by Wren Handman
Taya saw Darren rocking and was terrified he would slip back into the water, but a second later Sarah clambered onboard, catching the back of Darren’s shirt in one hand and curling her body around his protectively, the other hand holding one of her knives across him. There was blood on her face, and matted in her hair, but it was impossible to know if it was hers or another’s.
A roar from the bank drew her attention, and her heart soared. It had to be David who had cried out thus—he was alive, and he sounded more angry than hurt. She prayed she was right, that she could recognize his voice from a yell.
More splashing through the water, now, and this time Taya was prepared, ready to pick up the pole and send the whole raft into the river, leaving the others behind but saving Darren. He called out before he was in attacking distance, however, and Taya heard that it was Jeremy who approached, Liam on his tail. The sharpness of her relief at seeing Jeremy whole surprised her.
“Quick! Push off! David and Ryan are coming, but they’re close on their heels!” he cried out, throwing himself almost waist deep into the water as he misjudged the distance to the craft.
Sarah left Darren for a moment to haul Jeremy aboard, and Liam clambered up on the other side, sending the whole craft rocking. Taya wasn’t sure she could have held steady against the force of it all, but luckily she didn’t have to. She let the current grab hold of them, steering them out toward the center of the river. She was terrified David and Ryan wouldn’t reach the raft in time, but she saw their shapes cutting powerfully through the water toward them. The enemy were only a few steps away.
“Stop the raft! Someone light a brand!” an unfamiliar voice roared from the shoreline, and then the wayward pair were aboard and David had drawn his sword, and the battle was inches from her face and still she could see nothing.
She heard the cries of enemy soldiers as they attempted to gain purchase on the raft. Someone on board screamed, and she saw a boy, not more than twenty, lose his footing and disappear into the current. They were further out now, far enough that the water was dangerous and hungry. The ground dropped out beneath the raft and Taya slumped back against the wood, certain they had reached safety.
She was wrong. She saw light flare from the shore, and for the first time their enemy was given a face. There were some twenty men crowding the small bank, with several more still standing in the waters. She saw a man on a horse near the back of the crowd, and recognized him as Lord Mendaci. The others were dressed in boiled leather, clearly men-for-hire, and they were armed with not only swords, but powerful longbows as well. Seeing them, Jeremy swore under his breath.
“Yariel damn us! Bows.”
“They’ll never hit us from this distance,” Taya said. “Not with the light behind them!”
The torches would hurt their night-sight, and the current was pulling them quickly downstream and to the center of the river. Add to that the choppy waters which sent them careening up and down with the ebbs and swells, and she was sure they would be an impossible target.
“They don’t have to hit us. Only the Yariel-cursed boat,” Sarah replied through clenched teeth.
Not understanding, Taya turned back to look at the soldiers. They were notching bows, and their arrows seemed odd. They looked blunt, as if they had been wrapped in cloth. It wasn’t until they touched the arrows to the torch that Taya understood. They let loose a volley of fire, and it didn’t matter that three of the five arrows landed harmlessly in the waters, extinguishing in a violent fizzle of fire and waves. Two hit, landing between the cowering rebels, and though it could never burn through the stout wood, it ate through the rope that bound the logs together faster than Taya had imagined possible. Sarah and Jeremy grabbed handfuls of water, splashing it against the flames and snarling in helpless anger, while David held Darren to ensure he didn’t fall and Ryan stood in the center of the craft, seemingly immoveable against the violent rocking, and readied his knives. Liam traded places with Taya, trying to evade the next volley, though guiding the raft was almost impossible. There was nothing Taya could do but clutch the edge of the craft and pray, certain that this would be the last she saw of anything.
They were silent, waiting for the next volley, knowing each moment could be their last. The only sounds were Liam’s grunts as he struggled to keep the raft on course and Darren’s ragged breathing against his enduring pain. Taya prayed, silently, dredging up every sailor’s prayer that she had ever heard Darren utter. Ashua, watch over your children who sail upon your grief. Give them passage on your love. Let them carry your thoughts and hopes in their small and fierce hands.
Another five arrows ignited. Ryan waited until all five had been lit, brilliant targets in the darkness, and then let fly his knives. She heard two or three cries—saw one man fall, but the other four arrows flew true. One crashed into the wood only a hand-span from her face, and as quickly as she could she wrenched it free, attempting to hurl it over the edge of the raft.
She got it free easily enough, but as she lifted her hand for the throw a giant wave hit, and she felt the log she was kneeling on come loose beneath her. She threw herself sideways, trying to scramble back onto the safety behind her, but the raft was no longer where it had been, and her knees connected with nothing but the raging river. She crashed into the water, struggling to keep afloat, the arrow still clutched above her head.
She couldn’t breathe, could see nothing, not even the stars. She knew the surface was there somewhere, desperately close, but she could not find it. She was quickly growing numb in the vicious water, and couldn’t tell which way was up. Madly she picked a direction and kicked her feet, but she had only a rudimentary understanding of how to swim, and the efforts didn’t seem to have any effect. Her lungs were beginning to burn, and she knew if she didn’t break the surface soon she would breathe despite herself, and it would be the end. And then she saw stars, not from drowning but there in the sky, Yariel himself calling her upward, and she broke the surface.
The air felt warm against her face after the cold of the river. She threw her head back and opened her mouth to take a breath, to suck in the cold pureness of the sky, but found only water choking her throat. A wave had come as she straightened, and the water screamed into her lungs as she tried to cough it out, struggling to hit the water the way she had seen Darren do, in their trips to the beach together. She was shocked to see that her hand still clutched the arrow, a beacon to her friends on the raft. Somehow she had managed to hold it above water this whole time, and it had been lit with oil, so the splashing hadn’t put it out yet. The flames were licking close to her fingers now, scorching the skin, but she only held it tighter. She tried to relax, let the waves hit her, tried not to cough because if she opened her mouth it would fill with water again, but the drops still there burned like hot peppers and she wanted to scream.
She almost didn’t feel the hand around her wrist, didn’t understand she had broken the surface until she felt the painful crash of the raft against her stomach. She opened her mouth, coughing the last of the water out, and dragged a painful breath through her burning throat. Jeremy held her close against his chest, afraid that she might tumble into the water again, and for once pride didn’t get in her way. She clung to his arms, shuddering and shaking, knowing the ordeal wasn’t close to over.
The archers were setting up for another volley, while the rest of the troop moved at high speed away from them, making for the nearest bridge in the hopes of catching them on the far side. But from somewhere in his bag Ryan had a bow and arrow of his own, and he notched and fired while David fed him arrows, so that by the time two burning brands came their way, the raft was out of range. Sarah gave a ragged cheer, and tossed a curse back at the two remaining archers, who were retreating after their fellows.
“Long live the king! Down with the usurper! Yariel is on the side of good! An’ I hope ya all rot!” she screamed, shaking her fist mightily in the air.
Taya heard a soft chuckle above her, and touched her
hand gently to Jeremy’s sleeve. She realized she couldn’t see him in the dark. Somehow she had recognized him, whether from the shape of his arm across her chest or his silhouette against the slightly darker sky. Maybe even from the distinct sound of his breathing.
“Thank you,” she told him breathlessly.
He let her go—did she imagine the reluctance there?—and crouched down so that he could whisper to her. “You saved yourself. Had you not held the arrow aloft, I should never have been able to find you.”
“Ah, yes. I thought the smell of charred flesh might catch your nose,” she said with a helpless laugh, trying to brush away more serious thoughts. Her joke failed her, for Jeremy caught her hand, his voice full of concern.
“Did you burn yourself badly?” He tried not to touch the wounded flesh, but his fingers brushed against hers and her breath caught in pain as she jerked away.
“I’m fine. Just a little scalded, really,” she murmured, trying to keep the sound of tears out of her voice. She wasn’t sure if she succeeded, or if Jeremy was simply smart enough to leave her be, but he let the matter drop.
There were some whispers from the front of the raft, and then Sarah made her careful way back to Jeremy and Taya, each step weighed against the bucking beneath her feet. The raft was short three logs, but someone had managed to tie the others off, and it seemed stable enough.
“Jeremy, Darren’s hurt is paining him something fierce. P’raps you oughta take over?” she asked quietly.
Jeremy nodded, and then, realizing that might not be visible, he added, “Of course.” He pitched his voice to carry over the small craft, while still trying to remain quiet enough that searchers on the far bank wouldn’t overhear—though they were deliberately far from the nearest bridge—which might just save their lives. “Everyone, listen close. They will be tracking us, so it’s vital that we leave little sign. Everyone remove your boots—we will make less of a trail. Liam, you have the path in your head? Good. You’ll lead. I’ll keep an eye and sword out, cover our backs. Ryan, you take the rear, cover our trail. David and Sarah, I’ll need you to carry the king; he can’t walk on—”
“No,” Ryan said.
The quiet voice startled her, and she had a feeling it startled Jeremy as well, for when he reacted it was quietly, and with a sharpness that was uncharacteristic. “No?”
“David’s hurt. He ain’t carryin’ Darren,” Ryan said quietly, and she heard the hiss of breath as David started to object.
Jeremy, however, cut him off. “How bad is it?”
“A scratch. I’m more than well enough,” David assured the company in his rumbling bass, but Ryan would have none of it.
“Sword cut, clear down his side. Shallow. No problem if he don’t stretch it none, but if he do he’ll bleed out before we make it nowhere.”
The words hung in the quiet air, and then Taya felt the bottom of the raft scrape along the bed of the Sirrin. Liam splashed off the raft, holding it steady while everyone removed their boots and followed suit.
“Liam, leave some branches and a jacket on the raft so it looks like someone might be on it. With any luck a few of them will hunt the raft clear down the river. David, help Ryan cover the trail. I’ll help Sarah take Darren. Taya, take my sword and cover us.”
“The girl? She’s like to cut off her own feet as an enemy!” Liam hissed.
Taya felt her face grow hot. As always when she felt embarrassment closing in, she covered it with anger. She grabbed Jeremy’s sword by the hilt, drawing it out with one smooth motion and swinging it down so the point touched the ground just an inch in front of Liam’s foot. She felt Jeremy take a staggering step backward, startled.
“I will not only cut our enemy, I will cut the feet off of our enemy and leave them to bleed in the dirt. I haven’t let us down yet, and I certainly don’t intend to start now. And if you ever call me ‘the girl’ again, I will show you exactly what I am expert at cutting off,” she snarled, and then she hoisted the sword and spun on her heel, storming away before he could react.
She stood at the edge of their sad, sodden company, the hilt of the sword resting snugly in the palm of her hand, her back straight and her head held high, and the only thing going through her mind was the fact she had absolutely, completely, no idea how to use a sword.
Chapter Ten
THEY WALKED ALL NIGHT and well into the morning hours. Taya’s singed hand had begun to throb at some point doing the march, and now it was itching and burning fiercely. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking after her dip in the river, and it had been a full day since she had gotten her last meager amount of sleep. Her throat was parched beyond what was reasonable, but no one had called a stop, not even to tend their wounds. Several times they heard the sounds of pursuit close by, and were forced to stop and hide in bushes or behind trees, waiting with baited breath for the sounds to fade away. Taya was stumbling now more than she was walking, and even Sarah and Liam were showing signs of exhaustion. Near dawn they had veered away from the meadows in which they had been walking and made their way into a thick forest, and now they were enduring a similar assault of branches and roots to that which they had undergone during the first leg of their journey. Finally, just when Taya feared she would have to swallow her pride and cry defeat, Ryan appeared out of a dense tangle of trees.
“There’s a clearing here,” he said softly.
Though Taya was too tired to cheer, she felt a swell of pure bliss in her heart. Nothing had ever sounded so blissful as the chance to lie down on hard ground and seek the solace of sleep.
The group followed Ryan through spaces that seemed too small for even Taya, let alone David, but after pushing through nearly impenetrable sentinel trees the forest opened up into a small natural clearing. It was ringed in large oaks, whose giant roots had crowded out any smaller trees that might have sprouted. There was a carpet of small bushes and grasses whose roots were very shallow, but at that moment Taya would have slept on a bed of rocks and thought it Ashua’s Arms.
Each person claimed a small spot of ground. There was little room to stretch out the bedrolls, with each bedroll foot to head with another. Taya opened hers in her chosen spot, and then moaned in dismay. The entire thing was soaked through, still dripping from her dunking. Jeremy came over at the sound, and frowned when he saw it.
“Soaked through, is it?” he asked.
“Yes…” She nudged it with her toe, as if hoping it might somehow miraculously dry itself, and blinked back a sheen of tears. “Damn and Oblivion and curses!”
“Don’t worry, there’s an old soldier’s trick for this. You take mine, and I’ll take first watch. When I wake up the next person for watch, I’ll take their roll and so on. Since one person is always on watch and we’re only one short, everyone gets a soft day’s sleep.”
“Yariel, what is this, some child’s game?” Liam grumbled, spreading his roll flat across the ground.
“It’s common sense. If she sleeps on a wet roll, she’ll catch a fever, and then we’ll be laid up for days while she recovers. So unless you have a mind to sit here and wait for the Sephrians to come and cut our heads off, I suggest you think of this quite seriously, Liam,” Jeremy told him sternly.
Liam glanced up at him, and for a moment they locked eyes, but it was Liam who looked away first. “Aye,” he muttered, and then stood and moved away on some nameless task.
Ryan slipped away to look for drinking water while Jeremy saw to people’s wounds. Darren went first, even though it seemed to Taya that David was the worst hurt. Liam had blistered his hands fighting with the raft, and Sarah had a host of tiny cuts, but none as deep as David’s. Jeremy had taken an arrow to the thigh, but it hadn’t cut deep and Taya helped him bandage it before she let Jeremy bandage her own burned hand. She sat beside him on his bedroll as he worked, and watched the activity of the camp. Darren was asleep, his face pale and worn. Liam and Sarah were sharpening and oiling weapons, cleaning them after the rough battle, and David was seated be
side Ryan. They were ostensibly getting a quick meal together, but they were whispering furiously, and it seemed something weighty passed between them.
“Do you know their story?” Taya whispered to Jeremy, careful not to let her voice carry across the small campground.
Jeremy followed her gaze and then looked back at her, smiling softly. “When you live and work so closely with people you know so little, there are nothing but rumors. Some are true, some not at all. Take Sarah, for instance—it is said that she can gut a man in under twelve seconds.”
“Mmm, I know. David told me.”
“Well, and did he also tell you it is a complete fabrication?” Jeremy asked, and laughed at the disappointed look on her face. “She is a rough sort, fierce when threatened, and a good warrior, true. I have known her for several years—I was organizing this revolution long before we found King Darren—but in all that time, I have never known her to use unnecessary violence. She will disarm a man before she will kill him, and if she must she will kill swiftly and with the least amount of pain.”
Taya rested her head against her knees, watching Jeremy as he finished with her binding. His fingers were quick and agile, and for a moment she entertained a daydream of him sitting at the counter in her shop, helping her with fancy stitching for a wedding order.
“And what are the rumors about me?” she asked, and he grinned.
“Oh, there aren’t any,” he said, too cheerily for it to be true.
She frowned and shook her hand, causing him to lose hold of the bandage.
He scolded her and caught it back up.
“Well, then David and Ryan again. What are the stories told of them?”
“I thought we already ascertained that the stories are false?” he chided with a smile, tucking the bandage into place. “There. All done.”
