“People that you trust.”
More confusion evident on the young face.
“I will go and see for myself.”
In a moment, the girl who might be called Eshezy stepped towards the river. As she did so, there was a small chirp-like meow from near her feet and Rauffaely bounded back onto her shoulder. She stepped off the bank and into the water, holding her bow above her head to keep it dry. She glanced back to check that Gefforen was following and because of that look, in a moment the younger girl began to move after her heroine.
The river was not very fast flowing and the deepest part where she had chosen to cross was only as high as her waist – though it would come a fair bit higher on the smaller girl. As she reached the far bank and got out of the water, she looked back, to see the three men all laid out on the far bank. There had been no sign of the other one, though she had looked for him as she had waded through the placid flow.
As she walked towards the ramshackle buildings, she continued to question her young ‘host’: “Are there others like the four that tried to attack me?”
“Yes, but they will be with the mining crew, way beyond the town in the forest, making sure they work hard. We will not find any more in Neechaall, just those who are cooking food and making clothes and tools.”
“Will they attack me, too?”
“Oh, Eshezy!” Gefforen smiled at this idea. “They will not, once I tell them what you have done!”
“Well, you had better start shouting out to them now; I don’t want to have to shoot anyone else.”
Gefforen grimaced and put her hands to either side of her mouth. “Our wonderful Eshezy is here, and she has defeated the Governor and his men!” She repeated this message with as much volume as she could muster, several times as they walked through the narrow streets, until they reached what ‘Eshezy’ knew must be the town square. Then the people started to appear. They were all small, probably not much older than Gefforen, and very hesitant to approach.
“And why, Gefforen,” ‘Eshezy’ asked quickly and quietly, wanting to get at least this fact straight in her mind before having to deal with the local populace. “Do you call me ‘Eshezy’?”
“You must be Eshezy. She said she would come back.” She looked a little worried that her heroine was casting doubt on her own identity. “If you are not Eshezy, why are you here?”
“I–”
The townspeople gathered around, sitting on the empty stalls of the marketplace, staring at her with great intensity.
One of them, possibly as old as ‘Eshezy’, knelt down in front of her and looked up, his scared face reflecting the birth of a hope of which he clearly had never before conceived. “I am Basrillene.” His shaggy mop of black hair fell back from his face as he tilted his head back to gaze at her with his sad, grey eyes. His green-grey tunic was sleeveless, the kind which is slipped over the head, and his legs were clad with trousers made of the same grey-brown material as Gefforen’s skirt. “I never thought the stories were true, but now I see you are here to save us all, Eshezy!”
Rauffaely chose this moment to jump down, using the kneeling youth as an intermediate step to the ground. ‘Eshezy’ supressed a smile at this irreverent impish irrelevancy.
“And now, you must tell me what is going on here,” Eshezy decided to accept her name for the moment at least, and sort out the mystery at hand first. “But you there!” She pointed to one group of fairly strong-looking lads that had assembled nearby. “And you!” She pointed to another threesome. “You must go to the riverbank and bring the men you will find there here. If you do not they will surely die.”
“They are our enemies. We want them dead.” This came from the mouth of one in the first group.
“I will help you, but not if you do not do this thing. I do not want any more lives on my hand. There has been much blood spilt today.”
“What can we do with them? If they are bleeding a lot, they will die.”
“I will show you what to do. Please, bring them here. Do you have a cart you could collect them in?”
There was a bunch of furtive glances, and finally some nodding.
“And do not hurt them. I will be able to tell if you do.”
“Yes, Eshezy.” The two groups walked off reluctantly to do her bidding.
“Now, tell me about this place.” She looked at Basrillene, as he appeared to be the oldest in the gathering, and he had already shown his willingness to speak up.
“This is the town of Neechaall, controlled by Carranavak and his men. Here we have lived for three years, since Seirchaal created us. He is Lord of all Terraless and his will must always be obeyed, yet…”
Eshezy looked at him closely, studying the calloused hands, the bruised arms, bare to the shoulders and very well-muscled, the roughly woven cloth of his tunic and his leathern-like trousers. She noted his intelligent face and his grey eyes and solemn expression. She could see this expression changing into one of hope as he considered what she had done.
“And before three years ago? What then?”
“None of us know anything beyond that time. Some here have been here only a few weeks. Each new arrival comes here, to the town square, when we awaken in the morning to begin our work. Shenanik here is the most recent.”
Shenanik came over, as soon as he heard his name. Eshezy could see that he was limping badly, though the trousers he wore hid whatever injury he had.
“When you arrived, where did you come from?”
“I can’t recall anything. I was just here – before that, nothing. It must be true. Seirchaal must have created me to do his bidding.” He scratched his grown-out crew cut, shifting the sandy blond hair briefly from its rest position.
“We shall see.” Eshezy considered this, knowing that it did not ring true to her, though she could see that he believed it. “And do the governor’s men know any more about the past?”
“They never tell us anything,” Basrillene stated angrily. “Except to work harder! And then they hit us, when we don’t do enough to satisfy them.”
“And the town? Was that here when you – the first of you – arrived?”
“No.” Basrillene held up his head suddenly. “We built this place ourselves.” He seemed proud of the workmanship of his hands and Eshezy looked around anew, impressed now by the achievements of these youths.
“You have been busy!”
Several faces in the group smiled at this and Eshezy got the impression that they were all unused to the emotion that generated such expressions. They look like they’ve never heard a compliment before!
“There are more in the mines – bigger ones than us – they sometimes helped with the construction, when the soldiers released them for a few days from the digging at the mine.”
“Still, this is an impressive town to have been built in just three years.”
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of metal-encased wheels on the packed stones of the roadway. Eshezy turned to see the cart being wheeled into the square.
The young lad who had told her so forcefully about his wish to have the governor’s men die walked away from the cart and up to Eshezy. “The one with the arrow in his leg. He was already dead when we got there. We pushed him into the river.” He pointed back at the cart. “The other two are still breathing.”
Eshezy looked at his face, and saw that he was speaking the truth. She walked over to the cart. Inside, the body of Carranavak and his remaining soldier were laid out, fairly straight, on the flat wooden surface. She reached over the side and found the pulse in the governor’s neck. It was hard to find, but seemed quite slow and steady. She reached along the edge of the side panel and found the catches, lowering the wooden section on its hinges so that she could reach in easier. She checked his right arm and found that the arrow was deep in the muscle and had probably hit the bone.
That must’ve hurt! She took hold of the shaft, close to the skin, braced her other hand against the still-bleeding muscle and pulle
d as hard as she could. For a moment, nothing happened and then the arrow slid back out, making a sound that caused her to shudder as it broke free at last. Immediately the flow of blood increased.
“Get some clean cloth and bind this up. But first, do you have some well water?”
There were puzzled expressions at this question.
“Well water.” She repeated, surprised at their ignorance.
“What is well water?” Basrillene asked.
“I have some in my bottle,” Gefforen admitted, as she pulled the container out of a bag slung on her shoulder. “I saved it from yesterday.”
Eshezy took the leathern bottle and hefted it, finding that it was about half full. I hope it is enough, and that it works! She poured some into the gory wound in Carranavak’s bicep and watched it fizz there. “Now, wrap that clean cloth around it – tightly!”
She turned to the other soldier and examined the arrow in his chest. She found it compellingly fascinating, how the arrow seemed to vibrate to the beat of the man’s heart. Can I pull this out, too? She climbed up on the bed of the cart and braced her foot against the man’s right shoulder and pulled. The arrow would not move. The arrowhead is holding it in place.
“He will surely die, Eshezy. Why do you try to save such a man?” Basrillene came to the side of the cart to make his statement.
“Get up here!” Eshezy commanded. “You look like the strongest man here!” She privately thought that he was not really old enough to be called a man, but that he had been required to live the life of one, so she should acknowledge that.
Basrillene jumped up and braced his foot roughly against the soldier’s chest. Then he pulled. There was a low moan from the unconscious patient and then the arrow came free. Gefforen collected the second arrow and walked off. Eshezy knew instinctively that her purpose was to clean these prized weapons.
“Make a pad of clean cloths.” Eshezy poured the remaining well water into the gaping hole and watched it fizz and whiten the flesh. In a few moments, the wound was covered and the compressed padding was secured in place with some makeshift strapping. Eshezy dropped down off the cart and climbed onto one of the stalls. Suddenly Rauffaely bounced up from the stony ground and sat on her shoulder again.
“Now we can really talk.” Eshezy stated with satisfaction. I will figure out this place, this moment, this town, and this… world!
Seirchaal
Far away – he watched our Earth intently, inherently invisible to the subjects of his sadistic scrutiny.
First: an eighteen-year-old lad, running, in fear for his life, guilt written on his cynical face, and confirmed by the weapon he still clutched.
A few gestures changed the scene: there, in the second view, a pre-teen girl, perhaps twelve, being beaten by a hard-faced man, knowing that the punishment was a warning, and that her next attempt at escape would have to be successful, as there would be no further opportunity for another.
He changed the view, again with a few deft hand movements, to show a third scene: a small female child, trapped in a dark, dark room with only the light that came under the door, her mind remembering an oasis in her past, when an older sister had tried to protect her – until she had mysteriously and ominously disappeared.
The timing – oh, I must be sure to get the timing right! There is such a thrill – a rush – better than any drug, knowing that my intervention will save each of them from their ‘tormentors’… taking the power to torment from those who thought they were the only ones clever enough to inflict it and retain it. Oh, yes, I save them, but only so that I can take them to Terraless, so I can start again, assuming the role of tormenter and using the memory of pain buried deep in their subconscious persona to make the new pain more and more exquisite!
Seirchaal continued to observe, undetected, as he planned the ‘rescues’ he would perform. He had done this many, many times before, but he still found a passionately perverse pleasure in executing his plans, and knowing that the disappearances would forever remain unsolved cases for the police, and that the friends and families of the ones he rescued would never have ‘closure’, never know for sure if the young people were still alive, being tormented, or if they had been released from life.
I release them from their sad little existences, and transfer them to another, one under my control, where I can decide every detail of their suffering.
Perhaps most of all, he enjoyed knowing that he had frustrated the evil men and women who had built up their anticipation of the moment when they would take that final step to ‘finish off’ the lives of their human pets. He made sure to store a complete record of their surprise, their anger, their howls, when they realised the impossible had happened, so that he could watch it again and again. I am the Supreme One. No one else has such power! No one even comes close…
Chapter Three
Neechaall
“This is Rauffaely.” Eshezy explained, as her unoccupied hand went up and fondled the appreciative creature’s ears. “He is my… friend.” She looked around at the gathered ‘citizens’, noting that they were, indeed, very young. She refocused on Basrillene, standing now very attentively before her. Most of the townspeople settled on the surrounding stalls, walls and a few wooden boxes that Eshezy now noticed behind some of the stalls. “I arrived just a day ago. I don’t know where from.” She looked around and spotted Gefforen walking back through the spaces between the stalls. Sure enough, she walked over and presented the two arrows, almost reverently, to her new heroine.
“Thank you, Gefforen.” Eshezy observed the bright smile that lit up the habitually anxious face briefly.
“You only have six left in the quiver.” Gefforen stated, her powers of observation clearly not hampered by her nervous disposition. “I wanted you to have the other two, but…”
“They will be enough.”
“Eshezy, there are more soldiers than that – with the miners.” Basrillene spoke up, once the two arrows were back in their place.
“And when will they return?”
“Soon.”
“Can’t you say more than that?” Eshezy asked, when it became clear the one word would remain in solitary, simplistic and straightforward splendour. I know there is a way to measure time… the passing of… the moments that make up each day, but then, what about the bright light that stays high in the sky? Again, she was struck by how wrong this seemed.
“We make food when we wake up – or some of us do – and then we eat, and work. Now is the time for another meal – we can tell because we are all hungry now. We will eat again and then work some more.” Basrillene explained the series of events that comprised his life and the life of his fellow citizens.
Citizens? Fellow slaves!
“When we get hungry another time, the miners will return to eat their last meal of the day with us and we too will eat again. Then comes the sleep time. When we wake up, it all starts again. Each time we wake up, that is a new day.”
Eshezy considered this. As she did so, movement at the back of the town square caught her eye, and several even shorter townspeople walked over, bearing large trays. As they came through the assembled throng, each person they passed took one of the small loaves from the trays. A red-headed child – child, for this was certainly the case in this instance – about four-foot-tall, walked up to Eshezy, the crudely carved wooden tray looking too heavy for her to carry, and gazed almost fearfully up at the newest arrival. Woah! Such eyes! Eshezy was impressed by the vivid green orbs turned towards her.
Eshezy reached out to take a loaf, noting that this girl was dressed in the same kind of rough clothes that Gefforen wore. “And your name is?”
The little girl became startled, but soon realised this question was not a warning of impending danger. “I am Jeraldanine.”
“Thank you, Jeraldanine.”
The girl smiled hesitantly.
“How long have you been here?”
“I was the third one to arrive – after the soldiers.” Jerald
anine seemed to stand taller as she declared this, though that was still not very high. “There were no houses then.”
“And were you the same height then, that you are now?”
“No.” Jeraldanine looked amazed, catching the implication carried in the tone of the question. “How did you know? I was much smaller, not like the others – they have stayed the same.”
Somehow this seemed to make sense, but then a strange thought occurred to Eshezy – or the girl who now thought of herself by that name. “How do you know your name? I mean, when you arrived, or whatever?”
“When Seirchaal created us?” Gefforen corrected her, and Jeraldanine nodded in agreement.
Perhaps that is what I mean, though it sounds very wrong to me.
“We just do.” Gefforen continued, when it became obvious that Eshezy would not respond to that well-known truth. “I suppose he names us when he makes us, so we can talk to each other without confusion… So we can work harder for him.”
“Yes, not having a name would be confusing!” Eshezy smiled at this thought, remembering her earliest waking moments, and the tentative exploration of what she now thought of as her personal Fortress, the seemingly endless grass outside, and the wonderful water well. Having you screaming didn’t help, either!
Basrillene shifted impatiently. “Normally, once we have eaten we collect more grass and beat it on our special rocks to get the seeds out so we can make more bread for after this sleep, or the next. But now…”
“What will the soldiers do when they return and find that two of their troop are missing and two are injured?”
“They will certainly kill you.”
“Some have already tried that… and failed.” Eshezy reached back to her quiver and fingered one of the shafts. She brought the arrow out and looked at it. It was dry, and she wondered if she would be able to tell the difference between the ones that she had used and the ones that were still waiting their turn for action. The tip looked unmarked. She shuddered. I don’t like killing! She put the arrow back in the quiver and listened to the welcome click as the tip hit the bottom of the leathern container.
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