Mavin crossed his arms, that irritating snarl of a smirk crossing his lips. “Well? What are you doing?”
“Good question.”
Astrea blinked, trying to sort through the dual voices as well as her own jumbled thoughts. “I don’t answer to you.”
“No, but I’m sure the council would be interested to learn you were lurking about the cage so late at night. And were you talking to it?”
The unicorn shook its head, pawing at the ground. Was it laughing? “Try explaining that one.”
Astrea’s hands balled into fists, heat creeping up her neck. “I was talking to myself. And what do you think I’d do, Mavin? Free the creature after I tracked it and brought it in for the tribe?” Yes. A thousand times yes. If she hadn’t been convinced before, the thought of Mavin sinking his jagged teeth into the flesh of such a pure creature would have sent her over the edge.
Mavin’s face darkened, and he took a step closer. “I heard you say you had to go.” His eyes flicked to the satchel partially hidden behind her. “Where are you going, Astrea? Do I need to call the council on you?”
Astrea licked her lips, but a suitable lie would not come to them. Just as well. Too many lies surrounded her already. Any more and her soul may as well be damned to the Undermist.
Mavin’s arms dropped, the smile sliding from his face. “Astrea?”
“You gonna shake this guy or what?”
Astrea shifted so her hip rested on her other foot, and she blew at the rogue curl that refused to leave her forehead alone. “Do what you will. Just leave.”
Mavin took a step forward. “I can’t leave you with the unicorn. You know that.”
“Fine.” Astrea turned and began undoing the rope that held the door shut, her face burning.
“Um, pretty sure he’s still behind you.”
Astrea glared at the unicorn.
Mavin stepped backward, as if he could separate himself from her actions by his distance. “Astrea? You need to stop. I will get the council if you don’t.”
She yanked one end of the knot free. “I’m leaving. Go tell if you want to, but I’m tired of the games. The unicorn doesn’t deserve to become your meal, and I don’t deserve to stay.”
“What?”
Astrea wanted to punch the confused look right off Mavin’s face, but she wasn’t sure she had the time. She growled, pulling the knife from her boot and sawing the last loop of the rope with all the fury that had been knocking at the door of her soul since her mother cast her out. The sound of retreating footsteps told Astrea that Mavin had left. Time’s up.
The knife punched through the remainder of the rope, and Astrea cast the frayed fibers aside, flinging the door open.
“About time.”
Astrea stooped to return her knife to its sheath in her boot. “Whatever. Just let me mount you and we’ll be on our way.”
The unicorn retreated a step, head rearing back. “Oh, no. You’re not getting on me.”
Astrea crossed her arms. “We don’t have time for this. We’ll never escape if you don’t let me ride.”
The unicorn took a step towards her. “You mean you won’t escape.”
“No, I mean us. I know the villagers. I know this land. Can you say the same?”
The unicorn snorted.
“I’m taking that as a yes.” Astrea walked around the unicorn until she stood by its side. She put her hands on his back and hoisted herself up, swinging her leg over and sliding into his soft slope. “Please be gentle. I’ve never ridden a creature before.”
The bellow of horns surrounded them, and the unicorn took off. Astrea crouched low, digging her knees in and throwing her arms around the strong neck.
“Which way? Which way do I go?”
“Left,” Astrea shouted, praying she wouldn’t fall off.
“Where’s left?” The unicorn began to zigzag, hesitating whenever it neared a convergence of paths.
“Oh for goodness—” An arrow whizzed past her shoulder, the buzz ringing in her ears. Astrea leaned left, hoping the unicorn would get the hint as her fingers dug into his skin.
“Too far! Too far!” The unicorn slowed a little, splaying its legs to compensate for her shifted weight.
Astrea straightened, and the unicorn took off again as a volley of stones came at them. One hunk of rock pinched her shoulder, but she ignored it. The whole village was after her and the unicorn, and if she didn’t keep her head together, they would both die.
They shot past the rest of the huts, trampling through the garden on their way out of the village. Astrea swore as she watched bits of green and brown scatter behind them. Bad enough to be stealing their meat. She didn’t want to ruin what little had grown in the garden this season.
Barreling into the woods, the unicorn slowed his pace again, angry branches swatting and clawing as they rode past. More arrows sunk into the trees around them, and another stone grazed Astrea’s other arm. The unicorn faltered a moment.
“Any clearings near here? I don’t know if I can lose them in these woods.”
“No clearings, but there’s a stream ahead. They’re not likely to follow us through there.”
“Why not? Can’t they swim?”
Astrea squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the growing throb shooting through her shoulder. “It’s not the water they’re afraid of. It’s the fish.”
The unicorn let out a huff. “Fish?”
“Yes, fish,” Astrea snapped. “Flesh eaters. They hunt in packs and can strip a man of flesh and organ in less than ten minutes.”
The unicorn stopped short as they came to the water’s edge. The sound of crashing brush closed in on them. Shadows slid through the water. A pack of the flesh eaters – no doubt hungry.
“What are you doing?” Astrea kicked the unicorn, but he refused to budge.
“They’ll eat me alive!”
“Just jump.”
“But I’ll never make it.”
An arrow zinged past, burying in a tree nearby.
“Now!”
The unicorn backed up a step and bolted, leaping through the air. Astrea watched the opposite shore approach as if in slow motion, every muscle in his body tense or twitching, but the unicorn had been right. He landed with his rear still in the water, front legs stumbling on the soggy bank. The high-pitched whinny sent a shiver down her spine. Astrea jumped off his back, the churning water up to her waist as little pricks of flesh left her legs and the tips of her toes. She thrust her shoulder into the unicorn’s flank, boosting him onto land.
“Come on!” Astrea took off for the safety of the forest as members of her tribe stopped short at the water’s edge. The unicorn followed, little red rivers painting stripes on his hind quarters and legs.
“Get back here!” shouted one of the tribesmen, and a chorus of curses and wails filled the fog behind them. More arrows and stones flew by, but the effort was almost half-hearted. Astrea bit back a sob as she and the unicorn pressed into the dense forest, further shielding them from the tribe’s petulant projectiles.
When they had traveled far enough that they could no longer hear the occasional whizz or pelt of ammo, Astrea collapsed onto the leaf-covered floor. The unicorn limped a pace more before doing the same, dirt and debris sticking to the drying blood.
Astrea bit her lip and crawled to the unicorn, her shoulder buckling when she put too much pressure on it. Her legs prickled and itched with every movement as the presence of her wounds finally wormed their way into her consciousness. She sucked in a breath, then groaned, before crawling the last few inches. She lay her head on the unicorn’s barrel chest, pulling her satchel over her head. It was soaked through, and she dumped the contents onto the ground. Food, several canteens of water, an array of herbs and spices, a blanket, her doll with the inexplicably yellow hair, and a damp piece of paper that Astrea was sure would disintegrate if she tried to unfold it now.
She clutched her chest, her mind ringing in alarm. The pendant was still t
ucked safely beneath her tunic. She let out a long sigh.
She grabbed the blanket and unrolled it, checking the grain of the weave. Pulling the knife from her boot, she dug into the wet material, cutting off a strip about as wide as her arm. She cut several more sopping pieces, setting them on her bag so they wouldn’t pick up any more dirt.
“So, what’s your name?” Astrea asked as she worked on his wounds.
“Windmane.” The deep barrel of his chest expanded and contracted, his flank twitching to the rhythm of the pain coursing through his body.
“I’m sorry about your legs, Windmane.” She poured some water from the canteen onto the wound, but was surprised to find it wasn’t water. “No! The milk,” Astrea whispered, plugging the canteen back up. How could she forget? She grabbed another canteen and sniffed. Water.
“What’s wrong?” Windmane’s head swung around to look at her, the heavily-lashed lids dropping in a slow blink.
“Don’t worry about it. I need to get your wounds treated and wrapped.” She grabbed some of the healing herbs Mamaa had packed and applied them to the worst hunks of missing flesh.
Windmane snorted. “They’ll heal. Don’t forget to save some of that stuff for yourself.”
Astrea shook her head, another tear leaving a trail on her muddy cheek. I don’t deserve it. I’ve abandoned my people, took their best chance at survival, and all for what? She swiped her crusting cheeks, smearing grime and tears across her face. They were the only family she ever knew, and she’d hurt them so deeply. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know why I wanted to go, but what made you run?”
Finished, Astrea turned and settled into Windmane’s side. “You should get some rest.”
“Hmph. Is it safe?” Windmane lay his head on the ground, more debris clinging to his slick dirt-dappled hide.
“Probably not, but I’m a light sleeper.” Astrea took a long draught from the milk canteen. She wasn’t sure how long it would keep. Why was it so important to her mother that she drink it? Astrea shivered and yawned, curling into Windmane’s warmth.
“Do you think they’ll come after us?” came his sleepy voice.
“Maybe. The hike to Crossing Waters is far, but if their anger is great enough . . .” She shook her head. She didn’t want to know if the tribe would try to pursue them. Or what would happen if they were caught.
“And where are you headed?”
“Illumia. At least that’s what Mamaa said I should do.” I wonder if there’s another way, though.
Soft snores came from Windmane, and Astrea felt herself slipping into slumber. Her troubles and plans would have to wait.
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—ABOUT THE AUTHOR—
Angel Leya enjoys creating clean fiction with a touch of love and magic. Also a dreamer, wife, and stay-at-home mom, she dabbles in all things book whenever she gets a spare moment. Current fiction offerings includes Raven, a short story about a powerful creature of song, and Skye’s Lure, a romantic mermaid novella that’s been called a modern, more mature take on The Little Mermaid.
To learn more, go to www.AngeLeya.com.
JARRA
Shaun L Griffiths
The Desert Traveler
In a moment of self contempt, he looked down at himself. The exhausted desert traveller, lips parched and blistered, lifting his water flagon to shake out the last drops onto his swollen tongue. Raising his hand to cover the bulk of the sun, he searched desperately for direction.
A failure, and a coward. He knew it, but couldn’t bring himself to accept it. His self pride still saw the fame and fortune waiting for him, but deep inside he knew, this time it was serious. Lost and without hope, this was likely to be his last day alive.
Falling to his knees in a moment of despair, deep sobs broke the dam holding back his fear. He pulled the hood of his dust-covered robe over his head, trying to save his burnt and blistered face from the worst of the battering the sun would inflict on him this afternoon.
Lowering himself to the hot sand, he lay at the base of a dune with his back to the inferno, praying to his god for the sun to pass behind the dunes’ ridge quickly. He also knew no prayers on earth would hurry the blazing sun’s journey across this endless, god-forsaken desert.
Fear was his constant companion throughout the day after he’d shaken the last drops of moisture from his flagon. There was no more water. There was to be no more respite from the endless pain of swollen lips and constricted throat. It was a pain his mind was no longer capable of fighting.
But a far-off sleep of salvation called. His breathing finally slowed, his heart slowed, his mind closed down. Laying in the burning sands, the hot winds adding misery to torture, a last thought passed through his fog-addled brain before sleep overtook him. Will I wake up?
Behind closed eyes, images of his journey faded in and out with his consciousness. The stark beauty of the sands when he’d first started out. The ever-changing colours and texture that could be marvelled at with pleasure when water was plentiful. The rush, knowing that he’d finally touched the desert after dreaming of it and imagining it for so many years. He saw again the wonder of the racing shadows and hues with the sunrise, from a pastel rose, to golden yellow, to a blinding white reflected back at him within moments.
The arrogance of his perceived success in finding the fabled sands had soon crumbled to reality once the scale of the desert’s emptiness began to sink in. But it was the silence of the air around him that he found frightening. The loneliness of living within his own mind, day after day. A deafening silence that forced him to retreat deeper and deeper into himself. The utter nothingness made his sense of hearing desperately seek out the slightest sound. Subconsciously straining to hear anything had created a pounding thunder in his ears. He could hear his own blood pumping through his body, he could hear the air rasping through his lungs, he could hear himself blink. The silence was deafening, isolating, and absolute. It was slowly driving him mad with loneliness. He felt totally alone, and very afraid in his solitude.
The chill of the evening air shook him awake. He’d long since abandoned his fur blanket. The ordeal of carrying it through the crushing heat of the day had been too much, where his only need was to survive the coming moments. Any thoughts of the night’s debilitating chill ahead had seemed a welcome relief. Memories of the desert’s freezing winds at midnight were hidden away in the back of his mind. A problem that couldn’t be faced or addressed, but left to be dealt with when it happened. Just to get through the next few steps forward had been enough.
The wind picked up, the dunes quickly cooled, giving up their heat to the crystal clear night. He started to shiver, his mind’s subconscious attempts to keep his exhausted body alive.
Forcing himself to look one last time, his eyelids dragged across sand scratched pupils. The heavens surrounded him. The colours of the stars and planets so beautiful in the cold blackness against which they hung. His nearness to death brought his world into a focus he’d never before experienced. The heavens had never been so clear or so close. The sky was alive with twinkling and blinking starlight.
Seeing his life’s final wonder, he followed the patterns of the constellations surrounding him. Searching for the comforting signs of home, now hardly rising above the sands to the north. He recognised the new formations he’d tried to follow every night, now high above him. But these were now being replaced by an endless succession of unrecognisable shapes to the south, where they rose over the sharp edge of the dunes.
On the sand’s ridge above him, a movement caught his eye. A black mass stood atop the dune. A bulk blocking out the stars, the wind catching the dark robes, pulling and tugging at the loose folds around the stranger’s legs and arms. The figure stood, unmoving, watching and waiting. He caught the sound of the garment fluttering and slapping against skin, pulled with each g
ust of wind that howled through the depression. He was too far gone to be afraid. A dullness settled over his mind, any care for survival lost with the setting of the sun.
He’s not one of us. Will he help or has he come to take what’s left? He no longer cared. In a long, drawn-out movement, his eyelids slowly fell, apathy took control of his mind.
He didn’t know he’d already crossed the fabled border. Dreamed of, talked of, searched for, but never before found.
He drifted back into his nightmares. Imaginary scenes of shade and freely running water mixed with images of the attack they’d suffered once they’d entered this sea of nothingness. He saw again the apes that came screaming over the dunes, intent on ripping with their teeth and hands anyone they could find. With nowhere to hide, the only chance of survival was to run. To run for your life and for your life alone. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the Guards torn to pieces, and for what? A water flagon? A fur blanket? They had nothing of value. And all because they were here, in this place, at the wrong time! So he ran and not once more did he look back. He lived, their prince was still alive, and that’s all that mattered. It took another day before the guilt hit him. It came at the same time as the loneliness.
The pitch black night slowly turned to blue. Was this still his dream?
His mind screamed Why have you forgotten me, God? Why didn’t you take me? How much longer must I pay for abandoning them? In his delirium, his darkest thoughts rose in brief moments of lucidity.
Not another day... please don’t let the sun rise on me again. Once more he slipped away.
Before dawn, uncontrollable shivers brought him back to consciousness. He could see the horizon to the east lightening. The stars being chased away by the first signs of a smear of red over the highest dune. He lay shaking in the cold air. His eyes turned south. A vague memory, an image of a robed figure surfaced. He couldn’t tell if it was a dream, he only knew that the freezing wind had been real.
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 43
