Rake's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  Rake wasn’t as ready as he thought. The man was already on his feet and instead of standing and trying to locate the archer, he charged at Cinder, who had leaped from the high bank, tripped, and fell. Rake released the arrow at the running man, knowing his churning legs were nearly impossible to hit. At the last instant, he instinctively raised his aim slightly.

  It hit the man high in his back, beside his left arm. The man spun, screamed, and fell, his flailing arms almost touching Cinder. She rolled away and got her knees under her. The wounded man who had the arrow in his leg hobbled forward to Cinder, a knife in his hand.

  Rake charged down the path, screaming as he moved. The man turned at his yells and pulled to a stop.

  The third rushed out to join the defense. Rake had forgotten to leave his bow behind as planned. He pulled another arrow as he ran and fumbled to set it to the string. As he drew it back, he noticed the arrow was one intended for bleeding large animals after the stone tip penetrated. The man turned and took a single step in Rake’s direction, a long knife held high. He was ten steps away when the arrow flew.

  The arrow struck high, just below the neck. The man stumbled to a halt, pulled at the arrow, with both hands, knife forgotten. The blood from the wound didn’t flow, it gushed. His eyes went wide, and he slipped to his knees, then fell face-first into the mud.

  The woman had disappeared.

  Cinder snapped at Rake as she pointed to the last of them standing, the one with the arrow just above his knee, “Put him on the ground with the others.” Then she called, “Maggie, where are you?”

  When no answer came, Cinder called again, “We’re here to rescue you.”

  Rake saw a faint movement at the far side of the larger tent. She was hiding behind it. He said softly to Cinder, “The tent.”

  The man with the arrow above his knee was still on wobbly legs. Rake reached out and roughly shoved him. The man fell beside the others. Rake held his knife ready but saw the first one he’d hit with the arrow in the back was not breathing. A little blood had seeped from his mouth but no more joined it. His eyes were open and blank. The other was laying with his face in the mud, under the water that oozed to fill the hollow. He didn’t move.

  The last one held his leg and looked dumbly at the arrow in his leg that protruded at an angle as if wondering why such a thing could happen to him. Tears streamed down his face. He hissed, “Why’d you do that to me, mister? I won’t even be able to walk.”

  Cinder was at the entrance of the tent talking too softly to hear as she advanced, but she stopped and didn’t go closer. “You’re safe now, Maggie. We killed the man who hit you.”

  A meek voice came from behind the tent, “No, there are two more of them.”

  Cinder answered, telling of the two down by the road, but she talked too soft for him to hear the exact words. The woman finally peeked out, looking from Cinder to him, and at the three on the ground. She cautiously moved closer.

  “Are they dead?”

  “Yes,” Rake said. “Both of them.”

  “Good.” She pointed to the injured one. “Kill him too.” Her voice revealed hate and fear at the same time.

  “I can’t do that,” Rake said.

  “Give me your knife. I’ll do it.”

  Cinder approached and placed an arm over the woman’s shoulder and escorted her several steps from them. They turned away as Cinder soothed the woman. It looked like both were crying. Rake decided to keep a distance from them until invited to move closer.

  The woman called Maggie was older, perhaps thirty, and slight. Her hair was long, brown with a reddish tint, and there was a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She was dirty, her forearms were bruised, and a cut festered on her forehead.

  Rake searched the campsite, finding nothing of value or interest while Cinder comforted Maggie. He moved to the side of the dead men and briefly searched them, finding nothing. The one with the arrow in his knee sat and cried softly, his eyes damning Rake.

  “Stand up,” Rake ordered.

  “I can’t. My leg.”

  Rake said, “You have a good leg. Hop if you need or we’ll leave you here to die. Your friends are out near the road, so my guess is that nobody is coming to rescue you. In a day or two, the scavengers will have your bones spread all over this campsite.”

  “Pull the arrow out. Help me.”

  “The tip is barbed. Pulling it out will cause you to bleed to death.” He glanced at Maggie and found she was watching and listening. He asked her, “What should we do with him?”

  “Leave him.” Her voice was colder than water from freshly melted snow. “Or kill him now and consider yourself merciful.”

  Cinder said, “She’s right. We can’t help him. Taking him with us will cause him more pain and he won’t make it to the road. We need to go.”

  “I’ll die,” he wailed. “You can’t just leave me here.”

  Rake turned to the women as he considered the attitude of the man. He demanded help, compassion, and did so as if it was their duty to provide it, no matter the pain he’d caused others. It was a strange mindset Rake didn’t enjoy. “Let’s go. I don’t want to hear him beg and cry, so be quick about it.”

  Both women walked to the dirt ramp and up to the top, then disappeared ahead as the path took a slight bend. Neither had looked back. Rake did look back but kept moving. He couldn’t close his ears to the begging for mercy but would have if he could.

  He circled the camp and found Cinder’s bow and quiver where she’d dropped them and continued down the path despite the lingering cries for help. He had provided as little help as the man would have given them if the situation was reversed, but the moans and cries were disturbing. When he’d hunted, he always rushed to make the final kill to put the animal out of its misery. Now, he’d done the opposite and it didn’t sit well. Neither of them could kill the man—and they couldn’t allow Maggie to do it.

  He caught up with the women and walked quietly a step behind to allow them privacy. Mercifully, he couldn’t hear the calls for help from behind anymore. When they came to the clearing where they had slept, both prisoners were where they left them. Nobody made an effort to untie them as they walked past.

  Cinder said to Maggie, “We need to talk.”

  “All right. Ask me anything.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “My husband and I had a farm near Crestline. I’m sure others have moved on to it by now. It was a good cabin and land. No children.”

  “Relatives?” Cinder asked.

  “Nobody.”

  Rake didn’t want to take a normal along with them on their venture. There was too much chance Maggie might discover who they were, or she might hold them back because she was weak. However, things are not always easy or work out the way you want.

  Cinder persisted, “Close friends?”

  Maggie shook her head. “They burned our crops. Killed our stock and sold the little of value we had.” Her eyes went to the men lying silently trying to look innocent.

  Rake noticed neither of the pair seemed concerned about the three friends back at their camp. Neither had asked about them. Their gags had been removed but no questions came forth. They were only concerned about themselves. Besides, neither seemed to want to antagonize Cinder. Rake glanced at Maggie and back at Cinder. An idea came. “Frog?”

  “They need help on the farm. His mother will need it as she grows more ill. It isn’t too far to go back. We’ll make time.”

  Rake agreed. It solved two problems. He told the men, “We’ll send someone back for you later today. Don’t move.”

  “What about food?” The taller one asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “Shut up,” the other said as Cinder took two steps closer and paused at their sides as if considering when to kill them both.

  Rake found the little hairs on the back of his neck dancing on end in anticipation. He waited silently for her to act but finally, she stood up taller and turned her back to them. They retrace
d their way up the road while explaining to Maggie the family they had met the day before, and how the mother was ill and needed nursing, and the boys needed help with the farm. She was reluctant at first, then grateful. When they crossed the stream near the farm, she paused and cleaned herself as well as possible to make herself presentable.

  Rake worried that the family might object to Maggie. naturals were rarely allowed to live in close proximity to Dragon Clan members, but that was a problem to be discussed later. He suspected Cobalt might have some reluctance but would eventually see the wisdom of the addition to their group. It had happened many times in the past, including Robin, the washerwoman who escorted Camilla to Bear Mountain, a normal who had been accepted by the clan. She had even married one.

  There were far more cuts and bruises on Maggie than Rake had seen in the shadows under the shade of the forest. She was not only thin; she was weak. Her skin was pale, and scabs festered. Part of her hair had either fallen out or been pulled out. Rake suspected she had been pretty a year ago. His anger grew. His tongue failed him.

  Cinder caught his expression and said, “Rake, calm down. I’ve seen what you can do over a dead dog, but you really have to control yourself.”

  Frog rushed across the bare yard scattering chickens to greet them, a happy smile covering his confusion at their return. Cobalt came from inside the cabin, but the mother didn’t appear. They introduced Maggie, told the boys of the circumstances, and that Maggie needed a home and could help nurse their mother—after she was nursed back to health.

  Cobalt grew emotional. “Our mother is so sick today she can’t even come outside.”

  Cinder took Maggie by her arm and escorted her inside.

  Frog accused Rake. “You left me. You didn’t even stay the night.”

  “We were afraid you would follow us.”

  Cobalt said, “He packed his things last night. He wanted to follow you.”

  Rake pursed his lips and searched for the right words. “It isn’t that we don’t want you or that you can’t help us. The problem is what we discussed last night. If you are with us, and your mother is sick, does that mean Cobalt will have to leave her and go locate the other Dragon Clan? Or leave her inside alone while he does all the chores? What if she needs help and he’s outside?”

  Frog seemed to reluctantly understand. He shifted subjects and said, “Maggie is not one of us?”

  “If she is, we don’t know it. I suspect she is not or the men who had her would have seen her birthmark on her back and killed her or turned her in for a reward.”

  “Then, we cannot let her stay here.” Frog’s eyes darted from side to side as if wondering what to do next.

  Rake said, “There are stories of a washerwoman who lived with the Dragon Clan for years. This woman has no family, no place to go, and is not a threat. She will be thankful, nurse your mother, and she will be loyal to you. It’s the men, the others, you have to deal with.”

  “You didn’t kill all of them?”

  “No. There are two more tied up beside the road and one with an arrow in his leg at their camp.” He gave him directions and said, “They have been robbing and killing your neighbors and travelers for some time. I suggest you notify a few of the locals or go to the next village and tell them about it. When we pass by the trail again, we’ll tie a piece of cloth to a tree, so you’ll find them in the weeds just off the road.”

  Cobalt said, “I’ve heard rumors of thefts. At least two men from around here were killed.”

  “Do what you must,” Rake told him. “Or, let others do it for you.”

  Frog said quietly in his deep voice, “One of the families lives down the road had their son killed and robbed two months ago. Only the second killing since I’ve been alive, so it’s the same ones that did it. Their farm will be the first I go to. His family will want revenge.”

  Rake also told them of the man in the camp and how to locate it. He didn’t get the idea Cobalt or Frog intended to hurry there to rescue the one with the arrow in his leg, but he would ride his horse to the other farm as soon as things were sorted out. At least, one family would benefit.

  Cinder came outside and gave both of the young men a quick hug before telling Rake, “We have some distance to make up.” He ignored the tears that streaked the dirt on her face.

  Cobalt and Frog watched them leave, and just before crossing the stream Maggie ran up to them and gave each a long hug before rushing back to the cabin to care for the mother.

  Once on the road again, he asked, “How did their mother take it? I mean, was she agreeable?”

  “Grateful. Very. It was so sad. She knows Maggie will be a help to her, but also will care for her sons when she is gone.”

  Those few words were all she said as they retraced their way down the road until they reached the path where the two were tied. She asked, “What now?”

  “Give me a moment.” Rake jogged up the path, saw the two forms were as they’d left them, and went back to the road again without speaking to them. He tied a strip of cloth to a branch where it couldn’t be missed and said, “Time to be on our way. Cobalt is going to the farm of a family that lost a son to these men a month or two ago.”

  “They’ll kill them. I would.”

  “Probably. But it is not our problem and may bring a little justice to the minds of others.” Rake started walking and Cinder caught up with him.

  She said, “You’re right, you know. It is not our problem. Besides, as you said, it might make the family feel better. I doubt it. But on the brighter side, those evil men will not be killing others.”

  “I doubt it will make them feel better too. But, you’re right, the world will be a better place without those five cluttering it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The road continued following the twists and turns of the river again, through dense forests and over a few low hills. The ground grew rockier, the evergreen trees changed to hardwoods and grew somewhat larger. Now and then they passed an isolated farm. One rowboat floated down the river, a man holding a fishing pole as the only occupant. He saw them but didn’t return their wave.

  Near midday, they approached a small village. Cinder said, “Try not to kill any dogs this time and don’t burn any buildings down.”

  “A joke? Because I’m not laughing.”

  “Just trying to ease my hesitation in entering another village with gallows humor. By the way, I thought we were supposed to shoot both of the men at that camp in their legs.”

  “I tried. I’m a bad shot.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Not that bad. You killed him. And the other.”

  “The first one was running. At you. I needed to hit him, and his legs wouldn’t stay still. The other was sort of the same. When I become a better archer, I’ll aim for legs.”

  “I shouldn’t have laughed at you. It’s just that your tone just struck me funny. When he turned and came at me, I thought for sure we were going to have a knife-fight, and he was a lot bigger than me and I was on the ground. I almost ran and would have if I could, I was so scared. Then he fell. For me, that was the best shot in history.”

  “I reacted, not planned.”

  “For anyone that ever asks me, it was the greatest bow shot in history and you are my hero. I can say that with all the honesty in the world because that’s what I saw and believe. I will tell my story at a gathering of the Clan when we have one. Don’t try to stop me.”

  Rake started to explain again that he had aimed for the largest part of the attacker in order to be sure he hit some part of him, then said nothing. Cinder was gently goading him and complimenting him at the same time, mixed with a little teasing.

  The village ahead was larger than the last one. There were thirty or more homes, a few of them were two-stories tall along the single dirt street, which was also the main road they followed. Most had one or two outbuildings located behind.

  A few dogs braved the hot day and barked a few times as they passed but none rushed out to investi
gate or attack. They were used to people traveling on the road. A man split firewood and paused to wipe his brow and nod in a friendly way in their direction. A young woman washed clothing at a wooden tub and flashed a quick smile before going back to work. Rake decided the smile had been directed at him.

  “Don’t even think about going back there to talk with her,” Cinder warned without turning to look.

  “She might have valuable information to share,” he teased as he looked over his shoulder and found the woman still watching him. “In fact, I’m sure she does.”

  Cinder said, “Up ahead. See that sign?”

  A flat piece of wood had a red duck painted on it, a new painting from the looks, and an accurate depiction. Thought of food flooded his mind, pushing the girl washing clothes aside, at least for a moment. “An inn.”

  “Food and overheard conversations to be had inside,” Cinder said. “Maybe just what we need.”

  “Inns cost money,” Rake replied.

  Cinder said, “Do you have any?”

  “No.”

  “Remind me to give you a handful when we leave. I carry enough money to buy a small village.”

  “Where did you get it?” Rake asked, surprised. He’d never seen much money in his family, although he knew what it was from visiting the trading post. His family traded furs and extra vegetables for store credit. A few times, he’d worked for others splitting their firewood to increase his families’ credit for things at the post. Money had never changed hands.

  Cinder said, “My father said his father fought King Emory’s men in the desert outside a desert oasis where our family lived. We called it the Drylands. After killing those men who came to hunt us, they collected the coins. They searched for our village for a hundred years, so a lot of them died. Also, when the king’s men came and perished of thirst in the desert near our old home, we always checked the bodies for maps, coins, arrows, knives, and the like. Over time, the collection of coins grew.”