Vassal of El

by Gloria Oliver

  They traveled for more than an hour and saw nothing and no one. Figuring he’d gone far enough to distance them from his old camp, he stopped and waited for the girl. He watched her as she came up and almost bumped into him, stooped as she worked at putting one foot in front of the other.

  “We’re getting off,” he informed her.

  The spot he’d chosen was bare, and the surface looked to be hard enough they wouldn’t leave much of a trail. Unless her pursuers had brought sniffers with them, which he doubted, they’d be hard-pressed to find where their quarry abandoned the road.

  “Step where I step.”

  He stared hard at the ground, trying to choose their path carefully. He avoided stepping on plants or areas of soft earth, for a cracked branch or indentation would give them away to one with skill.

  When he felt they’d gone far enough away from the road, he searched for a place to stop. Finding a likely spot, he gratefully let his pack fall from his shoulders.

  “We’ll be staying here until morning. I suggest you get what sleep you can.” Without saying anything else, he stepped over to a nearby tree and sat down to keep watch for a while.

  The girl didn’t move from where she’d stopped, just slouched down onto the ground, curled into a ball in the blanket and fell asleep.

  He shook his head then stared off into the night.

  Chapter Two

  As the sun rose and its light permeated the trees, Torren stood up and stretched. His dream might have driven all thought of sleep from his head, but keeping guard through the rest of the night had let the time pass effectively. He’d long ago gotten used to sleeping little.

  He reached for his pack and brought out some wrapped cheese and bread he’d bought from a farmer a couple of days earlier. This part of the empire was filled with farms and small towns, running almost to the border. The residents were usually willing to part with some of their stores for coin or labor. The prairie fields farther south produced most of the grain; wood, vegetables—mostly corn—as well as fruit were the contributions of this area.

  Taking the food, he walked over to the blanket bundle on the ground and hunkered down next to it.

  “It’s time to wake up.” He nudged her with the back of his hand then jerked back in shock as the blanket exploded and she sat up with a start. The girl darted her eyes in every direction, looking totally disoriented. Panic covered her face as she finally turned to look at him, and she appeared as if she might bolt.

  “Forgot me already, have you?” he asked her with some sarcasm. “Run off, if you want, though I would have thought you’d rather have some breakfast.” He tore off a piece of the hard bread and popped it into his mouth.

  “You–you’re the one who helped me?” She eyed him warily, as if afraid to believe this might be so.

  He studied her, half-amused and half-annoyed, thinking surely he didn’t look that bad. There were a number of women who thought him quite handsome. “Do you want food or not?”

  Slowly, as if afraid of committing herself, the girl nodded. He tore a chunk off the bread and part of the cheese and held them out. After a moment, she took them, making sure she didn’t touch him. She got up and, dragging the blanket with her, shuffled several feet away from him before sitting back down to eat.

  Torren ate his own meal, surveying his impromptu company fully for the first time. She was young, so much was obvious—no more than fifteen summers, was his guess. Her hair was long, tied in a disheveled braid, its sandy color much darker than his white-blond. Her face was narrow, her mouth and lips small. She possessed long, gangly arms and legs. Her skirt was made of homespun and went down to her ankles; but the cotton shirt was of better quality, with short sleeves that reached to her elbows. She also wore a small vest of dark brown with red flowers stitched around the border. A blue pin caught the light at the end of her braid and looked expensive. Though a little better dressed than he would have expected, she still looked like a farmer’s daughter. Overall, she was unassuming and average-looking, her large sky-blue eyes the only feature about her that stood out at all.

  Nothing he saw explained why men would have chased her into the night. Not that it mattered.

  “Could I…could I have a little more?” Her fear and hesitation were quite clear.

  He tore another piece of bread for her. “Thirsty?”

  The girl nodded as she gingerly came forward to reach for the offered bread. She took it and scooted back as he rose to his feet. He felt her staring after him.

  Torren took a deep drink then walked over to hand her the water skin. She took it eagerly. He stepped back, watching her drink, wondering what he was going to do with her.

  “So, why were those men after you?”

  The girl choked at the question, her gaze darting around as if the mere mention of her pursuers would bring them.

  “Well?” He tried not to sound impatient but was having a hard time of it.

  The girl set the water skin down and stared at her lap. “I–I don’t know.” Her whole body tensed. “I was sleeping and my–my aunt, she woke me up and–and told me to dress. I asked her why, but she wouldn’t tell me, she just told me to hurry.”

  Now that she’d started talking her words came out faster and faster.

  “When I was done, I started toward the door, but she stopped me. She–she told me to go out the window.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. Torren suddenly felt uncomfortable.

  “She pushed me toward it, telling me she loved me, telling me to hurry. She was whispering. She sounded afraid. It scared me, so I did as she said. When I had climbed out the window, she told me to run.”

  He frowned, not liking where this story was going. He told himself again this had nothing to do with him.

  “I didn’t run,” the girl said, sounding utterly miserable. “I tried to argue with her. I knew something wasn’t right, and I just couldn’t go. And then, that’s when the door to my room slammed open, and my aunt turned around and attacked the stranger there.” She took a tattered breath. “He–he hit her. She fell. And then…then I–I ran and ran, until…”

  She stared at her hands, her voice shrinking to nothing.

  “What’s your name?”

  She glanced up at him, looking surprised. “L–Larana.”

  Torren nodded. “And do you know where you are now, Larana?”

  She stared at him for a long moment then slowly shook her head.

  “All right, then,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m heading north, in the direction of Caeldanage, and I’m willing to have you along until we either run across your home or come across a farm or town where we can find someone willing to take you.”

  Larana just stared at him, saying nothing.

  “Of course, if you prefer, you can go wherever you want on your own.”

  She looked away, shaking her head vigorously.

  He nodded. “By the way, my name is Torren.”

  Though she flinched as he came close, he paid no attention to her reaction and retrieved the water skin. He went back to his pack. “If you’re up to it, we should get going.”

  Larana nodded quickly and rose to her feet. After dusting herself of leaves and dirt, she grabbed the blanket she’d slept in the night before and briskly snapped it in the air twice before folding it neatly and then meekly bringing it over to him. “I’m ready.”

  He took the blanket without comment and wrapped it into a roll with the other, attaching them to the bottom of his pack. He glanced up past the trees, getting his bearings from the rising sun, and set off north.

  He didn’t lead them back to the road but stayed in the lightly forested area. The going was harder this way; but Larana didn’t complain, though it was obvious at times she was hard-pressed to keep up.

  When he called for a stop hours later he saw the girl drop to the ground in relief.

  “Stay here.”

  “Where–where are you going?” Larana straightened up, fear floodin
g her face as if she thought he meant to leave her.

  He gave her a quizzical and slightly irritated look. “I’m going to lay a false trail. I’ll be back soon.”

  He left the girl looking alone and forlorn to take care of business. He hoped this wasn’t an indication of a long and nerve-wracking trip.

  Torren set about erasing as many signs of their passing as possible. Going back to where he had started, he set off in a different direction, leaving clues that could be followed but not making them too obvious lest they realize what he’d done. As soon as he reached an area where a trail would be hard to find, he went back a different way, being as careful as he could not to leave any trace.

  When he returned to where he’d left the girl, he found her pacing, scanning the area around her intently. As soon as she spotted him, her face lit up with relief. “You’re back!”

  Torren scowled—he’d told her he’d return. He retrieved the water skin from his pack and took a long swallow. As an afterthought, he offered it to her. In her eagerness to get it, she almost tripped over herself. His scowl deepened, but he said nothing as he handed it over.

  Larana drank the water gratefully, her cheeks touched with red. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged and took back the skin. “Let’s go.”

  After a short while, the leaf-strewn floor gave way to a small path intersecting their previous direction. Torren stopped and glanced both ways up the path and then prepared to go across it.

  “Wait!” Larana jumped forward and grabbed his sleeve. She immediately let go as he turned to glare at her.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  His annoyance grew as the girl hesitated, staring up and down the trail as if looking for the right words.

  “I–I think I know this path. It’s a shortcut.”

  He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

  “To where?”

  He watched as she bit her lower lip and glanced up and down the trail again, looking unsure.

  “It’s a shortcut to the stream,” she said finally. “It’s where we get our water.” She pointed to the left side of the trail. “My home is this way.”

  Torren glanced down the way she pointed. “Are you sure?”

  She bit her lip again. “N–no.”

  He studied the path. Though he suspected the men last night were even now trying to pick up her trail, there was a chance one might have stayed behind, waiting for her at her home to make sure she didn’t return. Then again, it was almost as likely they hadn’t. If her family was still there, though, he could leave the girl with them, freeing him to go on his way. Whatever problems her people were having with these men they could sort out themselves.

  “All right. We’ll follow it for a short while and see if it grows more familiar.”

  Larana nodded in thanks then took off to lead the way. He followed at a more sedate pace, shaking his head.

  They’d not gone far before the girl turned around, a bright smile on her face. “This is it! I’m sure of it now.”

  She ran, showing more energy than she had so far.

  As Larana moved farther and farther ahead, Torren slowed. A strange smell tainted the pervading scent of growing vegetation. Was that smoke? And what about the other, more subdued odor mixed in with it?

  “Larana!”

  He sprinted up the path, a sense of dread rising inside him.

  After a long bend in the path, the trees opened into a clearing. He slowed as he spotted the girl at the end of the trail. She stood unmoving as he came closer, what she was looking at gradually coming into his field of view. The smells that had first alerted him something wasn’t right grew stronger.

  In the middle of the clearing, charred beams reached toward the sky, resembling broken, crippled fingers. Thin trails of smoke rose from among them.

  Larana’s gasping breaths echoed toward him as she stared at the destruction.

  “Is this…?” He left the question unfinished, knowing it could be nothing else.

  The girl took a half step forward, seemingly unaware he was even there.

  “Aunt Ban? Uncle Zed?” Her call reverberated around the clearing, but she received no answer.

  “Aunt Ban! Uncle Zed!” Larana called out again, her voice fraying at the edges. “It’s me, Larana. I’ve come back.”

  Nothing disrupted the ensuing silence.

  Torren felt his jaw clench, already knowing what she was yet unwilling to accept. “They’re not here.”

  The girl turned on him, fire in her eyes. “They are! They wouldn’t leave without me.”

  Turning from him, she ran into the clearing, heading toward a small shed on the far side—the only thing still standing. “Aunt Ban!”

  He didn’t follow her, instead approaching the burned-out shell of the house, sure he knew where the girl’s relatives could be found. Following his nose, he moved carefully through the rubble until he found the source of the acrid odor mingling with the smoke.

  “Aunt Ban! Uncle Zed!” Larana’s shouts were growing shrill, filling with dawning panic.

  He stepped out of the ruins. “I’ve found them.”

  Larana stopped where she was and turned to look at him, a hopeful smile on her face. He saw her glance past him and said nothing as the smile slowly crumbled with inevitable understanding.

  “No.” She shook her head slowly from side to side. “No.”

  Her expression filling with despair, the girl cut past him. He didn’t try to stop her. He didn’t watch as she stumbled into the rubble and shortly found the two burned and twisted bodies, which had, not long before, been her family.

  “No!”

  He glanced back at her cry, despite his original intentions, as she fell to her knees. He stared at her shaking back as sobs racked her body. Without a word, he turned away from her pain and walked to the shed on the other side of the clearing.

  Setting his pack outside, Torren searched inside and came out carrying a shovel. Not once glancing in the girl’s direction, he proceeded to dig a hole not far from the side of the small building. Perhaps he could do for her what he’d not been able to do for himself.

  Sometime later, he wiped his sweaty brow, having excavated a shallow grave. Climbing out of the hole, he set the shovel aside and reentered the shed to retrieve several large pieces of sackcloth.

  He reentered the burned remains of the house. Larana still sat where he’d last seen her, her eyes red and swollen, soot covering her clothes and face, dark tracks showing the path of her tears.

  “I’ve dug a grave for them,” he told her.

  She slowly turned her head toward him, her expression slack, her eyes glazed. It was hard to look at.

  “If you’ll move back, I’ll wrap them up in this.”

  The sun was high in the sky, shining down on the manmade clearing. The stench from the bodies was growing stronger.

  Her face vacant, Larana blinked several times then crawled to her feet to get out of his way.

  What debris there’d been over the blackened bodies was gone, though pieces of the corpses had come away with them. Suddenly, not wanting her exposed to this any more than necessary, Torren quickly laid a cloth over each one. His mouth a thin line on his face, he knelt down, gingerly tucked the cloth around the body of what he presumed to be Larana’s aunt and lifted her in his arms.

  The stench of the rotting, charred flesh multiplied as the body shifted. Momentarily, Torren closed his eyes, unwanted images flashing through his mind of another time. When he opened them again, his vision was clear but his expression grim. At least these two would have the benefit of a proper burial.

  Larana followed him automatically to the grave. She knelt in the grass, staring into the hole as he set the wrapped body inside it. Glancing once in her direction, he left her there as he went to retrieve her uncle.

  After he’d settled the second body into the grave, he took a deep breath and spoke. “What gods did they believe in?”

  She only star
ed at the grave.

  He waited to see if she’d respond at all, but she said nothing. Sighing, he bent down long enough to take a handful of dirt and gently sprinkled it over the bodies. “May the First Mother take you to Her bosom and care for you.”

  He picked up the shovel from where he’d left it and started filling in the hole. Larana said nothing as he worked, but fresh tears streaked her soot-covered face.

  Once he was done, he took a deep drink from the water skin then took a small piece of sackcloth from his pack. After dampening it, he used it to mop his face.

  “How far is the stream down this path of yours?” he asked.

  She stared at the covered grave, as if she could yet see the bodies lying within. She said nothing.

  He shook his head and turned away. Taking a spare set of clothes out of his pack and a pail from the shed, he headed across the clearing without another word.

  Following the path, he soon came across a respectable stream. Setting the pail and his clothes to the side, Torren quickly stripped and crouched in the cool water. Small fish nibbled at his toes, but he never noticed them. As he washed his body and his dirtied clothes, all he could see was the soot-covered gangly girl staring at her relatives’ grave.

  When he returned, Larana was exactly as he’d left her. Frowning and pushing back his damp hair, he studied her from the corner of his eye as he set the full pail he’d brought inside the shed. He came back out to loom over her, his expression blank.

  “We’ll need to leave soon,” he said darkly. “We’ve already been here longer than is prudent.” No reaction. “I’ve brought some water so you can wash yourself.”

  Larana gave no indication she’d heard what he said.

  He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her roughly to her feet.

  “We don’t have time for this! They’re dead. Deal with it.” His voice was thick. “You’ve had time to mourn. That time’s now over. Go clean up.”

  Her eyes widening with the pain in her arm, she stared at him without comprehension. Torren hauled her away from the grave and pushed her into the shed. He grabbed a piece of sackcloth, and after dunking it into the pail, thrust it into her hand.