by Susan Faw
At exactly the same moment, seemingly in concert, his wife Melle screamed in the next room and low murmurs reached his ears, soothing sounds of the woman assisting her. He heard his wife’s agonizing wail once more and then…the sound of a baby crying.
He ran to the bedroom and opened up the door. Inside he saw not one, but two babies, lying at the foot of the bed. The last one was being gently wiped down by the midwife and wrapped in a clean blanket. She picked up the two babes, placed them in his wife’s arms and stepped back.
He walked quietly over to his wife’s side. Two bright-eyed children stared back at him. He saw intelligence sparkling in their eyes, and something more, something he couldn’t define.
Gaius gazed down into his wife’s beaming face. Her hair was in sweat-soaked tangles and her eyes were tired but gleaming with pride. “Two babes, Gaius, a boy and a girl, and both as healthy as can be!”
As he gazed down at his children, lightning flashed again.
With their faces highlighted in the sudden glare, he noticed a birthmark in the shape of an oak leaf on each of their right cheeks. The lightning faded and with it the birthmark. He bent to take a closer look. There was nothing to see.
***
Gaius sat with elbows on knees, hands clasped, and head bowed. Silence followed his words.
Avery remembered it as clearly as if it had just happened. But she also remembered more. There had been another woman and man, another room, a room of stone. Her senses told her that woman was also her mother. She shook her head in confusion. How could it be? Yet she knew it for the truth…she felt the truth of it.
Sharisha and Ziona exchanged glances. They did not understand it either, but one thing was evident. Gaius had spoken of a birthmark which had faded away after a glance. Could this be another of the signs they sought?
There could be no doubt these two children were the ones they had travelled to locate.
And now one was being carried away into the mouth of the beast.
Ziona stood up abruptly. “I must go,” she stated. “The legion already has too great of a lead on me.”
Sharisha stood also. “How do you plan to approach him?”
“I will attach myself to their travelling supply train. It is the simplest answer. I shall present myself as a merchant seamstress who can sew uniforms for the new recruits. It should allow me access to most of the camp. I will be able to follow them the entire time.”
Sharisha nodded her acceptance of the plan.
Ziona stood and bowed to Gaius and Avery. Avery blushed in surprise. “Until we meet again, Mistress Avery. Sir. ” Ziona left the cabin, closing the door quietly behind her.
Sharisha directed her words at Avery. “You must come with me back to my homeland. Only there can I protect you.”
“Protect me from what? What is it we are supposed to be in danger from? I don’t understand any of this. Who are you anyways? And what is she”—Avery pointed at the recently closed door—“going to do with Cayden?” Avery took the seat vacated by Ziona and waited, arms folded across her chest defiantly.
Gaius looked up from the contemplation of his hands. He appeared years older suddenly.
“There were always little things with them both, right from the beginning. Avery, on her second birthday toddled over to her mother’s side where she was hanging laundry on the line, jabbering away that Cayden was about to get hurt. She saw Cayden playing with a rattlesnake which had crawled out from under the rock pile to sun. The odd thing was, it seemed as if the rattler and Cayden were having a conversation. There was no aggressive behaviour in the snake. She shooed it away and it left. Cayden later said the snake was watching over them. He babbled on about his guardian snake for days afterward. We thought it was childish talk at the time…” His voice faded off in thought.
“And then there was the time Avery warned me of the thieves who intended to rob us as we came back from town one evening. A couple of bandits, a man and a woman dressed as common folk, were at the side of the road, pretending to fix the wheel of their wagon. The wagon was blocking a good section of the road, enough to cause us to stop or go around. Avery was about four and she was sitting in front of me in the saddle. She said to me very clearly, ‘Papa, those people want to hurt us. Their wagon is not broken.’ I watched the pair as they waved at us to assist them. It was then that I spied the third person, hiding under the canvas in the wagon with bow drawn and arrow knocked. I heeled my mare and we leapt into the woods at the side of the road. The arrow lodged itself into the tree beside my head as we gained the cover of the woods. How she knew, I never figured out, but she was right and she saved both of our lives that day. The thieves were gone by the time I was able to return with help.”
Avery remembered the incident too. “There were four people, Papa. Another man was hidden on the other side of the wagon. They were slavers. They were after children to kidnap and sell. At least that was what I felt from them.”
Both Gaius and Sharisha stared at her.
Avery gazed back at them and shrugged, plucking at a pull in her sweater.
Gaius rose abruptly, decision made, placing his cup on the table beside the chair.
“I need to make arrangements for the farm.” Gaius rose from his chair. “We will leave in the morning.”
Sharisha nodded in acceptance.
Avery stared at him, dumbfounded.
Gaius picked up his hat from the peg by the door and left the cabin.
Chapter 11
CAYDEN RODE BEHIND THE SCOUT. The riders formed up and followed them out of town, soon overtaking them, kicking up a cloud of dust as they passed. Cayden coughed and covered his nose with his sleeve until the dust settled. The scout ahead of him was keeping his mount to a brisk walk.
Cayden longed to enter the dense trees. It would be so easy to slip away into them and forget about this hair-brained scheme, but he knew others would suffer if he did so. So he kept his eyes on the horse in front of him and followed placidly.
They crested the hill and the camp spread out like lava on the slopes of the valley below. There were a few merchant wagons set up along the roadside, their canvas sides rolled up to display their merchandise for sale. They cried out in loud voices at the mounted men riding toward the camp, hawking wares from needles and tobacco to knives, flint, and candy. The riders did not slow until they had entered the perimeter of the camp.
Cayden slowed his mount in order to take in the goods on display. There was little that would be useful to a soldier on the march. A broad rim hat of dyed calf’s leather in a dark green shade caught his eye. It would be very useful for keeping the sun out of his eyes. Perhaps, when he earned some pay in the service of the queen, he would return to buy it.
“Magnus, I have a new recruit for you,” called the scout to a beefy man standing inside the main entrance of the boundary containing the camp. Magnus walked over to where Cayden had dismounted. He walked around Cayden, sizing him up. He paused in front of him, turned his head and spat at the ground. A stream of foul brown liquid jetted from his mouth. He rolled the chew of tobacco over to the other side of his mouth, tucking it in his cheek and then leered at Cayden, showing yellowed teeth.
“Scrawny thing, but we will soon toughen him up. Ranolph!” he bellowed to another man standing over his shoulder. “Get over here and take the new recruit to the supply tent. Find him a uniform to wear that doesn’t fall down around his knees. Bunk him in with the recruits from the last village.”
“Aye, sir!” said Ranolph with a quick salute. “Follow me.”
Cayden followed Ranolph to the eastern side of the camp, wending his way between tent pegs and cooking fires. The men in the camp seemed a well fed but surly lot. There was no laughter, no music, and no camaraderie. The men sharpened their swords, polished boots, or tended their cook fires but all with an air of workers sharing the same drudgery. Boredom seeped from every pore. Suspicious eyes followed Cayden’s journey through the camp. The men sported various injuries and s
omehow Cayden did not think they were all a result of battle. Many a man was wrapped in bandages, while others used roughly carved crutches to hobble about the camp. If these are not battle wounds, they can only be training or brawl related, Cayden thought. He shivered. He thought all it would take was one spark and the camp would erupt like a firework dropped in a campfire.
Cayden was relieved when they reached the supply tent without incident. Drawing the flap aside, he entered the dim interior. A man was seated behind a makeshift desk, making notations in what appeared to be a supply catalog.
He squinted at the newcomers through spectacles perched on the end of his nose. The reading glasses slipped a little as he harrumphed, “New recruit?” He eyed Cayden up and down and then rose and walked over to a trunk. Opening the lid, he pulled out a tan shirt, a pair of dark brown pants, and a belt. He closed the lid of the trunk and then opened an identical one sitting beside it. He pulled out a brown cap and a leather jerkin from its depths. He glanced at Cayden’s feet and then reached into the portable cupboard behind him and produced a worn pair of work leather boots. He handed the bundle of clothing to Cayden and jotted the transaction into his ledger, dismissing them with a vague nod of the head.
Cayden followed Ranolph out of the supply tent and then a short distance away to a long horse picket. Ranolph indicated that he tie his horse to the end of the line.
They then approached a low tent off to one side, much larger than the ones surrounding it. Ducking inside this tent, Cayden saw two rows of sleeping mats laid out, ten in total. Each mat had a blanket. All the mats were currently occupied with the exception of one right at the entrance flap, the coldest and noisiest spot in the tent.
“This is where you will sleep. Roll call is at six o’clock every morning. Change into your uniform and come outside. I will take you to your new mates.”
He changed quickly and then followed Ranolph out into the camp again. They passed the latrines he had spotted from their earlier spy trip and ended up at the edge of the camp where a practice battle range had been set up.
At the far end of the field they entered the practice range. A group of men about Cayden’s age shot arrows at straw targets. Closer in, men worked with practice swords under the careful eye of a trainer. Closer still, Cayden picked out men working with pikes and halberds, dodging the wrapped blades.
Ranolph handed Cayden over to the training sergeant, a balding man with arms and legs like an elephant. His shirt strained across his chest. “Well, well, boys! Look here. We got ourselves a rabbit.”
The others stopped their practice and sauntered over, raw aggression evident in their stiff gait.
The sergeant bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “Rabbits run, boy. I suggest you get going.”
With a holler the entire practice yard raised weapons and ran at Cayden. Cayden yelped and grabbed a wooden staff from a nearby barrel. He fled out of the yard, only to find his path blocked by more soldiers.
Cayden shot off to the right, toward the practice dummies, the men behind him yelling and catcalling, waving their various weapons at him. He ducked behind a practice dummy, which shuddered as a sword was thrust through it, the tip of the blunt wooden blade stopping a bare inch from Cayden’s belly.
He leapt back in shock, but not in time to avoid a blow from a wooden practice mace to his head. His ears rang and the world spun. Staggering away, he launched himself into motion again, this time running toward some wooden boxes arranged in another corner of the yard.
Reaching the boxes, he jumped on top of them and brought his staff around in front of him. With a wild swing, he pushed the five men in front of him back. Two more closed in from the right side, one with a wicked looking blunt steel-tipped spear. The man jabbed the spear at Cayden, catching him on his thigh and ripping a gash in his pant leg, quickly soaking it in blood.
Cayden yelped and swung the staff clumsily once again. A man on his right stabbed at him with a short sword, catching him on the left knee. Cayden hopped back in pain and failed to see the man right in front of him who lifted his own staff and jabbed Cayden in the stomach. Cayden doubled over in pain, gasping for air. A fourth man stepped up to him and with the blunt end of his sword, struck Cayden on the head. Everything went black and Cayden toppled from the crates to land face down in the dirt.
Cayden came to, eyes creeping open to see a pair of polished black boots in front of his nose. He groaned, the light making his head pound. He pushed himself to a sitting position. Sergeant Perez stood in front of him, his icy smile freezing him in place. Cayden reached back and found a large lump on the back of his head. The sergeant sniggered.
“Every morning you will report to this yard. You will be taught defensive skills during the course of the day. Every evening at quitting time, you will become the rabbit. You must not only survive in this arena for ten minutes. You must also take out a minimum of two of your opponents. If you fail, you will repeat the process the next day…and the next day until you learn to defend yourself. Only then will you be taught offensive skills.”
Cayden counted the other men. They stood smirking. There was no compassion on any of their faces. He knew he would receive no mercy from this group.
“The day is done. Dismissed!”
The assembled men stored their weapons and walked away.
Cayden got woozily to his feet. His knee was bleeding and blood trickled down into his boot. He limped after the men. He needed to be stitched if there was any kind of healer in the camp.
Ranolph met him as he came out and with a curt nod indicated that Cayden was to follow him again. Cayden limped behind him to a large central tent with a flag hanging limply from a pole by the entrance. The flag fluttered and Cayden caught a glimpse of various leaf shapes imprinted on the flag. This was the healer’s tent. He gestured for Cayden to enter the tent. “I will leave you here.”
Cayden opened the flap and entered. A middle-aged woman was standing at a scrubbed table, mashing the contents of a stone bowl with a pestle. She added a little water and continued mashing. “Have a seat in that chair by the lamp.”
Cayden did as instructed, groaning softly as he eased himself into the chair.
Grumbling to herself, she added a few more drops of water and then turned to face Cayden.
“Always the same time every day, always the same ones.” She stopped in surprise. “You’re new. When did you arrive?”
“About an hour ago,” Cayden said. “About an hour too soon I think.”
She laughed, kind eyes twinkling. A slow smile twitched on Cayden’s face.
“I’m quite the mess.” Cayden sheepishly gestured to his thigh and knee.
She walked over to him, setting the bowl down on the small table holding the lamp. She knelt beside him and inspected his wounds. She stood up and drew his shirt off over his head, examining the bruise on his stomach and probing with tender hands. She then examined his head, Cayden wincing at the slight pressure she applied while searching the wound. She pulled open one eye and then the other.
“My name is Laurista. It appears you will survive, although I would recommend you strive to not take any more beatings like this. The head is a very fragile thing and a man can die from too much head trauma.”
Cayden shook his head ruefully, causing the world to spin. “My name is Cayden. And it was not my idea. They tossed me in there with no warning.”
“Yes, that is how it is done, and I get stuck with trying to patch everyone back together. It’s brutal, yet oddly effective, I think, when it comes to skills training. I am not much of a fan of the attitudes spawned by it, however. You need to watch yourself in this camp. None will call you friend.”
“Why would they have a grudge against me? I just arrived,” he growled defensively.
“They view all from this area as outsiders. Your villages are so far removed from the capital and your people from the main fighting for so long, that they see you as cowards, cheats who have somehow ducked their duty to the queen. T
hey think it is their right to teach you a lesson. They think you believe yourselves to be better than them, above them. They hope to prove otherwise, I am afraid. You can expect no mercy.”
Laurista reached down and scooped up some of the poultice she had been mixing. She gently spread the greenish mixture on both cuts and then applied a wrapping around each location. The mixture stung as it entered the wound and then faded, taking the pain with it. Cayden was caught by surprise. “Hey, that works really well!” He gingerly moved his limbs. “Thank you.”
Laurista’s lips ghosted a smile at him. She reached into a travel cupboard set on the table, withdrawing a bottle of purple liquid. She added a few drops of the liquid with some water and returned to him.
“Drink this. It will help with the dizziness.”
Cayden drank the liquid, which tasted like berries. His vision steadied.
“I’m finished with you. You should go get something to eat and rest. It is a narrow window when they serve meals.” She collected up her bowl and vial and set them back down on the table.
“Thank you again. I really appreciate it and the advice. I will take it to heart and head.” He grimaced. “Until next time?” Grinning, he stood and waved a friendly goodbye and sauntered out the tent.
Laurista watched him go, a tiny frown creasing her forehead. There was something different about that boy, something very different indeed.
Chapter 12
AVERY FOLLOWED HER FATHER and the Primordial woman through the twisting path created by the stream bed. Their horses gingerly picked their way amongst the loose stones at the side of the stream.
Reaching a fainter path created by some animal, they ascended into to the wooded mountainside, the foothills of the Highland Needle range. Far above, Avery saw a cleft in the rocks, a natural divide backlit from the far side by a sun that had not yet reached the zenith of the mountain.
The animal trail meandered back and forth on the climb, finding the best purchase for an animal with hooves. The morning dew clung to the branches and leaves of the underbrush and soon soaked through their clothing. Avery drew her cloak tighter as she shivered.
