Chapter Six
Campfire
Two days later the Litian River lay just ahead of us. Just as darkness was looming dense we drew up alongside of the river. The river was in flood stage caused by snow melt from up in the higher peaks of the mountains. Flin started nudging forward toward the river, eager for the challenge. “Whoa, Boy!” I said, drawing back on the reins as I looked across the river to what lay beyond.
This was as close as I had ever come to my ancestral home. The land that lay beyond was completely foreign to me, but yet it seemed familiar in some intangible way, as if I had been here before. What lay beyond this point I did not know, but I felt a sense of excitement welling up inside of me at the possibilities.
“Let’s go, Flin.”
Flin released his tensed up muscles and we fairly lunged into the fast moving current of the river. The icy cold water took my breath away as it rose quickly to my waist. Flin was a powerful swimmer and swam hard against the current to reach the other side. The current must have taken us a hundred yards or so downriver when I felt Flin’s hooves dig into the opposite bank of the river and we started to climb up and out of the icy water. Having gained a purchase on solid ground, Flin broke into a gallop, invigorated by the cold water and a general lust for life and adventure. Holding on tightly and enjoying the strength of the stallion beneath me, I grinned, sharing in the sentiment of the moment, and let Flin run all out across the plain towards the majestic mountains rising up before us.
As tall shadows began to form, the sense of being watched began to form as well. Several times I drew Flin up and paused to survey my backtrail, but I saw nothing there to cause alarm. There did not seem to be anything out there but me. Nevertheless the feeling of being watched continued.
The feeling reminded me of an experience I’d had as a boy, when I had been but eight years old. I was coming home through a wooded glen near our home. My mother had sent me to our neighbor’s place further down the valley with an herbal tea that had been needed to cure one of their little girl’s bad, late spring coughs. I had stayed longer than I should have since the girl was quite pretty and had seemed very interested in my company. Not too many people ever seemed interested in having me around, except maybe my mother, so I had stayed, soaking up the freely given attention.
The evening shadows were thick on the land as I had walked through the glen on my way home, not looking forward to my mother’s scolding for not leaving earlier. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck had stood straight up, as some primal instinct alerted me to a danger I could not see. I had broken into an all-out run for home, not caring if I was making a big fool of myself, so convinced was I that something was out there intent on getting me.
I could see the glow of the kitchen light dimly ahead of me through the gloom of the forest. The darkness around me seemed to scream at me. When had it gotten so dark and why was that light so far away?
Crack!
I could now hear the danger some forgotten instinct had alerted me to! Panting heavily, my heart beat sounding like a drum in my own ears, I had glanced over my left shoulder and beheld a living nightmare closing in fast! A hulking marsh cat, easily weighing over two hundred pounds, was leaping over deadfalls and around tree trunks heading straight for me, with no good intent toward me gleaming in its huge glowing eyes. My head whipped back around and I ran the most important race of my short life.
I don’t know how I was able to keep my footing in the littered jumble of the forest floor, but I did somehow, leaping over rocks and almost slamming into trees several times. Suddenly, a large familiar hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the front of my shirt, heaving me up through the air as if I had been no more than a feather’s worth in weight, to land me behind a large sycamore trunk. Recognizing my father with a relieved gasp of air, I watched as with one fluid motion he stepped out from behind the tree and unsheathed the old sword that usually sat above the mantle in our home covered in dust. With the grace of a cat my father quickly moved towards the approaching feline, shortening the distance dramatically.
The marsh cat, sensing the easy game of ‘tag you’re it’ had altered significantly, tried to stop, as its massive muscles clenched tight and its paws dug up furrows in the loose debris of the forest, but it was too late. My father’s quick advance had closed the distance between him and the cat, and with one smooth overhand swish of the blade the big cat’s head went rolling into the underbrush, as its body fell lifeless at my father’s feet.
Bending slightly, my father calmly wiped off the blade of the sword on the cat’s fur. Straightening up from his task, he turned towards me and contemplated me quietly as he put his sword away.
“Are you all right, son?”
My mouth too dry to talk, I had nodded.
Coming up alongside of me, he had put his big hand on my shoulder, a gesture which offered me reassurance that everything was okay.
“Let’s not say anything about this to your mother, okay son?”
“Yes, Father!” I responded emphatically, relieved.
We headed for home walking side by side.
“Father, can you teach me how to use a sword like that?”
His big hand resting on my shoulder had squeezed hesitantly and then, after a long moment, he had said, “We’ll start in the morning.”
I never again looked at my father in the same way after that experience. He was more than just a father that cared for my needs, now he was also a force to be reckoned with. He was dangerous. I had wanted to be dangerous like him.
Coming out of my reflections of the past, I eased Flin towards a small brook up ahead of us that ran along the base of an upthrust of rock. It was dark in the shadow of the cliff that I had chosen to make my camp under, which was good because it would obscure my plans from any prying eyes.
Normally, I would never make a camp in a spot like this and I was hoping that whoever was stalking me did not know me well. My reasons for not liking the camping spot would have been quite obvious to an experienced traveler. I had been on the run from the authorities for years and I’d picked up some tips of what not to do during that time.
Building a campfire against a cliff face can reflect the light of the fire for miles around, even with a small fire. I had also learned, the hard way, never to camp near water; because both beast and man alike were bound to go near it for necessity’s sake. Quickly, under cover of darkness, I gathered a large pile of dry wood from a nearby deadfall tree. I dug a shallow pit for a fire, only much larger in circumference than I typically would. I hurried down to the stream with my saddle bags which I filled up with large round river stones. The river stones were ice cold from the cold, snow melt water coming down from the mountains. I made a hot rolling fire. A fire that was much bigger than was needed and would be reflected off the cliff behind me for miles around.
I made a great show of unsaddling Flin and making camp for the night. I even went so far as to make a quick batch of pan bread. After my meal, I surreptitiously surrounded the outer rim of the fire pit with the stones from the creek, as I appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be cleaning my dinner dishes. The fire had burned down some and now I built a trifold of sticks over the fire that would slowly release wood and keep the fire burning long into the night; only my trifold setup was going to be a quick release mechanism in about a half hour or so. Moving to my bedroll to the edge of the fire’s light, I lay down on it and paused for a few moments and then I carefully slid out the far side of it into the darkness beyond the fire’s light.
I had made sure to throw my saddle outside the fire light’s range earlier and I had hobbled Flin on a patch of good grass some thirty feet from the fire, another thing I would never have done if I was making a serious camp. Grabbing Flin’s bridle, I quickly saddled him and moved off northward along the ridge, first walking and then riding softly as noise travels far after dark.
Pausing a half mile away up higher in the foot hills of the mountai
ns, I listened for signs of pursuit, but I heard none. I watched the camp below me in the distance, as I sat on top of Flin. Both of us were completely still and silent as we waited in the darkness of the night.
The sticks had fallen into the fire and were burning quite brightly now. Shadows suddenly appeared out of the darkness around the fire and not less than three lances were jammed into my vacant bedroll, while two other figures stood back and observed. Upon realizing my absence, I could hear voices raised loudly in argument.
Somebody was getting dressed down royally. Served them right, that had been a good blanket I had left by the fire, I wryly mused to myself. It was going to be a cold night without it, but I was glad I was able to at least still feel the cold. Having come to some consensus the shadowy figures by the fire stopped arguing and were about to exit the camp when it happened.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Explosions rocked the night air in a continuous staccato of sound! I grinned broadly with satisfaction. This was well worth suffering a little discomfort, as I watched the mayhem breaking out in the camp below. I couldn’t have planned it any better. The ice cold riverstones had heated up and blown apart at precisely the right moment. Chaos ensued in the camp below.
I doubted that the shattered stone fragments had killed any of them or even seriously injured them, but their sense of being in control of the hunt was gone as well as the advantage of surprise. Still smiling, I pulled Flin back around to the trail and proceeded slowly up the mountain path by the light of the half moon that was glimmering overhead.
A Warrior's Redemption Page 19
