“Defensive fortifications? What in Agon are you talking about?” Targon asked, scratching his head with one hand while holding tightly to the Arella flowers with his other.
“Like a castle.” Cedric motioned back toward the “fortification.”
“That wouldn’t stop a blind child! Might as well put out a welcome mat for the brigands to wipe their feet on before they slit all our throats,” Targon said as Cedric looked down without responding. Targon caught himself before he said more. He began to see Cedric as if he were a younger brother right now. “All right, come along now and show me exactly what you were thinking, then, when you organized this little bit of engineering.”
Cedric looked up, no smile on his face, but a hint of hope now gleamed in his eyes. “Let me show you,” he said, walking over to the blind.
“Halt! Super!” Targon heard a squeaky voice from behind the brush line: if one could call the bastard construct anything, brush line would have to do.
“Jons, is that you?” Targon asked, walking over to the small opening on the north side between the blind and the edge of the brush line.
“Aw, not fair. You’re supposed to say the counter to my challenge,” Jons whined as he popped up from the cover of the line with one of the Kesh swords in his hands. Targon noted, however, that the sword was being dragged tip-first in the dirt.
“What counter? Is this more city stuff?” Targon asked, looking from Jons to Cedric.
Just then, Targon noticed a large log had been pulled over to the side of the blind, and Horace stood up from where he was sitting. “Let them have some fun,” he said, motioning to little Jons. “The last few days have been hard, especially on the wee ones. It will do them some good to have some play.”
“Fine,” was all Targon said as he looked around and noticed the two crossbows lying across some wood branches, fully loaded and facing outward. “You prepped those, Horace?”
“Yes. Will is still out of it, and I thought we best have something prepared.”
Targon nodded in agreement as he took in the scene that was hidden from his view just moments earlier. He could still hear Thomas as he got closer, and he saw the space inside the semicircle was easily twice the size of the blind inside. He noticed Yolanda sitting on a dirty blanket, feeding her daughter, Amy, probably the last food they had, and Emelda was watching through the brushes, keeping an eye on Marissa and Thomas as they worked. Karz lay sleeping on another small blanket next to her. He assumed Celeste, Olga, and Monique were inside with Lady Salina, Will, and, of course, Agatha. A fire was in the very center of the circle with a crude tripod holding up Agatha’s black cast iron pot. Another brigand sword leaned against the blind’s vine-covered wall as well as many packs, water flasks, and other gear they had brought there. Will’s sword lay against the log very near to Horace’s hand, ready at a moment’s notice. Jons stood there looking up at Targon expectantly.
“Fine, what is the counter to your challenge, Jons?” Targon asked, but instead, Cedric answered.
“Cedric.” He hung his head, looking awkward.
“Who came up with that?” Targon asked, looking around.
“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Cedric said, lifting his head and looking Targon square in the eyes.
“Super Cedric?” Targon said, just shaking his head and looking back to Jons, who was now nodding and grinning from ear to ear.
“Yup, now you can come in, Master Targum.” Jons nodded.
“It’s Targon, little Jons. I’d think you would know that by now.” Targon walked over to the black pot and looked in. Water was steaming a bit, but it had not yet started to boil. Targon made quick work of the flowers, peeling the leaves off of each stem but keeping the flower intact. He then took four leaves and threw the rest into the pot.
“Hey, you’ll make Will sick doing that!” Emelda said, coming from the brush line to look into the pot, a look of shock on her face.
“Trust me, Emelda, this will help Will, not hurt him. Let me know when it boils.” And with that, he handed her one of the pretty yellow Arella flowers and leafless stem and then quickly handed two to Yolanda as well. “Give one to Marissa,” he said, turning and heading into the blind. Emelda and Yolanda just looked at each other and then down to the flowers and back to each other, speechless. No one noticed as old Horace just rolled his eyes and smiled.
“Oh, good, you’re back. I was afraid you’d be gone longer,” Lady Salina said, turning to greet Targon as he entered the door. Targon was happy to notice that he was right and Celeste, Olga, and Monique were all sitting on the floor in one corner shucking extremely small nuts from the pinecones they had piled together near them. Even if they picked every nut from every pinecone, it would hardly be enough to feed two or three people, much less sixteen. Monique looked up and smiled at him as she popped open another cone. She was pretty, he saw, and he hadn’t really noticed it before, such was his focus. Her face looked recently cleaned as if she had washed it in the river, but her dress remained dirty and tattered around the edges. The hard rocks and country tore it well in only two days.
“Yes, I’m back,” he said, “and I have something for Will, but first . . .” He leaned over and gave Monique one of the Arella flowers and a smile. She graciously accepted it and simply smiled in return, a faint blush of red forming on both her cheeks. “Ladies,” Targon said, offering them each a flower as well. Both Olga and Celeste accepted and also smiled. Targon stood up and looked at Lady Salina, offering her the last flower.
“That was most thoughtful of you . . .” she said as she looked at him, but before anyone could move, Agatha stood up, walked over to Targon, and snatched the flower from his hand, putting it behind her left ear.
“She’s a married woman and a woman of nobility, not deserving of a weedy flower from any peasant such as you! Besides, if we ain’t careful with you, we’ll find you smooching on one of our ladies here, so if you get the urge to smooch, just come see me, young man, and keep your hands to yourself!” Monique was definitely red in the face now and looked down, doubling her focus and efforts on the pinecones. Targon wasn’t sure to laugh or be angry at the interruption, but then started to laugh once Will chimed in.
“What, no flower for me?” Will said, chuckling and waving Targon over. “The lady tells me you wasted time on me, boy. What did you do, pray tell?”
Targon took the leaves he had saved and popped them in his mouth and started to chew a large wad of leaves in his left cheek as he tried to talk. “Afella, thometimes called sumshimes . . .”
“Take that crap out of your mouth, young man,” Agatha scolded him, laying out three strips of cloth to boil and sanitize. “Speak clearly, lad, or don’t speak at all.”
“You remind me of my grandmother, Agatha . . . only older,” Targon said, after taking the lump out of his mouth, and he started to kneed it in his hands.
“Why, you little . . .”
“Enough! Both of you, let’s focus on the important things now,” Salina chimed in, standing in between the two. “What are you doing, Targon?”
“These are Arella leaves from the Arella flower, sometimes called the sunshine flower due to its yellow appearance,” Targon said, continuing to kneed the pulpy leafy mash in his hands. “They have some healing properties and will help Will. We need to mash them up and put it inside his cut and then bandage it. You’ll have to trust me on this.”
“Putting filthy, saliva-ridden weeds in a man’s open wound is not medicine, boy! Who taught you such nonsense?” Agatha asked, her tone mocking.
“Well, since you don’t have any city medicine, I suggest we use this,” Targon replied.
“Let Will decide.” Salina looked at Will.
“Fine by me. I’ve had worse stuffed in me before. After everything the lad’s done for us so far, I’ll trust him on this one.”
That decided it, then, and o
nce fully mashed, Targon laid the mushy pulp into the wicked-looking cut running the length of Will’s left arm, from the shoulder down to his elbow, since Agatha refused to do it. She did, however, bandage Will up after asking Monique to take the new cloth strips and soak them well in boiling water. Targon was glad no one told her about the leaves he had placed in the pot, a point of fact best left unsaid for the moment. “Whose idea was it to pluck nuts from the cones?”
“That was Marissa’s idea,” Lady Salina responded.
“Not one of the city folk, then, eh?” he said, looking at Agatha, his tone mocking, but not daring to tell them just how few nuts they would have for all their efforts. Still, he had to give credit to the young girl for thinking of something. Anything was better than nothing.
“Well, you wood-folk and farmers are shining examples to all of us,” Lady Salina said and then smiled at him.
“If you say so,” Targon replied, not sure if he had offended Salina while the target of his barb was actually Agatha. He realized using the term “city folk” included the very same people he was starting to like. He left them in the blind and headed to pick up Marissa. She is turning out to be more of an asset than a liability, he thought.
“Marissa,” he said, walking up to her. She had another armful of cones and was heading to the blind to drop them off for the ladies to shuck. “Did you ever gather wild cabbage?”
“Oh yuck!” she said, making a face with her tongue sticking out like she was going to throw up.
“Okay, so you have gathered and apparently partaken of the foul vegetable. I need you to help me gather some this afternoon before sundown or there won’t be anything to eat for anyone. Can you help me?” he asked her.
“Sure,” she said, “just let me drop these cones off and then grab my cloak to use to carry them.” Targon nodded as she entered the blind. While waiting for her, Targon saw Thomas approaching from the other side, having finished brushing the many tracks they had made, both to and from the blind. Targon thought the brushing was in and of itself a track, but he didn’t have time to argue the point. Besides, it actually looked cleaner than dozens of footprints all over the place. Soon, Marissa came out, and with concerned calls for them to “watch their tracks,” they headed back north along the same trail Targon had used earlier.
It took them much longer than he had thought. The cabbages were hard to spot and few and far between so near to the Blackthorn Forest, and as the sun started to set, they quickly returned with a half dozen wild cabbages wrapped in Marissa’s cloak. The wild variety of cabbages was much smaller than the domestic version, one being about the size of an apple and not a head of lettuce.
They returned to the blind before the sun set, and quickly, Emelda, Monique, and Olga took the small, rough cabbages to the river to clean them as they were literally crusted in damp dirt. Soon, however, with a new pot of water boiling and the cabbages cleaned and cooking, the group congregated outside the blind in the relative comfort of the brush line Cedric had constructed.
The temperature was already dropping quickly, and Cedric had overseen the gathering of grasses that afternoon so that the entire area around the fireplace was strewn with them. All the blankets had been beaten clean and were now wrapped around various persons. There weren’t enough blankets to go around, so they shared and huddled closer to the fire for warmth. It was still early spring, and while the snows had melted, summer had yet to arrive. Targon took a few pinecone nuts that were offered to him by Yolanda while Celeste held her daughter, Amy, for her. He was relieved to see they had been roasted somehow and not boiled. They were not good boiled, and he knew that from experience.
“So do you still intend to leave us?” Cedric asked Targon from across the fire. It was now getting dark, but Targon could not only see but feel the looks from every one of the fifteen souls sitting around the fire that night.
“Like I told your mother, Cedric, I stayed around today to see to it you were provided for, but if I don’t find that slave caravan soon, I may never know where they took my family to, or Marissa’s family, either,” he said with a nod in her direction.
“What about my grandchildren?” Emelda said, a pleading tone in her voice.
“And my sister?” Yolanda chimed in, looking around at others.
Lady Salina stood up and motioned for everyone to be quiet. “We have all lost,” she said, looking around at each person in the circle. “My boys and I have no idea where my husband is. My children don’t know if their father is alive or not. Celeste and Olga have lost: both their husbands died or disappeared that day. It is unfair to lay all this at Targon’s feet. We are lucky he found us first, and not that filth from Kesh.” Several others began nodding in agreement, including Will, who was slumped against the blind wall, freshly bandaged but subdued this night.
“Hey, what about my parents?” asked Thomas, looking a bit left out.
“I understand, Thomas,” Salina said gently, looking him in the eye. “You and Jons have suffered greatly as well, and we don’t know where either of your parents are, but if they could see you now, they would be happy to know you’re safe.” After speaking, Lady Salina sat down and looked into the fire while she wrapped her small blanket around herself and her son Karz, whom she held in her lap again.
There was silence again for a bit, and then Agatha used the only wooden bowl they had to scoop out some cabbage soup and passed it to Yolanda to give to Amy. It was clearly understood the young would eat first tonight, and, by the sour look Amy gave, some of the adults weren’t too sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
Targon rose and gathered his belongings. He decided to leave the heavy Kesh blade as it was only slowing him down, and at this time, he needed stealth, not strength. “I will be back within a day or two,” he said simply, putting his father’s axe in his belt and slinging his bow across his back.
Marissa stood up from next to Cedric, looking Targon in the eye. “Promise me you will, and do it on your father’s soul.”
Targon met her gaze and responded, “I swear I will, by my father’s soul, my grandparent’s souls, the dragon’s fire, and Agon herself. I will return, Marissa.”
“Where are you going, lad?” Celeste asked him meekly.
“I am going hunting,” Targon replied, putting his cloak on, and he headed north along the game trail toward his homestead without looking back and was quickly lost to sight.
Targon found his night vision quickly returned once he left the blind and its little fire. He made good time along the old game trail, all the while hearing the Rapid River with its constant noise to his left. The moons of Tira and Sara soon rose in the east and allowed even more light than that of just the stars, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Targon had been using this trail for many years and knew it well.
He had gotten off to a much later start than he had wanted to, and his original plan was now altered. In a bit of bravado, he had promised Marissa he would return, and so his foray could only be for a few days at most. He was not sure where the carts were at the moment, and he feared they would soon, if not already, pass the old bridge on the ancient trade road and head east past the ruined keep and eventually into the Border Mountains where another day’s ride would take them to the pass.
Targon had been there once many years ago. His grandfather, Luc, had taken him while they hunted for food. The local game had been spooked, and for weeks, nothing came near the homestead. Hunting was scarce. Some farm animals from across the river had even been killed by a large predator, and occasionally at night, the family heard noises they could not explain. His grandfather thought it a wild mountain cat or even a bear, and they decided to hunt it once they found its tracks. The tracks confirmed it was a mountain cat, large and willing to roam far from the foothills in search of food. The winter before had been harsh, and it appeared many animals as well as the Ulathans suffered that year.
That was the
year after his father had died. Malik was tapped to go with his grandfather, but not knowing how long they would be, Luc allowed Targon to accompany them as a porter, carrying their water bags and some other supplies and provisions. Targon was still young at the time, and Malik was soon to be entering the king’s guard. Targon remembered the road and its destruction and just how dangerous it was to traverse the many crags, crevices, and fissures that overtook the ancient path and, in many areas, simply blocked it. It was literally impossible to walk on the road once it climbed into the mountains.
They never found the large cat. Whether it left or was killed by hunger or another predator they did not know, but they did find a large mountain ram, and the three managed to hunt it with Malik making the killing spear throw while Luc had shot and wounded it first. They laboriously carried the carcass back home and managed to make it through that year.
That was the question vexing Targon’s thoughts as he made his way home. How in all of Agon did those thieving Kesh manage to bring so many carts, oxen, horses, and men across those mountains? Something was amiss, and the thought of his family making such a dangerous journey motivated him to walk faster with a determined focus, and so quicker than he thought, he soon approached Bony Brook not far from his home.
It was on the southern edges of the brook that the forest and trail all but ended. The brook was not swift and not large, so crossing it wasn’t an issue, but the land was. Many decades of logging trees and using the land had made most of the ground from the brook to his home open and exposed. He could just make out the dark form of his domicile far in the distance across the brook, and though he had a ways yet to go, he was reluctant to leave the trail and the relative safety of the forest’s trees.
Even most of the brushes had been cleared from around his home. He had to go around to the east along the brook and then cross after several thousand feet. Farther back, there remained some trees and brushes, and he decided to approach the homestead from the southeast, almost directly opposite of the little trackway to the trade road. He crossed the brook, and after some time, Targon passed the stump of the old oak tree where he had cut wood days earlier and had left his weapons. Using some bushes and a very occasional tree for cover, he crept up to a small bush and wiggled his way through it so he could see his home.
Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series) Page 13
