“Please, let me go.”
I shuffled to the side and attempted to push past my captor. The flesheater roughly grabbed my arm, but his claws did not penetrate skin. It adamantly stopped my movements and rendered me motionless. The beast held his hand below my neck and firmly against my chest. I eyed the vast, furred arm clinging the large tree branch of destruction. It rapidly occurred to me; I did not have much choice in the matter. I was to stay motionless and possibly live. Or I could attempt to fight forward and most likely die a brutal death.
The flesheater lowered the leafy weapon. Using his beastly foot, he cleared a small area on the ground. With a broken limb from the branch, the beast etched into the dirt. He handled a piece of his weapon as a writing tool. In roughly sketched letters the flesheater wrote three words:
I’ll help you
After fully comprehending what transpired, I glanced at the beast in complete shock. The flesheater deliberately pointed his clawed finger near his chest. The beast proceeded to cross his heart in the Starosa way, swearing to keep his word. The gesture caused a wave of emotions. Fear, unbelief, and homesickness materialized. I was immensely conflicted in one tense moment of time.
What was this rare and disconcerting animal? Why was a flesheater taming an instinct to rip me to shreds? Why did he protect and feed me? Although I resisted acknowledgement, why did this beast hold me during the wintry night? He kept me warm and secure. He was a creature who could read, write, and swear to keep his word? Everything about this flesheater was severely unnerving and baffling.
I indicated agreement to his offer, but with ample apprehension. This flesheater had proven to save my life, but could I continue to trust him? I had no idea where I was or what direction to head. Maybe it would lead me to Zander. It commenced trampling onward with confident strides. I clumsily followed through the thicket of trees and remote environment.
The flesheater utilized his claws and a long, thick stick to hollow out his previously acquired tree branch. He pressed forward with ease and was sure of his steps. I tripped over my footing and toiled to keep pace. The unnaturally hot air resulted in dripping perspiration and an intense need for water. I was incredibly thirsty and possibly dehydrated.
Without warning and in an act of immense strength, the animal halted and thrust the branch deep into the earth. He placed his ghastly mouth over and around the tip of the thick and hollowed out stick.
The beast commenced sucking water from below the ground! The tree branch was never used as a weapon. First it was a writing tool. Now it was a device providing a necessity of life…water! After the flesheater drank, he motioned for me to follow his actions. The stick was covered in drool and I impulsively wiped the opening with my soiled green shirt. This caused a familiar wounded expression to reappear on the creature’s features. This similar appearance of hurt was first observed when I awoke from fainting in his arms. One again, I managed to offend and upset a ferocious flesheater. His demeanor was crestfallen and he shifted to miserably advance. I thirstily gulped as much water as I could and hesitantly followed.
We trekked for hours, only eating berries along the way. My stomach was growling and the beast’s stomach was rumbling. I sincerely hoped he was not having too much trouble resisting an innate urge to tear into my human flesh and feed. I strained to not make noise and endeavored to be less of a burden. I feared the creature would unexpectedly act normal and devour me at any moment.
The flesheater was determined to progress, not letting me rest for long. The sun was descending behind the trees and my despair was growing. Did I make the right decision to follow this animal? There were fewer trees and the increase in open spaces worried me. Without the army of densely populated trees flanking at all sides, I was more vulnerable.
Suddenly, the flesheater stopped and motioned for me to halt with his monstrous hand. He lifted one coarse finger to his mouth and gestured for me to be silent. The tips of sword like fangs could barely be seen over the top of his bottom lip. The proficient movements of the flesheater never ceased to amaze me.
We stood in alarmed silence and I panicked. Did the beast overhear the menacing sounds of another crazed pack of flesheaters? Or were his superb senses distinguishing something else? Perhaps a more dangerous and unknown entity in the distance?
At first, all I could hear was our rapid breathing. There was also a low grumble continuously emanating from the flesheater. After a few moments of intense listening, I unexpectedly perceived something discernible.
It was the sound of voices! Human voices! My heart leaped with both excitement and uncertainty. Hopefully one of the voices belonged to Zander! Maybe the other escaped drudges? I had surreptitiously been on the lookout for them. But only had a glimmer of hope, I would find them!
Dread sullied my excitement. The voices could belong to Chief Meadows, or any of the elite tens resolute on executing me. The flesheater inched as silent as a creature stalking prey. His padded feet touched the ground so softly, it was as if he were on clouds. I failed to match his quiet steps as I followed closely behind. A palpable smell wafted through the air. A memory of my first Remembrance Duty with Zander trickled through my mind. The fire starters, the warmth, and the flames drifted through the parts of my brain holding onto those kinds of moments. Smoke! Smoke was the familiar smell!
Dense, thick leaves covered branches and blocked our view. After the flesheater moved the obstructions, I could see into a clearing. There was a small group of people surrounding a fire. An amply sized animal was cooking above the orange and red flames. The group appeared to mostly be made of men. One of them was lying on the ground to the side of the fire. This person was covered in a blanket and either asleep or dead. I experienced an intense aversion to finding out, in fear of the latter.
The firelight shone on recognizable leather shoes and issued brown pants. Their shirts were dirty, but reflected the unmistakable colors of those worn by drudges in Starosa. Red shirts indicating creators, blue for sustenance drudges, and black for workers. One other cleaning drudge was there too. From a distance, he resembled Jace. I was especially happy to see someone from my drudge house. The only drudges not represented in the fire lit evening were the servant drudges, those working in the firstlings’ homes. This was not surprising. They worked so closely with firstlings, they wouldn’t dare plan an escape and flee like the group of drudges before my eyes. These were the missing drudges!
I wanted to run to the familiar faces, but remembered the flesheater and resisted. He faced me with a sad expression. I was enduring exhaustion and heat and perilously needed food and water. This combination of ailments was clearly causing my brain to play tricks on me. There appeared to be tears in the creature’s eyes. The pooling moisture reflected the tiny bit of sunlight lingering in the sky. His gloomy presence tugged at my heart in an indescribable manner. I had sympathy for this flesheater who rescued and protected me. I also deeply wished it would release me, so I could flee to my people.
I quietly expressed, “Thank you for your help, I...”
My words were cut short when he lifted me into a strong, firm, but tender embrace. He pulled me close and against the warm, soft fur on his chest. The sensation was reminiscent of the blanket I imagined enveloping me, the night before. My hand rested below his shoulder and he held my gaze while gently setting me down. My heartbeat quickened. Was it because of the surprisingly unexpected, but compassionate hug? Or did my pulse accelerate with anticipation of being able to join the other drudges? The reason for my reaction was strangely unknown.
He motioned for me to wait. I feared he would never let me leave his side. With monstrous feet, he cleared the earth below. He knelt to the dirt and positioned the drinking stick in his beastly hand. He wrote:
I am Ju
Alarmed voices broke my concentration and the flesheater was unable to finish.
A man shouted, “There in the trees! It’s a flesheater!”
A single arrow whizzed through the sky. It puncture
d the beast in his chest, near his shoulder. The arrow shot right above the knife wound he received from Rykeir. It pierced the softer part I was just nestled against. The flesheater growled and lashed at the air. He gripped the arrow with protruding claws.
I screamed at the group of approaching drudges, “Noo, don’t hurt him!”
I turned to the flesheater and urged, “You have to get out of here, they are going to kill you!”
More drudges hollered from the distance.
“It sounds like a girl’s voice!”
“Is it the girl?”
A woman’s utterance danced around the evening breeze and shrieked, “It is a girl. And she appears to be a drudge. Don’t shoot again!”
The flesheater communicated one last penetrating and agonizing expression. He released a tormented and angry howl before dropping to all four limbs, and dashed into the wilderness. The yowl was full of agony. But for the first time, I sensed the typical and crazed fury of a deadly flesheater.
I was stunned and dumbfounded by the sudden attack and resulting outcry. I was concerned for the wounded flesheater, but also anxious to join my people.
A large worker drudge pushed through the trees. His skin was beautiful and dark. Due to his black shirt and the lack of light from the setting sun, he was difficult to see clearly until he was right before my face. He grabbed the front of my issued brown coat.
“Analysse!? Is it you?”
I timidly mumbled something sounding like, “Yes.”
He beamed at the approaching group of drudges. Some of them were inching their way closer. Their slow steps indicated caution and fright, for the flesheater we could still hear growling in the distance.
The worker drudge hollered, “Guys, it’s her!”
He smiled and said, “We were hoping you were alive. Thank goodness you are too. We all made promises to Old Jake. We were to keep you safe. This sworn commitment was difficult to keep. Especially after the elite tens unexpectedly attacked before they were supposed to.”
He gripped my shoulder and guided me toward the gathering group.
“Come on everybody, let’s get back to the fire. The flesheater is gone and we have found Old Jake's Ana!”
Chapter 24
I approached comforting and recognizable faces. Relief teetered through me. I found my people and we were all free from Chief Meadows! Everyone greeted me enthusiastically. I interlocked index fingers with drudges as they told me their names. After the introductions, I was embarrassed to discover it was a challenge to recall everyone’s names.
The nervousness of officially meeting so many people at once, overtook the part of my brain used for recollection. It was unusual being so openly friendly to other drudges. Drudges from lines I was forbidden to converse with in Starosa. It also felt right too though. The freedom of being blatantly cordial with others was invigorating. I could not contain the genuine smile permanently etched onto my face.
Jace’s amiable and familiar voice was heartwarming. He was the other cleaning drudge among the group. Jace was around his thirtieth year. He was well-built, with reddish hair and a bearded face.
Jace asserted, “Glad you could join us, Green Eyes.”
As we settled around the fire, all eyes were on me. It was uncomfortable to be the center of attention. The group fired questions left and right. A sustenance drudge with a faded blue shirt turned to me. She was an older woman with long, silvery hair illuminated in the firelight. Her eyes were filled with remorse as she gently laid her worn hand on mine.
She said, “I am so sorry about Old Jake, honey. What happened after he was shot?”
It was amazing how quickly drudges were touching one another in ways once prohibited. Was contact so interlaced within human nature, it would come easily when no longer inhibited? Right now, I was not convinced. Having this woman’s hand on mine and the previous pats on my back and squeezing of my shoulders, left me squirmy. Would I get used to it like the others seemed to? Also, how did she know Old Jake was shot?
When I did not answer right away the woman continued, “Zander told us he saw you run into the forestland with Rykeir hot on your trail, but he could not move to help you. He was extremely wounded. He’s been miserable ever since we found him. He believes he has failed to keep his word to Old Jake. He…”
I had a difficult time processing everything she was telling me. As soon as I heard Zander’s name, my heart fluttered with anticipation. He survived! In my excitement, I cut the lady off mid-sentence.
“Zander!? Is he alive? Is he here?”
Jace answered in his rough and scratchy voice. His throat sounded full of gritty sand which hindered smooth sounding speech.
“Yes, he is. He is sleeping right over there.”
He pointed a few feet away from the fire. The person I saw lying on the ground earlier...was Zander!
Jace communicated, “We found him earlier this afternoon practically crawling his way to our camp. He is still recovering from the shot he took to the leg. We were able to retrieve the bullet and thwart infection. He’s been asleep for a few hours now. He has been trying to recover from the bullet wound and the emotional toll of losing you and Old Jake.”
I immediately went to the listless, sleeping form and knelt next to Zander. He appeared younger. The constant brooding and contemplative lines of his face were relaxed. I caressed the dark, smooth flesh of his cheek. In comparison to the others, it was not hard for me to reach out and touch Zander. It came naturally.
I softly whispered, “Zander, you are alive.”
I smiled with unexpected tears. He stirred and his eyes lazily flickered open.
He quickly sat and exclaimed, “Ana!! You are alive!”
He pulled me into an embrace and I wrapped my arms around his neck. We held each other for a few seconds and let go beaming at one another. We both turned to face our attentive audience, slightly embarrassed.
Zander asked everyone’s lingering question.
“How did you make it?”
I glanced at the curious faces, glowing with eagerness to hear my survival story. It made me incredibly uncomfortable to have to tell them. I never talked to a large number of people before and I became skittish. In my past, most communications were one on one and brief. I endeavored to speak swiftly and precisely.
“A strange flesheater saved me.”
There were gasps from all around the group. Zander looked at me as if I were ill.
A voice from the group asked, “What do you mean?”
I shook my head in feigned disbelief, but answered with fervency.
“Rykeir chased after and attacked me. As I struggled to fight back, a flesheater broke through the trees and challenged him. I assumed he would slaughter and devour Rykeir and hunt and feed on me afterwards. But he didn’t.”
I anxiously fidgeted and resumed, “He wrestled Rykeir with human mannerisms, instead of like a flesh-eating beast. Eventually, Rykeir managed to scamper away. The flesheater simply let me go. I ran further into the forestland and within minutes a pack of dangerous flesheaters trailed me. Again, out of nowhere, the same peculiar flesheater came to my rescue. We escaped the hungry pack and today he brought me to you guys.”
Saying everything out loud stirred compassion and gratitude for the flesheater who saved my life. How was he repaid for his good deeds? He was thanked not only with a knife wound, but also with a piercing arrow...and all because of me. Voices echoed around the campfire.
“Are we sure she is okay?”
“Her story doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know. There was a flesheater here when she arrived.”
In a hushed tone, I confirmed, “He helped me, and you shot an arrow at him.”
Zander looked at me skeptically. He placed his hand on my forehead as if he were checking my temperature.
“Ana, I think you need to lie down. You are not making a lick of sense.”
I was embarrassed and frustrated. They were acting like I was con
cocting a childish story. As if I were telling them about a nightmare I believed was real. Their reactions roused self doubt. Maybe it was a dream? Perhaps my extreme physical and emotional exhaustion was making me crazy? No, it happened. I was positive. I pushed Zander’s hand from my forehead and stood.
“It’s true! I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”
Suddenly, an old and feeble voice interjected the unpleasant discussion.
It was a man’s and he sluggishly cleared his throat before saying, “Quiet down everybody, quiet down.”
He was one of the old ones and I briefly met him earlier. As evidenced by his red shirt he was a creator drudge. He was small, hunched over, and used a makeshift cane from a tree branch. His head was mostly bald except for a few coarse coils of springing white hair. Wrinkles fell in gentle waves across his face. His hands profusely shook with the effort required to walk. He addressed me faintly and leaned weakly on his cane.
“Did you notice anything else different about this flesheater?”
I was apprehensive to say what I witnessed and afraid of rekindling the group’s gaping stares of disbelief.
I answered timidly, “Yes. I think he understood what I spoke to him, and he could read and write.”
Once more, voices erupted around the fire. They assumed I was insane. In the moment, I loathed them all and wanted to leave.
The ancient man spoke again, “I believe her.”
I was dispirited and stripped of confidence, but perked at his unexpected support. The worn skin around his grayish brown eyes crinkled with a courteous and gentle grin.
Zander was the only one to question the old one. He perceptibly knew him fairly well, as they were from the same drudge line.
The Forbidden Plan Page 18
