Slender and small, Atoi flitted through the crowd like a dragonfly buzzing past a pond of reeds. Flashing a heel or an elbow now and then, she danced away before most knew she’d passed. Ignoring the new sights, Crystalyn concentrated on keeping up. Even so, many storefronts and dozens of nameless faces filtered through from the periphery. The culture on Astura varied beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
Slipping past a finely dressed couple, Crystalyn approached her guide, who waited at the entrance to a side street. “The axle master’s yard is at the edge of town this way, though the others won’t be there for a time,” Atoi said. “Do you want to go to the town square and look around the festival?”
Crystalyn looked further along the packed street. A writhing wall of congestion became noticeably worse closer to what she guessed was the town’s center. “What is the Snowmelt Festival?”
“Every new spring, when the mountain passes melt enough to allow merchants, ranchers, farmers, and outlying villages safe passage to a crossroads city like the Four Bridges, there’s a festival. It is an opportunity for buying seed for planting, purchasing depleted winter supplies, and bartering for Kell fur from winter traps, but it also permits the young women to put their wrist ring on the Grappling Pole. The pole, a hewn tree really, is always a spectacle holding everyone’s attention. It will start soon and we can always use the coin. Shall we go?”
Crystalyn detested crowds, but she was curious about the culture. If not for Atoi’s reference to coin, and something about holding the townspeople’s attention, she might’ve been tempted. She probably didn’t want to know how Atoi had come by the credits—coinage here, she seemed to have. Atoi wasn’t above frisking a corpse, she could attest to that. “Not today. Let’s find a place to wait near the wagon builders. I want to get going.”
Atoi’s countenance flushed slightly. “Very well, follow me.” Charging into the side street without a backward glance, she dashed ahead.
Forced to trot around a group of sturdy-dressed men strolling arm-in-arm beside women wearing bright dresses, she passed several young men in a group. Wide grins lined their faces when they noticed her. Striving to keep pace with her guide, she resisted the urge to look back to see if they followed her progress with their eyes, most certainly would.
The crowd thinned, permitting her to come abreast of her tiny companion. Atoi kept her eyes to the front, striding forward at a strict pace. “Is it always this busy here or only during the festival?” Crystalyn asked, shading her eyes from the bright sun rising.
“The Snowmelt Festival is popular. It brings whole families in town to celebrate, but the Four Bridges is a crossroads. It’s active year-round.”
“What’s the festival about? I mean, besides the obvious seasonal change.”
“Trading, as I mentioned. The biggest event is the grappling pole. The townsfolk carve a tall, smoothed, many-limbed pole, where the young women hang wrist rings unique to them on it. Greased and then raised, every young man ready to wed competes against other locals and outlying villages to reach the desired wrist ring first. Whoever is successful in retrieving it becomes the woman’s betrothed.”
Crystalyn’s skin ran cold. The custom sounded barbaric to her, what happens when the wrong person gets the ring?
“Hatchet throwing, log racing, archery, starlight fires, and mercantile booths are but a few activities happening throughout the fifteen day period.” Atoi said.. Shifting her bulging leather bag to the opposite hip without slowing down, she sidestepped a man leading a furred pig the size of a wolf. Crystalyn followed her example.
“Wait. Didn’t you say locals? Aren’t you from here?”
Atoi stopped.
Crystalyn’s momentum carried her a few steps beyond the girl. Glancing over her shoulder, Crystalyn regarded her guide. Atoi’s green eyes smoldered, counteracting her smooth face, though her compressed lips spoke otherwise. “What? Did I say something to offend you?”
Atoi said nothing for a long while, then, without warning, she charged past, her tiny head held high.
Crystalyn wanted to sigh. Apparently, there were questions one wasn’t supposed to ask in this odd world. What other blunders was she going to make?
Content to follow, Crystalyn noted a grand, barn-like structure looming beyond the next intersection, marking their destination. The structure loomed over a good portion of the street’s far side. A fenced field, the grass cropped short, surrounded one side, vanishing behind.
Atoi strode halfway across the busy street, taking a direct route toward the monstrous building. Glancing both ways, Crystalyn dashed behind a cart harnessed to a white ox. Sea-green melons filled the cart to the rails, stacked high in the center. By the time it passed and she crossed the thoroughfare, Atoi sat on one side of a pair of shady wooden benches. The benches faced each other near a set of wide doors chained open. Haggard grooms mucked nearby stalls inside, while liveried men hurried in and out, going about errands. Atoi stared at her feet, so Crystalyn sat and waited for the others. Eventually, she meant to drag Atoi’s background out in the open even if the girl glared until her eyes bled. Knowing whether she could depend on all of her companions in a scrape usually began with a person’s upbringing. A thorough knowledge of all the individuals under your leadership could be the difference between dying and living, as Dad had stated many times. She meant to live long enough to find Jade and send her home. No little girl’s dark past was going to keep her from it.
The three larger travel companions appeared along the road making their way toward them. Trailing the Lore Mother on each side like armed guards—which Crystalyn supposed they were—Lore Rayna and Cudgel made an impressive pair. The big warrior had donned a thick-linked chain mail shirt. His conspicuous blunt weapon protruded skyward beyond his left shoulder, though Lore Rayna’s longbow—taller than some warriors—drew the eye. A fat quiver, burgeoning with green fletched arrows peeked over her shoulder. The leafy dress adjusted around her body with each step. Crystalyn wasn’t happy with the male side of the trio, but there was no help for it now, she’d agreed to travel with them.
Mounted or not, the crowd parted before them, possibly having something to do with Cudgel’s fierce scowl, apparent from yards away, and Lore Rayna’s tall, muscular stature. Remarkably, the Lore Mother was the one setting the pace. Crystalyn hoped she moved as well as the Lore Mother when her lifespan began the final apex.
“Stay with the girls, Rayna,” the Lore Mother commanded, hastening through the double doors. Cudgel followed close behind, staring everywhere but at Crystalyn, though his eyes did linger on Lore Rayna before he stepped inside.
Atoi jumped to her feet. Leaning back on her heels, she looked up at Lore Rayna. “She won’t find a wagon.”
The big woman’s lips thinned. “She has to try, little one.”
“Why?” Crystalyn asked. “She looks like she travels on her own two feet better than any wagon I’ve ever seen.”
Lore Rayna turned toward her. “You may be right. However, we have…gear…that would be difficult to transport on two feet.”
“Is it too big for a large pack horse?” Crystalyn asked.
“We believe so. Though, we may attempt it if Mother is unsuccessful here,” Lore Rayna admitted. Raking her golden hair behind her waist, she went on. “Even so, ensuring the contents remain intact on a pack animal would be difficult.”
Crystalyn let the matter drop. Lore Rayna’s recovery from the attempted Contacting appeared complete, yet one never knew. The big woman could collapse at any time.
They sat in silence.
Crystalyn’s gaze followed the road beyond the stables. An arched bridge spanned a wide river not far from them. Their path would take them over the wood-planked bridge like the many travelers arriving from out of town who crossed with new energy, knowing their journey was nearing its end. Hers was about to begin with new companions she knew little about, as soon as Hastel arrived. She half-hoped he wouldn’t show, but she wanted to get started.
The midday heat approached, the shade provided by the wagon master’s warehouse was beginning to recede.
The Lore Mother stomped out of the warehouse with Cudgel on her heels. “Blast it!” she swore.
“Mother!” Lore Rayna said, shocked.
“This whole blasted town shuts down for that bloody festival,” Cudgel growled.
“Cudgel!” Lore Rayna exclaimed. “Now I know where Mother gets her unladylike words.”
The Lore Mother ignored Lore Rayna’s outburst. Hands clasped behind her back, she paced in and out of the double doorway. “I’m at a loss on what to do now,” she moaned. “I don’t want to resort to horseback.”
“I guess we’re stuck with his wagon after all,” Crystalyn said, crestfallen.
The Lore Mother halted in her tracks. “What wagon?”
“That one,” Crystalyn said, pointing.
Pulled by a huge shire horse, Hastel sat on the front seat of a sturdy, wooden wagon, gripping stout leather reins. Tethered to the rear gate, a palomino horse tossed a magnificent tan mane.
The Lore Mother and Cudgel swore again.
For better or worse, Crystalyn realized her journey was about to begin.
LURE
As the wagon bucked its way through the shallow creek bed, Crystalyn endured every rough bounce, stoically. The next one proved particularly bad, nearly throwing her onto the wagon’s tongue when a rear wheel collided with a boulder that the front wheels had steered past. The sturdy wagon careened over it and up the far bank, where the road mercifully leveled out. The Lore Mother pulled on the reins, bringing them to a standstill. Setting the wheel clamps, she turned to the biggest piece of cargo they carried, the coffin-sized crate resting on the wagon’s rear gate at a precarious angle. Cudgel sprinted up and pushed Hastel’s two chests back to the front. Lore Rayna eased the crate into the wagon’s bed and began to repack the straw around it.
Crystalyn rubbed the small of her back. “Other than a broken tailbone, I’m fine. Thanks for checking, though.”
Cudgel and Lore Rayna glared, or at least Cudgel did. Lore Rayna’s luminous eyes brightened, which usually meant a glare when the big woman felt one was appropriate for the situation.
“You should be well enough. If you manage to break a limb, you could always mend yourself. Our…cargo won’t have that option,” the Lore Mother said, not bothering to look up from her inspection. Lifting each of the four handles in turn, she made sure the lid was intact. Satisfied, the old woman faced forward and released the brake, but didn’t immediately signal for Drumn to move, Lore Rayna still worked the straw.
Atoi spoke from the ground beside Crystalyn. “What’s in your precious crate?” Steadfast with her refusal to ride, Atoi had jogged the entire climb up the mountain. The girl’s stamina was spectacular, she didn’t sound the least bit winded. No one bothered to acknowledge the girl’s question.
Hastel brought the palomino to a standstill on the wagon’s other side. “We’ve lugged your cargo over some tough terrain. Is it really that fragile?”
“One tiny crack would be enough to destroy its value. Other than that, I cannot say,” the Lore Mother replied.
“You’d better open it and check. We’ll help,” Atoi said, her white face impassive.
The Lore Mother’s own impassive face did not turn toward the young girl. “I’ll take my chances.”
Crystalyn studied the shortest of the three larger companions. Cudgel leaned against the wagon rail then dropped his hands to his side, briefly. Then he leaned on the wagon rail, a scowl fixed between his bushy brown eyebrows. Though he’d avoided making eye contact or speaking to her the whole way, which was fine with her, his body language, gave him away. He was anxious about something. “We should know what we’re carrying,” Crystalyn said.
Lore Rayna looked away, into the tree line, but her voice was loud. “What’s inside our cargo is business of ours. Desist from your inquiries,” the big woman hissed. Agitated, her green dress shifted back and forth on her backside, as if her skin now secreted poison.
“Rayna’s right. All of you go about your own business,” Cudgel said.
Hastel’s frown darkened his face. Pulling a cloth from his vest pocket, he daubed at his wound. “We’re traveling together. It is our business.”
The Naturists went to a great deal of trouble keeping the crate’s contents to themselves Crystalyn didn’t like it. They could be hauling around an unstable hydro bomb for all she knew. “Is it dangerous?” she asked the Lore Mother, ignoring the others.
Atoi spoke before anyone could answer. “Is it valuable?”
Lore Rayna spun, her face flushed with heat. “Didn’t I just say you don’t need to know?”
Cudgel reached over his shoulder to grip his pole weapon, but left it sheathed. “And I said to go about your business.”
Hastel fingered one of the dual axes hanging on each hip he’d strapped on immediately after leaving the bridge crossing the Even Flow River, along with a crossbow slung on his back. “We don’t take orders from you, flame beard. The horse and wagon are mine. Tell me what we’re hauling around in that crate of yours or I’ll dump it out, right here.”
“You’ll do what?” Crystalyn raised an eyebrow.
“Dump it with your permission, Miss Crystalyn, of course,” Hastel added hastily.
Crystalyn kept her face smooth. “Of course, permission granted. I think we all deserve to know what’s inside or we’ll leave it here.”
“Enough!” The Lore Mother shouted, her voice booming throughout the small meadow. “Cudgel, cease your threats. Rayna, show some respect for our fellow travelers. As for the cargo, know this: it may play a pivotal role to all of our well-being, but it is our burden to endure. Further, I will not say! Please, clear it from your thoughts.”
If it affected their well-being, Crystalyn wanted to know about it. Before she could voice to her thoughts, the old woman snapped the reins, throwing her back into her seat and leaving Lore Rayna with straw in her hands. With three powerful jumps, the big shire horse, Drumn, brought the wagon to a breakneck speed.
Crystalyn gripped the front handrail. Even a small bump could catapult her from the wagon. Slinging mud in all directions, they thundered along the trail, the wind knifing through her hair. Despite the danger of overturning at such a reckless speed−or perhaps due to it−Crystalyn felt exhilarated. The roan was magnificent horseflesh in his prime. Strong and energetic, even after a short day’s climb, Drumn galloped as if unaware that wide leather straps harnessed him to a heavy wagon. Head and neck stretched forward, the big horse flexed his powerful loins with joyous abandon.
Their headlong rush was short lived. The level ground ended at a steep incline, and at the last possible second, the Lore Mother drew hard on the reins. Drumn lowered his haunches and straightened his front legs, plowing furrows in the soft ground. The wagon slowed enough to bounce uphill, creaking loudly in protest. The crate slammed into the wooden tailgate with a sharp bang. Crystalyn shot her best glare at the Lore Mother. “Keep driving like that and we’ll get see what’s inside your precious package, or what’s left of it.”
The Lore Mother kept her luminous eyes forward, slowing the shire to a slow walk. “I did not expect such speed from a work horse,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Truly, remarkable, Hastel has done well for one of his station. I do owe you an apology, however. That was…reckless of me.”
Crystalyn raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Words like downright foolish, immature, bloody juvenile…are closer to the truth to me.”
The Lore Mother scowled. “Enough! What’s done is done!”
Crystalyn clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t trust herself to speak. The woman could’ve killed them both. Nearly as bad, she could’ve broken one of Drumn’s legs, yet she was acting as if she’d had a momentary lapse in judgment. What would she do if the Lore Mother “lapsed” near a cliff edge? As wonderful as the big horse was, Crystalyn was certain he wouldn’t be able to fly. They’d d
ie screaming at each other all the way to the bottom. With luck, she’d get the last scream. Unfortunately, the old woman had proven to be better at handling the wagon than anyone, save Hastel. Perhaps she’d let the matter drop for now. She doubted she could drive the wagon half as well.
The climb lessened as the afternoon wore on. Crystalyn slouched in her seat, gazing at red sandstone cliffs rising above pine trees that towered over green, fern-like plants, eking a shaded existence out from under them. Orange and red leaves, shed from deciduous trees last autumn, littered the ground.
The wagon rolled onto a tranquil path through a grassy meadow dotted with sage and clumps of scrub oak. Patches of snow clung to north faces wherever shade allowed. Crystalyn marveled at the vibrant world around her. It was so much better to be experiencing it in the wild instead of at the Farm, or watching one of dad’s holographs illustrating the way the landmasses used to stretch before the Breaking at family evening—until he got so busy with the Administration. Her and Jade had envied their father living in the time before there was the Mountain.
Their mom, too, who’d lived beside an ocean she could swim in without exposure, before her parents were married. How would it have been to go for a walk through the forest, enjoying the outdoors without glancing once at an oxygen meter? Or swim in an ocean without fear of flesh rot?
A small, black woodland creature slipped into the underbrush. Alert at once, she kept a sharp eye out for further movement. She’d only ever seen the poor, decrepit creatures left in the Administration’s zoo and the holoimages in school. Her excitement rose.
As hard as she tried, Crystalyn failed to get a good look at the black flashes. They moved too fast. Giving up, she looked around and gathered her bearings. The wagon wound around a small rockslide half-buried with mud, still following a gentle upward slope. She was glad. Such steep rises pressed the small of her back against the wooden backrest, making her sore. “What are those black colored creatures?” she asked as she eyed another dark flash. It vanished behind some blue-green lichen-covered rocks on the Lore Mother’s side of the trail.
Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1) Page 12
