“One more thing…” Relevart reached down and picked up a cane from the floor beside his chair. “This is for you.” Light flared as he passed it. “The crystal knob is from the Evolsefil Caverns. You will discover its worth over the course of your journey.”
Wolloh felt the smoothness of the crystal beneath his hand. Warmth shot up his arm to his chest and settled around his heart. Excitement stirred. All was not lost. Life had become hopeful once more.
end of
Metamorphosis
UnFolding 8
Fishing
UnFolding 9
Companion Short
(novelette)
Fantasy Fiction
The UnFolding
by
S.K. Randolph
Copyright © 2015-2018 by S.K. Randolph
CheeTrann Creations LLC
09UF-V-29+i
Fishing
D awn’s gentle light warmed the morning. Frothy strips of pale salmon and lavender glowed above fields, where mist hovered and dew glistened on the green leaves of midsummer.
Stebben Stol kicked off his boots, rolled his pant legs up, and waded into the middle of the stream. With practiced skill, he cast his line out and back and out and back. A subtle jerk changed serious concentration to a smile of delight. Artistry, his father told him, is the key to catching a fish. Attention riveted to the challenge of boy against nature, he played the fish until it slid gracefully into his net.
Back on the shore, he struck the head with a large stone. The fish flipped its good-bye to life and lay still. A good kill, thought Stebben. A good breakfast.
After securing his pole and lacing up his boots, he hung the net on a nail that Papon had put in a nearby tree, slipped a finger through the fish’s gills, and hefted his catch. Chyneria, his younger sister, turned eight sun cycles today. He’d promised her fresh fish for her Sun Cycle Celebration.
Approaching the house from the rear, he mused about how he would spend the turning. The morning had just begun. Papon would be milking. Mamon no doubt gathered herbs from her garden. Chyneria—
An unexpected hush brought him to a standstill behind a large tree. The busy sounds of bugs and birds fell into silence. His senses, the ones that always warned him of danger, stretched like searching fingers over the farm. Strangers prowled through the fields and closed in on the barn. No warning bark betrayed their presence. A moment of panic gripped him. Where’s Jac? The men reached the back of the barn. Papon’s training snapped into play.
Stebben masked his thoughts, concealed his fish and pole, and inched silently forward. Jac, his dog, could take care of himself. Keeping low and hidden in the tall grass, he crept into the lean-to at the back of the rambling old house and cracked open the inner door. Chyneria sat by the table, a kitten batting playfully at her dark auburn braids. His soft whistle brought her brown-eyed gaze his direction.
A finger on his lips kept her quiet. He beckoned her to join him, afraid that the hammering of his heart would frighten her into making noise. She frowned, then slid from the chair and returned the kitten to its mother in a box by the wood burning stove.
A shout tore through the peace of morning. Chyneria darted across the kitchen. Stebben placed his hands on either side of her head. Shields muffled her thoughts. He urged her into the shadowed darkness of the lean-to and whispered, “No noise.” Without a sound, he removed planks from the wall to reveal a hide-y-hole. She crawled in. He replaced the wood and crouched in front of it.
Twelve sun cycles on the peaceful planet of Roahymn had not prepared him for what he knew was about to happen. He hoped his father’s strict training would help. Papon had warned him that someday they might come for him. He had the gift. Now they were here. He couldn’t escape the fear that knotted his gut.
A careful and unobtrusive mental scan informed him no strangers approached the back of the house. Stealth carried him to the edge of Mamon’s garden. Her head whipped his direction. The message in her eyes was clear. Hide! Two men strode to her side and yanked her to standing.
Stebben watched helplessly as his beautiful, loving mother was dragged from the garden. Although tall and sturdy for his age, he was no match for the men encircling his home.
Darting to the far side of the cottage, he crouched behind a rain barrel. Four men entered the barn. Sounds of a fight filled the air—the thud of fists against flesh, a sharp cry of pain—silence. Held fast between two men, his father, face battered and one arm hanging at an odd angle, staggered into the morning sun.
A squat, square-built man planted himself in front of Stebben’s mother. “Where are your children? We know you have a boy and a girl.”
A lack of response brought his hand back. The slap cracked as loud as thunder in a spring storm. Stebben’s father lurched forward. “Let her be.”
A strong fist in the belly doubled him over. His captors stepped away and allowed him to crumple to his knees. The squat man drew a knife, grabbed him by the hair, and jerked his head back. Silver gleamed across his neck. “Tell me or…”
Stebben fought the urge to step into the open. His father’s training made him stay hidden. Once they had him, they had Chyneria as well. Not matter what he did, his father would die. If he played the game right, he might save his sister.
The message that passed between his parents was clear. Stebben clamped his mouth shut. Blood spilled down his father’s chest soaking his work shirt and pooling on the ground.
His mother made no sound as her husband drew a last gurgling breath. Wrenching her arms free, she flew at the squat leader. Her hand whipped forward, the man howled with pain and rage as a knife sliced his arm and chest.
Within a breath, a man had her pinned in front of him while another checked his comrade. A sixth man stepped from the barn. Tall and draped in a cloak lined in deep purple, he cast his gaze from the carnage to the house.
Stebben hugged himself trying to contain the hatred that poured through him. The only way to save Chyneria—get a head start. Tears streamed down his face as he crawled into the lean-to and pulled the planks aside.
A man’s shout of frustration rang in his ears, running feet, a shot— His heart broke. Oh, Mamon, I love you so. Rage burned hotter. He shoved it away, afraid the strength of it would shatter the shields saving him from discovery. It would not serve to be caught. Someday he would avenge his parents’ deaths, but not today.
He crawled in beside Chyneria. Questions filled her eyes. His wet cheeks gave the answer. She shoved a dirty fist in her mouth and scooted deeper into the darkness. Stebben replaced the planks, grabbed a metal ring embedded in the dirt floor, and yanked upwards. A trap door opened. Chyneria scrambled down the ladder. He followed. Closing the trap door behind him, he secured the hasp, removed the ladder, and knelt beside her. “No talking. You lead. Be quiet and quick.” He kissed her tear-damp cheek and straightened. Like a ghost, she moved through the darkness. With luck, they would make it to the tunnel’s end before the men discovered the hide-y-hole.
Doing his best to block the horror from his mind, he trotted soundlessly behind Chyneria. The cloaked man was Mocendi. He had felt the power and the evil.
Since birth Stebben had exhibited special abilities. Puberty had brought them to the fore. His father, who had chosen not to pursue training for his own talents, had schooled him to recognize the evil of the Mocendi League and made him promise to stay away from it, no matter the cost. If something happened to his father, Stebben was to seek out a member of the Order of Esprow and ask for protection and training.
Chyneria had her own gifts. She knew things before they happened. He had seen the knowledge of their parents’ deaths in her eyes when he put her in the hide-y-hole. He wanted to hold her while she cried. Time would not allow it. The Mocendi League would find them unless he could cover their tracks. Wish I knew more about the “arts.” At least I can use what I know.
Six men would make a quick search of the house. They would discover the hide-y-hole and the trap door. It was only a m
atter of time. He and Chyneria were halfway to the end of the tunnel and the cave on the edge of his father’s property. From there they would head to a neighbor’s farm. He would do his best to go where he would not be expected to go. Chyneria’s life depended on his ability to outsmart the Mocendi League. Only one of the men searching for them was a DiMensioner. That at least was a blessing.
Their arrival in the cave came quicker than Stebben expected. He gathered Chyneria to him and stretched his senses back the direction they had come. All was quiet. Outside the cave, the sounds of forest life assured him it was safe, at least for the moment.
Shielding their presence the best he could, he hoisted Chyneria onto his back and trotted down a well-camouflaged game trail. A tremor in the ground told him the men headed their way. He stepped into a stream and waded diagonally across. Staying near the edge, he continued to wade until he climbed ashore in a thickly wooded stretch of trees. Again, he wished he knew more about DiMensionery. Teleportation sure would be handy about now. Doing his best to leave a minimal trail, he shift Chyneria’s weight and crept through the underbrush
After what seemed an eternity, he reached the backfields of his father’s friend. Donjor would know what to do. If nothing else, he could hide them.
Sticking to the woods, Stebben circumvented the farm until he stood opposite the outbuildings behind the barn. He set Chyneria down and whispered, “We can’t be seen or heard.”
She nodded and clutched his hand. Emotions flowing through her like currents in water shot up his arm. A shake of her head stilled them. They crept from one building to the next until they stood inside the barn. A man stepped from the shadows, a finger to his lips. He led the way into the tack room. A saddled horse waited.
“Your pa’s hired man, Larc, saw everything. Knew you’d head this way. Said to tell you Jac’s with him. Sorry about your parents. We’ll take care of the details. The farm will always be here for you.”
Stebben bit his bottom lip. “Don’t know if we’ll be back. Tell Larc to make it his home and to take care of Jac. Any idea where we can hide, or how we can get off-planet?”
“There’s an intergalactic slave ship in orbit above Roahymn. A shuttle landed for supplies in Capee. Not where I’d want you to go, but you’ve no choice. Find Old Man Teeg. Might be best if he took you there and sold you to ’em. They’ll be less likely to hand you over to the Mocendi if they paid good money to get you. You’re smart. Keep your eyes open. An escape route will offer itself.”
In the distance, a dog barked.
“Go. Ride like the wind. And don’t look back.”
Donjor helped Stebben mount the big stallion and set Chyneria up in front of him.
“When you get to Capee, have Teeg keep the horse until the Mocendi leave. He can turn him lose then. He’ll come straight home.”
Stebben forced back tears and nodded. “Thanks, Donjor.”
The man led the horse out behind the barn. “Good luck.” A slap on the muscled rump sent it galloping away—away from the Mocendi who had already reached the edge of Donjor’s land.
The ride to Capee gave Stebben too much time to think. He hoped he had not brought death to Donjor and his family. At this distance he couldn’t tell. What he did know—the Mocendi and his men continued to gain on them.
At the far edge of town, he found the small cottage of Old Man Teeg. The elder shook his head and tried to dissuade Stebben from seeking out the shuttle to the slave ship. Finally, he agreed it was the only way off-planet. Grumbling to himself, he led the way to copse of trees bordering a cleared field, where crewmen bustled around a small space shuttle.
When they were close, Stebben knelt in front of Chyneria. “Teeg’s gonna sell us to those men so we can leave on that ship. I can’t guarantee that we will be kept together. If we get separated, I’ll find you. I promise.”
Brown eyes filled with doubt searched his face. “I don’t want to go, Steby. Can’t we stay on Roahymn?”
“If we do, the Mocendi will find me, and then I can’t protect you.” His shoulders sagged. He rubbed his eyes with a filthy hand. When he looked up, Chyneria’s gaze had glazed over.
She tossed a braid behind her shoulder. “We have to go,” she whispered and took his hand.
They followed Teeg toward the shuttle craft, a deep voice barked, “You in the trees step out where I can see ya.”
Teeg limped into the clearing. “Got business with your boss.” His voice sounded old and thin.
“Who ya got with ya?”
“Me grandkids. Can’t care for ’em any more. Need t’…” His voice broke.
The crewman shout, “Get Tarbads. Tell ’im we got extra cargo.”
A tall, muscular man jogged across the field and glared at Stebben and then Chyneria. She backed away, her expression uncertain.
Teeg cringed and hugged her.
“So, old man, ya wanna sell your grandkids into slavery.” He looked at Stebben. “How’s that make ya feel?”
Stebben lowered his eyes and said nothing.
“How old ya be?”
“Fifteen,” he lied.
“The girl?”
Teeg answered, “She just turned eight.”
“Hmmmm. Come here, girl.”
She shook her head and moved closer to Stebben. He put a protective arm around her.
Tarbads’ expression held a hint of ill will. “A brother and sister who like each other… I’ll be dammed.” He fingered the whip at his hip. “They look healthy. Boy looks strong.”
Teeg eyed the whip with a touch of misgiving and nodded.
“Give ya twenty verlis for the pair.”
Teeg pursed his lips, then licked them with the tip of his tongue. “Thirty-five and they’re yours.”
Tarbads threw back his head and laughed. “You drive a hard bargain. Twenty-eight. That’s my last offer.”
The old man muttered something under his breath, glanced at Stebben, back at the slaver, and held out a trembling hand.
Pulling a leather pouch from his pocket, Tarbads loosened the drawstring and counted the silver pieces onto his palm.
A man appeared in the hatchway. “Ready to go!”
Chyneria whimpered and threw her arms around Teeg.
Tarbads stuffed the pouch back in his pocket. “Say good-bye and make it quick.” He turned to the crewman. “Bring ’em aboard in…” He held up three fingers.
“Yes, sir”
Teeg moved apart from the crewman and drew the children close. He shoved the verlis into Stebben’s hand. “Hide these. You’ll need ’em.” Turning Chyneria to help cover Stebben’s actions, he hugged her. “Take care, little one.” He turned back to Stebben. “Sorry about your parents.”
The crewman strode over and nudged the old man out of the way.
“Gotta go.”
Stebben picked up Chyneria. She huddled closer. “Hurry, Steby, they’re almost here.”
He strode across the field. At the shuttle, a crewman reached for Chyneria, then hauled Stebben on board. When he glanced back, Old Man Teeg had disappeared into the trees.
The hatch closed. The shuttles engines roared to life. Stebben and Chyneria were hustled into seats as the craft lifted off. The crewman looked down at them. “Don’t usually take slaves were we buy supplies.” He looked them over. “You’d better be worth it.”
The slave hold was dark and cramped and smelled of urine, feces, and vomit. Only an occasional moan or a child’s cry disturbed the miserable silence. When the shuttle docked, he and Chyneria had joined the fifty or more children imprisoned there. Quiet questioning had left him appalled and filled with dread. Most of the prisoners had been kidnapped, their parents left behind dead or dying. How many Roahymnian families had been annihilated? How many had escaped to mourn the loss of loved ones? The Mocendi were not the only murderers in the universe.
They hadn’t been in the hold more than a couple of turnings, when Chyneria’s name was called along with three other younger girls. Steb
ben almost felt a sense of relief as she disappeared through the overhead hatch. Her talent for telepathy was small but…he could swear he heard her voice in his head saying one word…safe . Even so, his heart ached with a deep sense of loss. Everyone he loved—gone. He prayed to Ecorus that Chyneria would be placed with folks who would be good to her. But then what do I know about the slave trade. She could end up in a brothel. I have to escape from this SeDah hole of a ship, or I’ll never be able to find her.
Several turnings found him still imprisoned and wondering if he would ever again see sunlight or smell fresh air or eat something besides thin, gray gruel. His gaze flitted from one frightened, sorrow-filled face to the next. Some children huddled together; others kept to themselves, their sorrow and fear as tangible as the rags that clothed them. All had learned that to be noticed was suicide. They moved about with silent caution—wordless, frightened animals trapped in the bowels of an intergalactic ship.
He leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. Chyneria, I promise I will stay alive. I will find you, no matter how long it takes.
The grate above the hold clanked open. Stebben started awake. His hand slid casually down the inner seam of his pants until his fingers touched the hard edge of a coin. The verlis he’d tucked away in a hidden pouch strapped to his leg were still there.
A ladder clanged against the metal hatchway and lowered. A man descended, pulled a kerchief from his pocked, and covered his nose and mouth. Strain stretched thick and tight over the children huddled around him.
“I need three boys to help the crew. Stand if you be thirteen or more.”
Stebben, the first of several boys to stand, knew he looked older than his twelve sun cycles. Work on the farm had matured his tall, lean body. With luck he would be chosen.
The man indicated the area that fear had cleared around him as his feet touched the ground. “Line up here and let me look at ya.”
The boys shuffled into place. He scrutinized each one. Stebben kept his mind blank, his face neutral. Two taller boys were shoved toward the ladder. The man stared at each of those remaining. He poked Stebben in the chest. “You. Move it.”
The UnFolding Collection Two Page 54
