Beyond the Bridge

by C D Beaudin

  Awyn can’t do anything but walk quietly, because now she knows who these men are.

  Slave traders.

  “Dreema and I will be sold as workers. You and Eldowyn…well I don’t know what will happen to you. All I know is that we will never see each other again,” he says.

  Awyn looks forward, her face feels blank and numb. Her thoughts even more so. It’s over now. She can’t help but feel relieved, and for that she feels guilty.

  As the day moves into darkness, wolves howl in the dark of night. Owls hoot overhead. The stars are bright tonight, and the moon full. The group rests in a gathering of tall rocks, hiding from the rest of the world. A fire flickers by the slave traders. Awyn, Aradon, Dreema, and Eldowyn lie in the dark and cold, with only their cloaks for warmth.

  “Wh-why didn’t you use your Besged power?” Eldowyn shivers.

  “I can’t risk it. If they captured me again, I’d be sold to a warlord as a weapon. No, I can’t get us out of this one.”

  It doesn’t make too much sense to Awyn. He defeated an army. Why can’t he defeat a bunch of slave traders? She looks at the bellowing bunch near the fire.

  “Hey! I’m hungry,” she calls.

  The traders look at her. “Oh, should we feed the little lady, boys?” Stump shouts, and they laugh viciously.

  “I think we should have some fun with her,” a lanky, twig-like one suggests.

  “Great suggestion, Remel,” Gold says.

  The men look at her with sly eyes.

  Awyn’s eyes widen, and she backs up against the rock behind her as Remel stands up, walking toward her.

  “No. Please, no.” She crawls away but is grabbed by the man.

  “Let her go!” Aradon yells, the rope around his wrists tightening as he pulls on them. Three other men walk over to him, gagging him, tying his arms and legs together. They do the same with Dreema and Eldowyn, who struggle against their tight holds. Then they focus their attention back to Awyn.

  “My-my father will never let this stand! He’ll find all of you. Kill all of you.” Laughter comes from the slave traders. If only Daron was alive, he would not stop until he had the heads of these vermin. But if he was alive, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.

  “No need for threats, snake. We just want to have some fun.” Remel grabs her arms, and she fights back. She kicks and scraps, but none of it does her any good. Her fighting results in more cuts and bruises.

  How she ever fought in the battle in Arleaand will remain a mystery. But tonight, perhaps she’s just given up.

  And one by one, her past is relived.

  “Haywen. Please. I need to eat. I’m so hungry!” Awyn had cried through the bars on the door. She’d sunk to the ground, weak, and hunger eating within her. Ironic. “Please!” She’d stumbled back as the door opened. When she’d looked up, Haywen had stood there, staring down on her.

  “What are you going to give me for it?” He’d held a piece of bread.

  Awyn’s mouth had watered. She’d looked back at Haywen, dread swirling in her stomach.

  I have to. I’ll starve. I haven’t eaten in five days.

  She hung her head, sighing in defeat. Awyn had swallowed nervously but had known it was her only choice.

  “Just do whatever you want. You always do,” she’d said quickly.

  Haywen had smiled, dragging her to the bed. That wasn’t the first time Awyn had sold her body for food. For survival. What else could she give? But the first time wasn’t her idea, it was that wretched Haywen. He’d forced himself on her, and in reward she’d been given an extra piece of bread, an extra cup of water. And that gave her the idea.

  So he’d done that regularly. At least he hadn’t beaten her up while he did his…deed. He did that whenever he was ordered to.

  Haywen had once been an honorable soldier. He was Daron’s personal guard. How had he gotten to that stage, blinded by Revera, or just trying to stay alive like the other soldiers? Awyn couldn't tell. But most of the soldiers were just trying to survive. Some were still loyal to King Daron, giving Awyn more food and extra water than they were supposed to. But some were worse than Haywen. They’d forced themselves on her, beaten her. The worst part of it was that Awyn had known all of them before her uncle assumed the throne. But Haywen was the only one she was with when this happened. He was her devil back then.

  Only then did she learn how powerful the lust of men truly was.

  How it consumes them.

  Awyn had ripped up the bread, placing half in her drawer for later, in case she wouldn’t get to eat for another few days. The bread was bland, and it had melted in her mouth, but it filled her stomach, easing the ache just a little.

  Looking at the crack in the wall, a little light had seeped through. That had been her hope. That was what kept her alive. The light. All the pain and abuse she’d suffered, she’d known someday, it would be over.

  Whether that meant she died or escaped, Awyn hadn’t known. Nor had she cared.

  The wind blows through her hair. The cold touches her nose and fingers, but Awyn can’t feel it. She sits there, arms wrapped around her knees, staring forward, her expression blank. Her breathing is slow and slight. She doesn’t move, look at the slave traders, or look at her friends. She is paralyzed.

  Aradon, Dreema, and Eldowyn look at her, their shame clear on their faces. “We should have done something,” Eldowyn says.

  “What could we have done? If Aradon had been in his Besged state he would have been putting us all in danger,” Dreema says, but Aradon doesn’t move. He just stares at her.

  Eldowyn sighs, looking away from her. “Do any of us really know that? Because I don’t believe it. Not anymore.”

  When they start their trek again, they walk off the path this time. Their footprints disappear as new snow falls. The sky is gray, with no sun to be seen. Awyn walks behind the horse once again, bound, and silent. The only sound is the crunch of snow below her boots and her quiet breathing.

  The others haven’t talked much either. It’s been four days, no one has said a word to each other. The slave traders have had a hoot, laughing, and joking. The nights have been long, Awyn not sleeping, and being abused by these men.

  She can barely stand, let alone talk. Her insides hurt, and she’s bruised everywhere. Those men didn’t just take advantage of her. They hurt her. In the cruelest ways possible. She glances over at the three men trailing the horses. Her friends. They look up at her, and she glares, shaking her head.

  Hate. No, that is too kind. She can’t describe the way she feels. They sat there, looking away, while these men did…that, to her. She looks away.

  Contempt may be more appropria—

  Something changes. Noise. Chattering. Voices. Awyn looks up to a sight she’s never seen before.

  The slave markets.

  Men tied together by ropes walk behind richly clothed men. Women are shoved and prodded with canes, making them stumble. People of all colors flock here, whether slaves, traders, or buyers.

  Chariots and litters with colorful, rich drapes and patterns dot the snowy dirt ground. The buyers wear robes, dresses, winter cloaks, and scarves. They walk over to wooden stages where the traders show off their assortment of slaves. Each one with a wooden plate hanging around their neck, stating how much they’re worth.

  Gold orders the other traders around, and Stump hangs a wooden plate around Awyn’s neck. He takes a paintbrush with black ink. “How much for snake, Gold?” he asks.

  The head trader walks over, looking Awyn over. “Twenty silver pieces. She’ll make someone a good pet.”

  Stump grins, grabbing the wooden slate, and writing the amount on it. He shoves her onto the stage. Aradon is next, worth twenty-five. Then Dreema, at ten, and Eldowyn, at fifteen.

  Gold walks out in front of the stage, the other traders tying the horses up. “Welcome, welcome!” he says as buyers gather to look at the slaves. “We have an excellent batch this month.” He gestures to Eldowyn. The illegal
slave trades allow for elves to be sold, but the former legitimate trades consider that to be highly illegal, punishable by prison. “This elf will make a great tutor for your children. He is smart, literate, and well-read. Fifteen silver pieces.”

  A gasp rises from the crowd. Gold scans, looking for the culprit. A man emerges, with long fawn hair and green eyes. He is tall, muscular, and has a sword in his hand.

  “Do you want to kill us?” he yells at Gold.

  “What?” the trader says, obviously amused.

  “That man.” He points at Aradon. “Is the famous Bowman.”

  The crowd panics, scurrying away like cockroaches from the stage. “The-the Bowman?” Gold turns to look at Aradon, whose expression is as blank as ever.

  “Yes, do you really want to sell a Red Warrior, knowing that the entire regiment will come after you and kill you?”

  Gold gulps, and leaps from the stage, running, along with his other traders. The man, satisfied, walks up to the stage. “You know, you’re really lucky. Some of these idiots who buy are warlords,” he says as he unties them.

  “Who are you, young man?” Dreema asks.

  The fawn-haired man smiles. “Just a man who hates slave traders. I’m looking for my sister, but she’s not here.” His eyes look sad.

  “What’s your sister’s name?” Awyn asks.

  “Brega,” he says sadly, but with a hint of memorable joy flushing his eyes.

  “Well, I hope you find her,” Awyn says.

  He looks at her. His brows furrow for a moment, then his face lights up. He places a hand on her shoulder. “My Princess, we will meet again when you seek out my father. Remember me.” He turns, leaving them standing there with their mouths open.

  “How does he know who I am?” Awyn stares at him as he leaves. “He seems very familiar. Like I’ve met him before.” Awyn huffs. “No, impossible. Just a good man.” She turns to the others, her expression suddenly grim. She can’t bear to look at them. “We should get going.”

  “I know a place where we can go tonight, but we’ll have to get riding,” Aradon says as he takes out the pipe, and blows it. A heavenly neighing comes from across the snow-covered plains. The four Everbreeds thunder up to them.

  Awyn pats Blancar, having not ridden him in a while. She mounts, and the others follow.

  “Where are we going?” Eldowyn asks Aradon as they ride off to the south.

  “Olway.”

  They ride along the familiar plains in the shadow of Mount Idies. The town of Olway rests in front of them, the giant fire snapping in the middle of the stone courtyard. The stars above shine brightly on the valley, the mountain towering behind the town, and the fire making the stone face glow.

  When they ride into the town, some of the villager’s stare. They tie up the horses and start walking toward the tavern.

  “Don’t let your weapons out of your sight. Remember, this is Nomarah. Criminals rest here,” Aradon says, leading them into the tavern, the same sight he saw weeks ago when he first learned about the princess.

  Men and women sit and laugh, drinking and cackling. Shouts of joy and drunkenness drown out the happy lute and pipes that play in the corner on the stage. The waitresses are the same, scantily dressed women that were here last time he came.

  The group moves to Aradon’s back table, only to find a very drunk dwarf sitting there. “Hagard?” The first smile in days appears on Aradon’s face.

  The dwarf looks up, beer dripping from his black mustache. “Aradon, laddy? Is dat really ye?” The dwarf chuckles happily. “Oh, ho ho, tis great to see ya! Da beer was too much for me ta drink me-self!” He hugs Aradon, who winces—he’s not used to hugs.

  “Hagard, this is Eldowyn, Dreema, and—”

  “By da corner of da table. Yer Highness!” He bows to Awyn, who chuckles at the little drunk man.

  “Please, no bowing. Someone could see.” She smiles, a sight he thought he would never see again—reminding Aradon of all their shame. They sit, and a waitress comes over, eyeing Awyn up.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you looking for a job? You’d be perfect, sweetie!” Her accent is twangy, and her blonde hair done in a braid, rests on her left shoulder. Blue lip paint sits thickly on her plump lips, and silver lines her blue eyes. Her dress is low-cut and dark blue, with a silver sash tied tightly around her waist. She looks like she can’t breathe. “Oh, I know the men would just love you.” She twists a strand of Awyn’s hair around her finger.

  Awyn awkwardly smiles. “No, thank you. I’m just here with my friends, passing through.”

  The waitress gives them a smile. “Well, I’m Daliah, if you need anything.” Her smile is very pretty, but when she turns, Aradon thinks he hears a sad sigh.

  She doesn’t want to do this, I can tell.

  “Aradon, what are ye doin’ here?” the dwarf asks.

  “We’re on our way to Tanea.” Beer spouts out of the dwarf’s mouth, soaking Eldowyn’s face.

  “Laddy! What are ye doin’? Last time ye were dere you destroyed da chief’s house!”

  Aradon grimaces. “Thank you, Hagard, that’s quite enough,” he says through his teeth as Eldowyn grabs a cloth to wipe his face.

  “What happened?” Awyn asks. Her well-deserved hatred for them doesn’t stunt her curiosity, and Aradon sighs.

  “The Besged Dia.” He closes his eyes painfully. “There…was a fight. A rebel band stormed through the Tanea. I fought them off, but then came the Besged Dia, and I tore through the village like a madman. Fighting off the rebels didn’t help them at all.” He grabs Hagard’s tankard, much to the dwarf's dismay, and chugs. He never drinks. He slams the cup on the wooden table, the beer having no effect on him.

  Besgeds can’t get drunk.

  They can’t forget.

  That night they sleep in separate rooms and beds for the first time since Arleaand. Awyn lies in her bed, looking at the ceiling.

  I can’t be around them. Not anymore. Not when they watched as I suffered. As those men took me. But I need the Tanean army. I’ll have to live with them a little longer. She sighs. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

  Maybe it’s only a feeling. Maybe it isn’t real. But in that moment, her heart seems to grow all the blacker. Perhaps it just breaks.

  She falls asleep, once again a dreamless existence.

  The next morning in the courtyard, Awyn secures her saddlebag, tightening the buckle. She opens the latch and grabs a few berries from the small sack. The juice is tangy, making her jaw tighten and her eyes water.

  “Sour?” Eldowyn smiles, patting her on the back.

  Awyn fakes a smile. “Yes.” When the elf goes to his own horse, Awyn huffs, her smile dropping. Putting her foot in the stirrup, she mounts the horse, sitting comfortably in the saddle.

  “Good job, sweetie. You never used to be able to do that on your own.” Awyn looks down, seeing her father smiling up at her, his short brown beard surrounding a charming smile. She goes to touch him, a tear in her eye.

  “Father.” He takes her hand, kissing it.

  “I love you, Awyn. Remember that.” He smiles and disappears.

  The tears fall down Awyn’s cheeks. Her father came to her. As a ghost, perhaps. But one can’t touch a ghost. Mind you, how could she possibly know that? If she was irrational, she would think she only imagined his death, that these last nine years were just a dream. But the dagger that was sticking in his chest tells her otherwise.

  “Are you all right?” Aradon asks as Awyn wipes her stream of tears away quickly.

  “I’m fine. Are you going to mount up?” she says spitefully.

  Aradon’s eyebrows furrow. He walks to his horse. Hagard bounds out of the tavern, clutching his head. He must have a wicked headache.

  “Can I come, Princess?” he asks in his thick accent.

  Awyn smiles. “Of course, Hagard.”

  He smiles, grabbing his horse, he pulls out a box, and literally climbs onto the saddle. The child-length stir
rups fit him perfectly.

  “Ready, laddies?” He laughs, smacking the horse with his rein. “Onward!”

  The river bordering Eron is in Awyn’s sight. White caps roll along the thundering water. The horses gallop faster as they urge them on, wanting to pass over the stream. When they arrive, the wide river daunts them but they carefully cross, and when they ride up onto the grass, they can’t help but stare.

  Eron. The Red Lands. The grass is bright red, the plains stretching as far as the eye can see. The thundering of the river continues behind them. A harsh wind blows through their hair and cloaks, the fabric snapping in the breeze. The mountains behind them and in the distance have a blueish hue, and snow caps them. Snow. No snow here. There is no winter in Eron. Always spring.

  The smell of rain floats on the wind. Suddenly drops start to fall. Then a torrent. Awyn looks up, her eyes squinting, her hair soaked. A smile grows on her face. She loves the rain. She stretches out her arms, laughing. This is what she needs. Just a dose of her old life.

  The gray leaves rustle in the wind. The black branches sway, creaking. Kaniel rides through the Dark Woods, critters scuttling across the ground, and into the trees. The shriek of the Dalorin sound throughout the forest, but Kaniel hardly fears them, knowing Dalorin can’t devour Delcah.

  He rides past the spot where he first found Awyn.

  Awyn. I wonder how she’s doing. Oh, I should have been on her side back in Thasoe. I’d be with her, to help guide her. At least Aradon and Eldowyn are with her. Dreema too. At least they can protect her.

  Kaniel comes to the spot where he found Aradon.

  That Red Warrior. So strong, so stubborn. His moods changing like the tides, and yet he is so likable once one gets to know him. I hope he gets his chance to be a king. Hared would be so proud of him. Hared. I should visit him. Tell him I’ve seen his boy. Yes, that would make him happy. I’ll go first thing tomorrow.

  Filled with new purpose, Kaniel urges on his horse, galloping toward his hut. He turns the corner of a rock, seeing where Awyn was struck by a Dalorin, then his house. Finally home, he sighs.