“Mind if we grab a few things before we hit the road? I'll just need some food and maybe a book or two if you have them,” he said nonchalantly to Earl. The farmer was still staring at their brutal sheriff curled in a fetal position in the street.
“Wh-what in tarnation did you do to the big lug?” he said in hushed amazement.
“Took something of mine back that he had, nothing more.” Hawke glanced sideways at the pitiful thing now whimpering on the ground and spat. “He's still a big guy, but that sword might as well be a steel stick in his hands now. With enough men, you should be able to do whatever you need to and be rid of him.”
“If…if that's true, damn, take whatever ya want from the town, stranger,” Earl said before taking off down the road we had come in from screaming. “HEY, JEFF, GITCHER ASS OUT HERE! ROUND UP THE BOYS, THE BRUTE'S DOWN!”
Hawke knelt next to me and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Hope I didn't give you too much of a scare.”
“I was gonna worry until I saw you dance around him like that. It was amazing!” I felt my adoration for him grow as he smiled at me. “What did you do? You were so fast!”
“He had my style of sword fighting, but it's based off of fast, rhythmic sword strokes. I call it Sword Tempo; it doubles as a sort of dance performed with a blade as well. Apollo's too big and ungainly, no coordination at all. On top of that, his huge sword moves too slow to get the most out of the style. I might have had a bit more trouble if I didn't get my music sense back from Johann. It helped me find his ungainly beat.”
I stared at him, trying to suss out what he said. When he saw my clear confusion, he laughed. “I'll teach you about music a bit later, then maybe it'll make a bit more sense. Now, go get our things from the room and I'll meet you near the horse.”
I started back towards the inn, but stopped at the threshold and looked back. Hawke had returned to where Apollo still lay quivering. Hawke said something in a low voice that I couldn't make out, but Apollo replied in a loud stammer.
“Th-the gypsy! She said go west, through the Madness! Tha's all she told me, swear it on m-muh worthless life! Please don' kill me!”
Hawke growled something else I couldn't hear, and Apollo cried out and curled into a tighter ball. I hurried back to get our things like he asked, but now I had heard about the gypsies for a second time. Whoever they were, Hawke knew something about them he still didn't want to tell me for some reason. I wanted to know but was scared that asking Hawke would make him mad, maybe even make him leave me behind. Above all else, I would go to any lengths to avoid that.
It took two trips to grab my things and Hawke's guitar. When I got back with the unwieldy case in tow, Earl was standing next to Sir Brown Horse along with several more men in coveralls, who I guessed were some more farmers from town. They were busy loading our horse with bushels of food and various dry goods.
“Now now, not too much guys!” Hawke said with his hands up. “The horse still needs to carry us too!”
“We ain't lettin' the two o' ya off without as much as yew can carry!” a farmer with a wide-brimmed hat said as he tried to stuff an entire ham into a pouch that was clearly not designed for the task. “We can finally get rid o' that skidmark thanks t' ya!”
When at last Hawke managed to persuade them that yes, we had enough food, and no, we didn't need five pints of ale, he helped me on Sir Brown Horse's back and climbed on. The villagers gave us lots of cheers and friendly waves, but as I waved back I saw each one clutching a pitchfork, or a scythe, or a meat cleaver. Hawke gave them a single wave of his hand and kicked the horse's sides to set her off at a steady canter down the road leading west. I chanced one last look back, before the houses blocked my view, to see those friendly villagers slowly circling in on the still cowering Apollo.
“What'll they do to him?' I asked Hawke, who kept his eyes fixed straight forward.
“They'll give him what he should know plenty about,” he said. “His payment to leave.”
Chapter 6: No Man's Land
Up until now, our travels had been remarkably relaxing. Between cart rides, accommodating coaches, trotting along casually on horseback, and the most luxurious sleeping arrangements I'd ever been privy to, my new life was as close to perfect as I could imagine a life could be.
That all changed when we encountered the Madness.
Hawke had warned me before that the journey through this stretch of land would be difficult, but having been raised on farmland, I'd yet to experience what a desert precisely entailed. My first glimpse of it sent a chill through my bones, in spite of the brutal heat already washing in from the sands.
“Where is everything?” was the only thing I could think to ask. It seemed a fair one, too: bleached sand and the occasional small boulder was all there was as far as the eye could see. Hawke tightened the cowl he had secured around his face, double checking to make sure mine was equally snug.
“It's not a comforting sight, is it?” he said. “Most of the Madness is like this. Very few things can survive out here, and most of those live off the leftovers of those who try to make the journey and fail. It'll be better once night falls, but we'll have to weather this heat until then.”
We climbed off Sir Brown Horse and tied him to the tree we were taking shelter under. Even with the shade, I found myself baking inside my thick robe.
“These clothes make me sweat too much,” I complained, tugging at the head wrapping that barely had space to see out of.
“I know, but if you don't cover up you'll get sunburned something terrible,” Hawke said apologetically as he handed me a water flask. I did what he told me to, only sipping a bit to make sure we had enough to last, but it didn't even slake my thirst.
“You can take a short nap if you want. It'll make the time pass faster,” he suggested. He had pulled out his sword and was wiping it down with a cloth, the little bit of sunlight that snuck through the leaves jumping off its gleaming edge and right into my eyes.
“You should too then. You never sleep,” I said, perhaps more sharply than I meant. I was afraid he'd be cross, but he just chuckled.
“I only need very little rest each night. Besides, this isn't like the Fertile Lands; we need to be on our toes constantly from now on. They don't call this the Madness for nothing.”
“Is it really bad?”
Hawke considered my question for a moment. “The Madness certainly can be, but that's why only strong towns tend to settle anywhere near it. The Old Kingdom we're heading to isn't quite as dangerous as here, but it's definitely not what you're used to. War is a normal part of life over there – it's partly why nobody tries their hand at farming on that side. It would just be ransacked before long.”
“But we really have to cross this?” I watched the heat shimmer off the dunes, getting so dizzy from the way it warped and twisted I had to close my eyes.
“Yeah, I can feel the pull of my essence. It's definitely coming from this way.”
“How do other people get across?”
“Same way we do,” he answered with a shrug. “Though most people hire lots of guards when they do so. There are whole businesses around protecting people across the Madness, but you'd need to be a very well off merchant to afford that kind of insurance. We'll just have to make best with our horse friend here, and hope nobody notices two little travelers creeping around.”
An arid breeze whipped into my eyes and I blinked furiously. All I hoped was that the journey would be as cool as he promised it would be when night fell.
Hawke spent his time caught between strumming idly on his guitar and sharpening or polishing his sword. He made frequent checks on Sir Brown Horse, who seemed to be only slightly less annoyed by the heat than me.
I tried to occupy myself with the small library Hawke had been accumulating for me, but the texts were even more tiring with the sweat slowly drifting down my face. I toyed with some of my practice locks too. He had purchased a few more in Sapir after the one he had originally acquired he
ld no more challenge. One after the other I mastered a black iron monster of a lock, a burnished steel one with three separate keyholes, and a queer one that used a series of tumblers in the place of keys.
Eventually, I could lock and release any one them with one hand. I glanced skyward hoping daylight would soon creep away, but for all I could tell, the sun hadn't moved at all. There was little point in continuing practice on my trinkets anymore. Hawke promised me with an apologetic smile that he'd find some new ones in the next town.
All that was left for me was to drift in and out of uncomfortable, muggy sleep. The sun continued taking its sweet time that day in crossing the sky, but after a dozen mini-naps, I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the familiar purple glow of evening pass to the soft blue haze of twilight.
“It's time. Let's get going.”
I had never been so happy to hear Hawke say those words, and before he had a chance to stand, I was already on my feet, pack neatly filled. The weather had been cooling off steadily, and it filled me with a renewed energy to continue our journey.
Right away there were troubles as we set out. Sir Brown Horse's hooves proved a poor match for the desert sands, and Hawke began idly muttering a lot of words I didn't understand then and couldn't write down now in good conscience. In addition to our slow pacing, I began to notice that the drop in heat that I had been so glad for earlier hadn't let up, and as the night grew darker, the cool breeze I had been enjoying so much now began to carry a biting frigidity. The sweat that still clung to me only made the cold that much worse. I found myself desperately wrapping my clothing as tightly as possible.
“It'll be okay, Micasa,” Hawke assured me as our steed fought its way up a fairly unremarkable sand dune. “In a couple hours we'll stop and warm ourselves. I can make fire dance, remember?” He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but at that moment a little dancing flame would've been much more appreciated.
Even with the frigid temperatures and our mount difficulties, we still continued forward steadily. I was astonished to find that the sand was, in fact, not infinite, even in the desert. There were entire stretches of land that gave way to hard packed earth crossed with so many cracks that it looked like someone had shattered the ground itself. Every now and then, something would crawl or slither from those fissures, quickly scurrying off at the unwavering “clop clop” of Sir Brown Horse carrying his two passengers. I even forgot my discomfort momentarily when I caught sight of my first cactus. Hawke had to explain several times why I couldn't go and touch the fuzzy looking tree.
The ever increasing cold put me on edge, but what made me feel the most unease was the utter desolation I felt as we crossed an infinite stretch of the same flat land. I had never been so long without seeing evidence of another person, whether a fellow traveler or some quiet house nestled in its own little nook in the world. I kept glancing around uncomfortably, waiting to catch glimpse of anyone else, but aside from Hawke and myself, we were beyond alone.
At least, that held true until some hours later.
I had resigned to watching the moon creep across the sky, feeling like I could relate to its pace, when Hawke pulled the reins on Sir Brown Horse. The horse snorted and pawed at the ground, likely just as eager as us to get out of this freezing badland, but Hawke held him steady. His eyes were fixated far ahead.
“What's wrong?” I asked, pulled from my moon watching.
“Light,” was all he said. I couldn't make it out at first, but it did seem that beyond the small dune a few minutes off was the faintest of glows.
“Is someone camping over there?”
“Probably. That's why we're gonna give them a bit of a wide berth.” He nudged the horse forward again, veering off to the south of where the blush of light radiated. Unfortunately, our detour was shorter than anticipated as we crossed the dune and found ourselves facing a full-blown canyon.
“Damn,” swore Hawke. He swept his head back and forth as if hoping beyond hope a bridge would be waiting to lead weary wanderers out of this barren landscape. I took the time to peer as far over the edge as I could from the saddle. The bottom of the canyon was visible, even with my small stature, but it was obviously too deep to just jump down. It wasn't terribly wide either, but much too far to even think about jumping.
“This is bad,” said Hawke. “Who knows how far we'll have to go to get around this? We might be stuck out here another day.” He garnished the end of the sentence with a few more choice swears.
“Look, Hawke, a walkway!” I pointed towards a wooden ramp that had been crudely assembled at the cliff's edge, sloping down into the canyon. Far below where it disappeared, the light we had seen earlier diffused a warm orange.
“They probably built it to get quickly up and down…” he mused, pulling out a pair of binoculars from his satchel and training them on the side directly opposite the ramp, “…and there's one over there as well. The problem is sneaking around whoever's down there.”
“You don't think they'll help us?”
“Micasa, I'm sorry, but only one type of people lives out here: outlaws. They're not likely to spare us anything, even mercy. If we're lucky, though, they might be asleep.”
Hawke hopped off Sir Brown Horse and led him by the harness towards the ramp, stopping just at the edge. He tied the reins to one of the guard rails and slowly crept onto the central platform to the walkway. It creaked a little, but he seemed satisfied with its durability and continued until he was able to look down upon the supposed camp. He pulled his binoculars up again and scanned for a long quiet moment before pocketing them and coming back.
“I think we're in luck. There are a few people down there near the fire but they look like they've passed out. There are bottles littered everywhere – they probably were drinking heavily. As long as we're not too loud, we might be able to slink right on by.”
He untied Sir Brown Horse and started leading him as slowly as possible down the wooden ramp. There was a tense moment where it gave out a painful groan, but the planks didn't show any signs of giving under the animal. Hawke took a deep breath, then began leading us into the canyon.
Even with our glacial pace, every hoof beat and every crack or groan of the rickety structure caused Hawke to flinch. I looked at the canyon floor, which seemed so close before, but now it seemed to stand a mile below us, and I felt a flutter of nausea. From our new vantage point, I caught sight of the campfire that sat in the middle of four plain cloth tents, casting long shadows all over the small valley. Even at a distance, I could make out the tiny figures of people lying around the fire, amongst a mess of objects strewn about near them. With Hawke's slow pace and constant wincing, I kept my eyes glued on the supposed bad people, watching for any sign of them stirring from their slumber. Thankfully, they remained right where they were as the ground drew ever closer.
When we finally made that last step off the shoddy structure, Hawke and I both let out soft sighs of relief. It wasn't far to the other side of the valley, and the ramp leading to the other side was directly in front of us. As we started our creeping pace forwards, though, the flames of the campfire flickered. A light breeze whipped through a moment later, blowing past the camp and us. With the wind came something else: a horrendous, cloying sweet smell. Hawke stopped in his tracks, looking towards the camp.
“What is that?” I whispered as quietly as I could.
“There's something wrong with this camp…” he said, staring for several seconds. He looked back and forth between our exit and the camp multiple times before turning Sir Brown Horse and myself towards the camp, creeping as slow as we could.
It was only as we drew closer that we caught whiff of that stench again, threatening to be so overbearing that I had to put my hands to my nose or risk vomiting. Hawke's nose wrinkled too, but that only made him pick up his pace. The horse was snorting and trying to shy away from the camp, but Hawke kept his grip firm on the reins.
When we rounded the first tent and came upon the fire, I wished
that we had just gone up the ramp.
Now, I had seen dead bodies before. While not common, slaves did on occasion pass out from overwork and never stand back up. The overseers usually hauled them off shortly thereafter, though what became of them, nobody knew. Those people who collapsed always just looked like they had fallen asleep on the job.
The situation that was sitting right in front of us was an entirely different matter. The four people that were around the fire were lying on the ground, as well as strewn on the tents, resting in the flames, and coating the rocky outcroppings. One man's entrails showed the path he took as he crawled from the tent he had been eviscerated in, before depositing himself several feet away in a heap. Another man sat glass-eyed against one of the tent poles, his severed arm lying a few paces away with a sword still loosely gripped in its cold blue fingers. For all the mess made, there might very well have been more than four of them.
“Micasa, don't look,” Hawke warned a little too late. He turned his back to the carnage, and even in the dim moonlight I could see that he had paled a few shades at the campsite. I was still a little too confused and shocked to understand exactly what I was looking at.
“This is all wrong,” said Hawke as his eyes darted around. “These bodies have been here for at least a couple days, but scavengers haven't gotten to them yet. This fire was just started recently too…”
That's when someone lunged from the empty tent.
There was no time to see who had emerged, as the horse immediately reared and screeched in terror. Hawke was kicked in the chest in its panic, sending him hurtling backwards, and I had no time to try and keep myself from being thrown backwards and off the mount. I landed hard enough on my back to blow the wind out of me. I laid there desperately gasping for breath, trying to twist see where Hawke had landed. He had been sent sprawling into one of the tents, pulling it down all around him where he lay, motionless. Sir Brown Horse took off, leaping over the campfire and out of view.
Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1) Page 8
