by Alice Ivinya
“Keep still,” he barked. He shoved my head down into the horse’s neck, crushing my face into the hot, bristly fur.
I pulled my head to the side to drag in a breath and almost lost half my hair. “I’m not a Grower,” I pleaded, sobbing now.
“Silence,” spat the man. Then a sword tip stuck out from his shoulder and disappeared, like a snake strike. He bent over and let go of my hair to clench his wound. He roared and spun the horse around to his assailant. I threw myself backwards without looking and my stomach leapt as I entered free fall. I thumped down into crunching bracken. My back hit a rock and all the breath rushed out of me. I stared at the bare tree tops swaying above for a moment, white blurring with the pale sky. I struggled to breathe through the panic and pain.
“Calm,” I sobbed. “Stay calm. It’s.. it’s all right... must keep moving.”
I rubbed my nose and eyes with the back of my hand and painfully rolled over to crawl through the bracken. Untangling and pushing through the matted dead stems was hard work, and I realised I was shaking with fear and impatience. The bracken became wet with blood and I could hear a wheezing, gurgling breath. I peered through a parting and saw the chancellor lying on his back. His throat was slit and blood bubbled up like something from a nightmare. I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the strange moan I was making but couldn’t stop.
I closed my eyes and kept crawling, pretending I’d seen nothing. I pressed my lips together but whimpers still broke free. Suddenly, there was nothing beneath my elbows but a thin floor of bracken that gave way and sent me tumbling head first. Rock hit me from all sides as I slid down until I became stuck in a crevasse. Multiple grazes stung and my hips screamed where they were wedged between the two walls of rock.
I looked up. The opening of the crevasse was almost completely covered with bracken. It made a thick lattice that blocked out the sun. I hadn’t fallen far, barely half my height. I tried to twist around to relieve the pressure on my hips but every position was painful and for one horrible moment I thought the gap was collapsing and the two walls were crushing me. I sucked in deep, cool breaths and tried to calm down.
I saw a ledge in the rock below me and pivoted my body until my foot could reach it, wincing as the rock grazed my skin. Slowly I put weight on my leg and relieved the pressure on my hips. My other leg was stuck at an odd angle, and I wasn't sure how to get out. Above, sounds of fighting were still echoing around the wood but they seemed distant. I squinted up at the crack of blotchy light and expected to see a wolf or bear’s head at any moment, drooling with excitement to find trapped prey. I was within easy reach of their jaws.
Something broke through the bracken and hurtled towards me. I bit back a scream. It stopped just above me, then started to withdraw. A leg. It was a leg. And the owner wore green. Farthi clothes. I grabbed the leg before the owner could pull it free and yanked it down. They could hide here with me and we could help each other. There were sounds of crazed scrabbling above my head and bracken and stones rained down on me. The other leg came down too then and kicked me in the shoulder. I gasped and let go. Both legs disappeared back up. A moment later a head appeared with a hand clutching a sword. He was silhouetted against the sky and I couldn’t make out his features or expression.
“By the earth, you’re a Farthi,” he said. Even scared, his accent was refined and distinguishable. He had to be the younger noble, the chancellor’s son. I’d have preferred a soldier, but at least he had a sword. “This is a great hiding place.”
I watched him glance around with nervous eyes, then he was scrambling down towards me. He wouldn’t fit as far down as me but was still hidden below the ground. He covered the opening with bracken above his head. His whole body was filthy with mud, and some strange brown smears, but I could see no wounds. His face was pale and he seemed shaken but exhilarated. He held out his hand to me clutching a pouch. “Here, have some dogsbane. Rub it on your face and hands. It will hide your scent.”
I took the herb and did as he said, crushing the leaves and smearing them on my skin. It stung where I’d grazed my hands and chin and its smell was overpowering. Not unpleasant, just strong.
“Sorry I kicked you,” he whispered.
I just looked up at him, unable to speak through shaking breaths.
Horse beats vibrated the rock and we both looked up as a horse jumped overhead, then the beats faded again. My legs had gone numb. I rested my head against the rock and closed my eyes, willing it to all be over. My hands trembled and tears were still leaking from my eyes. By the earth, I wished I’d stayed at home with Ma.
I jumped as a hand found mine and snapped open my eyes. The man had reached down and was looking at me with concern. Somehow he eased his water bottle free and offered it. I took it and gulped the warm water down gratefully. His hand calmed me and together we waited for the shouts and ringing metal to die down.
Chapter Three
An Unusual Companion
IT WAS DUSK WHEN I let the nobleman pull me out of the crack in the ground. My legs had been in an awkward position for so long, they could no longer hold my weight, and I collapsed into the bracken. One by one, I stretched out my back and limbs, my muscles screaming. My companion seemed in slightly better shape and stretched standing up, taking in our surroundings.
No I had more room to move, I sat up and tore two strips off the bottom hem of my filthy pinafore and used them to bind my hands around the knuckles. The grazes were so deep there, the bleeding restarted every time I clenched my fist.
The nobleman held out his hand to help me stand and then steadied me. I studied him as he looked up at the sky to judge the time, his eyes squinting after being in the half-dark for so long. He had floppy, light brown hair, exhausted eyes and an innocent looking face. He was lean and his sagging shoulders were still broadening. I guessed he was around seventeen or eighteen. A year or two younger than me.
“What’s your name, lady?” he asked, looking back at me and weakening his grip on my arm to see if I would topple over. His eyes lingered on my hair, as most people’s did and I wished I still had my head covering.
“Avan,” I managed. “You?”
The young man looked taken aback for a moment. “Er... I’m Cedric.”
I attempted humour, “Just forget your own name, did you?” My lips could only hold a smile for a moment.
“No, I’m just not used to introducing myself. You see, most people know who I am in Herne.”
“Oh,” was all I managed.
He looked around at the darkening trees. It was rapidly getting cooler. “We should wait here for the soldiers to find us,”
“Why would they come back to find us? Those who survived will be long gone.”
Cedric shook his head. “No, it’s their job to protect me. They’ll come back to find me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, you can just sit here if you wish. I’m not waiting to be eaten.”
“I saw the young soldier, Regald I think, ride off fine with some villagers. He still has a horse, so at least he’ll come back for me.”
I gave him a long sideways look. “I doubt it. He’ll be protecting Klia’s family safely to Herne. I think he’s smitten.”
The noble rubbed his hands together, unsure. “Oh.”
I pictured them galloping away, abandoning me. Then I remembered the arrow. “He was shot too,” I added. Events came flooding back and I saw the chancellor’s dying body, coughing bright red blood. He couldn’t know. “I’m sorry about your father,” I murmured.
“My father?”
My insides clenched at having to give the news. “Yes, he’s dead. Over there.” I pointed and I realised my hands were still shaking and my arm still couldn’t support its own weight.
“Lord Felix? He’s not my father.” He shook his head. “He’s the chancellor. Are you sure he was dead? Not just... injured? Maybe we can help him.” He started to stride off through the bracken on annoyingly long legs. I tripped and stumbled after him, ever
y step hurting my hips and back.
“No! Cedric, don’t look. It’s not nice. Cedric, stop!” The bubbling, wet choking sound of the man’s breaths returned to my mind. I shook my head to clear it.
I was too late. The nobleman had stopped in the shadows of the bracken, his head bowed. I guessed he had found the body. He bent down and murmured something. I kept a respectful distance. I had no desire to see that body again. When Cedric stood he held the chancellor’s dagger and a blood speckled golden chain.
“The next chancellor needs to wear this,” he said weakly, holding up the chain. “They always wear it.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
He passed me the dagger. “You should have this. To protect yourself. Just in case.”
I nodded and took the cold metal. I tied the sheath to my belt and hoped it would be of more use than that sword had been.
We stumbled through the darkening undergrowth back to the road in silence, both of us jumping at every sound. I wrapped my arms around myself as protection against the cold breeze. I’d lost my headscarf and my shawl in the fighting. My dress was torn and bloody, the wool already starting to unwind around the holes, and my pinafore was little more than rags.
Most of the bodies on the road were horses. Only two Farthi guards lay dead, though I’d seen many injured. Cedric muttered something over each one and dragged them to the side of the road. He knelt in the undergrowth and Grew the bracken until the leaves unfurled around each body, forming a living coffin. I looked around for the body of the Tharan who had been stabbed through the chest, but he wasn’t here. Surely he hadn’t survived that? Had the Tharans taken his body with them? Thankfully there were no dead villagers.
Cedric busied himself untying saddlebags from dead horses and looking through them. Periodically, he unslung his bag from his back and added something to it. I shook myself and copied. I used the dregs of discarded water bottles to fill up the largest one I could find and gathered all the food. Cedric handed me a thick woollen cloak and I took it gratefully. It was embroidered with oak leaves and squirrels around the hem and much finer than anything I had worn before. Normally only men or nobles wore cloaks, and it was laughably long, the hem dragging and catching on the wreckage strewn across the road.
“We should go back to Vale, it’s closer,” I said at last.
Cedric shook his head vigorously. “What, travel southwest, parallel to the border with Tahara? With raiding Tharans like this party? No, we need to continue to Herne. The nearest water is only half a day ahead, anyway. That’s much closer than the water at the Waytree we left behind. We’ll be more likely to meet people who can help to the north, including surviving soldiers.”
“They’re not coming back or waiting for us, Cedric. They’d be here by now.”
He shrugged, shifting his bulging bag on his shoulder. “We’ll just have to find them, then.” How did he manage to stay so optimistic? His assumption that everyone would rush to help him, prickled me.
We left the bodies scattered on the bloody shale and trampled bracken, and wandered up to the crest in the road, searching the dark for movement. The branches made shifting moon-shadows across the tree trunks. I was eager to leave this place as far behind as possible. “We should find somewhere to sleep. But away from here.”
He nodded and made a piercingly shrill whistle.
I hit his arm. “Stop that, the Tharans might hear,” I snapped.
“My horse will come back at my whistle, you see. He’s trained to always return. He’s of Tharan warhorse stock,” he declared proudly and looked around as if his horse would appear at any moment through the shadows.
I rolled my eyes. “Hence why he ran off in the first place,” I muttered.
“You do that a lot, you know,” he said in his ever polite voice. His face was still disarming open, a small smile on his lips, but his skin was pale and his eyes strained.
I frowned. “What?”
“Roll your eyes.”
I sighed and resisted rolling them again. “My life is clearly very exasperating,” I snapped. I was in no mood for criticism. I just wanted to hurry away from this horrid place in silence.
He grinned at me, his teeth flashing in the dark. “People don’t normally roll their eyes at me.”
I gave him a glare that said I couldn’t care less and started stalking down the road, not turning to see if he followed. I really should have fainted yesterday and got a soldier to ride me around on his horse. The nobleman caught me up without having to hurry. His legs really were long.
“I’ve never had to walk far before,” he said conversationally.
“Oh, I suppose you were too important for that as well?” How could he bear small talk after what we had just seen?
“Well, eh... yes, actually.” He scratched his head. “My father is the king, you see. King Joseph. I’m his son.”
I squinted at him, sceptically. “You’re a prince? Prince of Marchwood?” My tone sounded more accusing than I had intended.
He nodded and looked apologetic. “They said not to announce it, that it would be simpler that way. You see the chancellor was leaving to collect Growers and I thought I’d go with him. I wanted to see how the famine was affecting people, understand the situation, and use my Art to show gratitude to the villages for their Growers.”
I stopped and looked at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It seemed a bit late to bow and nobody else had on this whole trip. “Oh,” I managed. I clutched my skirts awkwardly.
He gave an encouraging smile and hooked a thumb through the straps of his pack. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with me. I’ll get us both to Herne in no time.”
I took a ragged breath and looked away. “I don’t feel safe. All the soldiers together couldn’t even protect two dozen villagers.” I was close to tears now and bit the inside of my cheek. I staggered away from him to give myself space. I just couldn’t process a prince on top of everything else, and I was cross with him for adding to my confusion and discomfort.
“Don’t be too hard on them, there were a lot of Tharans. And it was Jasper, the Black Lord.” I stopped and looked back at him. He scratched the back of his head.
I frowned. “Who was?”
“The man with the bear. Lord Jasper. His family holds control of most of north east Tahara and he’s well known. He’s meant to be undefeated. He was the last person we expected to come across down here. All the reports have been of disorderly kidnappings by Tharans in pairs or threes. Nothing to suggest a well led raiding party. We thought they would leave a big group alone.” He gave me a weak smile as if this was positive news.
I wrapped my cloak closer around my arms. That grinning black figure cleaning his nails as people fought and died and were enslaved. I turned and hurried on as if to escape the memories. I didn’t want to talk about him anymore.
Something burst out from the bracken by my feet and launched itself at my face. I screamed, my recent terror returning in force like a blow to the stomach, before realising it was one of the escaped chickens. Automatically, I grabbed it with both hands and snapped its neck. The wings continued to flap for a few moments before it hung limp. I panted as I held out its body.
I heard a small groan and looked back at Cedric, who was a little pale and taking a step back. “Was that quite necessary?”
His squeamishness only annoyed me further. I waved the dead bird right into his face, making him raise his hands in defence and back away from me. “Dinner.”
The prince regained his calm and brushed down his coat. “Of course. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. And I didn’t expect it to sound so loud. The snap I mean. And the... the flapping. The dead flapping.”
I raised an eyebrow as I made a fold with my cloak and belt to hang the chicken in, rather than risking it soiling items in my pack. “Weren’t you just in a fight? Stabbing actual people?”
“All right, all right, you are quite right,” he huffed. His fingers brushed his sword h
ilt. It was long and beautifully engraved, but now I wondered if it was merely a status symbol.
I strode off. “Can you fight?” I asked, trying to imagine this man doing anything violent.
“Eh, yes. Yes, I can. I quite enjoy a good spar.”
I nodded, tightening my lips and frowning as I tried to decipher the truth from his answer.
We walked along the road in silence, but it seemed to make Cedric uncomfortable and anxious. He glanced at me multiple times before saying, “What happened to your hair?”
I felt my head, annoyance spiking inside me again. “What’s wrong with my hair? You might not have noticed, but it’s a bit hard to keep it brushed and washed in a drought in the wilderness. Not to mention a Tharan ripped half of it out. I’m sorry if it offends you.”
Cedric shook his head. “No, no. Obviously your hair would be a mess, you’re a villager after all. You don’t have maids or anything. No, I was asking why it’s that colour.”
I glared at him. Stress and fear had stripped all patience from me. “I can brush and braid my own hair, you know.”
Cedric held up his hands in a truce. “I apologise, lady. I’m sure it normally looks quite lovely. Did you dye it with one of your clothes dyes?”
“Of all the idiotic, annoying people I could have been stuck with...” I muttered as I stalked away from him.
Cedric called after me, merely elongating his gait to keep up with no added effort. “It’s not that I don’t like the colour. It’s very becoming. It’s just unusual, you see? Bright.”
“You don’t leave Herne much do you?” I guessed.
“Eh, no actually. This is only the second time. And the first was to Woodport, which is quite big too. Not like the tiny villages and towns around here. Have you left Vale before?”
“Just to the trading villages,” I murmured, annoyed that I could possibly be more ignorant than this dunce.
Cedric grinned. “You will love Herne. You think your town oak was big? You should see our trees. Some could fit your whole village inside.”
