "Why did you do that? Girls don't fight." Sarah took a swing at the girl who said it, but missed.
"Oh yeah?" asked Sarah, "what to do you call that?" Sarah left the other girls to sit by herself, staring off away from the carts and the other children. She heard one of the boys plotting say, "hey, why don't we stage a fight to distract them so others can escape?" She was too mad already to be even more upset by having another idea stolen. This was just plain crazy, dealing with the rules of her culture while learning new rules for not getting killed.
The next morning, Sarah woke in her cell and stared up through the tiny window. She had no idea what to expect. They might not even come for her today. She prayed silently for all of their safety.
A few hours later, two guards came to get her. Both brandished swords, but apparently she was far less dangerous than the barbarians. "Come now, girl, don't give us any trouble or we'll give you another cut to match that one on your side."
Sarah couldn't think of any way to overpower the guards, free Yargma and Morga and escape, so she went quietly. She must find a way to free them, but this was not it.
They marched her up a flight of stairs and through several long, twisting stone corridors. Eventually, the arrived in the large room that Morga and Yargma had spoken of. There was one man already there, holding a scroll. They pushed Sarah into one of the chairs to wait for the judge. It was bigger than Sarah imagined, but simpler. There was the banner of the king, of course, the banners of the local noble houses, and the banner of the court itself. Other than that, the room was devoid of decoration.
The judge entered and the guards lifted Sarah to her feet again. The judge was an older man, with a funny white wig. He looked bored by the proceedings and simply asked the other man in the room to read the charges.
"Be it known that on this day, twenty-one November, in the eighth year of King Volash the first, the barbarian before this court is charged with one count of murder as follows: Brendan Miller of the town of Hemlock."
The man paused and began to proceed when the judge interrupted. "Hold, one moment," he said. "You said this woman is being charged as a barbarian?"
The man looked flustered. "Uh, yes, your honor."
The judge looked Sarah up and down and then looked at the man with the scroll. "Are you blind, Jenkins? She is not barbarian."
The man looked down at his scroll, then at Sarah, then back at this scroll. "I, uh, I don't know what happened, your honor. The guards said they brought in three barbarians for murder trials."
"And, you didn't actually go verify this for yourself?"
Jenkins looked down at his scroll, embarrassed. "Uh, no, your honor."
The judge looked at Sarah. "I don't know what to make of this, young lady. Why don't we start with your name?" The man's eyes were kind, so Sarah decided to trust him.
"My name is Sarah Taylor," she said and surprised herself with the calmness of her voice.
"And, how did you come to be with the other two barbarians I saw yesterday?"
Sarah looked confused. "We travelled down from the wastelands together, a little over a week ago."
The man looked pained, as if trying to deal delicately with a wounded animal. "I meant, before that, my dear. Were you born in a human village?" He knew that she probably had been, but starting at the beginning seemed wise.
"Yes, sir," said Sarah. "In the village of Alerog."
The judge consulted his memory. "So, you have spent the last fifteen years in the wastelands, as a slave to the barbarians?"
Sarah paused. She wanted to say, it's not as bad as you think, or, I don't know this place anymore. But, the judge thought he had brought up some painful memory and looked afraid that Sarah might burst into tears at any moment.
"Regardless, my dear," said the judge, businesslike once again, "we must find if you have any living kin and inform them immediately. You must forgive our rudeness. There must have been some misunderstanding in Hemlock."
"Misunderstanding?" asked Sarah, still reeling from the flood of memories the judge had brought back.
"Yes," he said, "clearly you did not kill Brendan Miller in Hemlock. It must have been one of the other barbarian women." The judge was preparing to smack his tiny mace.
Sarah did not want to die, but she also did not want someone else blamed for her actions. "No, sir, the charges are correct." The judge stopped.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, sir, that I stabbed a man in the stomach, in the inn in Hemlock. They told me later that he had died. I assume that was Brendan Miller." The judge stared at her. He looked pained, as if he wanted to tell Sarah what to say to save her own skin and be released back to the civilized world she was born to, but bound by court rules not to do so.
All he said was, "are you sure?"
Sarah blinked in surprise. "Of course I'm sure; they were my actions."
The judge seemed to wilt slightly, but immediately replaced emotion with the structure of his position. "Very well, Jenkins, you may continue reading the decree."
Jenkins cleared his throat quietly and said, "In regards to the aforementioned charges, does the accused have anything to say in her defense?"
The judge looked at Sarah as if pleading with her to change her mind.
"Yes," said Sarah, "I do. It was self-defense. The men in the inn started the fight. They tried to keep us there against our will. We were only looking for information on the tribe, and-"
"What tribe is that?" asked the judge.
"The Kavmargan tribe."
"How can you tell one tribe from another?"
"By sight," said Sarah. "We know everyone in the tribe."
"Is there anything else? Such as a distinctive marking or fighting style or weapon?"
Sarah thought for a moment. It never occurred to her that they would have to describe the tribe to someone else. They assumed that they would either find the tribe alive, or not find them at all. Generally speaking, humans did not distinguish among the tribes. "The sword that one of the leaders carried was the Krondak Yag-"
"The what?" asked the judge.
Sarah blushed slightly. To her, the barbarian name for the sword was as obvious as the human tongue she spoke now. "Translated, it means 'Skull Crusher'. It's the sword that the male leader of this raid was carrying."
"Would you recognize it by sight?"
"Of course," said Sarah.
The judge nodded. "Very well, continue."
"Well, we were looking for information on the tribe's location. They had not returned yet when we set off and they should have been back long ago."
The judge and Jenkins exchanged glances.
"That's all very well, but you did stab a man in the inn?" asked the judge.
"Well, yes. But, you asked for statements in my defense, so, there they are."
The judge drew a heavy breath. "Very well. Sarah Taylor, the court of King Volash, being held this day, twenty-first of November in the eighth year of King Volash, finds you guilty of all the charges set forth before it. The sentence is death by hanging to be carried out as soon as reasonably possible."
He looked up at Sarah and said, "I'm sorry, my dear. We'll contact your next of kin, assuming you have some, and determine any mitigating circumstances from there." He banged his tiny mace and something in Sarah clicked.
She didn't think it would matter, but she was angry at this seemingly useless waste of time. "Wait, you asked the same question of Morga and Yargma, didn't you?"
The judge stopped in his tracks as he was stepping off the podium. "What did you say?"
"Did you ask that same question 'do you have anything to say in your defense' of the two barbarians you saw yesterday?" She raised her voice in her indignation. "Knowing full well that they couldn't understand you? Knowing full well that nothing they could say, nothing I could say, would change your mind?" She looked at Jenkins and at the judge. The guards grew nervous and drew their swords.
"This court was a joke from the start. You didn't want to know whether they did what they were accused of, you just wanted to say they had a fair trial, to show how civilized you are." Sarah said the word civilized with obvious distaste. "You're not civilized, you're just as barbaric as they are, killing people because you think it's just or honorable. But they at least don't hide their killing under layers of pretense and bureaucracy!"
"That is enough, young lady!" said the judge. "This is the King's Court and you will behave in a civilized fashion-"
Sarah spit on the floor. "I spit on the King's Court and on this mockery of justice!" The guards grabbed hold of Sarah's upper arms and started to haul her away. She resisted. "You can kill me and I may deserve it, but you are the cowards, hiding behind words like civilized that mean nothing, even to you!" By now, they had hauled Sarah back down the aisle to the stone passageway back to the jail cells. The rest of her argument echoed into the court room, but was unintelligible.
The judge sighed and said to Jenkins, "just find her next of kin."
Sarah hurled epithets at the guards as they hauled her all the way back down to her cell. Morga and Yargma began yelling, too, not even knowing what Sarah was saying, just to show their support.
"...and you treat women like slaves, in fact worse than slaves! At least the barbarians listen to me and don't pretend I'm beneath them. You, you say your civilized, but I remember now how imbalanced this society is. And you can keep it! I hope they kill me because I'd rather die than live in this world with such obvious pretensions!" They shoved Sarah into her cell and bolted the door behind her. "You can tell the judge that I have no next of kin, so he can get the gallows ready now!"
The guards just shook their heads and retreated up the stairs, leaving the women alone. Morga came to the door of her cell and asked, "what happened? I have not seen you this full of passion in many years, Garah."
Sarah recounted the story, emphasizing the part about how they would identify their tribe, and how she came to be yelling at the guards.
Morga nodded. "Identifying the tribe... that is not something I had considered before we left. I thought we would either find them, or find their remains, but I had not counted on having to describe them to a human."
Sarah's jaw dropped. She had been careful to avoid even hinting that the tribe might be dead, for fear of what Morga might do if she were enraged. "You knew the tribe might be dead, even before we set out?" asked Sarah in what she hoped was a comforting voice.
Morga sighed. "Garah, I am not that blind to reason. Of course I considered it, but I maintained hope until we saw Hemlock."
Yargma tried to keep the sob from her voice. "The tribe might be dead?" she asked. "My sister with them?"
Morga grunted and said, "we do not know anything for certain. There will be time for mourning once we have found out their fate for certain." Yargma nodded and wiped at a tear.
"Why did you lose some hope when we saw Hemlock?" asked Sarah.
"If the tribe had taken most of what they needed from Hemlock, the needed only to raid one or two other small villages before heading back. Those villages would have been less of a challenge than Hemlock, so something must have happened."
Three days passed as the women waited for something to happen. On the fourth day, a guard came down to tell Morga to make her peace with whatever gods she worshiped because tomorrow she would hang. Sarah translated, still upset that, had she not been there, Morga wouldn't know what was going to happen.
That night, Morga prepared herself as she would before going into battle. She meditated, chanted, prayed, stretched, and bequeathed her sword to Yargma first, then to one of the other girls back at the village, if they managed to find it and escape. Sarah was relieved by this, since she couldn't lift Morga's sword for any other reason than to move it out of the way.
The next morning, the guards came down and took Yargma away first. Sarah had guessed that the "civilized" men in charge of this court would want them to watch Morga's death as part of their own punishment. So, she had warned them that this might happen and there was no resisting or yelling. Next, they came for Sarah. They marched her up the same stone corridors as they had when going to the court, but they continued past the large room and out into a walled courtyard. A crowd had gathered to see the barbarian hanged. Near the entrance to the court room, Yargma was standing, still held at sword point. She was chanting quietly for Morga. They pushed Sarah over to where Yargma was standing and turned her to face the gallows. They were less than five feet from the base of the gallows so they would be able to see everything, which was the point.
The sun was out that day, warming it, but there were small piles of snow on the ground around the courtyard. Most of the people who had come to see the hanging were wearing their heavy winter cloaks. Yargma and Sarah were not given their cloaks back after the arrived in Calavash, but it wasn't that cold compared to the wastelands.
Sarah could see the judge and another man, more colorfully dressed, looking down on the proceedings from a small balcony about ten feet above the ground. They seemed to be chatting amiably. Then the hangman emerged from a small door under the balcony and a hush fell over the crowd. He walked to the gallows and ascended the stairs. Then, Morga appeared from the door to the jail cells, escorted by the armed guards. She looked somber, but not sad. Morga moved easily, as if the guards weren't even there. She looked at peace with her fate, Sarah finally decided.
They walked Morga up the stairs to the gallows and placed the noose around her neck. The hangman was tall, but he needed a stool to reach over her head. Once the noose was placed, the judge said, "by the King's Court, this day, the twenty-fifth of November, in the eighth year of King Volash, the barbarian before us will be put to death by hanging." The crowd erupted in cheers and Sarah stifled a sob. "Has the doomed any final words?"
Overcome with gall that he would ask yet another question Morga couldn't understand, she translated, "kee yag mayyag, Morga?"
Morga smiled slightly and looked at Sarah and Yargma. "Find the tribe and tell the village what you find. Make sure you get your death marks. You have both earned them."
Sarah gave the barbarian salute, as did Yargma. "I promise, Morga, it will be done. Blessed is the Sword Mother," said Sarah.
"Strong are her followers," said Morga. She stared straight ahead again. The judge had turned a quizzical eye to the proceedings, but had motioned that the guards not interrupt. Then Sarah caught the judge's eye and nodded.
The judge signaled the hangman and the floor dropped from beneath Morga's feet, snapping her neck and killing her instantly.
The crowd erupted in cheers again. The judge and his companion did not cheer, but they smiled, satisfied. One man in the crowd did not cheer, but watched Sarah and Yargma; they did not notice him. They began the chant for the dead, to guide her spirit to the Sword Mother in the afterlife. They continued as the guards led them back to their cells and completed the chant some hours later.
They sat in silence for some time. Sarah thought about everything Morga had done for her, and to her, in the years they were together. Morga was a good woman, Sarah decided. She cared about her people, she was tough, but fair. People looked to her for guidance in all matters. In a word, she was a leader. Sarah knew the village would need a strong leader if the rest of the tribe had been killed. Though with so few of the tribe remaining, it would be difficult or impossible to remain as a tribe.
Yargma asked, "how will her soul get to the afterlife if there is no funeral pyre?"
Sarah wasn't sure how to answer this. She was no expert on religion. "I am sure that Morga's soul will find its way. She was very strong."
Yargma grunted and fell silent again. They must find a way out of these cells if Sarah's pledge to Morga could be made good. Sarah examined the cell doors, the window, the walls, and thought about the guards' role in moving them about. Perhaps there was a way. There must be a way.
The next day, a guard came to get Sarah. She had not yet formulated her escape plan, nor had she told Yargma of it, so she went peacefully where they led her. They went back up the stairs to the court room. Instead of seating her in the chairs, they led her to a small room down the corridor that the judge had emerged from four days before. In the room were three chairs. There was a pleasant rug on the floor and a small fire burned easily in the fireplace. There was a small window letting in some light, but the fire and the window were all that lit the room, so it was somewhat dark.
The guards pushed Sarah into one of the chairs and stood behind her. After a minute or so, the judge entered the room followed by a portly man in finely tailored attire. His hair was black and his eyes looked cruel, even though his mouth smiled. He sparked something in Sarah's memory, but she couldn't place it; it was just a vague feeling of ill-ease.
The judge offered the man a seat and then took one himself. He looked at Sarah and smiled, as if he had a present for her. "Sarah Taylor, as you know, we went looking for your next of kin."
Sarah bristled. "And, as I told you, I have no next of kin. Both of my parents were killed when I was taken and they had no siblings nor any other heirs."
The judge said, "yes, but before you were... taken, as you say... you were betrothed-" Sarah's heart sank through the floor. It couldn't be true. They couldn't possibly consider Sarah kin to that smug little jerk who had only met her once. She looked up at the other man and the spark in her memory became a fire.
"Oh no," she interrupted the judge. "I am not kin to Levin Baker." She looked directly at the other man. "You only met me once! How can you claim to be my kin?"
Levin raised an eyebrow and looked Sarah up and down. "And now, having seen you, why should I want to?"
"Good," said Sarah, "then that's settled. Your honor, he is no kin of mine."
The judge looked flustered, both by being interrupted and by Sarah's strangely masculine ways of speaking. "But, Sarah," he said, pleading for reason, "you must understand that the law is the law. You may not wish it, but under the King's law, you are kin."
Sarah prepared to spit on the King's law, but the judge said quickly, "please don't spit in here. I just had the rug cleaned."
Levin looked disgusted. "She spits? Really, you hadn't told me she had gone so feral."
Sarah saw a chance to end this. "Would you disclaim your betrothal to me if I told you just how feral I am? I can even demonstrate! Bring me a coyote and I'll show you."
The judge laughed nervously. "Sarah, I'm sorry, but this is the law. You are betrothed to Levin Baker and, legally, he is, well, your guardian."
"You mean 'my keeper' or 'my owner'," mocked Sarah. "Why do you hide your bigotry towards women behind such pretense?"
The judge changed his attention to Levin. "Levin, what will you do? She is yours, by law, but you are already married and the King's law only allows concubines in the case of proven infertility."
Levin looked slightly offended, "as if I would marry her. I detested the notion as a boy, but now it abhors me to think of it. No, I would not marry, nor keep as a concubine, but, well, as you say, she is my ward. I shall find a use for her."
Sarah leap across the short distance between the chairs and tackled Levin to the ground by knocking his chair backwards and pinning him in it. She held his arms down with her knees and began punching him in the face. He screamed in pain as she yelled, "I am right here, you arrogant ass! And I am no one's ward! Your law means nothing to me!"
By this time, the guards had descended upon Sarah and pulled her away from Levin. She sent several kicks in his direction as she was lifted up and one of them connected with his copious belly. He yelped at the impact and then began whimpering. The judge had stood up and retreated from the mad woman, but now he bent to Levin's aid with his silk handkerchief. Levin's nose bled copiously even as he sat up.
Sarah was livid. She struggled against the guards even after they had pulled her away, trying to kick them as well.
"Get her out of here," commanded the judge. "And fetch a doctor!"
The guards pulled Sarah towards the door and she got in a ferocious kick to one of the guards' privates. He doubled over in pain, but held on to her upper arm. The other guard backhanded Sarah across the face, but she barely felt it. She kicked at the second guard's shin and connected with a thump. He yelped and then punched Sarah in the face. Her nose erupted in blood, but she didn't care. She kept kicking and squirming until she wrested one of her arms free from the first guard. She then planted her feet and head butted the second guard under the chin. He dodged most of it, but not enough. His hands around Sarah's arm went slack and she bolted from the room.
Once out in the hall, she retraced her steps down to the cells. She needed to free Yargma and then they needed to escape this place. Hurrying down the halls, she ran as quietly as she could while still moving quickly. She didn't want to give up the element of surprise and she needed to hear if anyone followed her. She ran down the hallways toward the cells and nearly crashed into a lone man wearing a black hood.
She looked at him, assessing threat and decided that he wasn't one, so she pushed past him toward Yargma's cell. She got to Yargma's cell and began searching for keys to her cell. Damn! She should have thought of that sooner.
Yargma looked at her, with blood running down her face and unguarded. "What do I do?" she asked.
"Watch for guards. I must find a key," said Sarah. She looked around on the walls and near the rack where the guards kept some of their swords, but there was nothing. She went to grab a sword, thinking that maybe Yargma could hack or lever the door open. Instead she stopped short as she saw the man in the black hood she had pushed past. It was the man from the first inn they stopped at.
"Cerevin Ges," she said. Her mind exploded with a hundred questions, none of which mattered at that moment. "Have you a key for the cell?"
Cerevin smirked and brought out some small, shiny tools from a leather case. "Not exactly," he said, "but I can open the lock." He seemed to glide as he walked soundlessly over to Yargma's cell. Sarah kept an eye and ear open for any guards coming down their one escape route. Cerevin went to work on the lock and had it open within seconds. Yargma and Sarah grabbed swords, but Cerevin said, "they will only slow you down." He walked past them and started up the stairs. "Besides, I have better."
Cerevin walked quickly, floating up the stairs, but where Sarah had always turned right, he turned left. It was almost impossible to see the opening in the stone stairway it was so well hidden, but there was a small passage leading away from the court room. Had Yargma been any older, she would not have fit down the passageway.
They crouched and squirmed along the passage for ten or fifteen feet until they finally emerged in a tiny alleyway, only about a foot wide with stone walls on both sides. It smelled foul, like an outhouse on a summer day. At the ends of the alleys, Sarah could see people moving and going about their day.
"Where are we going?" whispered Sarah. "We have no cloaks and will freeze tonight without them."
"You won't freeze," said Cerevin. "But first, we must not be caught, then there will time for answers."
Yargma looked up the walls of the alleyway and saw small holes all along it. "Garah what is this alley for? It does not smell like a good place to be." Her answer came as urine flowed out of one of the holes and splashed to the ground a few feet away.
Yargma looked at Sarah and Sarah looked at Cerevin. He shrugged. "Now you know why this was a safe way to escape; no one comes this way voluntarily. You two are too obvious as you are. Stay here and I'll find away for us to escape."
Sarah translated and Yargma said, "how can we trust this human? We do not know him."
Sarah nodded in agreement. "We do not. But he should not have set you free. If he is caught, then he will be punished for doing so. He must have a reason and we will discover it once we are far away from here." Yargma looked hesitant as another splash of urine and something solid hit the ground further down the alleyway.
Sarah was starting to get nervous that Cerevin had abandoned them, especially when she heard some people yelling for guards from the direction he had gone. A few moments later, Cerevin appeared at the end of the alley holding two ratty looking horse blankets. He motioned them over to him. "Put these over your heads and wrap up in them. You'll just look like beggars then."
Sarah put hers on and Yargma followed suit. Sarah asked, "what's the commotion?"
Cerevin smirked again. "We needed a distraction, so I started a brawl. Quickly, we must go before the guards arrive and calm the fight down."
Cerevin led Sarah and Yargma out of the alleyway and quickly down the street away from the jail. They weaved around carts and people shopping, trying to stay as close to dark alleyways as possible. They were a few blocks away from the jail and passing a tavern when a burly man suddenly stepped out in front of Yargma, causing Yargma and Sarah to crash into him and fall to the ground.
"Hey, now, watch where you're going!" said the man.
Cerevin turned around, but did not get involved. Sarah stood up only to bow very low to the man and say, "a thousand apologies, sir. My sister is mute and a little dumb." Sarah helped Yargma stand up.
The big man looked like he was going to argue, but then he got a strong whiff of Sarah and Yargma and was completely convinced. "Phew! No, never mind, just get out of here, and watch where you're going next time!"
Sarah and Yargma darted away. Cerevin led them further away from the busy center of the city and through streets and alleys that became increasingly deserted and dilapidated. Here, few people walked the streets and those who did were not interested in others' affairs. They slowed down now that the immediate threat of capture lay behind them.
"Cerevin," said Sarah, "I can't thank you enough for helping get Yargma and me free."
Cerevin smiled. "My lady, I must admit that my motive are not entirely selfless." Sarah started to recoil, thinking he was some lecherous fool. "No, no," he said at her reaction, "it's nothing like that. But, I'll explain more when we get where we are going."
"Where are we going?" asked Sarah.
"A safe place I know of where we can get you two cleaned up, change those bandages, and discuss what to do next."
Sarah looked suspicious. "Won't they want to know who we are and what we're doing?"
Cerevin smiled. "No, no. The place we're going respects the privacy of those who go there."
Sarah explained to Yargma where they were going. She had the same question as Sarah, but they decided to trust Cerevin for the time being. Things could hardly be worse than in that jail.
They walked along the muddy, uneven streets. The occasional stray dog darted into darkness at their approach. A few beggars were sleeping by the roadside, but when they looked at the travelers they didn't ask for anything. Finally, they came to a dirty, rickety wooden building that looked just like the ones on either side of it. Cerevin knocked quietly. A few seconds later, the door opened a crack. He exchanged a few whispers with the opening in the door and it opened wide enough to admit Cerevin, Sarah, and Yargma.
Inside, the house was dark, but warm. There was a small fire burning in the lopsided fireplace and there were a few small candles around the main room, giving off greasy smoke. There was a threadbare rug on the creaky floor and a few mismatched, but comfortable looking chairs by the fire. Other than the woman who had answered the door, there were two other men in the room. They were seated by the backdoor, playing cards. The looked up when Cerevin and the others entered, but were unfazed and went right back to playing.
"Jenna," said Cerevin to the woman who answered the door, "we will need bandages and water for a bath."
She nodded and said, "I hope you know what you're doing, Cerevin. Those two are a little higher profile than most of the visitors you bring here." When Cerevin shrugged, she went to a cupboard and returned with bandages. She said a few words to the men playing cards and continued out the back door. They put down their cards and turned to come towards the fire. One of the men turned up the other one's cards briefly before joining the first by the fire. Sarah looked curiously at the man and started to say something, but Cerevin caught her eye and shook his head. There was a twinkle in his eye.
"They both cheat," he whispered, "and they both know the other one does."
Sarah shook her head. What unusual friends Cerevin had, if that's what they were. The men moved the chairs out from in front of the fire and brought in a large metal basin. It was large enough to hold a human or a juvenile barbarian. Jenna returned from outside carrying a bucket full of water. She set it nearly in the fire and went to the backdoor again. Realizing that they meant to fill the basin with water, Sarah said, "can I help you carry the water, Jenna?"
Jenna stopped and looked surprised. "I don't think any of our 'guests' has ever offered that before. But, no, you should all stay hidden for a while." Sarah looked disappointed as standing around idle was not something that came naturally to her.
Yargma tugged on Sarah's shirt. "We should help with the water," she said in barbarian to Sarah. "It will take many trips to fill that large bucket."
"I just offered and she said 'no'," said Sarah. "We need to get some answers from Cerevin. Should we try to get the swords and our cloaks back from the jail, or should we just try to find the tribe?"
"We must find the tribe," said Yargma decisively. "Swords, even excellent swords like Morga's, can be replaced. But we must keep our word to Morga and find out the fate of the tribe."
"Agreed," said Sarah. In human she said, "Cerevin, we appreciate your help. We must find out what happened to our tribe and return to the village to tell the others. We promised Morga that we would."
Cerevin nodded. "I wondered what you promised her right before she was hung."
Sarah looked at him. "You were there?"
"Yes, in the crowd."
"How did you know I had promised her anything?"
Cerevin turned and looked at both of them. "Barbarians don't usually salute unless they're promising something. Isn't that right?"
Sarah nodded. "But how do you know that?" Once she started asking questions, they just poured out. "And how is it that you're here now when you were up near the wilderness a few weeks ago, when we met at the inn? And, why did you free us? And, what do you want from us now?"
Cerevin laughed softly. "Come, let's sit by the fire until the water has warmed up and I'll explain everything." The men who had moved the chairs went back to their card game. The sat in the chairs and Sarah felt a hopefulness she had not felt in weeks, perhaps months. Maybe this strange man could help them more than he had already. Then Sarah felt extremely poor. She had nothing to pay the man with, if that was his price for his help. But, she decided not to say anything until it became clear he wanted payment.
"Many, many years ago there was a great king," began Cerevin and Sarah translated for Yargma as he spoke. Yargma looked dubious that he was really going to tell them anything as this sounded like one of the stories Morga would tell. "He was great, but a little crazy. Some said he was completely crazy."
"Why?" asked Sarah.
"Because he built a stronghold far to the north of the civilized lands, up where the wastelands are now. Though, at that time, the barbarians were further east, nearer the mountains. In this stronghold, he piled all the riches of his kingdom. Then, he sent out word for big game hunters and dragon hunters and sorcerers and thieves to find or create the best protection they could for his kingdom's treasure. Some of the legends say that he didn't trust his guards anymore and thought they were going to kill him. He wanted the riches of his kingdom to be protected from looters, or the guards, if this happened."
Sarah and Yargma looked at each other. "That is crazy," said Sarah.
"Yes. Legend says that he got many people offering their protection schemes and bringing strange and savage creatures from across the land to the king for his stronghold. No one is quite sure what happened after that, but one thing is certain: not long afterwards, the king and all his guards vanished. The hunters and such who had brought in beasts to protect the stronghold, thinking theirs was the only protection chosen, went back to the stronghold, seeking its treasure. None of them were heard from again."
"What has this got to do with any of us?" asked Sarah.
"Patience, I'm getting there," said Cerevin with a smile. "Well, all of the people offering their protections to the stronghold were eventually killed or vanished, but not before they told others about the protections they had sold to the king. Those legends were passed down through the years and occasionally some brave or foolhardy person would go to the stronghold and try to claim its treasure. None ever did, of course, or that would have been legend, too."
Jenna, who had been coming and going with water buckets stopped at looked at Cerevin. "Ugh, you're not telling that story again, are you?" She shook her head. "Give it up, Cerevin, that stronghold doesn't exist, it's just a legend."
"My dear, Jenna, at least I'm out there in the world, putting our trade to some use." Sarah thought Jenna might become angry at that comment, but she just laughed.
"If you want to steal something, I hear the pirates in the western seas have openings. Or are you afraid you'll get seasick?"
"I may become ill from your cooking, but never from being on a ship," said Cerevin with a twinkle in his eye. Jenna made an exasperated noise and went out again for water.
Cerevin said, "now, where was I? Oh yes, the legends. Well, the legends of the protections on the stronghold are still well known, but now it's been long enough that the location of the stronghold has become the tricky part. Since no one who seeks it ever returns, its location has become lost in the years since it was built."
"But you think you know where it is?" asked Sarah.
Cerevin shrugged. "More or less."
"Emphasis on less," said Jenna as she passed through.
"I know it is in the western part of the wastelands. I also have several landmarks I know to look for and a few maps of questionable accuracy."
Sarah boggled at him. "You mean to tell me that you would have travelled into the wastelands to find this place? Alone? Forgive me, but I have seen what happens to the unwary in the wastelands."
"Exactly," said Cerevin leaning in, conspiratorially. "I was not going to venture there alone. I was waiting to meet some other adventurers in the inn from another city. But, they never showed up. I was planning to wait one more day and then come back here, but then you showed up at the inn. I thought, what a stroke of luck! Here were barbarians, who would obviously know the wastelands quite well, and better than that, someone who could speak to them."
"Why didn't you talk to us about this at that time?"
Cerevin shrugged. "You looked like you were on a mission. I have heard that once a barbarian sets their mind to something, they can only be persuaded away from it by attaining their goal or death. So, I decided instead to follow you, at a distance, and wait for the right opportunity to approach you."
By this time, some of the water had heated up and Sarah insisted that Yargma go first. She shed the ratty horse blanket and the sight of her bare breasts seemed to make Cerevin slightly uncomfortable.
"That reminds me," he said, standing. "I need to get some clothes for you two."
Yargma unabashedly shed the rest of her clothes and boots and got into the hot water. Sarah looked at Cerevin, puzzled. "What's wrong with what we have?"
"Nothing," said Cerevin quickly, "if you want to be taken for barbarians the second you step foot outside this house."
"But, we came in these and were not bothered," said Sarah. She didn't like the idea of losing the last things she had that reminded her of home. She was intrigued by Cerevin's insane plan, but she desperately wanted to find the tribe's fate and return home to the village.
Cerevin sighed. "Just trust me on this one."
Sarah nodded. "But no skirts. I refuse to wear a skirt again." Cerevin headed for the back door. "No dresses either!" called Sarah after him. "Got it," he said.
Yargma asked, "what was that about?"
"Nothing important," said Sarah. The bath water quickly became a murky tan color as the mud, dung, and blood from Yargma's body washed into it. Sarah helped her remove the old bandages that were on her shoulder from where the bear had attacked her. The gouges were healing well, but would probably leave scars.
Cerevin returned as Yargma was finishing her bath. She stepped out of the water and stood in front of the fire to dry. Cerevin handed her pants and a tunic. She held them gingerly, not knowing why he had given them to her. "Garah, why do I have these?"
"They should fit," said Cerevin. "I got them from one of the men's wardrobes so that the shoulders won't be tight."
Sarah said, "uh, they are for you to wear." She waited for the insult and possibly the backhand that would accompany such a ridiculous request of a barbarian from a slave. Yargma turned red with unspoken anger, but did not lose her temper as Morga would have.
"What do you mean? Is it not enough to be imprisoned and stranded here in this human land? Now they mean for us to be one of them?"
Cerevin looked nervous at Yargma's tone. Sarah said, "no, it is not like that. Cerevin thinks we will be safer if we look like them until we are out of the city." Yargma growled, but nodded.
"The sooner we find the tribe and go home, the better," she said.
"I agree," said Sarah. "But I believe this crazy man is our best chance to do that."
"Agreed," said Yargma. She started dressing and it was Sarah's turn to disrobe and bathe. As with Yargma, Cerevin turned away in some kind of self-consciousness.
"Why do you do that?" asked Sarah.
"Do what?" asked Cerevin, busying himself with laying out Sarah's borrowed clothing.
"Turn away when we undress," said Sarah. "Are we that hideous?"
Cerevin blushed. "No, nothing like that. I just, well, humans don't normally see other humans naked."
The water was warm and felt very good. For most of her life, baths were something one did from buckets or in the stream in summer. This kind of bath was unusual, but nice. The wound on her side twinged a bit when she removed the bandages, it too was healing nicely.
"Humans are very strange," said Sarah, without realizing that she had removed herself from that group by saying it that way. "As you've seen, the Bigs go without a shirt all the time, except in the coldest of winter." She looked up at Cerevin and he was smiling sadly.
"You don't consider yourself human any more, do you?" he asked quietly.
Sarah stopped. "I, uh," she stammered. "Well, no, I guess not. I spent over half of my life in the wastelands. It is my home now."
"But where you live is not who you are, Sarah," said Cerevin. "You're still human."
"If human means that my parents were human," she said, "then yes, I am human. If human means this culture and way of thinking, then, no, I am not human." She laughed. "Just ask Levin Baker."
Yargma interrupted to ask for a blade so she could shave her head. The area around her top knot had grown a short fuzz in the weeks of their imprisonment. Cerevin gave her his dagger and she sat by the fire to shave.
"Who is Levin Baker?" asked Cerevin.
"He is no one," said Sarah coldly. "A man I only met once before I was taken who thinks he owns me like a pet." She remembered the satisfaction she had taken from pummeling him in the court house. "And that is why I do not consider myself human."
They fell silent until Sarah finished her bath. Yargma helped her apply new bandages to the wound in her side.
Cerevin said, "I never did ask: how did you get that? I saw that your friend had her wound when you arrived at the inn. But yours looks like a sword wound."
"That's because it is," said Sarah and Cerevin raised an eyebrow. "We got into a bit of a fight in the inn in Hemlock."
"Indeed?" said Cerevin. "Well, I doubt it will be the last time."
Before Sarah could ask what he meant by that, Yargma said, "ask him about the tribe. I do not want to stay here any longer than necessary."
"Yes, Yargma," said Sarah instinctively. She put on the clothes that Cerevin had brought for her. They were not as finely made as his clothes, but they were obviously well cared for and well worn. "We must find our tribe," said Sarah to Cerevin. "If you cannot help us, then, thank you for your hospitality, but we must go."
Cerevin shook his head and Sarah and Yargma looked at each other.
"Really," said Sarah, "you don't want to try and keep us here against our will. The last men who tried that are dead."
"Please don't misunderstand," said Cerevin. "I want to help you, but you are escaped criminals and the city guards will all be looking for you by now."
"Then, what would you have us do?" asked Sarah. "Wait here until they capture us?"
"Of course not," said Cerevin. "And I'm not asking you to stay here forever, just until late into the night. There will be fewer patrols then and darkness provides good cover."
Sarah translated and they grudgingly agreed to wait for night. The windows in this house had been boarded up long ago, so it was difficult to tell the time of day. Sarah guessed that it was late afternoon. Just a few more hours and they would be on their way out of the city.
After dinner, they sat around the fire and Sarah tried to teach Cerevin a few words of barbarian. Yargma laughed when he mispronounced words, or said "garvak", the word for male genitalia, when he meant "ygaravak", the word for sword. Sarah and Yargma exchanged comments about his questionable parentage in barbarian and laughed.
Eventually, they tired of teaching and learning barbarian and fell silent. The men playing cards had left before dinner, as had Jenna, and other humans had taken their places.
A few hours after nightfall, they heard a commotion in the street outside the house. Cerevin leapt silently from his chair and threw back the threadbare rug. In the floor, there was a trap door. He opened it and motioned for Sarah and Yargma to get inside. Then, he followed them down as the other men in the house replaced the rug and moved to sit by the fire.
The area under the house was damp and dirty. It was only four feet deep, rather than being a proper cellar. There was light coming down through the floorboards and a tiny glow from somewhere beyond the cellar, as if being reflected around a corner.
There was a banging on the door to the house above them. Cerevin ushered the women towards the tiny glow of light. They hunched over and could sort of walk in the limited space. As they approached the light, Sarah could see the light was coming from the cellar of the house next door. They ducked through the hole in the wall. This cellar was nearly identical to the one they left except that there was a second hole in the wall, towards the back of the house. Cerevin pointed at the hole and Sarah and Yargma started towards it.
Just then, they heard shouting from the house they had left.
"Where are the escaped women? Where are you hiding them?" shouted one voice.
"What women? I don't know what you're talking about," said the other.
"Lying thief," said the first. Then there was a thump and the sounds of a man falling to the floor. "Take him. Charge him with... oh, I don't know, make something up."
Cerevin urgently ushered the women forward into the next cellar. After that, he took the lead and they went much more quickly, turning and twisting through cellars and crawl spaces. Sarah had lost track of where they were, so they were completely dependent on Cerevin now. That made Sarah nervous.
Eventually, they emerged into a proper stone cellar with a reasonable height. It was also better lit and Sarah noticed that they were not alone in the cellar. There were eight other people, dressed similarly to Cerevin, except one man whose clothes were made of black silk.
"Cerevin Ges," said the man in black silk. "Why have brought this undue attention down upon us?"
Cerevin finished brushing the dirt from his pants and said. "Therance, my apologies, I was taking them out of the city this very evening, after nightfall."
"That's all well and good, but why are they among us to begin with?" The others in the room looked uneasy and a little angry. "These are not pickpockets or adulterers. They were to be symbols of the king's actions against the barbarian raids, like the ambush. But having escaped, they are making the court the laughing stock of this whole region. You might as well have freed the devil himself."
"Therance, I-"
"And then to bring them here," he continued. "Such lapses in judgement endanger us all, Cerevin. We operate here because the guards do not care what happens to people like us. But, when they think we are actively working against them, that negligence will stop and they will come for us."
Cerevin started to speak again, but Therance raised his hand in a motion of silence.
"And you will not be here when it happens, Cerevin. You have brought this attention down on us, but you will steal away, off to the wilds again, whilst we are the ones who cannot make a living. Our work depends on secrecy and anonymity. You are a good thief, Cerevin, but you put us all at risk, and that I cannot allow."
The seven other people in the room began to close in on Yargma, Sarah, and Cerevin.
"I will not go back, Cerevin," said Sarah.
He sighed. "Then, do not let them take you."
To Yargma, Sarah said one word: "fight."
Yargma, endowed with the speed of youth and practice, charged the three nearest her with astonishing speed. Two of them were able to slip out of her reach, but Yargma's fist connected with one of them, knocking the man to the floor. She then tried to backhand the one to her right, but he ducked. As he was ducking, he couldn't avoid Yargma's foot as she kicked upwards and landed a glancing blow on his head. He stumbled backwards with the force of his second dodge and Yargma's blow. The third man was now behind Yargma and he threw a kidney punch that Yargma barely dodged, landing instead on her side.
Meanwhile, Cerevin was exchanging blows the two that had come for him. All three of them were nimble and quick, so there was more dodging than there was punching. Eventually, one of them hit Cerevin's nose, but he retaliated with a kick to the shin.
When the two came for Sarah, she crouched to the ground and started sobbing, hoping to throw them off-guard. As the approached, she scraped up two handfuls of dirt from the floor and threw it in their faces when they got close enough. One of them cried out and staggered backwards, the other cried out but also kicked at where Sarah was, landing a glancing blow on her leg.
Yargma grabbed the man who had punched her side and spun him down with force on the first man she had punched who was still dazed on the floor. They collided with an audible thump and rolled a few feet away. The man she had kicked in the head now had an open shot and punched her in the jaw. Yargma let her head move with the force to lessen it slightly and brought her own fist around in a mirror image of the punch. The man spun slightly and dropped to the floor.
Cerevin and his attackers continued to dance, landing the occasional blow. Sarah turned to the man who had kicked her and tried to kick him in the privates. But he was too quick and caught her legs between his knees. They fell to the ground, Sarah kicking and trying to get free.
Yargma grabbed the second man that had gone for Sarah as he was still clearing mud from his eyes. She lifted him off the ground and tossed him onto the man she had punched in the jaw. They both crashed to the ground.
Just then, Yargma felt a sudden sting in her arm and felt weaker. "Darts," she said to Sarah and rushed towards the source of the darts. Jenna was standing next to the man in black silk, holding the dart gun. She fired again, but Yargma's long stride had closed the distance easily and the dart gun was knocked clear of her grasp. The second dart bounced harmlessly off the wall of the cellar.
Cerevin managed to connect with one really good punch and one of his attackers rolled to the edge of the cellar and lay still. The other one tried to grab Cerevin's arms from behind, but he slithered out of the man's grasp, twisting the man's arm as he went and kneeing him in the face. The man flew backwards and landed with a thump.
Sarah kicked free of her attacker, but he was first to his feet. She tried to sweep his legs, but he was too quick and simply jumped over them. He reached down to grab her arm and narrowly avoided Sarah's foot in his chest. So, he changed tactics and kicked at her side, connecting with a thump.
Yargma backhanded the startled Jenna across the face, sending her reeling backwards. The man in black silk had drawn a dagger which he brought upwards, just catching Yargma's forearm. The fabric of her tunic ripped open and blood began to stain it red. She brought her leg up behind the man's knees, sending him toppling backwards.
Cerevin whirled around and grabbed Sarah's remaining attacker from behind. Sarah scrambled to her feet and moved in to punch the man. Just then, he wriggled one arm free and landed a punch on Sarah instead. Her nose began to bleed and she brought her knee up into the man's crotch. He doubled over in pain and Cerevin punched him in the kidney, just for good measure.
Yargma pulled the man in black silk to a sitting position and punched him, knocking him out cold. Cerevin looked around him in time to see Jenna disappearing up the cellar stairs.
"We can't stay here," he said. Blood was trickling from his nose and mouth onto his white shirt.
Sarah nodded. "We need weapons and blankets or cloaks, or we may freeze tonight," she said.
Cerevin gracefully ran up the cellar stairs, with Sarah and Yargma right behind him. The emerged in an empty kitchen. Cerevin led them through a doorway into the main room of the house. It appeared to be better cared for than the house they came from. Cerevin pointed to some pegs by the door where various cloaks were hung. Sarah and Yargma grabbed some while Cerevin disappeared into a darkened doorway. He returned a few moments later with a short sword on his hip and a dagger. He handed a large long sword and dagger to Yargma. Sarah took the short sword and dagger that Cerevin offered her, even though she didn't really know how to use the short sword. They put the cloaks on, concealing the weapons they carried and opened the front door.
As they were stepping out, they heard footsteps from elsewhere in the house that sounded like they were running towards them. "Quickly!" hissed Cerevin. They ran blindly through the darkened streets, avoiding all people and lights, hoping to put distance between them and the thieves.
"We need to leave this city," said Sarah as they waited in an alley for a guard patrol to pass.
"I am trying to get us out without being caught," said Cerevin, a bit defensively. His nose had stopped bleeding, but blood was still smeared across his face. "This city is walled, so there are few unguarded entrances, except... except for the river!"
"If we get wet, we'll certainly freeze to death," said Sarah.
"Then don't fall in," snapped Cerevin. "Follow me."
They changed directions, but kept their manner of travel, darting in and out of alleys and culverts. Sarah could tell they were reaching the river because the smell of dead fish and seaweed lingered in the air.
"Ugh!" whispered Yargma. "What is that smell?"
"It is a rotting animal called a 'fish'. It lives in the water and it can be eaten," said Sarah, realizing that Yargma would never have heard of fish before. The water in the wastelands was rare and it was almost always too shallow to have anything like fish living in it.
"Yuck! I would never eat something that smelled like that," said Yargma, her youth showing through. Sarah smiled.
"When they are fresh, they do not smell or taste like that."
Cerevin made a motion to hush them and they stopped in a shadow. The wall of the city went down to the docks that had been built out over the edge of the river. There was a narrow walkway from the docks around the end of the wall towards the outside of the city. The docks were mostly quiet, but there was a pub a bit further back from the docks that was well lit and boisterous. They would have to pass the pub if they wanted to get down to the pathway around the city wall and escape.
As they were standing still, a group of four men came banging out of the pub, talking loudly. One of them yelled something back at the pub and then they started arguing among themselves.
"Perhaps we can go around back," whispered Sarah. If they crossed the road, they would have to cover more ground in the open when the street widened out into the docks.
Cerevin nodded and they crept down the alley toward the back of the pub. Just as they were about to cross the small, five or six foot square space behind the pub, the backdoor opened and two men came out back, talking furtively, but quietly.
"Listen, I'm not saying they weren't good marks, but you have to learn the tradeoffs," said the older one. "If you can get two or three gold from them, but you get kicked out of the pub for the rest of the night, then you'll miss the five or six gold you can make from the guys who come in later."
"Oh, come on, Jerald," said the younger one, "they were practically begging to have their money stolen! Waving it around like they could buy the place with it."
The older one started to argue, but stopped and cocked his head towards the darkness where Cerevin and the others were hidden.
"What is it?" asked the younger one. Jerald made a shushing motion and turned to look into the darkness. Sarah and the others hardly breathed.
"I thought I heard something over there," said Jerald. He started to walk towards their hiding place when another commotion in the street in front of the pub caught their attention.
There was angry yelling and grumbling from the people inside the pub as an official sounding voice from the street yelled, "city guards! Everyone out of the building!" There was a crashing noise as the front door of the pub was smashed open. Just then, Cerevin heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the alleyway from behind them.
Cerevin swore under his breath and whispered, "run!"
Jerald and his companion heard this and started towards the darkness where Cerevin was hiding, drawing their daggers. Cerevin, Sarah, and Yargma darted past the men, easily avoiding their blades. "Guards coming," said Cerevin to the two men who watched them pass in confusion.
As the were passing the far corner of the pub and heading for the docks, two large, dark figures ran into their path. "Stop! In the name of the- oof!" Cerevin had ducked out of the way of the guards, but Sarah and Yargma refused to have any more delays. They ran headlong into the guards, knocking them to the ground.
Cerevin swore again as Jerald and the other thief emerged from behind the pub to stare in confusion at this bizarre trio. Cerevin grabbed at Sarah and Yargma's sleeves and pulled them toward the docks. Just then, the guards from the alleyway came up behind Jerald and, thinking they had knocked over the other guards yelled, "here captain! Couple of troublemakers!" More guards appeared near Jerald and his companion.
Cerevin and the others were already nearly to the path around the city wall when he turned suddenly, back towards the middle of the docks and scrambled down a ladder. Sarah followed him down, splashing, as he had, up to her knees in icy water. The shock of cold took her breath away. Yargma jumped down from the dock to join them. Cerevin then sloshed up out of the water and into the small, muddy crevasse where the shoreline met the docks. Sarah and Yargma followed suit, trying to keep their breathing quiet.
Sarah made questioning gestures at Cerevin. He put his hand to his ear and pointed towards the city wall they were trying to escape around. Dozens of footsteps pounded on the wooden dock of the pathway and over their heads, raining bits of dirt down on them. The footsteps receded up the docks towards the pub.
When he was satisfied that the immediate threat was gone, Cerevin quietly led the three back up the ladder and around the end of the city wall. They stayed near the river, hiding in the shadows provided by trees and the small houses near the city. They travelled all night and, by morning, they were far from the city of Calavash.
They woke in late morning curled up under a small stand of pine trees. The day was overcast and cold. Their toes had gotten some minor frostbite from being wet in the cold of the night. They cleaned the blood and dirt from their faces and bandaged the dagger wound on Yargma's forearm.
"What happened last night?" asked Sarah. "Why did your friends turn on you?"
Cerevin looked a little bitter and stared across the river to the far bank. "You heard Therance's explanation," he said quietly.
Sarah touched his arm lightly. "I'm sorry you got into trouble over us, but I am grateful. Were it not for you, we would probably have been captured by now."
Cerevin grunted. "Well, it's not the end of the world," he said, trying to make his voice sound light. "There are plenty of other cities out there. Besides, I was on my way to the wastelands anyway to look for the stronghold. So the odds are good I'll never make it back."
The magistrate's office was warm and plush. The fire burned heartily in the fireplace and the overstuffed chairs were made a fine, soft fabric. The carpet was thick and added to the quiet of the office as well as insulating the stone floor. The magistrate himself was seated behind a very large desk that took up one third of the room. It was neatly covered with maps, plans, proposals, and letters, all in different hands. It was clear that the magistrate was petitioned for much and by many. The judge was standing before the desk, looking down at it while the magistrate paced back and forth behind it, yelling. The judge was not alone; the captain of the guard, Fredick, stood with him.
"What kind of guards to we employ?" he bellowed. "They can't even find two obvious looking females?"
"They got help, sir," said Fredick by way of defense.
"Help?" sputtered the magistrate. "Help? You mean your guards were shirking their duty by not guarding the prisoners? Or, do you mean that they admit to not being able to find two women in this city?"
"I mean that we got word that a thief by the name of Cerevin Ges is helping them, sir, directing them and hiding them."
The magistrate made a strangled, gurgling noise. "And you came by this information, how, exactly? Did a thief tell you that? Or, one of your other untrustworthy sources? How many times do I have to listen to this kind of pathetic excuse for failure?"
The judge raised his hand slightly to interrupt. "Sir, I cannot fault the guards for leaving their posts. I did call for them to help contain the one girl, Sarah Taylor."
The magistrate stopped and looked sidelong at the judge. He said quietly, "one girl?" The judge nodded and started to continue when the magistrate exploded. "One girl! Do I have to point out to either of you how ridiculous this is? They're women, by the gods, not real people anyway."
"Actually," said the judge, "one of them is barbarian. Though, I would be tempted to call them both that. I have never seen a female human act like that before. I am hard pressed to recount a time when a male human has acted like that in my ante-chamber." The judge stared unseeingly at the desk as he recounted guests in that room in his mind. The magistrate stared at him with loathing. "No, I believe that's the first time someone has attacked another in my office."
The magistrate was red with rage. "She is a female! How hard could this be? I hope I don't have to remind either of you that this was a very high profile set of executions. When they were captured and brought here, we made speeches and promises that the barbarian threat was being dealt with! After the ambush at Ashton, we had a moral victory. We offered proof, but the public was not satisfied with swords and heads: they wanted to see the barbarian menace being killed!"
The judge looked slightly uncomfortable as he recalled the stinking heads that were presented by the army after the ambush. He had always felt a little unnerved about the whole topic after that.
"So," continued the magistrate, "we got them three prime examples of the uncivilized barbarians that we could kill for them." The judge started to raise his hand to argue that only two of them were actually barbarians by blood, but he thought better of it. "And what do we get? One! Just one death out of all that! And why? Because a bunch of incompetent louts are in charge of the court and the guards!" The magistrate put his hands on his desk in fists, staring at the judge and Fredick in turn.
He let them stew for a moment in their uncomfortableness. Then he said in a much quieter voice, "now, I want you to tell me what you plan to do to find these women and how you plan to get them back here for execution."
Fredick said, "sir, we have searched most of the slums, the most likely place for them to be hiding, and found nothing. We will search again, all the way to the river. I do not think it wise to search the houses of merchants and other trustworthy persons at this point..." He looked up at the magistrate, hoping for some kind of sign as to whether this was the right thing to do. The magistrate nodded impatiently and Fredick continued, "we have already sent word to the nearby towns and villages to be on the lookout for them. They are traveling on foot, so it's unlikely that they have gone too far afield. We will concentrate our search to the north. If they are heading back to the wastelands, which also seems likely, then they will probably head north and into the wilderness as soon as possible."
The judge raised his hand to interrupt. "Pardon me, but do you plan to send any search parties to Ashton?" he asked.
Fredick looked a bit flustered at being interrupted. "Ah, well, yes, that is one of the towns north of here, though it's a bit on the eastern side of where we planned to search."
The magistrate rolled his eyes. "Why is that relevant, Gregor?"
"Well, the girl Sarah Taylor, she said they were searching for something." The magistrate frowned.
"Searching for what?"
"She said they were searching for 'information on the tribe', but she didn't say why," said the judge. "I thought perhaps the tribe she spoke of was the one from Ashton."
"Excellent," said the magistrate. "You may yet save your position here, Gregor." The judge hated the politics that accompanied his job. He was sworn to uphold and enforce the laws and the King's decrees. Politics involved too much behavior that bordered on illegal for his tastes. And, it was hardly his fault that the women had escaped. He was trying to execute the law by finding Sarah Taylor's next of kin and presenting her to them. How could he have known she would be so uncivilized?
Fredick nodded at this new information and said, "we shall send double the usual search team to Ashton, magistrate." In truth, he had never planned to send any search parties there. It was the sight of the one truly crushing defeat the King's army had ever won against the barbarians. Why would they possibly want to go there? Fredick hoped in some part that by doubling the search at Ashton, a stupid place to look, the women would escape and he could argue for getting rid of the judge. He was too soft on prisoners and was too much of a stickler for the law, even when it got in the way of true justice. When he heard about how they'd been treating in Hemlock, keeping them close to death to keep them civil, he thought it was brilliant. He only hoped he'd be allowed to do that someday. Maybe then, filthy criminals like these women wouldn't have the energy to escape and make him look bad. If he ever got ahold of them again, he would show them what suffering was all about.
"What else?" asked the magistrate. "How do you plan to capture these women and bring them back here alive? I want to know, because I don't want any screw ups this time!"
"Well sir, if they are heading north and not stopping-" he almost said 'to sight see' but stopped himself "-near Ashton, then they will probably be doing minor raiding for food and drink. We know that barbarians are tough, but they are almost useless at finding their own food, clothing, weapons, etc., because they steal it from us. Hopefully we can get ahead of them and lay some traps for them."
The magistrate made a motion for him to continue. Fredick was making most of this up as he went. He had planned to kill them if he found them, so none of his plans involved their re-capture and transport back to Calavash. "We will keep a sheep or some other small livestock out in the open near a farm or on the outskirts of town. A lone sheep would be an easy target."
"Won't they be suspicious?" asked the magistrate.
Fredick laughed lightly. "I doubt it, sir. Barbarians are stupid and opportunistic. Given an easy kill like that, I don't think they'll think twice."
"Very well. What about capture and transport?"
"Well sir, the guards in Hemlock had good luck using a dart tipped with sleeping powder mixed with a small amount of water."
The magistrate balked. "Who in Hemlock has money for that kind of thing? And, I thought it was illegal to import it. Where did they get it from and where can we get some?"
The judge shifted uncomfortably, but Fredick smiled. "The magistrate of Hemlock is also the local land baron, sir," he said. "I believe he has some... procurers... in his employ."
"Thieves, you mean," said the judge angrily.
Fredick shrugged lazily. "That is your word for it."
The magistrate chuckled. "Well, see what you can do." The judge scowled and turned red. "We must get them back here for execution. Our great King Volash has commanded me to calm the public about these ever increasing barbarian attacks. I can think of no better way than by showing our superior might in killing these two."
"Yes, sir," said Fredick.
The magistrate dismissed them with a wave of his fat hand as his sat down in his chair. This had turned from a triumphant celebration of their power over barbarians into a major catastrophe. His only hope lay in getting them back and making sure hundreds saw them die by the hangman's noose.
They were walking north, keeping to trees and the edges of farms. It was past noon and the day remained grey and dreary. A fine mist of a rain was coming and going. They walked single file, Yargma in front, Cerevin in the middle, and Sarah behind. Although this was hardly the wilderness, Yargma and Sarah had much more experience dealing with survival outside of the city, so they kept Cerevin protectively between them. When they stopped for the evening, Yargma declared that she was going to hunt dinner. Sarah started to argue that she shouldn't go alone, or warn her against going to close to farmhouses, but the look in Yargma's eyes made her swallow those words unspoken. This had been a trying week and Yargma needed to feel in control again. At least, that's how Sarah saw it.
Cerevin and Sarah built a tiny fire and waited. "Where are we going?" asked Cerevin.
"We are looking for the tribe," said Sarah.
"By looking in farms and fields? Forgive me, but your search does not seem very directed."
Sarah sighed and felt like crying. She wished Morga was there to tell them what to do. "That's because it isn't directed. We don't know where the tribe is."
"You're looking for them because they didn't come back, correct?" Sarah nodded. "I heard of a village, north and slightly west of here, where a barbarian raid was crushed by the King's army."
Sarah's heart sank. If that was the tribe, then there was no real point in hurrying; the tribe would not be there to meet them. Then Sarah remembered that she had asked this question of Cerevin before. Sarah balled her fist. "Why didn't you tell us this the first time you met us?"
"I didn't know it then," Cerevin said. "That bit of rumor I only heard once I returned to Calavash."
Sarah relaxed her fist. "How far away is it?"
Cerevin did some mental calculations and announced, "three days, if we go directly there, four if we keep to the woods and edges as we are now."
Yargma returned with three rabbits. Sarah skinned and roasted them. She told Yargma the news that they finally had a good clue about where the tribe was. "What's the name of the town," asked Sarah.
Cerevin replied, "Ashton."
Fredick couldn't believe he was leaving the city to search for two women. He was the captain of the city guard, for crying out loud! Who sends the city guards to look for escaped criminals? Shouldn't the army be doing that? Fredick growled to himself as they plodded along beside the guards who were on foot. The day was dreary and cold with just enough water falling from the sky to make everyone truly miserable.
But, the army was busy doing army things, and the magistrate wanted to keep this as quiet as possible. Fredick snorted. He didn't know how sending search teams to every village north of the city could possibly be kept quiet, but the magistrate seemed to think it was okay. Of course, the magistrate insisted that Fredick go with the double team bound for Ashton, because it was the most remote of the villages they planned to search. The magistrate had never liked Fredick. And it wasn't like he wanted the magistrate's job! Fredick made a face of disgust. Too much politics, not enough beating prisoners heads in.
And that judge! It was his fault that Fredick was even going to Ashton. What kind of idiot thinks that barbarians follow reason or logic or anything besides their next primal urge? They're more like beasts than humans anyway, big, dumb, and dangerous.
They plodded on for hours and Fredick was getting angrier by the minute. Fortunately, darkness was gathering and they soon saw the lights of a town up ahead. They would stay the night there and resume this ridiculous errand in the morning.
The town was small, only a few buildings huddled around this muddy path. Fredick dismounted his horse and tossed the reins to one of the other guards. "Mattick, stable my horse for me," he said.
Mattick looked cross but said, "yes, sir."
Fredick pushed open the inn's door and stood at his tallest and most important looking just inside the doorway. The few patrons turned to look and Fredick's show was not lost on the innkeeper. He hurried over and said, "yes, sir, welcome to The Fire's Light Inn. We are honored to have you."
"Of course you are," said Fredick half-smiling. "My men and I will be here for the night. We will need food and your finest drinks. Beer for them, wine for me." Fredick looked down at the innkeeper and confided, "I have a much more refined palette."
"At once, sir!" said the innkeeper. He hurried towards the back to tell the serving girl and then upstairs to prepare the rooms.
Fredick looked around the inn. There was a cheery fire burning in the fireplace and three locals sitting at a far table, discussing their wives and their crops. They had stopped when Fredick entered, but now they resumed their discussion. There were a few chairs by the fire and Fredick took the largest of them for himself. He loosened his belt and his uniform's collar, relaxing. The other guards, eight of them in addition to himself, began coming in and choosing seats around the tables.
The serving girl brought Fredick food and the wine he wanted first, then she served the other men. The food was barely tolerable by Fredick's standards, though the wine was decent. He ate leisurely and savored his wine. As the serving girl came to refill his wine glass, he stretched in such a way that his hand brushed her behind. She jumped a little at his touch, but he just smiled and held out his glass.
Fredick looked into the fire. Well, it was better than arguing with his wife back home. At least out here he didn't have to correct her at every turn. Though, it would be a miracle if she hadn't burned the house down by the time he got back. That woman was dumb as a post. She did have nice legs, though, even after all these years.
Some of the men started playing cards and Fredick invited himself to join the game. He played well and each round he won, he demanded a refill of his wine. After the third round, the men were at their wit's end from experiencing both annoyance and amusement in the same moment while playing with him. He was drunk off his rocker, but thought he was completely sober.
"It's your turn, captain," said one of the guards. He was the next most senior of the guards in this search party. His bushy black hair was neatly slicked back.
Fredick looked up from his cards and said, "ish it? Well zhen, here's m'card!" He slapped down a card and the next guard played a card.
The black haired guard said, "finish your story, John. What happened after the goat escaped for the third time?"
John started to speak, but Fredick cut him off. "Thash not a good shtory," Fredick shook his head. "Terrible. I 'ave a much better one about thish little tramp we had in the lockup onesh..."
The serving girl returned to see if the men needed anything. She hesitated when Fredick gestured with his glass for more wine. The black haired guard nodded. She walked around the table to refill his glass, trying to keep her distance from him. He wasn't coy this time. He reached up and fondled her breast as she was pouring the wine. She bit her lip and looked ready to cry, but finished filling the glass. She then retreated to the kitchen with astonishing speed.
"Fredick," said the black haired guard in a scolding tone, "why did you do that? That little miss is probably somebody's wife. And you're a married man!"
Fredick's eyes glinted angrily and he suddenly seemed less drunk. "So what, Marven? That sweet little thing won't do anything about it. And my wife knows better than to ask what I do when I'm away from home, or I'll put that little bitch in her place." The men at the table shifted uncomfortably.
"Just try to lay off, captain," said Marven. They picked up their cards to continue playing, but Fredick threw his down angrily.
"Lay off?" He stood up. "Lay off? You are telling me what to do, guard? I am the ranking officer here and you won't tell me what to do!" The other table of guards was looking at them now.
"Captain, please," said Marven, "you're drunk. Maybe you should sleep it off."
Fredick looked galled. "Again! Again you tell me what to do! Do you want to sweep out the horse stalls or empty prisoner chamber pots for the rest of your years? Keep it up and you will!"
He looked around to see if anyone else would tell him what to do. "And I'll tell you another thing about that little bitch. If I wanted to have her, I would! Married or not, because she is property. A fine, curvy, bouncy piece of property, but property nonetheless. Like that little tramp we had in the lockup one night. She resisted, but it made victory that much sweeter." A few of the guards turned away, looking disgusted, but a few were listening attentively.
"Women need to know their place," he said and many of the guards nodded, even some of those disgusted by his story of sexual conquest. "How can they behave properly if they don't know their place and aren't punished when they do something they shouldn't? If you keep the women aware of their place and afraid of punishment, they'll do anything, just like they should."
Fredick looked around, waiting to see if anyone would disagree with him. No one did, so he sat back down and picked up his cards. "Now, who's turn is it?"
The night passed uneventfully for Sarah and the others. They woke at dawn and resumed their northward travel. After a few hours, Cerevin finally turned slightly and began to walk beside Sarah. "Can you explain some things to me?" he asked, almost sheepishly.
"Like what?" asked Sarah.
"Well, if your whole tribe goes raiding..." he hesitated, trying not to sound accusatory.
Sarah half-smiled. "Then why did we not go with them?" she completed for him. Cerevin nodded, looking relieved that she had finished his question for him. Sarah said, "at any given time, there are a few children who are not yet old enough to go raiding. And, some times, there are women who are carrying children who should not go into battle. Right now, there are five girls and three boys too young to raid and three women carrying children. There were four boys until a few days before we left."
"What happened?"
Sarah shrugged. "What always happens out there. Someone just wasn't fast enough, or lucky enough, to stop the large herd animal from trampling one of the boys hunting it."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Cerevin, sounding truly sorry.
Sarah shrugged again. "To watch over the young ones, a teacher and the elder of each half of the village remain behind. Morga was the teacher for the girls."
"Each half?" asked Cerevin.
"Yes, the men and women each keep to themselves except for training, raiding, and sex."
Cerevin looked a little uncomfortable. "How... unusual," he said finally. Sarah shrugged. Cerevin thought about this for a few more minutes and looked like he had another uncomfortable question to ask.
"You cannot offend me, Cerevin, except by insulting my honor or the honor of the tribe," she said. "What is your question?"
Cerevin turned red. "Why do you continue with this quest? You're a- that is, aren't you-"
"A slave?" asked Sarah and Cerevin turned more red and looked at his shoes.
Quietly, Cerevin said, "it's just that I've never had a conversation with a slave before, mostly because the ones around Calavash don't speak our language. I don't know what etiquitte is for that topic."
Sarah laughed softly, but not meanly. "Most of the others don't even like to use the word 'slave'. They call themselves the Taken. I think it makes it easier for them to keep their dignity."
"And you?" asked Cerevin, "how do you keep your dignity?"
Sarah straightened up. "I know who I am and I know that I have a valued roll in the tribe. That's enough for me." She paused to think about it, trying to put her feelings into words for him. "It's not like the slaves you've seen in Calavash. The barbarians don't mistreat us just for the sick pleasure of it, which I have seen many humans do. They will punish us, but only if we don't do as we're told or if we endanger ourselves or any of the tribe." Cerevin looked intrigued, but still confused. "Think of us as good strong horses. You wouldn't beat your horse just for fun if you want it to be a good worker."
Cerevin was a little appalled by the comparison, but mulled it over. "How many of you are there in the village?"
"Seven women and eight men."
"What will happen to you if... if the tribe destroyed in Ashton is yours?"
Sarah thought about how to phrase it. She had thought about it before, but it seemed more complicated now that it was a very real possibility. "I must fulfill my promise to Morga and return to the village with the news. After that, I'm not sure."
"What will happen to the other barbarians?"
"That is even more difficult to answer. There are too few of them remaining to stay together as a tribe. Some will probably find another tribe to join. They will be as good as slaves to that other tribe, but at least they will be with their own people and they will continue to train and raid. Some will probably wander the wastelands until they die in a sort of tribute. Others may even come down to human lands to raid by themselves until they are killed in a final battle." Sarah paused. "But those are just guesses. Certainly there will be mourning together before they disperse."
Cerevin frowned. "You didn't say what would happen to you and the other slaves? Will they kill you?"
Sarah laughed. "No, of course not. We handle the mundane tasks of living so they can concentrate on fighting. Killing us would serve no purpose."
"What then?"
"I honestly don't know," said Sarah, serious again. "This kind of thing doesn't happen very often in barbarian folklore. I imagine they will just let us go."
"And if they don't? Would you try to escape if they don't free you?"
That was a question that Sarah had not considered. She couldn't think of any reason why they would want to keep her and the others, but it was possible. Sarah would be happy to return to the life she had before this journey, the skinning, cooking, and mending. That was so quiet and regular. But, it would never be quite like that again. Sarah had grown accustomed to the idea that she would die as a barbarian slave. Any other future simply had not been considered.
"I don't know," she said finally. After another pause she said, "one thing is certain: I do not want to live in human societies any more."
Cerevin nodded. He couldn't imagine being a slave anymore than Sarah could imagine being a thief, but he did understand her desire to stay away. Humans could be particularly cruel and, at least in the kingdom of Volash, women had almost no rights. After living with women who lived as equals with men, it must seem extremely restricting to Sarah. He hoped that whatever happened, Sarah would find a place for herself. More than most people he dealt with, she had earned it.
Night fell outside of the judge's office. The fire burned, mostly has hot coals in the fireplace. Some nights, he would stay to read scrolls or letters from the courts in the capital. Other nights, he would read books or write letters of his own. But tonight, Gregor stared at the fire slowly burning down, his hands clasped in front of him on his desk. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought. Being a judge was a noble job, he had always thought, the dispenser of justice. His job was to hear and consider the words of defendants against their acts and to judge them according to the rules laid out by the king. It was straightforward and it was regulated. If the defendant broke the king's laws, then punishment was proscribed. It was his job to determine the extent of guilt and consider any mitigating circumstances and then pronounce judgement.
He sighed, but remained seated. How had it come to this? He didn't trust the magistrate, nor the head of the city guard to be honest, much less honorable when it came to the law. Had it always been like this and he had just never noticed? Gregor got up to try to shake that feeling from his head. He walked slowly to the fireplace and poked one of the big logs down into the coals. It lit up in sudden, bright flames. He thought back on the previous magistrate. Gregor thought he had been a bit more honest than the current magistrate.
But, what was the use of thinking like this? Did it matter who was more honest? Unless the magistrate obviously broke the law in the judge's presence, there was nothing he could do about it. Annoyed by this realization, the Gregor put on his heavy cloak and headed for home. He walked through the cold, darkened streets and pondered the last few days. He had hanged one barbarian, and rightly so, but two others had escaped, one of whom wasn't even really a barbarian! When trying to uphold the law of betrothal, he had caused and important merchant to be brutalized by that woman, Sarah Taylor. Her actions completely baffled the judge. The law was the law, and there was little room for interpretation. One did not flout the law simply because one felt like it!
After a few minutes, the judge arrived home, a small stone house that glowed warmly from the inside. He opened the door and heard his children playing near the kitchen. "Papa!" they squealed with delight when the door opened. They rushed to him, hugging him about his legs. He picked up the youngest one and smiled. They could always turn his mood.
"My wonderful children," he said, smiling, "how was your day?" They answered with various "fine"s and short stories about playmates. Gregor's wife emerged from the kitchen. Her long dark hair was pulled mostly back in a large bun. She had her sleeves rolled up from baking and smiled at him.
"Long day, dear?" she asked.
Gregor sighed and went to sit by the fire with his children. He was quite old to be a father of those so young. Gregor was forty while his wife was only twenty-five. His first wife had been barren and had died almost ten years ago. Gregor always felt guilty about her, thinking it was the shame of being barren that had killed her at such a young age. But, after her death, he chanced to meet his charming wife at a minor city affair. She was the daughter of one of the local merchants and Gregor fell for her immediately. She was not overly pretty, but she was smart and caring. It took some coaxing, because of his age, but eventually Gregor convinced her family that his house was a good one for their daughter.
His wife returned to the kitchen with a smile on her face as the children, three of them, took turns telling their stories to their father. He listened attentively to the stories of the minutia of their lives, marveled by the importance they ascribed to the smallest things.
"Tommath broke his toe," said his oldest, Krissen. Her hair was like her mothers, long and dark.
"Did not!" retorted Tommath, the middle child. "I only bumped it against the kitchen table leg hard."
"I found a pretty flower," said the youngest from Gregor's lap.
"You did?" said Gregor. "How did you find a flower in November?"
"See?" The child held up a scrap of red fabric he had fashioned into a flower.
"Well, that is just amazing! I don't believe I've seen a flower like that before." He smiled and took the offered flower in his hand. "I think we should write to the King and tell him of this new amazing discovery, don't you?"
The boy giggled. "No, silly!" Tommath laughed and Krissen tried to appear above laughing at such juvenile things, but still giggled softly. "It's not a real flower," he said.
"It's not?" said the judge in feign surprise. "It looks real enough to me." He took the flower and sniffed at it. "Ahhh, what a wondrous smell!" The children laughed at their father's silliness. Then their mother called them to dinner.
They trouped into the kitchen and sat around the large table. Gregor said a short prayer and the meal began. The food was simple, but plentiful. Gregor dished up the children first, then his wife, and then himself. The nagging sense of wrongness about yesterday's conversation with the magistrate weighed on him.
His wife knew that Gregor would not talk about work at the dinner table, but made a metal note to be there for him after dinner, if he wanted to talk about it. She knew his job was not always pleasant. How could it be, being surrounded by criminals all day! But, he was a good and fair man. She was proud to have him as her husband.
The meal passed quietly. Gregor only allowed good things to be said at the dinner table. Bickering and name calling had no place here. So, the children were silent until the meal had nearly finished. Then, Tommath said, "may I be excused?"
"Me too?" asked the other two children in unison.
Gregor smiled. "Alright, go ahead," he said. They scooted back their chairs and made a beeline for where the toy blocks and dolls were stored. Gregor and his wife, Clarissa, cleaned off the table and put the dishes away. When they had finished, Clarissa listened to make sure the children were occupied in the other room. Gregor had sat down in the chair nearest the kitchen fireplace and looked worried.
"Gregor, dear, what is it?" asked Clarissa. "You seemed so occupied at dinner. Did something bad happen at work?"
Gregor sighed. He knew his wife was smart enough to understand his concerns, but even he wasn't sure what his concerns were. So, he started at the beginning, with the barbarians first arriving. He described the trials and the first execution. He described Sarah Taylor's attack on her betrothed and her escape from the city. He then described the magistrate's orders for the search parties and his lurid interest in the banned sleeping poison that the captain of the guard had mentioned.
Clarissa listened intently. Gregor said, "the worst thing is, I don't understand why I'm so unnerved. The magistrate's business with the city guards is between them. I'm not involved except that I work indirectly with both of them. Why does this whole affair make me so uncomfortable?"
Clarissa bent down and stroked Gregor's hand as it sat limply in his lap. "I can understand being unnerved by seeing the violence you described from that Taylor woman. I also know how honorable you are. Seeing the magistrate and the guard captain in league like that is more powerful than just suspecting that they're corrupt." Gregor nodded. "You're a good man, Gregor," she said softly. "I know you won't let anything happen to those women that they don't deserve."
Gregor tensed and slowly looked down at Clarissa. "What did you say?"
She tilted her head to one side. "I said you won't let anything happen to the women Fredick is looking for that they don't deserve."
"Gods and king help me," breathed Gregor. "That must be why I've been uncomfortable. The magistrate instructed Fredick to bring them back alive." Clarissa looked puzzled. "They'll be captured and alone with Fredick and his men for days while they journey back here. I don't trust Fredick any further than I can throw a horse. Prisoners have more than their share of accidents when he guards them."
Gregor straightened in his chair. "Those women may deserve death, but they do not deserve whatever mistreatments Fredick would inflict on them. The law is one thing, but that man is not that honorable." Clarissa didn't know whether to beam or to be afraid. Her husband was not normally given to sudden surges of emotion. He was usually so even tempered and unflappable, but talk of this situation seemed to light a righteous fire within him. She knew he had passion for her and for their children, but it was rewarding to see him so passionate about doing the right thing. On the other hand, if he were to do something about this, she didn't know what would happen.
"What are you going to do, Gregor?" she asked.
"I must make sure those women make it back to Calavash, unmolested, for execution," he said. Clarissa heard a strength and determination in his voice that she had not heard in many years. His eyes burned with the emotional fire he felt. She loved him more in that moment than ever before. "I will get the sword from the barbarian's defeat and I will travel to Ashton. I would ask no one else to put themselves in harm's way for this cause."
"Oh, Gregor," said Clarissa, throwing her arms around her husband. "You are the most noble man I know." She cried on his shoulder, both in love and fear. The journey itself was not entirely free of danger, and facing the captain of the guard with just the law as his weapon bordered on foolhardy.
"My sweet, sweet Clarissa," said Gregor, a few tears leaking from his eyes. "You are my strength." They held each other in a long embrace. The children had been listening at the door to the kitchen and came into the kitchen meekly. Gregor saw them and opened his arms to them. They rushed forward, sobbing, not completely understanding what was going on, but they knew they loved their father. Gregor bent down and hugged all three of them. "And you are my joys," he said to them.
He knew the journey would be difficult, but never before had he felt so right about his actions. Gregor knew he must defend the law, here and out there. The city could take care of itself for a few days until he returned.
The day dawned grey and miserable. Fredick had quite a hangover, so he skipped morning porridge and told his men to get him when it was time to go. Stepping outside, the overcast day seem unbearably bright. Fredick pulled his hat down over his eyes and mounted his horse. He leaned in close to the horse's neck and let it follow the rest of the men out of town.
After a few hours, the worst of the headache had worn off and Fredick began to get bored again. He tried to remember what happened last night after he started drinking.
"Merril," he called to the guard nearest him. "What happened last night? Did I get that young hussie upstairs to my bed?"
Merril coughed nervously. "No, sir," he said simply. After declaring that he could have any woman, the captain had gotten drunker and kept trying to fondle the serving girl. But, after the first time, she refused to go near him, even to fill his glass. Some of the other guards took pity on her and handed the filled glass to him. Eventually, he passed out and they took him to his room.
Fredick grunted. "Pity," he said, "she was curvy enough to be fun."
"Yes, sir."
Fredick stared off into the dormant farms and the leafless trees. There would be snow soon. Gods how he hated snow. It just got dirty and piled up in the streets, making a mess. Spring was even worse with its half snow, half mud mixture. Depressed by the weather, Fredick cheered himself up by fantasizing about what he would do once they caught the women. He would never touch a barbarian sexually, even he had his standards, but he'd consider the human woman. Either way, he would have fun putting them in their place, forcefully.
Just two more days at this plodding pace and they would be there. It couldn't be soon enough for Fredick.
They had been walking on the edges of farms and stands of trees. It was safer, but it was also harder going. With all the foliage dead, it was easy to see where they were going, but the thorns were no less sharp. And, the fallen leaves hid rocks and sticks that would occasionally trip up Sarah or Cerevin. Yargma seemed to have a sixth sense about avoiding them. After a while, though, Sarah began to suspect that Yargma was not avoiding tripping, she was just better at catching herself.
They travelled mostly in silence since it was easier to walk single file which made conversation difficult. The day was grey, but at least it wasn't raining. Sarah was occasionally pointing to things and calling out its name in barbarian. Cerevin had convinced her to teach him barbarian. Sarah and Yargma had even had a few practice conversations, talking very slowly so that Cerevin could follow what they were saying. When he tried to answer, they howled in laughter at how he butchered it. Sarah assured him that it would come in time.
When they stopped for the night, Yargma asked Sarah to tell her a story, preferably one about Ymorg or a great battle that their tribe had one. When he heard the name, Cerevin stopped eating his roasted rabbit. "Did you say Ymorg?" he asked Yargma.
Yargma and Sarah looked at him. "Yes," said Sarah, "he's a legend among the tribe. A great traveler and fighter. Why?"
Cerevin laughed. "My uncle travelled with a barbarian, just a few years ago," he said, laughing. "My uncle said his name was Ymorg."
"Could it be a coincidence?" asked Sarah, not sure how Yargma would take the hero of legend traveling with a human thief. "Though, it would explain how you knew something of barbarian culture."
Cerevin nodded emphatically. "Indeed, my uncle told me much, but he focused on the practical: how many men they can kill, how much alcohol they can handle, and so forth."
Sarah told Yargma about Cerevin's uncle, but left out the last part. Rather than becoming angry, she reacted more like an excited young one. This reminded Sarah that although Yargma was taller than her already, she was only thirteen. "I can not believe it," exclaimed Yargma grinning. "What was he like? Is he really nine feet tall? What about the two-headed snake story, is that true?"
Sarah began translating Yargma's rapid fire questions and Cerevin's amused answers. They spent a few hours in that vein and eventually, Sarah said to Yargma, "you should learn human, just as Cerevin should learn barbarian. Then I will not have to hear the same story twice, once in each language." She smiled as Yargma blushed slightly. The night passed easily from stories into sleep.
The next day cold and windy with heavy, dark grey clouds. Sarah was fairly certain that it would snow that day. Snow would surely slow them down, especially in the open, not to mention making a fire more difficult to start. They travelled the whole day and it began to snow before sundown. Cerevin was having some difficulty with the cold. He had been in his share of drafty inns and had slept outside, even in weather like this, but he had always been prepared before with blankets or a heavier cloak. At the very least, he had always been able to light a warming fire. But now, it was too dangerous to light a big fire for it might be seen and they might be discovered.
Sarah noticed Cerevin's shivering and suggested to Yargma that they find or build a minor shelter for the night. She nodded and after a while, they found a small hill in the leafless trees that was guarded against the wind. While Sarah and Cerevin gathered wood and lit a small fire, Yargma gathered large branches to build a crude thatched roof over them. It worked quite well, keeping the large snowflakes out, but also letting the smoke from the fire out.
"Thank you," said Cerevin after they had eaten dinner.
"For what?" asked Sarah, watching the snow fall. It had been quite a while since she'd seen the big fluffy flakes like were falling now. The wastelands only seemed to have the small kind.
Cerevin looked at his shoes, a little embarassed. "For building this shelter. I don't think I'm quite as cold-tolerate as you are."
"Oh," said Sarah, "well, you're welcome. You did seem a little chilled."
Yargma said something to Sarah in barbarian. Cerevin said, "she said something about tomorrow and the tribe."
Sarah smiled. "Yes, she wants to know if we'll get to Ashton tomorrow in time to look for the tribe." Cerevin beamed.
"If the snow doesn't slow us down too much," he said, "then we should get there in the afternoon sometime. That will give us a few hours to look before sundown."
Sarah translated the response and Yargma seemed satisfied. Cerevin studied Sarah's weather lined face. He could see the worry in her eyes, afraid that tomorrow would mean that her life with the tribe was over and could never go back to the way it was.
"I sincerely hope it's not your tribe we find tomorrow," said Cerevin.
Sarah nodded. "Me too," she said.
The day dawned bright and clear. Fredick looked out the small window in his room and groaned. Stupid snow! That was the last thing he needed, big piles of cold annoying snow laying around. "Dammit!" he shouted at the ceiling. He only succeeded in making his head throb. He hadn't drank that much, why did his head hurt? He dressed and stumbled downstairs to see most of his men already eating their breakfasts. He ordered the serving girl to get him some and ate moodily at a table by himself.
Marven, the black-haired guard, stood beside Fredick's table until the captain grunted at him. "The horses are ready, sir," he said. "As soon as everyone finishes breakfast we can be underway."
Fredick swore under his breath. He hated people who were chipper in the morning. "What about this snow? Think it will slow us down? I don't want to get caught in it before we reach Ashton tonight."
"No, sir, I'm sure we'll make it in time. The innkeeper says Ashton is not quite a day's journey away, so we should get there in the early evening."
Fredick grunted again and dismissed Marven with a wave of his hand. The sooner they got to Ashton, the sooner he could go home.
When they woke, it looked like they had been buried alive in snow. There was just a crack of light coming in over the mound of snow that had fallen around their shelter. Yargma was fascinated by it.
"Garah! Look at it! It is like at home, but there is so much more of it." She took a handful of the stuff and crushed it into a ball. "Ha! Look at that! The snow back home never does that, it is always too loose."
Sarah smiled and Cerevin said, "well, I guess we better dig our way out and be on our way." They got up and pushed snow out of the way until they could mostly walk out across the snow. The sun was bright and the sky was clear. Sarah was both happy and sad that their search was coming to an end. She had learned more about herself in the last few weeks than she had ever known and she saw how much she had changed. But, Morga was dead and there was a very real possibility that the rest of the tribe was too.
They trudged through the snow, staying within the trees where the snow was marginally lighter, though this meant there were more briars to get caught on. Sarah thought that Yargma had adapted to wearing human clothes quite well. Only a few times did she see her tugging at some uncomfortable fit.
By noon, the sun was winning over the cold air and snow began to melt very slightly, causing all the trees to glitter with water and drip into the snow. Soon the trees they were in began to thin and Cerevin said, "it's only an hour or two now, I think. The place where the battle took place was outside of Ashton, south and east of it, in a large field in a valley. That's as much as anyone knew about the location."
Sarah nodded and told Yargma, who was leading, about the place they were looking for. The came to the end of the trees and, in order to keep their direction, they had to leave the relative safety of the trees. They looked all around and they could see a few distant farmhouses, but there was no one around. Cerevin was nervous because their dark clothes against fallen leaves and grass was relatively difficult to see, but against this snow they stood out. He thought about saying something, but there was nothing they could do about it, so he just kept a watchful eye out for any other human presence.
After another hour or so, they came to a small path through the snow. It looked like people and carts had passed this way not long ago. They looked all around but didn't see anyone along the path, so they crossed it and kept going. The sun was rapidly melting the snow now, though it would freeze again at nightfall. Their clothes were soaking wet from the knees down and the rest were damp. Sarah worried about them getting frostbite again tonight if they couldn't dry out their clothes before the sun set. Their feet were now plunging through limp, melting snow and churning the dirt below into mud. Cerevin looked back onto their path and cursed. If anyone had seen them and was trying to follow them, they left very little doubt about which way they had gone. Being the out in the open in daylight made him very nervous.
Finally, they came to a valley with a large flat center. Yargma looked at Cerevin and tried out the few words of human she had learned, "is this it?" Cerevin nodded. He wasn't sure, but it certainly looked like the place. He voiced his uncertainty to Sarah who also nodded. The valley sides were not terribly steep, but it would have been difficult to get a cart down them. Sarah suspected that a horse alone or a horse and rider would not have a problem. They half walked and half slid down the snow covered, muddy hill until they were standing in the base of the valley. The covering of snow made it difficult to see if there was anything in the field.
They walked a few paces until Yargma stopped and pointed. Up ahead, about ten feet away, there was a glint of metal from within the snow. They hurried over and dug away the snow. It was a sword, though it was small for a barbarian sword. Sarah's heart was racing. If there was a human sword, there might be more clues here. All three of them began clearing away the snow around the sword to see if there was anything else near it. There was. Cerevin uncovered the bony remains of an arm.
"Here," said Cerevin, "I've found something." Yargma and Sarah stopped their own digging to go look at what he had found.
"Is it human or barbarian?" asked Sarah. She had seen dead bodies, but never decayed like that. When someone died in the wastelands, they were burned on a pyre, so there was nothing left. When a beast died, its bones were picked dry in a day or so.
"I can't tell," said Cerevin. "In size, it could be either a large man or a small barbarian." They began clearing away more snow in the area until they found the rest of the body.
Yargma and Sarah studied it, but the leather loincloth around the waist left little doubt about who the skeleton had been in life. Yargma began to chant the prayer for the dead. Sarah joined her while Cerevin worked to uncover more of the snow. He found a human next, but in two distinct pieces as though he had been cut in half.
Not far from there was another human. Cerevin was confused. He understood why the army left the barbarian corpses after the battle, but why would they leave their own men like that? He searched the area more closely, looking for a sign that the men had been in the kings army. Most of the fabric remains were the wrong color, but he did find what looked like it had been a sash of the right color, a deep crimson. Mercenaries? Had the victorious king's army been bolstered with mercenaries? It would certainly put a different spin on the story the magistrate in Calavash had been telling, and not a positive one.
Yargma and Sarah joined Cerevin once their prayer was done. He showed them what he had found, but they were more interested in discovering if any other barbarians had died here. They now knew that some tribe had died here, but they wanted definite proof it was theirs before they would feel comfortable returning to the village. Cerevin looked all around them at the large field. It was a lot to search and they only had a few hours before the sun set. He looked also at the edges of the valley. The snow was collapsing in on itself in places which made their trail a little less obvious, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were exposed, almost begging to be discovered.
Fredick and the city guards arrived in Ashton a few hours before sunset. Fredick berated Marven for being wrong about how long it would take them to arrive and cursed the snow. They headed for the inn and would begin their search in the morning. When they entered the inn, two men were talking earnestly back by the kitchen door. One of them was the innkeeper who broke off his conversation to welcome Fredick.
"Welcome, sir, welcome," he said. "What can I get for you and your men?" The other guards filed in past Fredick and chose seats at the tables.
"Drinks now. We'll take dinner when it's ready, and rooms for the night," said Fredick. He was happy this whole affair would soon be behind them.
"Of course, sir, of course," said the innkeeper. "What brings Calavash's finest to our small village?" he asked, just making conversation.
"We're looking for some escaped criminals," said Fredick, intentionally vague about their identities. He couldn't resist bragging about the importance of their mission, though. "Violent criminals," he added, "wanted for multiple murders."
The innkeeper looked a little scared to think people like that were skulking around his village. "Oh dear," he said. He started back towards the kitchen to get the serving girl when he saw his friend and stopped. Their conversation before now seemed to be more than just a coincidence. "Sir," said the innkeeper, turning to face Fredick, "how many criminals did you say there were?"
"Two," he said, sitting down, "both crazy." Women were always crazy, he thought.
The innkeeper's friend said a few emphatic words and the innkeeper asked, "no chance there's a third person traveling with them?"
Marven became suspicious immediately and sat straighter in his chair. "I doubt it," said Fredick, getting impatient for his drink.
Seeing that Fredick wasn't going to ask, Marven felt he must. "Why do you ask?" he said. Fredick shot him a glare, but didn't yell at him.
"Well," said the innkeeper, a little nervously, "it's just that my friend here was telling me that he a few other farmers have seen three travelers at the backs of their fields today." Marven listened attentively.
"Just traveling?" asked Marven. "They haven't stopped or stolen anything?"
The innkeeper's friend piped up. "We thought they would just pass us by, but on my way here, Jorge, who owns the field where the barbarian battle was a few months back, said something to me. Well I guess he was up in his barn fixing a leak when he saw three folks down in his field, digging around in the snow like they were looking for something."
Marven got to his feet and gestured for the guards to do the same. The friend continued, "I told him not to worry about it, that they would probably pass through by nightfall."
"Can you tell us how to get to this field?" asked Marven.
"Marven!" yelled Fredick, "get over here!" Marven excused himself and walked to Fredick's table, gritting his teeth.
Fredick leaned forward to keep his voice low. "What the hell are you doing? I said we would look for them tomorrow!"
"Sir," said Marven, trying to reason with him, "the people we're looking for were also looking for something. You said so yourself."
Fredick stiffened. "That was the judge's crazy idea," he said, trying to distance himself from the notion. "I don't think they're that organized. They're just barbarians, after all!"
"But, sir, if they are here now, in a field not far from here, we can get them by surprise," said Marven. "And, if they're not there, we've only wasted an hour or so of our time. I think it's worth it to just go look."
Fredick scowled. He didn't want to spend any more time in the snow than he had to. But, if they could capture the women tonight, then he'd be able to heading home that much sooner. "Fine," he relented. "Get the field's location and get the men ready to go." Marven thanked him and returned to the innkeeper's friend to get directions to the field.
They had uncovered a few more barbarian bodies and only one more human one. he wore the same sash as the others. Still, none of the barbarian remains were obviously part of their tribe, so they kept looking. They had only about an hour now before sunset and Cerevin was starting to get nervous. They had been out in the open for too long and they needed to find shelter for the night.
Then, Yargma let out a howl as if she had been wounded. Cerevin looked around and his hand went for his sword, but there was no one else here. Sarah rushed over to Yargma side and knelt beside her. Yargma threw her head back and cried out, "Yaroo, no!" Sarah looked at the skeleton that lay before them. The loincloth had been patched with a large piece of red leather. Dyed leather was extremely rare and Yargma's sister had taken great pride in having it. It had been their mother's before she was killed.
Sarah touched Yargma's back lightly in a sign of comfort. Cerevin, still on guard hissed, "what is it? What's happened?"
"This is Yargma's sister, Yaroo," said Sarah. "There can be no doubt." She joined Yargma's chanted prayer. Yargma was barbarian and did not cry easily, even for something like this. But Sarah was human and she wept freely, her heart finally sinking, knowing it was over. Their tribe would not have fought along side another barbarian tribe and they would not have left Yaroo's body like that if they had had any choice. They had their proof; they now knew for certain what had happened to their tribe. Now, all that remained was the long, sad journey home to tell the others the news.
Cerevin nudged Sarah. She looked up to find Cerevin pointing at one edge of the valley. "What is it?" she asked quietly, trying not to interrupt Yargma's prayer.
"Men are coming from that direction," he said, many of them.
Sarah scanned the horizon where he pointed and didn't see anything. "How do you know?" Cerevin pointed at his ear and Sarah strained to hear something unusual. At first, she heard nothing, but then she could just barely make out the sounds of many feet crunching through the snow and a horse shaking its bridle.
Yargma finished her prayer and reached down to touch her fallen sister one last time. Turning her attention to the others, Yargma heard the footsteps. "Who is coming?" she asked.
"I don't know," said Cerevin, "but I'd rather not find out. We should go now, in a hurry." Sarah translated and got up to go with Cerevin, but Yargma shook her head.
"No, I will fight those who killed our tribe, even if it means my death."
"Yargma," said Sarah, "I understand your pain-"
"You understand nothing! I will not run like a frightened animal while the men who slew my people walk about freely!" She was on her feet now, drawing her sword.
"Yargma, please," said Sarah, "we cannot keep our promise to Morga if we are captured."
"What does it matter?" yelled Yargma. "The village is dead, my sister is dead, we are no more. What does it matter now?"
Sarah had never heard a barbarian talk like that before. It was so fatalistic that Sarah grew scared. She had seen barbarians enraged, but they always held on to something: their honor, the tribe, something. A barbarian both enraged and resigned to death was a very dangerous thing.
Cerevin looked at Sarah for an explanation. She said, "Yargma won't run. She wants to stay and fight." Sarah saw a single tear fall from each of Yargma's eyes. They were bright with tears and with barely contained rage.
"This is insane," he said. "We don't know how many there are, nor how they're armed."
Sarah nodded. "You're right, and for what it's worth, I agree with you about running. But, I won't leave Yargma here to die. I will fight with her."
Cerevin looked at her and saw the determination in her eyes mixed with fear. She was not trained in combat like Yargma and besides the many scuffles she had been in, she had never been in a real fight. Not one with swords and the real potential for death. Her heart raced, but she remained steadfast, drawing her sword. Cerevin looked at Yargma and almost recoiled from the intensity of her stare. She looked to the horizon where the sounds of men approaching was now more obvious. Cerevin sighed. I had been thinking that he would meet his demise in the mysterious stronghold in the wastelands. But, this was as good a place as any. He, too, drew is sword and waited.
Marven was annoyed that Fredick had insisted on bringing his horse. The damn thing made a stealthy approach impossible, so they had given up and just trouped towards the field making all kinds of noise. When they got to the edge of the valley they stopped and looked down. Marven almost laughed out loud and some of the men did. He expected to see one of two things: nothing, or the backs of their quarry as they ran away. He did not expect to see them standing in the middle of the field with their weapons drawn, looking for a fight. Fredick saw them and bellowed with laughter.
"What a bunch of stupid hicks!" He motioned towards them. "Go get them," he said.
Marven added, "alive! Don't forget that we need them alive." The men looked up at Fredick for confirmation.
He swore and said, "yes, alive. Rough them up as much as you like, but alive." The men nodded and began descending the hill through the slippery melted snow. Marven went with them and Fredick followed all of them on his horse.
"Well, here they come," said Cerevin. "It was a pleasure to meet both of you. I hope that whatever gods you worship will take you in in the afterlife."
Sarah smiled. "Thank you, Cerevin, it has been a pleasure to meet you, too."
Yargma just growled. As soon as the men were close enough to hear, she shouted, in barbarian, "great Sword Mother protect us as we slay those who defiled her faithful followers! Prepare your souls, humans!"
The guards were taken aback by the ferocity of her cries, even though they couldn't understand the words. The slowed down their approach.
"What are you waiting for?" asked Fredick, impatiently. "She's just trying to scare you with her jibberish talk. Go get them!" The men moved forward a little more quickly, but still looked nervous. "There are nine of us and three of them! That should be more than enough! Now move!"
The guards moved in and started to circle around them. Sarah and the others moved to stand with their backs together. The men looked a little nervous, but this wasn't the first time they'd stared down armed opponents. The snow alternately crunched and squished under their feet as they circled. Yargma waited for them to make the first move. When fighting one on one, it didn't matter so much, but when fighting a group, always let them make the first move so you have greater control over your position when they come for you. Yargma went over her training in her head like a mantra, thinking of nothing else, just this battle, her senses tuned to everything around her.
Finally, one of the guards lost his patience with this dance and lunged towards Yargma, trying to scare her into doing something stupid. She parried his attack easily, but the rest of the men took that as their cue to attack. Yargma dodged one more thrust and parried a third. Sarah dodged one attack and swiped at another, knocking it aside. Cerevin dodged all three of his attackers.
A black-haired guard, nearest to Yargma, said, "we don't want to hurt you. Why don't you just come along peacefully so that no one gets hurt?" The other three on Yargma lunged and slashed at her, but she avoided or parried it all.
"Not a chance," said Sarah. Distracted and not a trained fighter, as she was yelling, Sarah dodged one attack and parried one to the side, but not far enough. The blade sliced along her left upper arm, opening a long, but not terribly deep gash. She grunted in pain and tried to slash the attacker's extended arm with her sword, but missed.
Cerevin dodged two of his attackers, but in the split second it took him to glance in Sarah's direction, the third thrust his sword at Cerevin's stomach. He turned just in time and felt the blade just graze his stomach, leaving a burning line of pain where it cut him. It was barely a scratch, but he was pissed now and brought his dagger down into the arm of the man who had lunged at him. The man screamed in pain as Cerevin withdrew the dagger and kicked upwards to knock the sword from his now wounded arm. The blade fell easily and the man recoiled from the fight to hold his bleeding arm.
One of the guards attacking Yargma slipped on the snow during his attack. That was the opening Yargma was looking for. She stepped forward one step and slashed towards his neck with all of her considerable strength. Her blade connected with him and continued passing through his flesh until his head was separated from his body. The body and head dropped to the ground, red blood spilling all over the white snow and muddy ground.
Fredick felt like screaming in surprise. He had seen beheadings before, but only the somber executions. He caught a glimpse of the barbarian's face as she turned back to her other attackers. She was smiling! That bitch! Fredick dismounted his horse. How hard could this be? They're just women!
Sarah saw her attackers blanch at the guard they just saw fall, but they kept coming. One of them slashed at her which she bent away from to dodge. Unfortunately, this put her off balance and she stumbled backwards a step. The second guard attacking her took the opportunity she presented to lunge a sword at her midsection. The same slippery ground that had cost the guard his life saved Sarah's. She felt her feet go out from under her just as the sword arrived. Instead of plunging into her middle, the sword cut a neat line from her stomach, up her chest and off her right shoulder. Sarah tried to sweep his feet and missed.
Cerevin had taken and given his share of glancing blows, but the guards kept at him, frustrated at his nimbleness. On one of the more reckless lunges, Cerevin lifted his leg and stepped down onto the guard's sword, causing the tip to plunge into the softened ground. In his distraction, he didn't see the second guard swipe his sword at Cerevin's forearm, knocking his sword from his hand and leaving a long, bloody gash. Cerevin grunted in pain and brought his boot up in between the man's legs, connecting with a thump. The man cried out and doubled over in pain.
Yargma felt the rush of excitement from killing that man. She let it flow through her body and turned to the other two guards with a smile on her face. She parried easily and stabbed another of the guards in the stomach, causing him to fall to the ground, wailing.
Sarah started to stand up, but then felt a blinding pain to the left side of her head. She fell to her hands and knees in the mud, trying to get her head to clear.
Cerevin kicked the guard who had doubled over in pain square in the chest. The man stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Cerevin reached down to retrieve his sword and he felt a boot connect with his chin, sending him sprawling backwards to the ground. He was trying to clear his head when he heard Sarah grunt again in pain as a guard kicked her in the stomach. She fell to the ground just as Yargma spun her way to see what was happening. In an instant, she reacted, decapitating one of the guards who was kicking Sarah. That was Marven's opening. With Yargma's turned to the side in front of him, he brought is sword down on both of her forearms, trying to knock that deadly sword from her hands. She howled in pain as the sword cut into her skin and she kicked at her attacker, sending him flying a few feet away before he landed hard on the ground.
Fredick pushed past his guards and pulled Sarah to her feet by her short hair. He held a dagger at her throat and yelled, "submit now or I kill this bitch!" Yargma turned to the sound of the newcomer and paused.
Two guards yanked Cerevin to his feet, his head still spinning. Yargma saw this too and seemed undecided about what to do. The cuts in her arms were bleeding and aching and she had lost her sword.
Fredick took this pause as surrender and said, "good. One of you go fetch the rope from my horse's saddle." He cursed Marven under his breath for convincing him not to bring the metal shackles they had brought from the city. Who knew how strong that beast was? She might be able to break through rope bonds.
Sarah felt the dagger at her neck just barely cutting the skin in the guard's tension. She considered trying to fight her way free of him, but she had proved to herself that she was no fighter. Instead, she stood still while her stomach and head throbbed in pain.
Marven kept his sword leveled at Yargma and moved her dropped sword away with his foot. The guard returned with the rope and they started with Yargma who was obviously the most dangerous. They tied her wrists together, not being particularly careful to avoid the fresh cuts on them from Marven's blade. Then they kicked her knees from behind, forcing Yargma to her knees. Next, it was Cerevin's turn.
The sun was setting now and there was a growing chill in the air. Occupied with subduing the prisoners, no one noticed the lone man on horseback who paused at the top of the valley to watch.
With Cerevin safely bound and kneeling, Fredick removed his blade from Sarah's throat and let the guards tie her hands. Feeling powerful and victorious, Fredick begin jeering at them.
"Ha ha! Not so dangerous now, are you? I can't wait to get you back to Calavash. You think you've had it bad so far, well it's nothing compared to what I can do to you." Before they pushed Sarah to her knees, Fredick hauled off and punched her in the stomach. She fell to the ground, her head swimming with pain. Cerevin and Yargma tried to stand up to lunge at him, yelling curses, but the guards held them down he took pleasure in punching them, too. Yargma spit on him and he punched her in the face, causing blood to trickle down from her nose. They had just pulled Sarah up to a sitting position when Cerevin noticed the horseman coming down from the valley's edge.
When he thought the rider was within earshot, Cerevin said to Fredick. "Oh yes, very tough. You beat two women and skinny little me in a nine on three fight. I would be extremely proud, if I were you," he taunted.
Fredick still had not seen the rider. He turned to Cerevin and backhanded him across the face, causing his lip to bleed. "What did you say, you filthy little thief? You're going to be held for more than just theft this time. You're a party to two murders." He put his muddy boot in Cerevin's chest and pushed, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"You bastard," growled Sarah, trying to stand up. The guard behind her held her down. Marven, who was holding Yargma to the ground, chanced to look up and saw the approaching rider. He recognized the rider and said nothing.
"As for you two, well, I think it's time you learned a woman's place," he sneered. He backhanded Sarah and started to reach toward her breast through the tear in her shirt.
Just then, the lone rider brought his horse to a stop and asked, "just what is it you think you're doing, Captain?" Gregor's hands were shaking from the cold and from the brutality he had just witnessed. He gripped the reins tighter to stop them. Fredick and the other guards turned around quickly to look at the intruder. Some of them tried to wipe the evil grins from their faces and act more professionally.
Fredick sputtered, "Judge Kressin! I didn't know you were coming. I thought we were bringing the prisoners back to Calavash for execution."
"Yes," said Gregor, "that is still the plan. But you did not answer my question: what are you doing?"
"Subduing the prisoners, your honor," volunteered one of the guards.
"Shut up!" yelled Fredick. "We don't report to him! We don't owe him any explanations!"
"Indeed," said Gregor. He tried to keep himself steady in his fear as he dismounted. "Well, before we go too much further, I have a question I wish to ask Miss Sarah Taylor." The guards gasped as the judge pulled an enormous two handed sword from his horse's saddle. He nearly toppled over with the weight of the thing, but he finally set it carefully point down a few inches in front of Sarah. "Miss Taylor, when we first met, you said you wanted proof of your tribe's defeat. You spoke of a sword, I believe you called it the Krondak Yag, the Skull Crusher. Is this that sword?"
Sarah looked stunned. She was impressed that he remembered the name of the sword in barbarian and he hadn't even pronounced it too badly. She leaned in to see the blade. It was runed along the center growing wider towards the hilt. She looked upwards to the hilt and recognized the seal. She nodded and said, "yes, that is the Krondak Yag."
Gregor said, "excellent." He looked up and around at the guards who in varying states of annoyance and interest in the proceedings. "Very well, then, I'll just put this back and we can be on our way back to Ashton for the night."
"Thank you," said Sarah. The judge turned around a little surprised. "Thank you for finding proof for me." She didn't mention that they already knew from finding Yargma's sister. Sarah had learned that humans did not always keep their word and it was nice to meet one who did.
"You're quite welcome, my dear," he said. He struggled to get the sword back into the special holder alongside the saddle. Finally Marven went to help him with it.
"Now," said the judge, "I think we should head back to Ashton. I have a lot of letters to write." Fredick looked suspicious. Judges did not usually write letters for personal pleasure, couriers being somewhat expensive. Letters usually meant that someone was going to be tried.
"Letters about what?" demanded Fredick, balling his fist.
The judge turned to look at him. "About what I saw going on here, of course. The law forbids unnecessary force in subduing prisoners, captain, you know that." Marven saw that this was not going to go over well with Fredick, so he stepped between them. The guards all around them were watching, waiting to see what the captain would do.
"Unnecessary force?" he bellowed. "Two of my men are dead and another is gravely wounded! They left us with no choice."
Cerevin took this moment to reach down into his boot and retrieve a tiny knife that was hidden there. He began cutting through the rope holding his wrists together, watching to make sure the guard behind him didn't catch on.
"I can't speak to that," said the judge, getting nervous. "But when I first saw you, the prisoners had already been subdued and were at your mercy. It is retaliatory force in exactly that situation that the king wanted to prevent." By this time, Fredick was standing chest to chest with Marven, staring down at the judge in rage.
"Why you arrogant ass!" yelled Fredick and lunged towards the judge. Marven repelled his attack by pushing Fredick away from him. Gregor took a startled step backwards. The guards moved to choose their sides, thinking that the prisoners were safe where they were.
As soon as the guards stepped away, Cerevin cut at his ropes with vigor and freed his arms. He leaned over to cut Sarah's, trying not to move too much yet until they could be sure the guards' attention was elsewhere.
"It was excessive, Fredick, just admit it," said Marven. "You knew it was and you persisted." Fredick took a swing at Marven and the guards all began yelling at each other and brawling.
Cerevin jumped to his feet and finished Sarah's ropes and sliced through Yargma's in short order. Without needing to be told, they ran, grabbing their weapons from where the guards had piled them. They ran at top speed through the field and up one of the valley sides, heading north.
Through the mass of people yelling and grappling, Gregor noticed that the prisoners had escaped. Compelled to follow the law, but not wanting to see them mistreated again, he said in a normal voice, "the prisoners are escaping." But the cries of insults and general din of brawling prevented anyone from hearing him. He shrugged; his hands were now clean.
They ran for over three miles, putting as much distance between them and the guards as possible. They slowed to a jog until they reached the cover of trees again. Once there, they slowed to a walk and kept going all night. The exercise and adrenaline helped keep the cold at bay until dawn broke and they found a small culvert to hide in.
They slept until about noon and bandaged their wounds, cleaning them with handfuls of snow. They walked in silence until sundown. The trees were becoming mixed with pine trees and Sarah was glad. The closer they got to the wilderness and the wastelands, the more comfortable she felt.
On the second day after their escape, they all sensed that they were home free, so they began to talk about their battle and describe their movements with words and pantomime. Sarah laughed to herself. Now she knew why barbarians always told war stories: it was fun.
It took them eight days to get back to the village. Once they had entered the wastelands, it was Cerevin's turn to feel like an outsider. He wasn't sure how the village would take to a strange human among them. Sarah was one thing, but they didn't know him or have much reason to trust him.
When they reached the edge of the village, Sarah expected some of the other slaves to notice, but the village was silent. Something wasn't right about this. There was no cooking fire burning and the door to the slave tent stood open. Yargma too began to worry. She searched the tents while Sarah ran to the slave tent. It was empty and the fire pit was cold.
"Kaelin?" she called, leaving the tent and looking around in a near panic. She had not expected this. "Gabriel? Penny? Anyone?"
Yargma called from inside one of the tents, "in here, Garah!"
Sarah went towards her voice. She was inside Yooma's tent and there was a small thread of smoke coming up from the center. Sarah entered the tent and Cerevin stayed outside. She had been in the tent before to help deliver babies, but now the tent was empty except for one body that Yargma was crouched near.
Yooma's strong hand reached up and took Sarah's. "You made it," she said in a breathy voice.
"Yes, Yooma," she said.
"Tell me, what did you find out?"
Yargma said, "the tribe is dead, Yooma. We were at the site of their defeat and..." She paused, not yet ready to talk about her sister. "We got the proof we needed; it was them."
Yooma nodded gravely. "As we suspected," she said sadly. "Still, it is difficult to find out for certain."
"Yooma," said Sarah, "what has happened here? Where is the rest of the village?"
Yooma coughed an unhealthy sounding cough from deep within her. "Gone," she said finally. "When you had been gone for three weeks, people began to get nervous. Some said they would make their own way and set off towards the mountains in the east. Others thought they would join with another tribe and take their chances there."
"What about the slaves," asked Sarah, "what happened to them?"
"Some of the tribe heading west to look for other tribes to join took them. Their plan was to take them south as far as the first farm and let them go. I only hope they made it," said Yooma. "This has been a hard winter."
Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. Her whole world had disintegrated. She knew it was likely, but actually seeing the once vibrant village reduced to a ghost town was heartbreaking. "Oh, Yooma," she said, "I am so sorry." She buried her face in her arms, leaning on Yooma for support.
Yooma patted the back of Sarah's head and squeezed Yargma's hand. "It is not so bad, young ones. You are alive and strong. You will find a new path to walk, of that I am certain."
Sarah and Yargma watched Yooma for a short while, not sure what else to do with themselves. Yooma was racked by another deep cough. "Go, now. Leave an old woman in peace."
Outside, Yargma and Sarah agreed to stay in the village a while until they could decide what to do. Cerevin agreed and began collecting wood and dung to stoke the fire with.
Sarah's brain refused to grasp the idea of a completely open-ended future. She sat beside Yooma's tent and just stared, waiting for the answer to come to her. Yargma began walking laps around the village. The movement help her think. She too had never considered life without the tribe and the sorrow over her sister was still somewhat unreal. She cursed herself for being a thinker. She tried to imagine what Morga would do, but it didn't help. Morga's first priority had always been the tribe.
Cerevin sat down beside Sarah. After a while he said, "you can come with me to the stronghold. That was what I had hoped for from the beginning, so I feel guilty suggesting it now."
Sarah smiled. "I will go with you, but Yargma would make a better companion in a place like that. I think I have proven that I cannot fight."
Cerevin scoffed. "I have seen grown men fall more quickly than you or break down in tears the first time someone cut their flesh with a sword. You are tough, Sarah, and that is what matters in a fight. The rest is detail."
Yargma had finally come to a decision, so she approached Sarah and Cerevin. She sat down with them. "Garah, you and Yooma are the only family I have left. So, I will stay with you, if you will have me." Sarah's eyes filled with tears and she nodded.
"Of course, Yargma, of course." She wanted to hug Yargma, but she stood up.
"Good," she said, "that is decided." She walked into the tent to sit by Yooma's side.
That night, Yooma died. They built a funeral pyre and burned her body, saying prayers for all the tribe that had been killed in that far away field. They chanted and prayed for a full day, crying until they were dry. It was good, in a strange way, to put such a final end to the village. Not knowing would have been worse, Sarah thought.
They slept their last night in the village. In the morning, they gathered what supplies were left that they thought they might need and took one final look before turning to leave the village forever. Cerevin half-smiled and waited for Yargma to lead the way out.
"So," said Sarah when they were about an hour outside the village, "tell me about this stronghold again."